The machines woke up first. Long lines of floating blasters sent their sizzling fire at the attackers. Automatically aimed weapons added their thunder to the bedlam. There were shrieks, and men went down by the hundreds. And now the camp was waking up. Cursing soldiers leaped to their feet and clutched hand weapons. Men with swinging clubs grappled them, and as the minutes lengthened there were more and more men with clubs. Above the melee of battle, the automatic weapons stuttered uncertainly, as if they were no longer sure of just where they should fire. As the sizzling of the blasters and the thunder of the weapons lessened, the sound of men cursing and grunting and breathing came clearer.
It was the awkwardness of the fighting, the close-in awkwardness of it, that suddenly enlightened Gosseyn.
“My God,” he said, “is that fight going on in darkness?”
The question was rhetorical, for he could see now the difference between daylight and the daylight out there. This was a scene of the night taken by radaric cameras. From behind him, Thorson said thickly, “That’s where all weapons fail. Darkness. Every man has a device for seeing in the night, but it takes power to operate it, and you have to fit it into place.” He moaned with anger. “It’s enough to drive you mad, to watch those stupid fools acting like all the stupid soldiers that ever were.”
He raved on for another minute, then stopped. There was silence behind Gosseyn, and then Thorson spoke in a much calmer voice.
“What am I getting heated up about?” he said. “That attack took place the first night. It happened in every camp established by our soldiers. It was devastating, because no one expected unarmed hordes to attack one of the best equipped armies in the galaxy.”
Gosseyn scarcely heard. He watched the battle with utter fascination. The attackers now numbered thousands. Their dead lay sometimes three deep stretching from every tree. But they were not alone. Here and there in that overwhelmed camp galactic soldiers were still struggling.
Hand blasters still flashed with an occasional murderous thrust, but as often as not, now, the wielder was a Venusian null-A.
In ten minutes more, there was no doubt of the result. And army of determined men with clubs had seized a modern military camp with all its equipment.
XXIX
As the victorious Venusians began to dig graves for the dead, Thorson reached over and switched off the video. The light in the apartment brightened. He glanced matter of factly at his watch.
“I’ve got less than an hour before Crang comes,” he said.
He stood for a moment, frowning, then motioned at the blank wall where the video scene had been so vividly pictured a moment before.
“Naturally,” he said, “we rushed in reinforcements and they made no attempt to attack cities. But that wasn’t their purpose. They wanted weapons, and they got them. This is the fourth day of the invasion. As of this morning, more than twelve hundred of our spaceships have been captured and another thousand destroyed, countless weapons, have been seized and turned against us, and some two million of our men killed. To accomplish that the Venusians have lost ten million people—five million killed and another five million injured. But in my judgment their worst losses are over, whereas”—gloomily—“ours are just beginning.”
He paused in the center of the room. His eyes were sullen. He chewed his lower lip savagely. At last darkly: “Gosseyn, it’s unheard of. There’s never been anything like it in the history of the galaxy. Conquered people or nations, even whole planetary groups, remain at home and the great mass always submits. They may hate the conqueror for a few generations, but if the propaganda is handled right, soon they take pride in their membership in a great empire.” He shrugged, muttered half to himself, “The tactics are routine.”
Gosseyn was thinking, “Ten million Venusian casualties in less than four days.” The figure was so enormous that he closed his eyes. Slowly, then, and grimly, he opened them again. He felt a great pride and a great sorrow. The philosophy of null-A was justified, proved, honored by its dead. As one man, Venusians had realized the situation, and without agreement, with no pre-planning or warning, had done what was necessary. It was a victory for sanity that would surely leave its impress on every thoughtful man in the universe. Out there on the planets of other stars, men of good will must exist in very large numbers.
Gosseyn made an automatic estimate of how many billions of honest men there would be. The figures startled him, altered the flow of his thought. He stared at Thorson with narrowed eyes.
“Just a moment,” he said slowly. “What are you trying to put over? How could a galactic empire with more soldiers than there are people in the solar system be defeated in four days? Why shouldn’t they be able to supply virtually endless armies and if necessary exterminate every null-A on Venus?”
The expression on Thorson’s face was sardonic. “That,” he said, “was what I was talking about a little while ago.”
Without taking his gaze from Gosseyn’s face, the big man drew up a chair and sat down astride it, leaning his elbows on the back. There was an intentness in his manner that left no doubt of the importance of what he was about to say. He spoke finally, softly.
“My friend, think of it this way. The Greatest Empire—that is a literal translation, by the way, of the original word—is a member of a Galactic League. The other members outnumber us three to one, but we are the largest single power that has ever existed in time and space. Nevertheless, because of our League obligations, we can act only within certain limitations. We are signatories to treaties which forbid the use of a Distorter as we used it against the Machine. The treaties forbid the use of atomic energy except as a source of power and for a few other specified purposes. We destroyed the Machine with atomic torpedoes. True, they were very small ones, but atomic nonetheless. In the League lexicon, the greatest crime of all is genocide. If you kill five per cent of a population, that’s war. If you kill ten per cent, that’s slaughter, and subject to indemnities if you are convicted before the League. If you kill twenty per cent or twenty million, whichever is the greater, that is genocide. If that is proved against you, the government of the power involved is declared outlaw, and all those responsible have to be delivered to the League for trial and execution, if convicted. An automatic state of war exists until the terms have been carried out.”
Thorson paused, a humorless smile on his face. Jerkily he climbed to his feet and paced the floor. He stopped finally.
“Perhaps you are beginning to realize the problem that the Venusians have created for us here. In another week, if we continue fighting, we will all be subject to extreme penalties, with an alternative of war on the vastest scale.”
His smile became grimmer. “Naturally,” he said, “we shall continue the war until I see my way clear in this situation. And that, my friend, is where you come in.”
The problem of himself came to the fore again as swiftly as that.
Gosseyn sank slowly back into his chair. He was puzzled, but he was suffering an emotional reaction that prevented thought. His body ached with anger and hatred for the galactic empire that was playing the game of power politics with human lives. He felt a consuming need to give of himself, to share in the great sacrifice that had been made, to offer his life as freely as others had offered theirs. The desire to be at one with the people of Venus was almost overpowering.
Almost. Consciously, cortically, he drew away from that death impulse. What was right for them was not necessarily right for him. It was the very essence of null-A that no two situations were the same. He was Gilbert Gosseyn II, possessor of the only extra brain in the universe. His purpose must be to remain alive and develop his special mind.
And that was what was puzzling here. Theoretically, there was no chance at all for a prisoner to accomplish any purpose of his own. But Thorson’s very frankness seemed to offer hope.
Whatever it was, he would have to accept it and somehow turn it to his own advantage.
He saw that Thorson was still staring down
at him, a somber expression on his face now. The big man said slowly, “What I don’t understand, Gosseyn, is where do you fit into this picture?”
He looked puzzled. “You were shoved onto the scene, almost literally, on the eve of the attack. Ostensibly, your appearance was designed to stop the invasion. I admit you delayed us, but not for long. In the final issue you seem to have served no useful purpose. The attack has been defeated not because of anything you did but because of the philosophy of a race.”
He stopped. His head tilted very sharply to the right in an unconscious but expressive hesitation. He seemed absorbed in the problem at hand. When he spoke again, his voice was husky.
“And yet—and yet, there must be a connection. Gosseyn, how do you explain the co-existence of unique null-A and unique you in an otherwise ordinary universe? Wait! Don’t answer! Let me show you the picture as I see it. First, we gave you death, not because we particularly wanted to, but because it seemed easier to kill you when you escaped than to bother with you. That was bad. Even thinking in such terms showed on what a narrow basis we were making our identifications.
“When Prescott reported that you had reappeared on Venus, at first I refused to believe it. I ordered Crang to find you, and then, because I wanted your co-operation, I had Prescott play that little game of appearing to help you escape. It provided an opportunity for getting rid of Lavoisseur and Hardie, and through Dr. Kair we found out something about your extra brain. You will have to forgive our methods because we were so upset when you appeared in a second body.
“Immortality!” He was leaning forward, his eyes slightly distended, as if he were re-experiencing an emotion that had rocked the foundations of his being. He seemed unaware that he had given away “X’s” real name. Lavoisseur! Gosseyn recalled having heard the name somewhere, but the connection was vague. Thorson went on, “Somebody had discovered the secret of human immortality. An immortality that is proof even against accidents. That is”—he paused contemptuously—“except the kind of accidents that can happen to bodies on Earth, where outsiders and their weapons have access everywhere.”
Thorson paused, and looked keenly at Gosseyn. “You’ll be interested to know where we found the body of Gosseyn III. Frankly, I was always a little suspicious of Lavoisseur. Just because he had that accident, I didn’t quite see him turning against his old work and joining up with the enemies of null-A. So I paid a visit to the Semantic building on Korzybski Square and—”
He stopped again, tantalizingly, this time. And Gosseyn gasped, “It was there?”He didn’t wait for the answer. His mind had leaped on, beyond those words, to a new comprehension. “Lavoisseur!” he said. “I didn’t get the name before. You mean ‘X’ was Lavoisseur, head of the Semantics Institute?”
“His accident was publicized two years ago when it happened,” said Thorson. “Very few people knew how bad it had been. But that’s unimportant now. What matters is, there was your third body. The scientists in charge swore it was brought in only a week before and that it was supposed to be held for the Games Machine. They said they’d called the Machine in a routine fashion and verified that it would send a truck for it in a week or so. But when I found it, it was still in its case. I didn’t intend to destroy the body but when my men tried to get it out of its—container, the damned thing blew up.”
He pulled up the chair again, and sank into it heavily. He seemed unaware of the action, for he did not take his gaze from Gosseyn’s face. He said in a ringing voice, “That’s the picture, my friend. I assure you there was a Gosseyn III. I saw him with my own eyes, and he looked exactly like you and exactly like Gosseyn I. Seeing that third body of yours decided me to take the great personal gamble of my career.”
The statement seemed to relieve him, as if by putting his decision into words he had made it final. Thorson shifted in his chair, and leaned confidentially closer.
“Gosseyn, I don’t know just how much you know. I have assumed, a great deal.” He added ironically, “I have not been blind to the eagerness with which other people for reasons of their own have given you information. However, they don’t count.” He waved his right hand with a large gesture that dismissed others with finality. “Gosseyn, what I told you a moment ago about League regulations is true enough. But, as you have probably guessed, all that doesn’t matter.” He paused, nevertheless, with the air of a man about to reveal a secret. “Those treaties were deliberately broken.” He planted his feet solidly on the floor. He said darkly, “Enro is weary of the vaporings of the League. He wants war on the largest scale, and he has specifically given me instructions to exterminate the people of null-A Venus as a deliberate provocation.”
He finished quietly, “Because of you I have decided not to carry out his orders.”
Gosseyn had mentally watched it coming. From his first words, the big man had concentrated on the mystery of Gilbert Gosseyn. His own problem, his own duties had been incidentally brought in for purposes of clarification and explanation. And the tremendous, the almost incredible thing was that, unknowingly, Thorson had at last provided a reason for the appearance of so many Gosseyns on this vast canvas of events. The leader of an irresistible war mechanism, geared for unlimited destruction, had been turned aside from his purpose. His mind’s eye was focused beyond the normal realities of his life, and the vision of immortality on which he gazed blinded him to all else. There were still loose ends, still blurs in that picture—but it was to divert this man from his goal that Gosseyn had been brought back to life. There was no doubt, either, as to where Thorson’s logic was taking him.
“Gosseyn, we’ve got to find the cosmic chess player. Yes, I said ‘we.’ Whether you realize it or not, you have to be in on this search. The reasons are weighty, both personal and general. It cannot have escaped you that you’re only a pawn, an incomplete version of the original. No matter how much you develop, you can probably never know who you are and what is the real purpose of the person behind you. And, Gosseyn, you must realize that he was only temporarily caught off base. Wherever he gets these additional bodies, you can be sure that he needs you for a short time only while he puts others into—production. It sounds inhuman, I know, but there’s no point in fooling yourself. Whatever you do now, whatever success you attain, in a very short time you’ll be scheduled for the scrap pile. And because of the accident that happened to Gosseyn III, it just may be that the life memories of I and II will be lost.”
The big man’s face was a study in calculation, in a tensed anticipation of action about to be taken. He said in a harsh voice, “Naturally, I am prepared to pay a price for your assistance. I won’t destroy null-A. I will use no atomic energy. I break with Enro, or at least keep him in the dark as long as possible. I fight a holding war here only, and restrict the slaughter. All that I am prepared to pay for your voluntary co-operation. If we have to force your help, then I am not bound. The only question, accordingly, that remains is”—the gray-green eyes were like burning pools—“are you going to help us willingly or unwillingly? Help us you shall!”
Because of his realization of what was coming, Gosseyn had had time to decide, and time to think of some of the implications. He said now without hesitation, “Willingly, of course. But I hope you realize the initial step must be to train my extra brain. Are you prepared to carry your logic to that limit?”
Thorson was on his feet. He came over and patted Gosseyn on the shoulder. “I’m way ahead of you,” he said in a ringing voice. “Listen, we’ve rigged up a transporter system between here and Earth. Crang should be here any minute with Dr. Kair. Prescott won’t be here till tomorrow, because he’s to be in charge on Venus, and so for the benefit of our Earth supporters he had to come by spaceship. But—”
There was a knock on the door. It opened and Dr. Kair came in, followed by Crang. Thorson waved at them, and Gosseyn stood up and a moment later silently shook hands with the psychiatrist. He was aware of Thorson and Crang talking together in low tones. Then the big man walked over t
o the door.
“I’ll leave you three to talk over the details at your leisure. Crang tells me there’s a major revolution started on Earth, so I’ve got to get back to the palace to direct the fighting.”
The door closed behind him.
XXX
In the elder days of Art,
Builders wrought with greatest care
Each minute and unseen part,
For the Gods see everywhere.
W. W. L.
“It will be,” said Dr. Kair, “a battle of wits. And I’ll bet on the extra brain.”
They had been talking for more than an hour, with Crang interjecting only an occasional remark. Gosseyn watched the hazel-eyed man from the corner of his eyes, puzzled and uncertain. According to Kair, it was Crang who had found and arrested him. The man, of course, had to appear to be a Thorson man, but he was acting out his role the hard way. Gosseyn decided not to ask him about Patricia Hardie. Not yet, anyway. He saw that Kair was standing up.
“No use wasting time,” the psychiatrist said. “I understand that galactic technicians have been rigging up a special room for you. The training should not be difficult with all the equipment they have here.” He shook his head wonderingly. “It’s still hard for me to grasp that they’ve got several square miles of underground buildings here, with only Crang’s tree house as a front. But to get back to what I was saying.” He frowned thoughtfully. “The main point is, if we’re right, your extra brain is an organic Distorter, and all that that implies. With the help of the mechanical Distorter, you should be able to similarize two small blocks of wood in three or four days, and that will be the beginning.”
The World of Null-A n-1 Page 18
