He put his cup down, and gazed at the leader, who, he saw, was sipping liquid from the glass that had been set for him. Gosseyn shook his head at the alien.
“I find it difficult,” he said, “to visualize such a leadership system in relation to important matters. Apparently, back in your own galaxy, the self-appointed super-leader evidently maintains a state of continuous warfare against the Dzan humans.”
Another one of those pauses. All the other Troog eyes stared at their leader expectantly.
Gosseyn waited, as one shoulder of the big body below that head made a movement that could have been described as a shrug. The small mouth said:
“Our Great One,” said the ship leader, “ordered the lesser race to submit itself to his commands.”
Pause. Silence. Finally: “When was this ultimatum given?” Gosseyn asked.
The huge eyes stared at him; and there was a small note of surprise from the voice that issued from the little mouth: “No one has ever asked that question before.”
There were so many implications in the reply that Gosseyn almost literally had to control consciously the wild way his thoughts leaped in every direction. Finally, with a gulp: “Was the ultimatum already in force when you were born?”
“Y-yes!” The hesitation this time was followed by sounds from other Troogs.
He was getting answers, so Gosseyn did not waste time.
“We, here in the Milky Way galaxy, were surprised to discover, when we went out into space, that human beings of various color combinations, inhabited most of the habitable planets—everywhere!
“Recently—” he continued—“we learned that we are descendants of long ago immigrants from your galaxy. The story was that some malignant energy field was moving in upon that galaxy. At the time millions of small spacecraft were constructed. Each contained two men and two women in a state of suspended animation and with life support systems for the long journey from your galaxy to this one.
“Now, with the arrival of the Dzan battleship and your battleship, we deduce that those persons who stayed behind, because there were not enough spacecraft to transport everybody—that, I repeat, those who remained were not destroyed, as was believed would happen.”
He drew a deep breath, and concluded, “Have you any explanation for the fact that, apparently, two human races—the Troogs and those who are like us here—survived the threatening catastrophe?”
Silence. They were staring.
It was no time to stop. Gosseyn pressed on: “When I look at you, Mr. Leader, and your colleagues, who are sitting here in this room with you, I see a human shape that appears to have been modified from the original standard human like myself. You are mutants. It would seem, then, that it was your ancestors who were caught in that cloud of malignant energies.
“And, of course,” he finished, “by the defensive mechanism, well-known in psychology, you thereupon concluded that what had happened made you superior; and here you are calling yourself the people who matter.” The leader was staring upward, seemingly at the wall behind Gosseyn. And the other Troogs were staring at him.
Abruptly, then—action! A Troog, whose body was easily the largest at the table, stood up—almost leaped up, actually (his chair scraped noisily)—and said in an almost yelling voice:
“Veen, you are no longer qualified to be leader. So I, Yona, appoint myself leader in your place!”
There was no sound from the alien, who had so suddenly been identified by name. He seemed to sink down in his chair; and, what was sensational, did not argue with the evaluation of him by his fellow Troog. Apparently, it was unwise, in this super-competitive society, to be surprised or caught off guard.
So Gilbert Gosseyn Three was now an individual who had been instrumental in overthrowing a Troog leader. There would be repercussions; and, in such a logical society, it would be interesting to see what they were.
CHAPTER
26
Sitting there, Gosseyn had a sudden surge of hope. At once, he addressed the new leader, while the alien was still standing there in his moment of triumph.
“I’m now deducing,” Gosseyn said, “that this entire dinner, and what happened here, has been broadcast to the crew and officers of your ship. And so they are now aware that . . . (brief hesitation)—Yona is now the appointed leader of this battleship.”
If it were possible, the little mouth of the huge man tightened in what, in a human being, would have been a belligerent firming of the jaw section.
“That is true.” The alien’s tone had a challenging tone as if he dared anyone to criticize.
Gosseyn leaned back in his chair once more. This time it was not a relaxing action—he realized. The thought that the new leader’s verification brought was too huge.
At this instant—that was the sudden awareness—all the way down the line of subordinate leadership, and their waiting-to-pounce aides, Troogs would be thinking what they, as individuals, should do to fit into the new situation.
The astonishing thing, then was, he was so busy trying to analyze what might be happening, that other intruding thoughts did not penetrate until, suddenly, a directed message came on the mental yelling intensity:
“. . . Mr. Gosseyn Three—” It was the mental voice of Gosseyn Two—“I’ve been getting your thoughts for at least thirty seconds, now; and you’re still so concentrated on your own situation that you haven’t received mine . . . Wake up! We’re connected again?”
In that dim lit earth-style dining room Gosseyn Three straightened in his chair. He was conscious of relief but, at the same time, did not lose momentum in what was happening in front of him.
He directed one, quick, mental message to his alter ego: “Bear with me, brother!”
To Yona, who was still standing, he said, “I hope that you will accept the offer I have made, of total cooperation.”
The big man looked at him grimly. “We have your promise that you will do what you can to help us get back to our home galaxy?”
“One hundred percent cooperation,” said Gosseyn. “Do you have any explanation”—it was an accusing tone, still—“of how all this happened?”
It was obvious from the aggressiveness of the question that the new Troog leader was clearly trying to maintain his momentum of control.
Let him! There was nothing to be gained by opposing him.
Gosseyn said cautiously, “Sir, whatever I can do—you give the orders.”
. . I’m really sucking up—” he thought. But his belief was that he had done all the attacking that was necessary on Leader Veen; and what he needed now was to benefit from the transfer of power to the self-appointed Yona.
Somewhere off to one side of his mind, he was also wondering if anything else in his favor had already been done somewhere down the chain of Troog command: he presumed that all that had resulted would not immediately be apparent Yona seemed to stiffen. His tone seemed even grimmer, as he said, “Obviously, cooperation involves trust on both sides. So—” accusingly—“what do you expect to gain in this situation?”
What bothered Gosseyn about the question was the instant impression it imparted of being a parrying for time; as if the new leader did not quite know exactly what to do next. How to answer. What program to propose.
And the Troog leadership system did not allow for delays or inadequacies. Yona needed help—now!
“In the long run,” Gosseyn said glibly, “I hope for personal freedom, with good will on your side, and continuing communication.”
He broke off: “But right now I would like to have you call a a special meeting that I can talk to. Since I want to explain the exact situation—as you requested a few minutes ago, the audience should include your top officers and best scientists. And I would also like to have present my human associates, whom—I gather—you have aboard.”
He continued, “Naturally, you will, during such a talk, exercise all the necessary security to ensure that no one is endangered.
“And—” he concluded
hopefully—“it is my belief that, after my explanations, we will all be in a position to go on to make final decisions, and take final actions.”
As, once more, he leaned back in his chair, his feeling was that for the time being, at least, he had saved the entire situation—for Yona, for himself, for the captive human beings, and for all the down-the-line sub-leaders.
Was it possible that a General Semanticist could survive in the incredible Troog competitive psychological environment?
CHAPTER
27
It was as strange a lecture meeting as, surely, any earth-man had ever attended: eighteen guests—eight of them Troogs. And the other ten, besides himself, were human beings who had played key roles in this entire affair of inter-galactic transport: Enro, Leej, the Crangs, the Prescotts, plus Breemeg and the three scientists from the Dzan battleship.
Interesting that even those persons present, who were familiar with General Semantics, believed that they were now going to hear new General Semantics’ data: information or analysis that transcended what they normally would have considered to be adequate knowledge of the subject.
What astonished Gosseyn Three, as he stood there on the platform of that small auditorium in front of the unique gathering, was his belief that their expectation was correct.
He had, not exactly new data, but new awareness . . . And he actually parted his lips to begin his account when—a hand and arm raised up in the second row.
It was Enro the Red. The big man’s hair, as usual, looked only partly combed, and his face was twisted into the now familiar, cynical smile.
Standing there, Gosseyn had a feeling that General Semantics would not be a factor in what the other was about to say; but surprisingly it was.
Enro began: “I’ve been getting second-hand information on this system of thinking; and so let’s see if you and I can resolve the issue of who marries the mother of the emperor of the Dzan by reasoning the matter in terms of General Semantics.
“The way I visualize this reasoning method,” Enro went on, before Gosseyn could say anything, “is that General Semantics requires an individual to take the larger view; that is, to include all the possible factors.”
“That,” said Gosseyn, “sounds as if you have heard at least a part of the system.”
“For example,” said Enro, “recently, I sentenced a former aide to twenty years in prison for being too busy with his own affairs instead of doing his job. Now, I’m sure that if he had taken into account what it would feel like to be in jail for twenty years, he undoubtedly would not be there today. Similarly, I believe if you were to take into account all the aspects of our future relationship you would realize that the emperor’s mother should marry me.”
He paused, perhaps to catch his breath; and Gosseyn said politely: “First, the subject matter is very probably a matter you and I should discuss privately. Second, I have a feeling the lady will probably have her own map of the situation; and, thirdly, I have a feeling you have not taken into consideration some of the factors which I am now about to describe.”
The cynical face gazed up at him . . . cynically. “I’m listening,” said the great man.
“Thank you,” said Gosseyn, politely.
But, somehow, it was no longer quite the same meeting. People were exchanging glances. Even the Troogs seemed to be less relaxed.
—The “realities” underlying existence or non-existence, is not a concern of General Semantics (said Gosseyn in his lecture.)
General Semantics begins by accepting what is perceivable, and operates within the frame of what every normal human, animal, or insect can perceive by way of the perceptive system of each individual.
But the Gosseyn extra-brain seems to function on the “level” of the underlying nothingness. For the extrabrain, operating with 20-decimal similarity, there is no distance, no time, no universe . . . at the no-time that the extra-brain manifests.
It is agreed (said Gosseyn) that the universe cannot possibly exist. There is no explanation for it. Simply and directly, it just cannot be.
Yet—here it is, around us, through us, and stretching out . . . scientists say . . . to an enormous but finite distance in every direction.
That ought to be something to perceive, where that “finite distance” “ends.”
A definition of “nothingness” (said Gosseyn) does not refer to a condition of emptiness. In short, it does not mean an empty space, large or small. It does not even consist of a dot, or a mathematical point.
Nothingness is . . . nothing.
It is non-existence, non-being, without time or space . . . nothing.
It has been estimated (continued Gosseyn) that there are three thousand languages spoken on earth alone. Inside all those visible heads—observable on the level of consciousness where perception operates—is a neural structure arranged so that each individual could, if he were educated, express all possible nuances of observation and philosophy available for that language.
A normal Gosseyn similarization action merely moves the individual from one location to another. Such a twenty-decimal transmission normally takes him as he is and moves him—as he is. No internal structural transformation takes place.
However, the Dzan battleship, and all its personnel, were not simply moved from one location, as memorized by the Gosseyn extra-brain, to another memorized location.
They came to Gosseyn direct, as if he were the location to be arrived at. And the reason there was no collision between the huge ship and the small capsule (which contained the Gosseyn body) was because the great vessel had automatic energy barriers and screens that prevented it from striking objects in space.
Nevertheless, the basic similarization process was not cancelled. The Gosseyn extra-brain, which operated within the nothingness of the universe, was, of course, the activating force, and therefore was not a part of the neural similarization of a portion of the rest of the Gosseyn brain.
And so, the brain of each arriving Dzanian was transformed on the various levels that were most closely connected to the extra-brain. This included all the neural structures involving language—because they were actively receiving messages from Gosseyn Two.
But the messages themselves were stored in a different part of the normal brain.
. . . So the Dzanian—and later the Troogs—instantly had the language neural complexes of their brains slightly altered. The original Dzanian—and Troogan—language neural pattern was shifted over to an equivalent in English.
At twenty decimal speed: instantly . . .
Neither personality, nor education, nor information of any kind, was involved.
The English language of Gilbert Gosseyn Three . . . was!
And now (Gosseyn concluded his lecture) are there any questions?
. . . Enro presently raised his hand, and his sister translated his words: “It has been my observation that women are even more elite-minded than men; and in that connection I have furnished the emperor’s mother with visual materials that will show her my palaces on Gorgzid . . .”
Gosseyn Two’s faraway thought came: “I think you should find out what those visual materials consist of besides pictures of palaces—”
“Maybe another little distorter, you mean?” Gosseyn Three replied.
“At least,” said his alter ego.
“Under the circumstances,” said Gosseyn Three, “I think—”
After a pause, and a careful effort at concentration, so that there would be no mistake, he 20-decimaled Enro into the capsule, to which the Troogs had brought the Gosseyn Three body after a number of initial experiments.
It should be an interesting interim problem for Enro to deal with; so it seemed to Gosseyn Three; and there seemed to be no objecting thought out there in remote space . . .
CHAPTER
28
Back on 26th century earth; all of the human beings except Enro . . .
Gosseyn, who had done the twenty-decimal transmitting of everyone, was the last to
arrive. As he straightened from his arrival position, he saw that the others were waiting for him: the women were already seated in the chairs and on the couch, and the men were standing.
They had all been instructed—again—to leave the location of arrival quickly; and they had obviously done so.
He grew aware that President Blayney was on the phone, saying at that moment: “. . . And get over here at once!”
As Blayney replaced the receiver moments later, he saw Gosseyn. “It’s fifteen minutes after twelve noon,” he said: “I’ve been missing for three days.”
He added, “My security people will be here in a few minutes.”
Gosseyn said, “That’s interesting information, sir.”
He wondered what day it was in relation to when Enin and he had originally arrived. But actually that was incidental.
Quietly but quickly, he walked over and glanced into the bedroom he had shared with the young emperor. Empty. But the bed was unmade.
Moments later, he saw that the other bedroom was also unoccupied.
Swiftly, he strode over to the hall door, and opened it. Addressing Eldred Crang, who stood beside his wife—the former Patricia Hardie was sitting in the chair nearest the door—Gosseyn said, “I’m going up front to talk to the caretaker. I’ll be right back.”
Crang seemed to realize his concern. “I’m guessing they’ll be all right,” he said. “There’s no sign of violence around here.”
He added, “I think it’s still basically you they’re after.” Gosseyn said, “Thank you.” And went out into the wide hallway of the empty shell of a building that had been the Institute of General Semantics.
A minute later, after he had rung the caretaker s doorbell several times, there was that wrinkled face and those sneaky eyes looking up at him; and presently showing comprehension of his question.
“They went out to eat.” The face twisted. “That friend of yours must have brought some woman in here; because that’s who he and the boy went out with.” He finished in a disapproving tone: “Dressed strange, if you ask me—that woman.”
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