Null-A Three (22 page)

The man nodded, but his face still had a critical look on it. “What’s the matter with her?”

Gosseyn was recovering from his own dismay. He pointed at the photographs and the accompanying message. “Let’s take her to your computer,” he said. “If it could accept a message from me before—uh—I learned your language, then it can translate for your wife. In fact,” he added hastily, all these interstellar computer-communicators automatically translate about hundred thousand languages—I’m told.”

“B-but—but—”

“It’s a long story,” said Gosseyn, “and right now I don’t know how it will be rectified. But, quick! Before anything further happens.”

The urgency in his voice came from a sudden feeling inside him—the tugging sensation was back.

He was conscious of a vague thought of his own: somehow the Troogs had brought him here so that
they
could have a look at one of the small craft that had in the long, long ago brought two men and two women from their galaxy to this one.

In that long ago hundreds of thousands of these tiny spaceships had crossed the colossal distances of intergalactic space. And evidently they had wanted to see one—

. . . Into one of the smallnesses of the universe, into a restaurant, turned out to be the next place to which he was transmitted.

But it was actually not until he came cautiously out from the small anteroom, in which he had arrived, that Gosseyn saw that he was, in fact, in a rather fancy earth-type restaurant.

As his gaze, in a manner of speaking, absorbed the elegantly dressed maître-de, what diverted him was . . . he was remembering that he had taken Enin and Dan Lyttle to a restaurant. What could be the purpose of the Troogs in duplicating such a situation?

The memory remained a small distraction in him during the next minute, as the maître-de came forward, and said in English, “This way, Mr. Gosseyn. They’re waiting for you.”

“This way” led to the door one of those small private dining rooms. And it was not until he started across the threshold that he saw the approximately dozen people—first glance impression—who were inside, already seated around a long table.

In that group, in that dimly lighted room, a head of red hair caught his eye; and so the first individual Gosseyn recognized was—shock!—Enro the Red, king of the planet Gorgzid and conqueror of the colossal empire that Gorgzid controlled. President Blayney sat beside Enro, and so he was second to be identified. Swiftly, after that, the faces, figuratively, leaped out at him: the Prescotts, Eldred and Patricia Crang, Leej, Breemeg, the Draydart—in uniform—and three more men who, since they faced away from him—Gosseyn took a little longer to identify. They were the three scientists, whom he had identified as Voices One, Two, and Three. They were the ones who had originally brought him out of the capsule.

The fact that these were all persons who had been aboard the Dzan battleship was surely significant. They were all individuals with whom he had been in verbal contact aboard the great vessel, and in addition there was President Blayney of earth—

Missing was Strala. Missing were Enin and Dan Lyttle and—a significant omission, indeed—Gosseyn Two.

The flickering thought came: the aliens were not vet ready to deal with both Gosseyns at the same time—Gosseyn Three had the impression that the roomful of people had been engaged in a very minor and subdued conversation just prior to his arrival.

. . . They must, surely, each and everyone, be startled by the implications of what had happened . what technical mastery it must have taken to bring them here; and yet, also, the fact that they were alive, and not murdered out of hand, had its own significance He had already noticed that at the far end of the table was an unoccupied chair, with a place setting on the table in front of it. He was not surprised that it was to this chair that the maître-de guided him.

During the half minute required for him to walk over to the unoccupied space, there was verbal silence from those who were already seated.

Gosseyn did not sit down. He waited for the maître-de to depart, meanwhile gazing at the assembled guests, and he saw that they were staring back at him expectantly, perhaps even hopefully.

The implication seemed to be that they were anticipating that a purpose would now emerge for them. Somehow, everybody’s presence in this room would, with Gosseyn’s arrival, be explained. That must be the hope.

Gosseyn felt a small sinking sensation. Because he still had no purpose, himself.

His feeling: he needed more information. And, since he believed that, with the Troogs, time—for him—was short, he spoke . . . a question:

“Anyone here have a significant thought to express in relation to the possibility that the aliens brought you people here?”

It was Enro who put up his hand, and who said—in English: “I believe that they probably know that if they do damage to me, my fleet will destroy their single ship.” He added, “Right now, Admiral Paleol is in direct contact with me.”

Gosseyn wondered if Enro had noticed that, on his arrival aboard the Dzan warship, he had needed his sister to translate the language of Gorgzid into English, but now he had not only understood Gosseyn’s question, but had answered him.

So he smiled as he spoke the obvious question: “In the English language?” he asked.

Pause. Then, with a grim smile, the super-leader commented, “There’s automatic translation in the interstellar communication lines; and the major Earth languages were added after my dear sister—” he paused and glanced at Patricia Crang—“came out here and, uh, found herself a husband.”

The young woman raised her eyebrows, but said nothing. And Gosseyn was not about to make a comment on personal matters.

But inside his head that aspect—Enro and his special situation—abruptly took on a special, no-delay meaning . . . “I should do something right now about what he can do, just in case—”

It was a moment of interim decision. With his special ability, he made a precise extra-brain photograph of Enro, noting—as he did so—that a tiny object attached to, or somehow inside the big man’s clothing, had a special quality.

“. . . He’s carrying a tiny distorter,” Gosseyn reported to his alter ego, “and that’s how he’s staying in touch with his fleet, and they with him.”

“—I’m sure you’re right,” was the reply.

At once, Gosseyn Three made a separate second-brain picture of that remarkable little device. It was a precaution for the future. Completed now. To be utilized at a key moment.

Standing there, he continued his role as intermediary “You’ve given us a major reassurance that you, at least, will not be damaged.” He glanced around him “Anything else that will make us all feel safer?”

Eldred Crang held up his hand. “Mine may not be reassuring, but I notice that you, also, seem to be assuming that the prime mover in this situation has been the Troogs.”

Gosseyn nodded. “I believe the Troogs used the knowledge they gained of my extra-brain to bring you people here. So it would appear—” he used the GS qualification phrase—“that they have a plan.”

He thereupon described what had happened to him when he had suddenly found himself back inside the capsule, except that this time it was aboard the alien ship.

He concluded his account, “Maybe I should have stayed for that interrogation, but I opted out.”

No one said anything. The faces at the table seemed more serious, but that was all.

Except for Leej. Something about the way she held herself seemed significant.

Gosseyn, who had a somewhat greater feeling of urgency, had been aware of Leej the predictor woman sitting off there to one side. In a small way, she had avoided looking directly at him. And so, for him, it was time to utilize her special ability.

He glanced at her, and said, “Leej how much time do we have?”

“Your question,” she said, “implies you yourself do not have anything more in mind besides what you did a minute ago.”

So she had noticed; not surprising, but he hadn’t thought about her; had been too intent. “True,” he said now.

Pause; then:

“About four minutes,” said the woman, “and then there’s that blankness.”

It could have been a special moment. But bare instants after the woman spoke, a rear door of the dining room opened, and three busboys came in with drinking water. They spent about a minute filling all the glasses. As they went out, the one who must have been head-boy turned and asked, “Do you want the waiters to come in?”

“Later,” said Gosseyn.

President Blayney spoke for the first time, firmly, “We’ll call you.”

The boy went out; and Gosseyn stood there.

It was a special moment. The fact that everyone at the table—including the two government leaders, Enro and Blayney,
were
looking at him, evoked in Gosseyn a visualization of what they were seeing:

Himself, standing here! Physically strong, leaned-faced, and tanned, a medium tall—just under six feet—determined man who felt calm and capable; and somehow that showed in everything he did: the way he held himself, every movement he made, reflected the power of the extra-brain and . . . General Semantics.

Where the tan had come from, he could only speculate. But he deduced that a source of mild radiation inside the capsule had been part of the life support system tending to his needs.

During those seconds of self-awareness, it seemed to him that there was no point in doing anything else but what he had already been doing. So he said, simply: “Any more comments?”

Prescott who, with the appearance of being in his forties and, therefore, along with Blayney, was one of the two oldest persons in the room, indicated with his fingers, and said, “What do you think is the basic purpose of these creatures?”

“I believe,” said Gosseyn, “they want to get back to their own galaxy; and I believe they’re studying me to see how I might have participated in helping to bring them here.”

Prescott made a small gesture with his hand, indicating the other people at the table. “If they were technically skilful enough to bring us all here, why haven’t they been able to accomplish that basic goal?”

Gosseyn explained about the damaged nerve ends in his head. “They’ll be studying me carefully in connection with that,” he said, “What I’m afraid of is that, when they’re ready to leave, they’ll kill everybody they can reach—that probably includes all of us—unless we can establish that Enro’s fleet will hit back before they can get away.”

There was silence in that small, private dining room. And so, after a small pause, Gosseyn continued, “We probably need everyone’s reaction. So, I’m going to go around the table, and when I name you, or point at you, give your comment, or suggestion, for this situation.” There was one obvious person who had to be first on a list of direct requests; and Gosseyn after a small inward groan at the waste of time involved, named him:

“President Blayney?” he said.

The elected head of the North American continent said, “I was, fortunately, alone in my office when I felt a peculiar sensation. And the next instant I was out there in that restaurant alcove without my guards. As soon as I walked farther into the place, there was that maître-de, evidently already briefed; for he said: ‘This way, Mr. President.’ ”

Blayney added, “I’ve naturally asked him to advise my office; so a small army will probably be here shortly, if that’s any help.”

He concluded, “I’ll have my people find out from the restaurant staff just how this luncheon was set up.” Gosseyn said courteously, “Thank you, Mr. President.” And, since time was pressing even harder at that four minute deadline, his gaze went hastily down the table. “Patricia,” he said.

The young woman, who was Enro’s sister and Eldred Crang’s wife, seemed momentarily taken aback at being named. But after a pause, she said, “I suppose you could say I’ve been in this whole business from the beginning. Yet I have to admit that the arrival of the Troogs leaves me blank.”

Having spoken, she leaned back in her chair, and shrugged.

Since Crang had already spoken, Gosseyn indicated Mrs. Prescott, who sat at Patricia’s side.

The woman sighed. “I was virtually killed once in this nightmare, so I know that death is blackout; and I guess I can take it if I have to, hoping that there will no preliminary pain.”

The words were spoken quietly, but they had a grimness to them that brought Gosseyn a sense of shock. He braced himself hastily, drew a deep breath, swallowed, raised his hand and indicated the scientist, who sat just beyond Mrs. Prescott: Voice Three.

The Dzan scientist said, “I think you shouldn’t waste another moment here. Get yourself back to the protection of the energy screen of our battleship, and let the other Gosseyn come out here, and rescue us. I—”

If there were other words spoken after that, Gosseyn did not hear them. There was a tugging inside him . . .

“They’re probably studying you—”

That seemed truer than ever, as he looked around at his new location. This time he was on a street which, by no reach of the Gosseyn memory, resembled anywhere that a Gosseyn had visited.

He stood there. And looked slantingly down into the upturned face of a young woman. She was a complete stranger. Presumably, there must be something in his reaction to her that the aliens wanted to observe. What could it be?