Null-A Three (5 page)

Even as he was speaking the elaborately evasive explanation, Gosseyn found himself progressively unhappy with the necessity for doing so. Although the long-winded explanation-type-of-thing was, in a negative fashion within the frame of General Semantics, and definitely a technique, a more basic reality of the human nervous system was that lying, or evasiveness, were not good for the individual. Worse, he had the unpleasant feeling that he was only at the beginning of a period where evasive answers would be required for his survival.

There was silence after he had spoken. He could see that Voice One and Voice Two were standing very quietly. And it seemed advisable for him to imitate them while “his excellency” considered the over-verbal reply the “prisoner” had given.

It was not too difficult to guess what had happened. Apparently, their instruments had reacted in some way to the brain processes with which he had achieved his two actions of mentally photographing with twenty decimal accuracy the two locations in the room that he had selected as being most necessary for him in the event that there were further developments at some future time. And that act of “photography” was not a phenomenon that he cared to describe to his captors.

It was more than that. He realized he was startled in a complex way by the fact that they had, twice now, been able to detect his extra-brain in action—the first time when he communicated with Gosseyn Two.

The feeling of disconcertment had in it a strong implication of defilement . . . his greatness being observed by instruments. Somehow, the extra-brain interconnection with a basic reality of the universe seemed abruptly to be a more prosaic phenomenon . . . if it could be examined.

In action, what he could do transcended the known inter-galactic vastness; yet, obviously, there were energy flows involved.

What was still missing was the nature of those flows . . . One of these days—he thought . . . It was a vague beginning of a purpose: to discover the underlying dynamics. But even as he had that tiny, beginning consideration, the expected interruption came.

Abruptly, Voice Four spoke in the tone of a commander giving an order: “Remove this person from this room, and from all contact with this area. Do not bring him back here for any reason without the consent of top authority!”

The removal that followed had only one delay in it. Voice Two reached to a wall, and grabbed what looked like a gray uniform. The coat part was flung at Gosseyn; and, as he caught it, the two men jumped forward, and slipped what seemed to be pajama bottoms over his lower legs.

Realizing that he was being given clothes, and that super-speed was demanded by Voice Four, Gosseyn hastily put on the “coat”. And then, literally, slid down into the legs of the “pants”.

As he adjusted them over his waist, the two men jammed something onto and around his feet, one man to a foot. Gosseyn had no time to examine what the “shoes” were like, or even to glance down at them. But they felt as if they were made of a thin, stretching rubber; and they tightened automatically over the foot and heel, and, in a sense, clamped into position.

By the time that awareness was in him, Gosseyn was being led rapidly—and unresisting—toward a door in one corner, and through that door into a narrow hallway.

Clearly, the next stage of whatever was to happen, was somewhere ahead.

Corridors—Gosseyn told himself—do not go on forever. And, since he still believed that he was on a spaceship, he felt entitled to anticipate that his two guards and he would presently arrive in another room. He presumed, further, that it would not simply be a residential room of the type found on a planet, where people lived in apartments and houses. For a location inside a spaceship—particularly, as he had reason to believe, a space warship—he expected that it would be another place where machinery was kept.

The first signal that, perhaps, the journey through the dimly lit metal hallway was about to end, was that Voice One and Voice Two slackened their rapid walking. And their gripping fingers on his arms slowed his walk, also. Naturally, he adjusted to the easier pace immediately. And, when moments later, they stopped before a barrier, he was not surprised when a hand reached past him, and touched something in the wall.

There was a click. And then the wall moved, and became a sliding door. There was brightness beyond. Gosseyn needed no urging. Even as they pushed at him, he stepped forward willingly. And there it was: a room.

It was a large room, with walls and ceiling of what seemed to be a glassy substance. The glass was opaque. The walls were light blue in color, and the ceiling a darker shade of blue. The floor that spread a good hundred feet in front of Gosseyn looked different.

A hundred long, and about seventy wide, of emptiness. No machinery was visible. No tables. No chairs. No equipment. The floor seemed to be made of some non-glassy material, but it was vaguely bluish in color and was decorated by an unusually intricate and repetitive design.

The deserted condition of what he had been brought to evoked a feeling of surprise. But there seemed to be nothing to do but await further communication.

Once more, Gosseyn waited. His captors had removed their hands from him. And so, tentatively, and slowly, Gosseyn took several steps forward thereby entering the room. No attempt was made to stop him. In fact, he was aware that Voice One and Voice Two had followed him, and were still on either side of him, as close as before.

It was Gosseyn who, after going forward half a dozen feet, came to a stop. He stood there. And it seemed to him that there was still no purpose he could have in this situation except a sort of re-affirmation of future purpose: keep finding out, if possible, what this big ship was and where it had come from. Provide only minimum clues about himself. Do nothing dramatic, or revealing, except in an emergency. But he didn’t know at the moment what he meant by an emergency.

With those limitations in mind, he parted his lips, intending to test if there were any communication outlets in the glassy stuff on either side or above.

And he actually, then, had time to say, “My impression is that I am being badly treated for no good reason. I should not be regarded as a pris—”

That was as far as he got. From the glassy ceiling, Voice Four interrupted, coldly: “You will presently receive the exact treatment that you deserve. In our predicament, we are entitled to be intensely suspicious when, after being precipitated to an unknown area of space, we find a capsule in that new location with you in it. And the fact that, on being awakened, you were immediately in communication with some distant alter ego makes you very suspect, indeed. Accordingly—” Pause; then: “Accordingly, we have brought you to this room, which we normally use for lectures, to be interviewed in the presence of our top specialists, who will determine your fate in not too many minutes.” Almost without pause, Four added commandingly to what were evidently subordinates. He said, “Take him to the podium!”

That last part, at least—it seemed to Gosseyn—had very little, or no reality. As he was led—he moved willingly, as before—across the intricately designed floor of that empty, empty “lecture” room, no podium was visible.

Except that when his guards and he were halfway to the far end of the room—where they seemed to be heading—the floor there suddenly moved.

Lifted. Silently raised itself about two feet. Simultaneously, a complex of movements began on the raised portion. Parts of the “podium” floor folded upward. Suddenly, there was a table taking shape, and chairs behind it. They faced towards the length of the room.

Several smaller movements between the platform and the floor produced a set of small steps.

Moments later, his guards and he came to the steps. And, since it seemed to be a destination, Gosseyn climbed them without a word. He thereupon also presumed his next move: without looking back, or awaiting instruction, he walked around the table, and sat down in the middle chair.

. . . Just in time to see the hundred feet of floor, over which he had just been escorted . . . start moving. Up.

It was no longer a complete surprise. As he gazed, interested, the intricate floor design was wordlessly explained. Each of the repetitive decorations, it quickly developed, was a folded-down chair. Which now folded up. And clicked into place.

Within a minute several hundred seats in the time-honored rows of auditoriums, theaters, and lecture rooms, were waiting out there in front of him for—

Click! click! click!

In three separate locations—back, middle and front—of both of the side walls, a wall section slid back. Through the six doorways, so swiftly created, trooped long lines of men. They were definitely all males, but differently arrayed than Voice One and Voice Two. In face and body they resembled his two guards. But their clothing was not puffed out. Was more streamlined, and uniformly gray.

And that, of course, was the clue: these were uniforms. Those who wore them must be military personnel.

Gosseyn held himself, unhappily, in his chair as the long lines of “top specialists”—he recalled the status as named by Voice Four—walked in through the six doors. Seemed to know where they were supposed to sit. And virtually, within a minute, were sitting there.

Staring at him.

. . . To be in a lecture room, sitting down at a table on the podium facing an audience: it was an earth stereotype for professors and other lecturers.

So it required a conscious mental effort on Gosseyn’s part to dismiss those automatic memory associations. It was not that the recollections of the stereotype took over his awareness; but they were there intruding, and interfering just enough to divert his attention from what, at another level of awareness, he believed was the hour of decision.

Voice Four had taken the big step. Thus, in a single action, the man was warding off responsibility for anything that might now occur, or be done.

In an autocracy, what Voice Four had done had to be close to the ultimate defense.

. . . Can I have any meaningful approach to what is about to happen? It was Gosseyn s silent question to himself.

Before he could analyze what such an approach might be, there was a sound to his right of a chair scraping. As Gosseyn turned to look, he saw that a large man, also in a gray uniform, was in the act of sitting down. At the moment—in that first look—there was no indication of where the new arrival had come from. Undoubtedly, another sliding door.

The big man had a square face, and a big, bushy head of brown hair sticking out from under the complicated head covering
he
wore. He must have been aware of Gosseyn’s glance. But he did not turn his head to acknowledge the look or the presence.

. . . Making sure, thought Gosseyn, cynical again, that no one, afterward, could accuse him in any way of treating the prisoner as a fellow human being.

The newcomer was clearly a key figure. For he raised his right hand and arm stiffly in front of him. Down there in the audience was surprisingly little shuffling, or sound. But if there had been, the authoritatively raised arm was clearly intended to stifle it.

After waiting several moments, apparently to make sure he had everyone’s attention, the big man parted his lips, and said in English: “In the name of his Divine Majesty, I call this meeting to order.”

For Gosseyn, it was a brief period of confusion. Because, English—spoken directly. At once, his earlier analysis of the source of the spoken English tongue (his belief that it came from the headgear, as a translation) was made meaningless.

That was only his first reaction and awareness. The second followed at the speed of thought. Because even word his seat mate had spoken, was loud, obviously intended for the audience to hear. But the voice that spoke the words was that of Voice Four.

So. . . no question; the analysis was off somewhere to one side of his thought: Voice Four was a somebody in the heirarchy that was confronting him in this determined fashion.

But, of course, the biggest revelation were the words:

. . In the name of his Divine Majesty—” There, finally, was the ultimate authority in this fantastic situation into which the third living Gilbert Gosseyn had been awakened. And, since everybody was being so careful, it was evident that “his majesty” operated in the grimmer regions of penalties and autocratic rule—

The tumble of thoughts in Gosseyn’s brain came to a pause. Because, suddenly, more was happening: out there on the floor, a rhythmic action. Every man in the audience leaped—virtually leaped—to his feet. Saluted. And sat down again.

Then there was complete quiet.

The speed of the entire sequence, from the moment the revealing words were vibrantly spoken to the final silence, left the one neutral listener essentially blank.

Not totally blank, of course. The meaning of “Divine Majesty” kept stirring associations. And there remained the fantastic fact that English was being spoken and understood by everyone. Yet, already, it was very apparent at this stage that any thought he could have on what had happened, would be speculation. And he had—it seemed to Gosseyn—already done enough of that.

Time, therefore, for his own verbal approach to these people . . . The first words he spoke, after he had had that decisive thought, were easy. Because: when in doubt throw the onus of—whatever (in this case, answers)—upon the other party.