Null–A Three

CHAPTER 14

As he used each item, and did each little grooming act, he found himself remembering that similar conveniences had been available for the other Gosseyn on that other occasion.

It was not the kind of fantasy that could hold him long. Because, once again he was having fleeting thoughts about Enin… out there. With that, he hastily put away the electric razor. And then—

And then, it was just a matter of slipping again into the slip-on shoes. But he had the thought that he’d better get some better clothes, somehow. And some much stronger shoes.

Moments after that he was out of the bathroom, and heading. As he pulled at the door that led out of the bedroom into the rest of the house, he heard Enin saying, “Yes, Mr. Lyttle, but what’s an assumption?” Gosseyn slowed his action of opening the door, and stayed where he was. As he listened, then, to the voice of Dan Lyttle explain the General Semantics definition of an assumption, he felt awed… Of course, he thought—this attempt should be made. How it would work on a brain not yet fully grown, and with no reward that could be offered—to someone who had everything—was not clear.

But he drew back, out of sight, Pushed the door until it was open only an inch or so. And listened.

“You mean—why do I act the way I do?” The boyish voice showed continued puzzlement.

“Yes.” It was Dan Lyttle’s voice. “A little while ago you came out here and ordered me to get your breakfast ready. And I did, didn’t I?”

“So?”

“Well—” the man’s tone was ever so slightly insistent—“you’re a guest in my house, and you treat me like I’m a servant. That’s what I mean: what’s the underlying assumption?”

There was a momentary pause. Then: “I’m the emperor. Everybody does as I say.”

“You mean, where you come from?—”

“Dzan. The universe of Dzan.” It was Enin’s voice. “So,” went on Dan Lyttle, “one of your assumptions is that here on earth you should be treated the way you are treated at home?”

“I’m emperor wherever I go.” It was insolently spoken. Gosseyn Three smiled. Grimly.

“And—” continued the man’s voice out there in the living room—“I gather you have a number of underlying assumptions by which you believe that you are better than other people?”

“I am better than other people. I was born to be emperor.”

“Your assumption, then, is that, because of an accident of birth, you have a right to lord it over other human beings?”

“Well… I didn’t really think about that very much before my father was killed. But when I became emperor I just treated people exactly the way he had treated them. And I’ve been doing it ever since I ascended the throne. What’s wrong with that?”

“Well—” smiling tone—“what we General Semanticists are interested in is what kind of thinking makes people do irrational things. For example, how did your father die?”

“He fell out of a high window.” Belligerently. “Are you suggesting that his assumptions may have had something to do with that?”

“They might—if we knew all the details of how he got so dose to that open window. Were there witnesses?”

“It was a top level government meeting.”

“And he was so busy thinking, or talking, as he wandered near the window, that he didn’t notice, and fell out? Is that what the witnesses report?”

“My mother says that’s what happened.” Pause. “I never asked who told her.”

“We may make the assumption, then, that everyone who was in the room with him, verified that that was what happened?”

“Hey—” excitedly—“is that what you mean by an assumption? You didn’t see it yourself. So you have to assume that people who did see it, are giving you the facts?”

“That’s part of it. But the assumptions you should really be interested in are those that you’ve got sitting down deep inside, and you don’t notice that they’re there, or what they are. But in life situations you act as if they’re true.”

“Well—I am the emperor. That’s the truth.”

“How do you treat other people?”

“I tell them what to do. And they’d better do it.”

“Your assumption, then, is that an emperor can act bossy with all the people that he’s emperor of—maybe be even mean and nasty.”

“I treat ’em like my father did. And I suppose those could have been his—what did you call them?—assumptions.”

“What you’re saying is, you didn’t ask yourself what his assumptions were? You were just a copy cat?”

“Well—” Pause. Then, a different tone: “Maybe,” said Enin, “I ought to give you a little taste of my power—”

There was a quality in the boy’s voice in those final words that decided Gosseyn that, perhaps, Enin’s first lesson in General Semantics had gone about as far as it could.

Abruptly, with that thought, he pushed the bedroom door open, and walked out into the living room.

And stopped, teetering.

Because in that initial instant of emergence, he saw, to his left, out of the corner of his eye—

Six men sat in a row against the left wall. Four of them were in some kind of uniform.

As Gosseyn turned in their direction, he was already aware that the four in uniform held pistols in their hands. They were energy weapons of some kind, not identifiable at this distance; and, though they did not point at him in a fixed way, they were definitely—as the old saying went—“at the ready.”

It was not an ideal situation for any person to have to confront… suddenly. For Gosseyn, the thought-reaction was complicated by what seemed to be a contradiction: Dan Lyttle giving Enin a lesson in General Semantics, with armed intruders watching.

The other complication was that, in his interest and response, the boy had acted as if his instructor and he were alone in the room; and, even in his final, threatening reaction against Lyttle, he had paid no heed to the onlookers.

It took a moment or two, then, to realize that His Imperial Majesty had behind him at least two seats of ignoring onlookers, and of being totally confident that his special mental control of energy was always decisive

With that realization, he drew a deep breath. And was back to as much normal as was possible under the circumstances.

Normalcy came just in time.

At that exact moment, Enin ran over to him, and grabbed his arm.

“Boy, am I glad you finally came to, Mr. Gosseyn.” He seemed to have forgotten his implied threat against their host; and he totally ignored the intruders. His bright eyes peered up at Gosseyn. “You always sleep this long?”

“Well!” Gosseyn managed a smile, and, since it was his first normal sleep ever—a reality which, fortunately, he had already considered, he was able to dissemble, as he said, “I think it was the icy cold… back there… and my unusually thin clothing. I—”

That was as far as he got. From off to his right, Dan Lyttle s voice interrupted: “It looks as if this little house has been bugged all this time, Mr. Gosseyn,” he said. “While you two were asleep, I went over to the hotel, and borrowed a video game for your young friend here. When I came back, these men were sitting where you see them.”

Even as Dan Lyttle’s voice gave the explanation, one of the two men in civilian clothes made the first overt move of any of the intruders: he stood up. He was a medium-sized, rather chunky individual. There was a twisted smile on his thick face, as he waited politely for Dan Lyttle to finish his brief statement. Then he spoke in a soft voice:

“Mr. Gosseyn, as soon as you’ve eaten breakfast, we’ll have to tie you up. The boss wants to come over and take a look at you.”

It was not a moment for anyone to make a swift move. And even His Imperial Majesty must have realized it; for his voice came, high-pitched but controlled: “Shall I let him have it, Mr. Gosseyn?”

That required a reply. “No, Enin!” Gosseyn had been considering the information in the words of the spokesman for the intruders. He explained: “I deduce we’re going to meet some of the people I want to see while I’m here. So all is well.”

He added, “We can decide later what we do about it. Okay?”

“Okay?”

During the interchange Dan Lyttle had not moved. Now, he said, “Before I make breakfast, I think I’d better make sure your young friend is not bored while you eat.”

With that, he walked to the wall near the outer door, and removed the canvas covering from a shining machine that had not been there before they went to sleep.

It was easy to guess that it was the video game borrowed from the hotel where Lyttle worked as a night clerk.

Both men, and the intruders, watched as Enin walked over to the instrument. The boy peered at the transparent inner works. Then he examined the computer buttons. And, finally, he gingerly reached over and turned a switch. There was a flood of light inside. The appearance was of an underwater city and populace threatened by gigantic sea beasts.

It was quickly possible to deduce that the game player’s job was to decimate the attacking creatures with the computer-controlled weapon systems.

As Gosseyn watched, smiling, the emperor of the Dzan began firing. After that, it was simply a matter of internally dimming the effect of Enin’s delighted cries, and, at the same time, asking questions of Dan Lyttle. And of listening to the answers while he, presently, ate eggs, bacon, and a waffle.

The questions had to do with the government situation on this part of the planet.

The answers were discouraging.

It seemed that supporters of the late President Hardie had somehow managed to inherit his power. And, apparently, they had no awareness that Hardie, himself, had not been responsible for the excesses of his regime, but had been a pawn in an interstellar struggle for control that he never really understood. Apparently, the inheritors were mostly venal men of the type known in politics on earth from time immemorial. Lyttle named no names; and that was obviously wise. Named individuals had a tendency to get even, on the level where these people operated.

The additional information was that the people on Venus had not been heard from since the attack by Enro s forces a few months before.

On that point, Gosseyn had his own thoughts—which he had no intention of sharing.

The fact was that the non-Aristotelian millions of Venus had, for some time now, been emigrating. Groups of them were being taken out to the inhabited planets of, principally, the Interstellar League. There, they were assigning themselves the task of bringing the philosophy and methods of General Semantics to all those enormous populations out there.

It would take a while.

Equally silently, Gosseyn doubted that earth was being entirely neglected by the Venusians. Undoubtedly, individuals had arrived from Venus, and were evaluating the problem of dealing with the consequences of the earlier secret takeover of the government by the minions of Enro. Currently, that meant dealing with the earth types who had been motivated to join the invaders, and who were not entrenched in key positions.

It was Gosseyn Three’s silent belief that, in the area of dealing with the venal types, he himself might be of considerable assistance.

With that mental reiteration of his purpose, he was about to lay down his fork when he grew aware that

Dan Lyttle was standing slightly behind him, offering a damp towel.

“Clean yourself—your mouth.”

As Gosseyn accepted the cloth, he saw that one of Lyttle’s fingers of the hand holding it, was oddly extended. Pointing. At something on the table cloth.

As he accepted the towel, and began wiping himself, he looked to where the finger had pointed. What he saw lying on the table cloth was a small, white sheet printed with thousands of computer chips. How it had got there, how Lyttle had managed casually to include it, unnoticed, as part of, or among, the breakfast dishes he had set down, could, presumably, be explained by the fact that, so far as he himself was concerned, he had been busy with his own thoughts. And the intruders had evidently been lulled by the ordinariness of a man eating.

Lyttle was leaning down again, and this time he whispered: “That is the Games Machine! Its identity!”

“Hey!” It was a yell from the intruder spokesman.

Both Gosseyn and Lyttle were quick, then. Gosseyn said, “Some more egg, you say?”

With that, he wiped his mouth as if the whisper had had to do with the grooming act. The cloth he laid on the chip card. Stood up. And turned.

He said, “Thank you for letting me eat. But it’s time to tie me up, and call your—what did you call him?—boss.”

As he walked toward the intruders, he was aware of Dan Lyttle behind him busily cleaning up the breakfast dishes. Surely, that would include a skilful removal of the small sheet that had been so undramatically identified as the identity of the most important machine ever to exist on earth.

The way it was done: they tied his legs with cord at the ankles and at the knees. His hands and arms were handcuffed behind his back. And he was laid down on the sofa, which was against the wall across from where the intruders now re-seated themselves.

“Stay there!” the thick-faced man commanded. “Mr. Blayney is on his way over.”

“Blayney!” said Gosseyn Three. But he didn’t say it out loud.

After hearing that name, there was no question. He would, indeed, “stay”.