Null–A Three

CHAPTER 23

The final struggle was about to begin.

That was Gosseyn’s impression as he realized he was lying on a floor. Lying face down; not standing.

So, somehow, in those split instants before transmission occurred, the Troogs had been able, with their mighty science, to modify one aspect of the 20-decimal transport method, whereby he had always, in the past, arrived in the physical-muscular-body position that had existed at the moment of departure. On Meerd, he had been standing. Here—

Gosseyn stayed where he was. Did not even turn his head immediately.

“… I could be killed as I lie here—” was his thought. But he realized that he believed the aliens still needed him. And in every way had proved it in three separate control actions. On each occasion death could have been administered; but it wasn’t.

Here he sprawled, face down. His nose was actually pressed against what seemed to be a soft, smooth floor. His eyes stared directly down at the grayish-white, slightly gleaming flatness. He was, he realized, still presuming that this was the laboratory floor toward which he had aimed himself from the remote star system, which the young woman, Strella, had called Meerd.

… Time to show awareness, and to move carefully. What he did, he raised himself to his knees.

And saw that, though he had only glimpsed it fleetingly as he was emerging from the capsule, it was, in fact, the room, which he had originally thought of as a laboratory.

For some reason, the identification—the recognition—evoked a strong reaction of relief.

“… I am where I wanted to be—”

Even as he had the awareness, he was lifting himself in the same unhurried fashion; it was still his assumption that any quick movement could bring an unpleasant reaction.

Standing, he looked around a bright, large interior. Visible were numerous, gleaming machines and instrument boards projecting from wall and floor.

However, there was no sign of the space capsule inside which his body had lain while the Troogs duplicated his original awakening as it had taken place—earlier—on the Dzan ship. Not that he had expected it to be still there. It had obviously been brought aboard through some wall opening. The most likely wall was the one with the least instrumentation built into it, and with a long, dark slash right down the middle from ceiling to floor; that was where it must divide and slide back. It was through such an opening that large objects could be brought into the laboratory or taken out.

It seemed a shame that time was being wasted. Because here he was, the man with all the answers to everybody’s questions.

… Surely, they knew that he was here—

It seemed to him there must be something he could do while he waited for their reaction… The truth was, the more he found out—now—the safer he’d feel when the moment of crisis came—

Perhaps, contact Gosseyn Two?

It was a passing impulse. The fact was, he had already noticed that the ether was silent. There was absolutely no mental awareness of his alter ego. It was a case of complete cut off. Again.

Perhaps, he should try to decide what the Troogs had in mind for the other prisoners? That would require leaving the room, with the intention of looking for, and locating, Crang, Patricia, the Prescotts, Enro—

It was staring at what looked like a door—off to his right—that brought that thought. Without hesitation, he headed for it.

Whatever it was, the flat surface that looked like a door, had several metallic attachments that undoubtedly had some purpose. Gosseyn pulled, pushed, twisted at each separate piece. Two of the items made a clicking sound when thus manipulated; but there was no I give to the door, if that was what it was.

He stepped back, suddenly more determined Okay, maybe if he made a 20-decimal connection between the energy feeding one of the instrument boards and the door mechanism—

The failure of the Troogs to acknowledge his presence was beginning to be a little irritating. A waste of time.

Above everything else he needed an audience that would hold still for what he had to say.

The wry thought was still in his mind, and he was still there, moments later, when a tenor voice said, in English, from the ceiling:

“Gilbert Gosseyn, we have you completely in our control. Here, you cannot even use your extra-brain method to escape.”

Although the words conveyed a possibility that had already occurred to Gosseyn, hearing the meaning spoken aloud brought a thought: “… This is what they learned how to do during those three trips they sent me on—”

So there seemed to be no question: this whole madness was about to enter its decisive stage.

Despite his instant hope, there he still stood at least a minute later, waiting—he realized ruefully—for the self-appointed enemy to provide him with the opportunity to act.

During that minute, his environment was the same gleaming metal room with the same gray-ish floor, and all those instruments jutting out and up.

He had been assuming that the Troogs could, to some extent, read his mind. But since they had missed a decisive aspect of his General Semantics orientation, perhaps all they could essentially study was the brain itself, with occasional thoughts available in some connecting situation.

Another fifteen seconds—at least—went by… They’re waiting, and I’m waiting. For what?

After several more moments of consideration he walked over, and once more tried the door mechanism. This time, when the two clicks sounded, the door swung open.

Gosseyn wasted no time, with not even a single backward glance, he walked through the opening into a wide, high-ceilinged hallway.

Momentarily, then, the rueful feeling came back:

“… Okay, okay,” he thought, “I was reasoning some human way, and they had their Trogg approach to logic—”

The Troog way seemed to anticipate that, after a conversation, friendly or unfriendly, if a human being had once tested a door to see if it would open, he would then test it again, without waiting for instructions.

The human way—the Gosseyn version at least—had been to await further instructions, once verbal contact was established. A courtesy approach was what he had intended.

The conclusion seemed to be: the enemy automatically expected aggressive—or, at very least, purposeful action—behavior from him.

Even as he had these thoughts, Gosseyn turned to the right, and walked along the wide, dimly lighted corridor. He could see a barrier about 150 feet ahead; and, presumably, that would be the moment of truth.

It turned out to be a door that wouldn’t open. Still following his new theory, Gosseyn turned back and walked rapidly in the opposite direction. The barrier that way was about 400 feet distant. And there was another door, yes. With the familiar looking mechanism. Two of them clicked, one after the other; and, when they did, the door swung open.

What he was looking at, then, was another corridor I at right angles to the one he had already traversed. Another decision to be made: he chose a right turn again. It was a wrong choice once more. But since, when he went back in the other direction; and that door opened on still another cross corridor, he had the opportunity of going left as his first decision. Went that way; and this time it was the wrong direction.

But that was his journey through more than a dozen silent corridors. At the end of each corridor a door either opened, or it didn’t. It was, in its fashion, a good test for discovering how much of the Leej-style predictor ability he had. His conclusion: he either had none, or very little. His choice was correct four times only; eleven times it was wrong. And in all those latter instances he had to retrace his steps, and then go into the distance of another empty hallway, silent except for the soft sound of his shoes on the soft floor surface.

Not once did he see a Troog. Empty, deserted, silent, huge spaceship—so it seemed; and solidly locked up against intruders, except for the doors that opened, and presumably guided him toward where someone wanted him to go.

There were some diversions. Along each side of each corridor at intervals, not evenly spaced, were wall shapes that—he assumed—were doors that led to rooms like the laboratory from which he had started on this tire-some journey.

At first, he passed them by, but presently he paused at each one and tried to work the mechanism.

They were all locked, and stayed locked.

After a while he had a thought: “… I suppose this could be a way of exhausting me physically—”

And, still, he could not persuade himself to test whether or not he could escape to some 20-decimal location.

The continuing ordeal brought another, and unexpected response: he felt less willing to help. As the minutes and the miles—it seemed like—went by, a thalamic reaction began. He had started along that first corridor, accepting that when he was finally able to confront his captors, he would do his best to help them to get back to their own galaxy. Now, the memory came that General Semantics rejected most automatic acceptances.

True, it seemed obvious that the aliens were entitled to return where they had come from. But it was not necessarily true. And so it was interesting that by way of exhaustion and irritation had come the realization that perhaps he had better re-examine his automatic decision.

Fortunately, he recognized those negative speculations for what they were; and so his irritation never grew into the huge rage that might have festered inside an old-style he-man.

The end of that long harassment came suddenly. It was as he glanced along what could have been another meaningless corridor, that he saw a splash of bright light about 250 feet to his left.

The appearance was of a doorway… open, not closed. And, in fact, after he had walked rapidly toward it, and then slowed, edged forward, and stood there carefully peering in, what he saw was a duplicate of the earlier private restaurant room, except—instead of the recognizable human beings—sitting around the table in that dimly lit room were about a dozen Troogs.

It took a little while, then. But presently Gosseyn realized that they were aware of him. His hesitation ended. And, remembering they expected aggressiveness, he walked in. He had already in that first look noticed that there was an unoccupied place at the table.

It was on the far side of the table. And he went around behind a half-dozen Troogs, and over to the empty place. What was different from that earlier restaurant meeting, and in its fashion, more respectful, instead of continuing to stand as if he were the important person—he sat down.

But his faraway thought was: how close to the end can you be?… And how fantastic that they would have a dinner meeting like this!