Null-A Three

by A. E. van Vogt

  Gosseyn, remembering the young Interstellar Marriage Club’s Strella and her wraparound dress, but already feeling relieved by the information, said, “Probably one of the new styles.”

  He cautioned: “You’d better get organized. The president’s personal guard will be here shortly.”

  “Huh!”

  During the seconds that the caretaker stood there absorbing what seemed to be a feeling of shock, Gosseyn’s eyes turned slightly, and located a spot on the carpeted floor half a dozen feet beyond the twisted shoulder nearest him.

  He made his extra-brain mental photograph of the floor surface just inside the alcove, paying no attention to the room beyond—but fleetingly aware that it was probably the living room of the caretaker’s apartment. Then: “Thank you,” he said politely.

  As he stepped back, the door closed with a click. Gosseyn turned and walked away. That was in case he was being watched through a peephole.

  He counted to thirty because it would take a minute or so for the older man to get to the phone. Made a mental picture of the corridor floor in that location. And then he did his twenty decimal jump to the alcove position.

  As he grew aware again, he heard the caretaker’s voice saying: “Tell Mr. Gorrold that. . . that fellow Gosseyn is back.”

  He seemed to be listening to a reply because, after a few moments more, his voice spoke an acknowledgment: “All right, all right.”

  At that point Gosseyn made his jump back to the hallway location, and returned to the apartment.

  As he entered Blayney was shaking hands with the men, and bowing to the women. His back was to Gosseyn as he said, “Anything you need, I’ll be in touch with Mr. Gosseyn.”

  As he finished speaking, he turned and saw Gosseyn, came over, and said. “You can get through to me any time. And I suggest—” his tone was suddenly grim—“until we get those people out of this galaxy, we’d better stay in touch, and on the ball.”

  Gosseyn said, “Sir, Mr. Crang and I will walk you to the front door.”

  Outside in the hallway, he made his only comment on Blayney’s admonition; “I’m sure that at this moment nobody can guarantee how all this is going to come out. Just about everybody is primarily and with total determination concerned with his own situation.” With that, as they walked along, he asked a question that Gosseyn Two, out there on the Dzan battleship, wanted an answer to.

  Blayney was amused.

  “We picked up, and stored, all the jewels and precious metals,” he said. “What’s left is this uneven floor surface and the torn walls.”

  Gosseyn said, “I’m still hoping it can be rebuilt; and although I, personally, never saw any of the valuables, I gather that what you’re saying is that they were never disposed of; never sold at auction, or to individual collectors.”

  “They’re in a government security building.”

  Gosseyn said, “My brother out there in space would like to have them available again. He thinks they should be returned to their legal owner: a rebuilt institute.” Blayney’s strong face relaxed into a faint smile. “It’s a very complicated subject,” he said, “I’ll think about what’s best, from my point of view.”

  As, a minute later, Crang opened the front door, a roboplane was sinking to the pavement fifty feet away. As it touched the surface, a door opened, and a dozen uniformed men leaped down. They loped over and took up position beside the door. In the time-honored fashion, each man clicked his heels, and snapped his hand up to a salute.

  A smiling Blayney acknowledged the salute; and then stood there with Gosseyn and Crang another four minutes before five gleaming limousines came charging down the street and through the gate into the Institute grounds. More men leaped out.

  And, evidently, the time had come.

  Blayney turned to Gosseyn. “Do you want me to have Dr. Kair brought over to you?”

  With so many observers present, Gosseyn made his reply formal: “No, Mr. President. I’m sure I should go over to his office. That, if anywhere, is where the earlier brain photographs will be, and the equipment to deal with the situation.”

  “Very good. But don’t waste any time.”

  “I understand, sir. We don’t want any more incidents, or three day absences.”

  “Exactly right.”

  As moments later, he watched the beautiful machines drive off, what bothered Gosseyn was: it seemed too easy.

  All those violent people out there were being held motionless, so to say, by some equivalent of a psychological trap they were in. There was Enro, the only human being left aboard the Troog warship because, if he were free, he could launch his huge fleet against anyone.

  So there he was, apparently a prisoner, but actually in touch with his admiral who—if the prisoner were harmed—would know it instantly. It was presumed that, in such an eventuality, the great space fleet would at once attack and destroy the alien vessel.

  Therefore, the Troogs, out-numbered thousands to one, would—so it was believed—restrain themselves from doing anything harmful; in fact, that was the agreement.

  Here on earth, the outward appearance was that he and the others had the support of President Blayney and all his forces. It was hard to credit that the Big Business people, who were opposed to the rebuilding of the Institute and the Games Machine, would act in some violent fashion during the next two hours.

  “. . . So I can go and see Dr. Kair—”

  That was what Yona had agreed to; and, since no Troog had objected sufficiently to try a self-appointment leadership gambit, evidently all the way down the chain of Troog command there was silent acceptant agreement that something had to be done.

  And, of course, here on earth was Breemeg and the trio of scientists from the Dzan battleship, each thinking their private thoughts; but having to bide their time.

  As Crang and he walked back toward the apartment, Gosseyn told the Venusian detective the words he had overheard the caretaker speak on the phone to someone in Gorrold’s office.

  He concluded unhappily, “My first thought is, it looks as if, when Gorrold thought it over—as he said he would do—he finally decided to get involved again.”

  CHAPTER

  29

  All those minutes, while walking along the corridor, Gosseyn had been aware of his alter ego . . . off there, in the remoteness of space, aboard the Dzan battleship. And, because of what was happening, he now addressed the other Gosseyn:

  “So far I haven’t killed anybody.”

  “Lucky you!” came the reply. “You didn’t have to fight off Enro’s attack on Venus.”

  Thus reminded of Enro, Gosseyn Three commented: “He’s up there, now, on the Troog battleship.”

  The reply had in it a satirical overtone: “I have a feeling that when Enro was telling you about his understanding of General Semantics, about taking all possibilities into account, he believed he knew how to do that better than anyone. But—” smile impression—“I’m deducing he forgot about your ability.” A mental shrug; then: “I say, good riddance.” The faraway communication concluded: “Remember, as things stand, the emperor’s mother is all yours—no competition now.”

  “It’s interesting,” said Gosseyn Three, “that he never said a word when he discovered he was to be the hostage.”

  The reply was the equivalent of a mental shrug: “I couldn’t care less.” He added, “And while I’m still here on the ship I’ll see if I can get hold of those visual materials Enro gave to your future bride.”

  That was obviously a good purpose. The material should very definitely be examined. But Gosseyn Three was remembering something else.

  “I doubt,” he said “if we can dispose of Enro in any casual fashion.” He added, “Remember, you and the others used his ESP ability when you attempted the big jump. We’ll need him again for that.”

  “We can worry about that later,” was the reply. “As I see it, it’s to Enro’s advantage to participate. We can trust him to continue his scheming.”

  Go
sseyn Three, who had paused to take his extrabrain photograph of the electrical outlet, and then walked hastily forward to rejoin Crang, spoke mentally again to Gosseyn Two: “Are you sure that kind of dismissal is wise? He’s the get-even type, and I see him just biding his time until he can hit somebody. We need to figure out a way to mollify him.”

  He sensed a grim smile from the other Gosseyn. The message was: “Tell Eldred to watch out when Enro is finally let go. I’m sure Enro is still scheming to marry, in the Gorgzid royal tradition, the sister whom we knew as Patricia Hardie, and who is now Mrs. Crang.”

  It was Gosseyn Three’s turn to smile. “That analysis implies that you’re hopeful that things will work out here. You think I can do what everybody’s counting on.”

  The reply was straightforward: “We’re all trusting that the solution is buried somewhere in the damaged nerve ends in your extra-brain. We hope Dr. Kair can use the pictures he has of my brain to fix up yours. Or, at least, that he will be able to tell you the exact problem. The aftermath we’ll face when we come to it.”

  At that point in his silent interchange with Gosseyn

  Two, there was an interruption. Beside him, Crang said, “The fellow just saw us, and he stepped back out of sight.”

  Gosseyn sighed. “Too bad. So now it looks like a crisis coming, and that he is somebody’s hireling.” Crang said grimly, “And, for good measure, a man, a woman, and a boy have just come out of the building two doors beyond the two-storey building, and they’re coming this way.”

  Gosseyn made no additional comment, nor did he glance in the direction indicated. His attention was on the roof of the two-storey structure, where the man was now crouching behind the small abutment that overlooked the street; whoever he was, he was peering over, and down.

  Since he was keeping his head visible, he was evidently assuming that no one would be suspicious of his motive for being there; and, of course, since it was still possible that his suspicious actions did not really portend anything, nothing could be done against him until he made a significant move.

  Beside Gosseyn, Crang said, “You may be interested to know that the name of the restaurant is the owner’s idea of what General Semantics is all about: plain talk; telling it like it is.”

  It was one of those comments that men make to each other in moments of stress. So it was no problem to stay alert, and simultaneously reply. “Eating House?” Gosseyn spoke the name with a faint smile, but did not for an instant cease watching the man on the roof.

  “Here he was,” continued Crang’s voice from beside him, “with the only restaurant near the famous Institute of General Semantics, a subject having to do with the meaning of meaning; and so he evidently thought about it, and came up with another over-simplification.” They had crossed the park by the time those words were uttered, and were coming to a store with the sign: BUY YOUR SEMANTICS MEMENTOS HERE.

  Further along that street, Enin had seen them; for he waved. Gosseyn said, “In terms of to-me-ness, I thought the food there was good.”

  On the roof, the man’s hand came into view. The hand was holding a round, metal object. He raised the ball-like thing above his head.

  Gosseyn took his extra-brain mental photograph of the metal object; and as he did so, was thinking: “He’s planning to throw it as we all come near each other.” And still he could not take any counter-measure until the act of throwing took place.

  “And here,” said Crang beside him, “is a store offering video games that teach General Semantics.” Gosseyn said, “I was wondering what had happened to those. We’d better buy all that are available to take back with us to the Dzan battleship for Enin, and—” he added—“any other educational video games we can find, because—”

  . . . On the roof, the hand was moving forward in the throwing act; and there was no such thing as waiting any longer. As he acted, Gosseyn’s feeling of regret was strong. Because electricity on the move was all too visible. This particular movement came from the socket a hundred and Fifty feet away in the form of a lightning bolt; and there was no possible way of modifying its impact.

  The details of what happened were not even clear to Gosseyn, although he was the only witness; and he was watching closely.

  The metal ball—as he observed the scene—was already in motion when the lightning bolt corruscated against it. The ball exploded not more than four or five feet from the hand that had thrown it from the roof; but that was evidently too close.

  The man screamed, and fell back out of sight.

  It was one of those small periods of time of several things happening almost simultaneously.

  Enin came running forward, and grabbed Gosseyn around the waist, yelling, “Gee, Mr. Gosseyn, I’m sure glad to see you.”

  Dan Lyttle was looking up toward the roof of the two-storey building. “What was all that?” he asked in a puzzled tone.

  The young woman, Strella, also spoke to Gosseyn: “Thank you for sending me here.” She took hold of Dan Lyttle’s arm in a possessive way. “It’s going to work out.”

  Crang hurried into the door of the two-storey building. He came out again presently, “I told the guard inside to call an ambulance.”

  Gosseyn hoped the ambulance would come quickly.

  He had already, among numerous fleeting awarenesses, noticed that it was an over-sized men’s clothing and shoe store. Now, he saw the name of the place lacquered into the transparent plastic wall beside the entrance: KORZYBSKI MEN’S CLOTHING AND FOOTWEAR.

  . . . Presumably featuring semantically styled suits, shoes, shirts, ties, pajamas, socks, slippers, and underwear—

  It was all a little ridiculous. But it fitted, alas, with the nature of human life everywhere.

  —Go aboard the Dzan battleship; and there was a rebellion brewing against a child emperor, who took it for granted that one behaved like father; at that age there was no thought of the possibility that father had been murdered because of the behavior that the son was now imitating . . .

  —Go aboard the Troog battleship, and there was the tense, self-appointed leadership situation . . .

  —And now, here on earth, two aspects: On the one hand, outraged Big Business executives reacting against a philosophy that had raised their costs by depriving them of cheap labor; and on the other, individuals like the ones on this street, trying to cash in on various business aspects of semantics.

  Involved were problems of life, and more than one solution. Among these latter was surely: be aware, moment by moment!

  One of those awarenesses came through at that exact instant. The distant Gosseyn Two said, “I’ve just checked with the film department of this ship; and they were naturally given Enro’s visual materials by my future sister-in-law, because—naturally—she doesn’t deal with things like that herself. And as we suspected there was a tiny distorter under a false bottom of the container; and that has been disposed of. So things are lining up.” They were, indeed.

  CHAPTER

  30

  Back at the Institute apartment, there were the usual details. Crang phoned Dr. Kair, found him in—and willing to cancel his other patients immediately . . . “Come right over!”

  It was agreed, then, that Prescott and Crang would go with him. While they waited for the arrival of a car dispatched by the office of President Blayney, Gosseyn became aware that Dan Lyttle was beckoning him.

  The two men went into the master bedroom; and Lyttle closed the door. Lyttle’s lean face was twisted into a mildly embarrassed smile, as he said, “I thought I should tell you. About this woman, Strella—”

  What he reported was, in a way, amazing. All these years, Dan Lyttle had hesitated about subjecting an earth girl to being the wife of a hotel clerk, who worked on a night shift. But, apparently, as he evaluated Strella’s predicament, suddenly there were more possibilities. Because—Lyttle pointed out—the girl from Meerd was trapped. Speaking only English, she could never again fit into the society of her former friends on her home planet. No on
e there would understand. It was even possible that she would be considered mentally deranged.

  Being a stranger on earth, with no way to turn, or return—unless she specifically requested this latter solution—she would, presumably, automatically tolerate being in a daytime-only-wife situation. It could be that, as the years went by, it would slowly dawn on her that hers was a special marriage.

  “That is,” Dan concluded, “unless I can find a daytime job—which I now may consider doing. But that could take a while.”

  . . . As he listened to the account, Gosseyn Three conducted one of his silent conversations with Gosseyn Two:

  “It would appear,” he analyzed, “that people still automatically expect that the poor will automatically tolerate more severe conditions than the rich—”

  The distant alter ego was calm: “My dear idealistic brother, there will—let us hope—never be a time when everybody reacts exactly like everyone else. The time may come when we have disposed of criminal behavior; but human beings will probably continue to have different life experiences, depending on where they were born; and will tend to choose friends and work that is congenial to the tens of thousands of small personal memories inside their heads; memories—which I will now point out—General Semantics has no intention of eliminating, even if at some future time, science can do the job of memory erasure.”

  The distant Gosseyn Two concluded: “My suggestion is that as soon as you have taken care of people like Gorrold, and found out why that Gung-ho company that called the first day, didn’t show up to make an estimate for rebuilding the institute, that you get Dan appointed to be in charge of rebuilding the institute and, of course, the Games Machine. You don’t want to do these details yourself; but he may now be motivated to take on such a daytime job.”

  “I can see,” Gosseyn Three replied mentally, “that a local hotel owner is about to have the job of finding himself another night clerk.”