Null–A Three

CHAPTER 15

Gosseyn said, “You’ve come far, Mr. Blayney, since we last met. Head of the government and commander-in-chief of the armed forces.”

There was no immediate reply. The man who was gazing down at him had a grim look on his smooth face, with a suggestion of puzzlement. Blayney seemed older than the Gosseyn memory recalled for Gosseyn Three. And what had been a heavy-set body, was leaner. As if a lot of meals had been skipped, or perhaps there had been an internal chemical re-adjustment to a period of tension.

The clothes the man wore were, if anything, even more elegant than last time.

And, still, there was no reply to his opening remark.

Gosseyn lay there during the lengthening silence, recalling somewhat unhappily that the last time Blayney had stood like this, looking down at a tied-up Gosseyn body, he had suddenly, without visible motivation, leaned down and struck several hard blows.

It seemed an appropriate moment for another conciliatory comment. “I would deduce,” he said, “from your great success, that my then analysis of you was in error.”

At that the grim look changed into a shadow of a smile. And the unpleasant silence ended. “I took your advice,” said Blayney. “I did an elementary study of General Semantics, and corrected certain, shall we say, false-to-facts personality flaws that you called to my attention.”

Gosseyn, who had unhappily recalled that the personality flaw the earlier Gosseyn criticised had to do with Blayney being excessively worried about future possibilities. At that time, the warning given the mighty Thorson was that a man who always expected the worst would sooner or later—usually sooner—take unnecessary preventive actions on a paranoid level.

It would be unfortunate if anything of that remained; for, in a moment of actual crisis, it might cause an unusually violent response. And, in this situation, the victim, of course, would be Gilbert Gosseyn Three.

An effort should be made to try to head off such an outcome.

“If,” said Gosseyn, “an elementary study could so quickly bring you up to where you could become head of government, it might be worth your while to take more advanced non-Aristotelian training, and dispose of the remaining… false-to-facts—” he repeated the General Semantics term after a tiny pause, and finished—“that may remain from your early life conditioning.”

What there was of a smile on that smooth face, faded. The grimness was back. Blayney shook his head. “The game of politics,” he said, “is strictly Aristotelian. It has no place for idealists.”

Above him, the hard face was changing again. The puzzlement was back as Blayney bent down, and with his right hand, touched the cords that bound Gosseyn’s knees.

“What I’ve been trying to figure out,” the man said in that soft voice of his, “is, why did you let it happen—again?”

The question seemed to imply that Blayney had heard of the 20-decimal abilities of the Gosseyn brain.

Naturally, that was a possibility only, and not to be taken for granted. So Gosseyn parried: “I’m no smarter than I was last time.” He added, “Who would suspect that you would take the trouble to keep this little house under surveillance.”

He was watching the smooth face as he spoke the words, with their implied praise. And felt pleased as he detected a tiny smugness in the other’s expression.

But Blayney said nothing; offered no explanation of his foresightedness.

In a way, of course, his comment did not need a reply. First, it was doubtful if an honest answer would ever be given by a conniver. There had been a small group of top people involved, secretly backed by the mighty armies of Enro, commanded by Thorson.

Of those individuals, President Hardie was dead, and Thorson was dead. Not too surprising that Blayney who had been a close associate of one or the other, had taken advantage.

And, obviously, when elections were rigged, those who did the rigging—or their chief aides—tried to gain advantages. But even yet it was hard to believe that the people of the western hemisphere of earth had come down to this in the 26th century A.D.

It showed what secret intervention by interstellar forces could do to the unsuspecting inhabitants of a planet.

Fortunately, except for further action Enro might take while aboard the Dzan battleship, that conspiracy had been essentially defeated.

… And except, of course, for the leftover debris—like Blayney—that still remained to be cleaned up on earth. Hopefully, there was a possibility that the man knew nothing of the background of what had happened—

Also, it was possible that the question asked by Gilbert Gosseyn Three had averted a violent reaction from the new head of the government in this area of earth.

Other than that, the Gosseyn predicament remained the same. So far, nothing basic had been accomplished.

Thinking thus, and still lying there, Gosseyn Three allowed himself a partial General Semantics awareness.

Naturally, first impression was, once more, of the interior of this little house. And second, the thought that it was probably significant that Blayney had not yet indicated his purpose in coming to a place like this… coming here from the grandeur of the presidential mansion. But the reality that he had come at all indicated that a decision would presently be made.

So the biggest threat had to do with the presence in this room of a very special type of ordinary, old style human beings: meaning, most of the individuals who had intruded into Dan Lyttle’s small house would probably do nothing inimical until they were given a direct command.

Gosseyn, who had already, earlier, taken the precaution of mentally photographing the four gunmen with his extra-brain, decided that at very least he should offer them a way out. Since there was now a person present with the “right” to give them any order, including “Shoot him!”—and they would—the time of such an offer had to be now, and not at the moment that the command was given.

It was purpose on an intermediate level; and so he turned his head, and spoke to the four:

“I’d appreciate it if you would all put away your guns.” He added, “They’re not needed, now that I’m handcuffed and tied up.”

Interesting, then, that three of the men simply sat there as if they had not heard. The fourth man—at the far end of the quartet—glanced over at his, presumably, sergeant, or equivalent—the civilian who had, so far, done all the talking for this lower echelon group—and said, “You got any thoughts on that, Al?”

The man addressed replied immediately in his soft voice: “The Big Boss is here—” He indicated the beautifully arrayed individual standing beside Gosseyn—“and he’ll give the orders when he feels like it.”

The gun-holder, who had spoken, glanced at Gosseyn. And shrugged. Whereupon, he sank back into silence, gun still in hand.

Gosseyn turned his gaze away from the men, and smiled grimly up at Blayney. “Looks like there’s not a future Venusian in your group,” he said.

The man-who-had-become-the-equal-of-king was frowning down at the prisoner. “Was that an attempt to subvert men who have sworn to do their duty whenever called upon to do so by an authorized commander?” Gosseyn gazed up at other’s slightly heavy, frowning face, and shook his head. “On one level,” he said, “General Semantics recognizes the rule of law in a backward society. But what has happened here seems to transcend ordinary legal, or criminal, ordinances.” He broke off: “Am I to understand that I can be tied up in this fashion without any charges being leveled against me?” Blayney stroked his jaw. “You’re a special situation. And I gave the order.” His lips twisted into a smile. “And these men obeyed it, as they should.”

“That’s why I spoke to them. They are participants in a pre-emptive action. Their role is that of automatons. In coming here, they came as minions and not with any intention of finding out the facts. Later, when they go to their homes, if someone asks them what they did today, what will they be able to say?”

Blayney’s smile was tighter, his teeth showing. “They’re bound by their oaths not to reveal to unauthorized persons anything that happens during their period of duty.”

“In other words,” replied Gosseyn, “if you were to order them to shoot me, they would do so without having to know the reason?”

“Exactly.” Blayney’s manner abruptly showed impatience. “Government by authority will be continuing on earth for some time. So let’s get to the point. What are you here for?”

But Gosseyn had turned his attention back to the four gun carriers. And it was them he addressed: “As individuals,” he asked, “do you each, separately, wish to be bound by the minion condition in this specific situation?”

The Gun-holder-second-from-Gosseyn’s-left stirred, and said to Blayney, “Any special orders, Mr. President?” Silently, that individual shook his head.

So there was still time to obtain more data. Gosseyn turned. And called, “Mr. Lyttle!”

It must have been unexpected. For Lyttle, though he had ceased all kitchen work, and had his hands free, merely stood there. And waited.

It seemed a good idea to let the man recover. The recovery occurred in about five seconds, as Lyttle replied, “Yes, Mr. Gosseyn?”

Before Gosseyn could acknowledge that, there was another interruption. Enin, who had been staring, said, “You fellows just going to talk?” he asked, “Or—” to Gosseyn—“you need help from me?”

Gosseyn smiled. “Not yet, Enin. If I do, I’ll let you know. Right now, if you wish, you can go back to your game.”

“Okay.”

Moments later, the delighted cries began again.

And Gosseyn said, “Mr. Lyttle, what would you like to have happen on earth?”

The reply came immediately, “I’m hoping that you’ll stay, and help restore the whole General Semantics preliminary to Venus here on earth, including—” after a small pause—“complete rehabilitation of the Games Machine.”

Gosseyn commented, “It’s generally agreed among semanticians that the Games Machine proved to be unexpectedly vulnerable to interference with its activities.”

“We have to remember,” was the reply, “that it’s basically a computer; and the addition of a few thousand chips, each with its protective programming, would be of great assistance to it in the future. But of course—” he spoke firmly—“no machine should ever transcend human control.”

Abruptly, with that reply, Dan Lyttle became a special situation. It took a while, then. Even for a Gilbert Gosseyn body-and-mind the associations that came required more than one run-through.

What had seemed coincidence… back there… with both Gosseyn One and Gosseyn Two, suddenly—what?

Suddenly, the hotel clerk—Dan Lyttle—coming up to the room of a Gilbert Gosseyn, and saving his life, seemed to be connected with… with everything that had happened—

And yet, how explain a Gosseyn renting a room in the hotel where that Very Important Clerk worked on the night shift?

It seemed such an ordinary job, such a normal young man, with his little cottage out here, accidentally—so it seemed—located here in the hills, slightly to one side of, and above, where the Games Machine had talked every day during the games to the thousands who came periodically in the hope that their knowledge of General Semantics would win them the right to migrate to Venus. Each individual taking his tests alone in one of thousands of separate cubby holes…

There had always been something about the way Lyttle held himself, his body, his head. True, knowledge of, and the daily use of General Semantics did something similar to most people.

But here was the man that the Games Machine had, in its death throes, trusted with the part of the gigantic computer system that was… itself!

And now, from that same individual, a statement with a basic related purpose.

The explanation for the mystery of Dan Lyttle would have to wait. Right now, it was enough to recognize the man’s goals as being similar to his own. And that, accordingly, for Gosseyn Three it was the moment of decision. Silently, he gave four signals, one after the other—rapidly—to his extra-brain.

Then he relaxed back on the couch, his eyes pointing toward the ceiling.

There was a loud sound, then, off to his left. It was the sound of a man’s voice emitting a prolonged “Uhhhh!”

And then: “Hey!”

That final yelling reaction came from the spokesman for the six persons, who had, all this time, been off there to one side. Gosseyn was able to make the identification because he had once more turned his head in that direction.

What he saw were the two men in civilian clothes. Both men were on their feet, and they were staring. It was, for them, a sideways look at the four chairs that, moments before, had been occupied by four uniformed, armed men.

All four gunholders had disappeared.

It was still not a good situation. A precaution, yes. But, despite his success in getting rid of the threat posed by the four gun holders, it was still far from being a normal condition for a human being.

His legs were tied as tightly as ever; the handcuffs that encased his wrists were of metal. And he was very much acceptant of responsibility for what had hap-

pened as a result of his arrival. Though he was not the original Gosseyn, nevertheless, he had made the decision to come here. As a consequence, Dan Lyttle and his little house were endangered. And so, Enin and he could not just take off in twenty-decimal fashion.

It was—Gosseyn realized ruefully—not exactly the ideal moment to state a basic purpose. Nonetheless, as he gazed up at Blayney, he spoke the great words:

“Why not,” he asked, “a return of honest government in the city of the games machine?”