Null–A Three

CHAPTER 16

Silence!

Blayney stood there, looking down at the man he had evidently considered to be a prisoner, and not, so to speak, in name only.

Gosseyn, having stated his bottom line, a purpose so basic that anything else at this moment—words or action—would, it seemed to him, merely confuse the issue, consciously relaxed, and lay quiet.

It was the second of the two aides, who broke that silence. He spoke from the other side of the room, where the gun holders had been, and said in a deep baritone voice: “Sir, may we step over there, away from this Distorter area?”

Blayney’s expression, which had been essentially that of a non-plussed individual, became grim. He said, “I think we need a more basic solution.” He pointed down at Gosseyn. “Come over here, and carry this man outside.”

His eyes narrowed as he gazed down at Gosseyn. “Any objection?” he asked.

Despite his lying-down position, Gosseyn actually made a shrugging movement with his shoulders. “I see no point to it,” he said. He added, “I simply wanted to ask you that one question without being in danger of getting a violent reply.”

He shrugged again. “What about it?”

Once more it was Civilian Number Two who spoke first. “What about—” the man waved vaguely towards the empty chairs—“our guys? Shouldn’t he, uh, produce them?”

Blayney, who had half-turned toward the speaker, glanced back at Gosseyn. “What about them?” he asked.

Gosseyn said, “They’re not dead. But—” he added—“they’re not on this planet.”

“I’ve been trying,” said Blayney, “to guess where the Distorter would be located that could whisk them away. Because—” the man sounded both puzzled and impressed—“it must have taken some fine focussing to leave the chairs behind.”

For Gosseyn, it had been a relieving interchange; for it was now obvious that Blayney knew nothing of the ability of his extra-brain, and merely believed that a hidden machine had done the nefarious deed.

It seemed important to encourage that belief. So he commented in an even voice, “As you probably know, the interstellar contact brought a lot of scientific refinement to our little planet, along with the dangers and threats.”

The Head of the Government of what had once been the United States of America, nodded. “I suppose that’s a good way to put it.”

But he seemed to accept the explanation. Because, when he spoke again, it was more personal: “As for your question, let me repeat something I’ve already said.” The smile grew satirical. “Have you ever heard of political parties?”

“In what connection?”

“Well—” Tolerantly—“the upper echelon of a party is a gang of insiders. They occupy all the key positions.

There’s approximately eight hundred of them, and, prior to an election, they meet in that famous, smoke-filled back room that we’ve all heard about, where the language is four-letter words. Each one of them has his own smoke-filled room, with about two hundred cursing followers; and they all get jobs, also. The upper group are alter egos of the president, and if he does something they don’t like, they start yelling.”

Gosseyn said, “Give me the names of the inner group; and I’ll go and talk to them.”

If ever a man had an astonished expression on his face, it was Blayney at that moment. “Talk to them!” he said. “You out of your mind?”

“Well, not really talk.” Gosseyn did his own tolerant smile. “My real concern is to begin by re-establishing the Games Machine. Maybe you could treat that as a sort of an educational thing, or a museum, or better still, a way of getting the votes of the General Semantic nuts—you can call them that, unless you have a better four-letter word that will be more convincing to your cursing followers.”

“But why would you want to go and see some of these people?”

Gosseyn explained: “My interest is only in individuals who resist the re-establishment of the Institute of General Semantics, and, later on, the Games Machine.”

“But what would you do to them?” The man’s tone had an insistent quality. “Kill them?”

“No, I’ll just get rid of them, as I did your gunmen here.”

Long pause. Finally, reluctantly: “Well, I have to admit that you can rig up some pretty good disappearing equipment.” He broke off: “Where would you send them to?”

“I have a place in mind. But I think it would be better if you didn’t know where that was.”

Blayney must have beckoned. Because the civilian

Number One came over, untied Gosseyns legs, and unlocked the handcuffs. Gosseyn took them off himself, and handed them over.

As the aide stepped back, he addressed his “boss”; “Sir, may I ask this gentleman over here a question?” He indicated Dan Lyttle.

“Why not?” Blayney shrugged.

The aide thereupon said to Lyttle: “That assumption business you were telling the kid—is that for grownups, also?”

There was a faint smile on the lean face of the hotel clerk. “It’s for everybody. Why?”

“Listening to you,” was the reply, “I got to thinking, maybe I’ve got a few assumptions I could do without.”

Lyttle said, “Take a course in elementary General Semantics, like your, uh, boss here, did. Look where it got him.”

There was no reply. But a faraway expression in the man’s eyes indicated that a thought had come, and was staying.

Moments later, he was courteously opening the door for President Blayney’s departure.

… As Enin and he rounded the corner, Gosseyn had this body’s first direct glimpse of the Institute of General Semantics—or rather, of what was left of it.

What he saw was a building with a rectangular front that, except for its battered appearance, could have been what was left of an old-style bank building. Coming closer, Gosseyn saw that the look of being old was not just wear; it was tear.

Since he knew that the decorative facade had been forcibly removed, it was evident—as he gazed now—that the concrete, which had been below and behind the facade, had been damaged, also.

Enin and he crossed the street, and so, presently, they were at the main entrance. And he was pushing a button that had above it the word, CARETAKER. Next to the button was a small, ordinary door.

At least two minutes went by. And then the smaller door opened; and a middle aged man stood there.

Neither the man’s eyes nor manner had any welcome in them. However, after he had reluctantly read Blayney s authorization on its official form, he stepped aside, and pointed along a dimly lighted, pock-marked main floor that looked as if it had once been marble. He said:

“There’s a door about two-thirds down, which has on it the word, ‘private’.” His voice sounded unhappy, as he finished: “I guess that’s what you want.”

Gosseyn said, “We’ll also need two keys for this door, so we won’t have to bother you when we’ve been out.” He indicated the front entrance. Another memory came. He added, “I seem to recall that there’s a side door. We should probably have keys to that, also.”

“Yeah, okay,” was the gloomy reply. And, apparently, a thought was finally coalescing inside the caretaker. “Things going to happen here?” he asked.

“A lot,” replied Gosseyn.

But he spoke that final comment over his shoulder, as Enin and he started walking off down the broad floor.

After they had walked a hundred or so feet, Enin said, “Something funny about that fellow.”

Gosseyn found himself agreeing silently that the caretaker had been singularly reluctant. Perhaps—he wondered—the man’s job was a sinecure; whereas greater activity might require him to start earning his salary.

The man should probably be watched… though it was not readily apparent what inimical action such a person could take… unless there were others involved.

Gosseyn grew aware that he was smiling wryly at the direction of his thoughts. The vague implication was that there might be enemies of General Semantics, somewhere in the background.

But that really wasn’t a problem. For the most part, the vast majority of the earth population couldn’t care less. For them, Venus—where everyone had to be a self-starter—had no attraction whatsoever.

—No jobs there!—Good God, how do they operate the place?—

The timeless masses of earth, on whom the passage of the centuries had made no basic impact… except that, with the development of technology, they now pushed buttons which operated the daily machinery of their homes and their transportation on a level of underlying intricacy that the individual normally did even try to comprehend.

So—Gosseyn’s interim conclusion, as Enin and he came to the door marked private—if the caretaker needed to be spied on, it would be for a reason that, right now, was obscure. And not analyzable in advance.