Null-A Three Read online

  True, it seemed obvious that the aliens were entitled to return where they had come from. But it was not necessarily true. And so it was interesting that by way of exhaustion and irritation had come the realization that perhaps he had better re-examine his automatic decision.

  Fortunately, he recognized those negative speculations for what they were; and so his irritation never grew into the huge rage that might have festered inside an old-style he-man.

  The end of that long harassment came suddenly. It was as he glanced along what could have been another meaningless corridor, that he saw a splash of bright light about 250 feet to his left.

  The appearance was of a doorway . . . open, not closed. And, in fact, after he had walked rapidly toward it, and then slowed, edged forward, and stood there carefully peering in, what he saw was a duplicate of the earlier private restaurant room, except—instead of the recognizable human beings—sitting around the table in that dimly lit room were about a dozen Troogs.

  It took a little while, then. But presently Gosseyn realized that they were aware of him. His hesitation ended. And, remembering they expected aggressiveness, he walked in. He had already in that first look noticed that there was an unoccupied place at the table.

  It was on the far side of the table. And he went around behind a half-dozen Troogs, and over to the empty place. What was different from that earlier restaurant meeting, and in its fashion, more respectful, instead of continuing to stand as if he were the important person—he sat down.

  But his faraway thought was: how close to the end can you be? . . . And how fantastic that they would have a dinner meeting like this!

  CHAPTER

  24

  Think positive!—Gosseyn admonished himself.

  Despite the negative feelings that still lingered from the long walk through empty corridors, the truth was he was here to solve everybody’s problem . . . if they would let him.

  No one said anything; but the room was dark enough in that dim-lit way of many restaurants, so that diners could be aloof from each other. Thus, he had his chance to glance around at the strange beings, who had been so busy causing trouble ever since their arrival.

  The positive approach suffered an immediate diminishment. They looked awful. It was the same reaction as when he had had his initial glimpse that time in the laboratory.

  Gosseyn fought a silent battle against that automatic human tendency to apply human standards to appearance. Beauty—he recalled the ancient adage—is in the eye of the beholder.

  After all, there was human-ness. Except that their faces were almost round, and purplish in color. And that the part of the neck that he could see was almost skeleton thin; but there seemed to be some fairly large bodies below. All arrayed in uniforms that glinted as if they were constructed of bits of metal.

  The head, like the face, was round. And almost bald. There was an ugly something that resembled hair: a cluster of what seemed to be bristles poked up from the top center.

  But that face: a small, almost lipless mouth, a strange little nose, and above, dominating everything, were two large, round eyes, with black pupils, but without eyebrows. There did seem to be several folds in the skin immediately above and below. His impression: the eyes could be closed.

  Before he could look further, a door to his right opened; and five Troogs and one human being entered, carrying platters. The human being—a youth—came around to Gosseyn, and set in front of him what looked like an omelette, and the Troog waiters supplied all eleven of his tablemates with a dark glop of some kind.

  As the waiters started to leave, for just one moment Gosseyn’s gaze and the human youth’s eyes met. What he saw was a haunted expression: darkness of soul, hopelessness. They were gone out of the door, all six of them; but the memory remained.

  Everybody, including Gosseyn, ate. There was the scraping sound of his fork, and of the slightly different, almost knife-thin utensils of his hosts . . . for that smaller mouth.

  Since they could have a human being aboard, presumably they could also have genuine eggs; and that’s what the omelette tasted like: the product of a real earth chicken.

  What puzzled him was that he seemed to be hungry. Did the body experience more time in these journeys than was outwardly apparent?

  Something to think about later.

  Gosseyn Three put down his fork, and leaned back.

  Sitting there, he saw that his dinner companions were, each separately, taking the final bites that completed the intake of whatever it was they had been eating. And they, also, thereupon leaned back in their chairs. There they were, then: all of them in that dimly lit duplicate of an earth restaurant. And his thought went back to the fact that they had made the effort to get him earth food. Somehow, the deeds of those millions of chickens back there . . . out there. . . had been observed: still surviving, although most of their eggs had been stolen from them day after day from earliest times.

  . . . I wonder if I went to a Troog planet, would I make a point of noticing where they got that glop they ate here today?—

  Looking back, he could not recall Gosseyns One and Two ever paying attention to the origin of the food on the planets where they had been: since other humans ate the stuff, so had they also.

  His after-eating survey had been swift, but long enough. And so he had a strong feeling of relief when, directly across from him, one of the bulkier bodies stood up. For a long moment, the individual—presumably a leader—gazed at Gosseyn with those round, black eyes. And then, the tiny mouth under the tiny, slitted nose, said in a surprisingly normal, medium tenor voice: “As you are undoubtedly aware, something unfortunate happened. An entire shipload of the people who matter arrived in this galaxy, and in the process lost their ability to speak their own language, and instead acquired an equivalent ability to speak English, one of many languages spoken on the planet earth: but—and very significant this—your language.”

  There was only one sentence in those introductory remarks that gave information Gosseyn did not already have:

  . . . The People Who Matter . . .

  It was an automatic acceptance of being better. All through human history on that singularly important planet of the solar system, there had been similar self-laudatory judgments by groups and by individuals, whereby the conclusion was forced upon them: somehow, they were superior.

  Odd that, with all those brains, the Troogs had made such a huge project out of getting the help of the one person who possessed, somewhere in his head, the ability to assist them in their basic purpose.

  As soon as possible he would tell them he was ready and willing. But even as he reiterated that thought within himself, the feeling came that the positive approach would run into problems.

  Hard to know what? But if anyone could do it these people would find a way to negate what anyone from another race might try to do.

  Fortunately, there were verities still.

  The room, the table, the dishes, and those who had eaten—including himself—remained as they had been. The hidden source of light continued to shed the same dim illumination. The speaker was still standing; which seemed to promise more words would be spoken.

  In fact, even as Gosseyn had the awareness, the human-like alien continued:

  “Many of these developments are new, and have never before been observed. The implication is that our theory of the nature of the universe needs to be re-examined, and we shall seek an understanding that will include the new data.

  “Our study—” he went on—“of that special section of your brain, has not yielded as much information as we need. Fortunately, you yourself have evidently finally realized that you could not escape from us; and so you have come here, presumably with one of those devious schemes, which we have noticed to be a common behaviour of those members of your kind in this galaxy, whom we have observed in their daily activities. I must warn you, therefore, that we are not easily deluded, and urge that you cooperate without mental, or other, reservations of any kind.”<
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  With that, he performed a dangerous—it seemed to Gosseyn—physical feat. With only that thin neck to support the movement, he nodded the large head at the prisoner-guest, straightened the head again until it was once more balanced evenly above the body; and sat down.

  Gosseyn remained where he was. He had a small feeling of an overwhelm. So many words had been spoken that he was aware of a need arising inside him to counteract, to defend, and point out, and, among other realities, to ask about the aggressive behavior of the Troogs; and other questions.

  It took a long moment, then, to brace himself against those numerous little impulses. But he was finally able to exercise the necessary control, and to say, simply, “Sir, and gentlemen, you may count on my fullest cooperation.”

  The silence that greeted his words was finally broken by a stirring movement: the old, human habit—it sounded like feet changing position, and making a shuffling noise in the process.

  Then . . . the spokesman leaned forward. He did not get up; but when he spoke, his tone was accusing: “Don’t think for one minute that you can fool us with pretended cooperation. We are perfectly aware that you do not know how to deal with the damage that was done to that special part of your brain, whereby a reversal of some kind took place—and brought us here.” Gosseyn’s first reaction: it was definitely not a gracious acceptance of his offer. It also seemed to him that he could not entirely agree with the negative analysis of the situation. Surely, in those instants when he had been extra-careful, he had been able to control the deviant tendencies of the damaged nerve endings; and had, as one example, arrived safely aboard this ship, his intended destination; and had done so without deviation.

  That part, of course, could be explained. But what additionally disturbed him about what the Troog had said, was a feeling that the speech was only partly for his benefit.

  “. . . For some reason, he wants these onlookers to believe that he’s on the ball; that he’s handling one of those cagey characters from earth—me—in a no-nonsense manner, please notice, everyone—”

  It was an oddly tense moment. And, sitting there, Gosseyn yielded to an impulse to shift his own body position before he spoke again.

  He said, “I’m sure there must be a way by which we can convince each other that we actually need to cooperate for mutual benefit.”

  He concluded as simply as possible, “Why don’t we set up a step by step program? And then, as we achieve each step in turn, we shall progressively gain confidence that all will be well.”

  There was silence. The spokesman stared at him. His huge eyes had an odd, baffled expression in them. Sitting there, Gosseyn experienced a strange thought: could it be that this individual was not the chief authority?

  Somehow, he had taken for granted that the top officers would be talking to him. Was a higher-up monitoring this meeting? Were the minions at the table waiting for an expression of approval, or for a decision authorizing further action?

  As the silence lengthened, Gosseyn waited with them. Waited unhappily; because his situation seemed to be worse, not better.

  A thought came: “. . . It could be that unless I figure out how to break down these barriers, this could go on—”

  Another thought, a memory related to General Semantics: “. . . That business of believing that I would be interested in a woman named Strella because I liked the similar name, Strala—”

  It was a vague direction to take. But surely better than just sitting here in this dim room with the people who mattered. With that sudden motivation, he straightened a little, shuffled his feet—a little—and, addressing the spokesman, said:

  “Do you have a name which distinguishes you from these—” He gestured vaguely towards the other Troogs at the table, and completed his question—“from these friends of yours?”

  The big eyes stared. The little mouth said, “We all have names.”

  But the speaker did not volunteer his own name. He continued to sit there, a glop version of a human being.

  “The impression I have,” said Gosseyn, “is that your friends are not your equals.”

  “We are Troogs.”

  The tone of voice had in it, suddenly, an imperious quality. The expression of personal power evoked from Gosseyn his next question:

  “Are you the—” he hesitated—“emperor?”

  There was a distinct pause. The face and eyes continued to fix on Gosseyn. Finally, almost reluctantly—it seemed—the alien said, “We Troogs do not have emperors.” Another pause. Then: “I am the appointed leader of this ship.”

  “Who appointed you?” Gosseyn asked.

  If possible, the great eyes grew even rounder. Then, impatiently: “I appointed myself, of course.” The sudden irritation abruptly produced more words: “Look, our authority system is none of your business.”

  Gosseyn rejected the meaning with a gentle shake of his head. Then: “Sir,” he said politely, “you’ve made this entire situation my business by your relentless pursuit of me and your attempt to control me. I should therefore comment that I find your system of government significant. Are you saying, in effect, that no one else was motivated to appoint himself commander-in-chief?”

  Pause; then: “Several.” The big eyes stared into his.

  “What happened to their acts of self-appointment?”

  In front of him the small mouth twisted slightly. Then: “They never reached the appointment stage. When they spoke of their ambitions, nobody listened. So they got the message.”

  “I gather that, somehow, you had put yourself over?” Gosseyn spoke the comment in a questioning tone.

  The impatience was still there. “Mr. Gosseyn,” the leader said, “you yourself manifest many qualities of a commander. I feel certain that, among the human beings we have aboard, there is not one, considering the particular predicament they are all in, who would not accept your orders. Automatically.”

  Particular predicament!

  It was a relation-to-statement, and therefore within the General Semantics frame of reasoning.

  The words that had been so casually spoken had an additional revelatory meaning: . . . other human beings aboard—

  Aside, of course, from that poor, dumb youth who had served his omelette, it was now fairly certain that the reference was to Mr. and Mrs. Eldred Crang, the Prescotts, Leej and Enro, and the others. They were still alive. Captured but undamaged.

  Suddenly, it was sad. Self-appointed leaders. These semi-human-looking people had evolved what had the implication of being an emergency-style system of living with each other. Somehow, in spite of their physical deformity, they had simultaneously achieved a mighty science.

  Self-appointed government could work. There was a pragmatism involved that, in most situations, had a potential for almost sensational success.

  The self-appointed whatever arriving at a cul-de-sac in his own forward drive—plan—purpose—research; and so not offering a resistance when an assistant asserted leadership by asserting that his—whatever—would work.

  There was a sort of things-get-done momentum in such an idea. At least a partial certainty of nothing ever slowing down because a single individual could never for long fool his colleagues. Observably, the project he was working on would either be going forward, or it would not be.

  Such a system could conceivably work best in the area of physics and chemistry. The results were always visible; and if a research-leader lagged, there were eager usurpers waiting down the line for the slightest sign of slowdown in creativity.

  In fact, the leadership system could explain the superiority of Troog science, on the one hand, and a misuse of it, on the other.

  Because, obviously, psychology, and the so-called social sciences, as well as humanitarian ideas, could never be observably true. In those fields, there could, as on earth, be “schools” with the usual variant beliefs. It was in such areas of study that General Semantics offered the individual a method of avoiding the need for certainty.

  Nothing
like that here, was his feeling-thought.

  He was aware of other, similar thoughts crowding up from some equivalent of an inner well of ideas. But before they could take form, the two doors to his right opened again. The five Troog waiters and the human youth entered.

  The Troogs were carrying tall, transparent glasses containing a liquid; and in the youth’s hand was a cup and a saucer, and a cream pitcher. Coffee?—Gosseyn wondered.

  It was. Quickly set down in front of him by hands that, thereupon, reached over and removed the empty omelette plate. Presumably, particular Troogs picked up the same plates they had set down earlier. Interesting, then, that the human boy, as he withdrew with his alien companions, did not look at Gosseyn.

  But his predicament had made an impression. And so Gosseyn gazed after him, and, just before the poor, little guy disappeared, took a 20-decimal mental photograph of him.

  His thought was: “As soon as I get this whole situation clarified, so that I can be sure, I’ll put him somewhere on earth—”

  CHAPTER

  25

  It was a slightly flabbergasted Gosseyn who poured in a tiny portion of cream, stirred it, and took the first sip of what tasted like genuine coffee.

  In picking up the cup, he saw that there were half a dozen sugar cubes at the edge of the saucer; but the Gosseyn bodies did not use sugar in coffee; so the cubes remained where they were.

  It was evidently another instance of a self-appointed Troog studying human needs, and even coming up with coffee. It was the kind of thoroughness which assured that no other Troog down the line of command would be taking over his job.

  That was probably also why they had brought the human youth aboard. To help on the finer details.

  In such small matters, and in relation to science, the system had its points. But otherwise—