The World of Null-A

XIII

The big man paused on the threshold, and he was as Gosseyn remembered him, heavy-faced, hawk-nosed and strong. From the beginning, Thorson's position had been unmistakable-the man everyone feared, agent of Enro. Now his somber eyes surveyed Gosseyn.

“Not dressed yet!” he said sharply.

His gaze darted over the room. His eyes were suspicious. And in that mood, Gosseyn saw the man suddenly in another light. From the stars he had come into a strange sun system. Here on Earth, surrounded by people he did not know, acting under a directive from a remote authority, he was trying to carry out his instructions. The strain was transparently terrific. At no time could he be certain of the loyalty of the people with whom he had to co-operate.

He sniffed the air now. “Interesting perfume you use,” he commented.

“I hadn't noticed,” said Gosseyn. His attention having been called to it, he detected a faint scent. He wondered if it belonged to Patricia. She'd have to watch out for little things like that. He stared at the big man stonily. “What do you want?”

Thorson made no effort to come further into the room, nor did he shut the door. He studied Gosseyn thoughtfully.

“I just wanted to have a look at you,” he said. “Just look at you.” He shrugged finally. “Well, that's that.”

He turned and went out. The door closed behind him. Gosseyn blinked. He had been tensing for a verbal clash and he felt let down. He continued his dressing, puzzled by the man's action. He forgot it as he saw by the bedroom clock that it was almost time for Crang to come back. A moment later he heard the outer door open.

“Be right with you,” he called.

There was no answer and no sound. A shadow darkened the door. Gosseyn looked up with a start. John Prescott came into the bedroom.

“I've only got a minute,” he said.

In spite of his surprise, Gosseyn sighed. The uniform haste of his visitors was becoming tiresome. But he said nothing, simply climbed to his feet and looked at the man questioningly.

“You'll be wondering about me,” said Prescott.

Gosseyn nodded, but his mind was almost blank. He listened silently to the rapid explanation that followed. It was all there. Galactic agent. Secret supporter of null-A. “Naturally,” said Prescott, “I wasn't going to tell you that unless I had to. I recognized you from photographs when you were attacking me that afternoon, and, frankly, I reported your presence on Venus, taking it for granted that you would be able to get away. I was startled when you turned up at Crang's tree house.”

He paused for breath and Gosseyn had time to feel disappointment. His one advantage over the group, that he knew about Prescott, was gone. It seemed silly in retrospect that he had ever counted on it to help him, but he had. The only question that remained was, what was the purpose of a confession at this hour?

“It's Amelia,” Prescott said anxiously. “She's innocent in all this. I submitted to that farce of being a fellow captive with her, thinking they would merely hold her until the attack on Venus was made. But Crang told me a few minutes ago that 'X' and Thorson have something in mind for her in connection with you.”

He stopped. With fingers that trembled ever so slightly, he drew a little metal box from his pocket, opened it, and, walking over, held the box out to Gosseyn. Gosseyn stared down curiously at the twelve white pills that were in it.

“Take one,” said Prescott.

Gosseyn had a suspicion of what was coming, but he reached dutifully into the box and lifted out one of the pills.

“Swallow it!”

Gosseyn shook his head. He was annoyed. “I don't swallow strange pills.”

“It's for your own protection. I swear it. An antidote.”

“I haven't taken any poison,” said Gosseyn patiently.

Prescott closed the box in his hand with a snap. He slipped it into one pocket, backed away, and simultaneously drew a blaster with his other hand. “Gosseyn,” he said quietly, “I'm a desperate man. You swallow that pill or I'll burn you.”

The danger was unreal. Gosseyn looked down at the pill, then at Prescott. He said mildly, “I noticed a lie detector in the next room. That would settle this very quickly.”

It did. Prescott said to the lie detector, “This pill is an antidote, a protection for Gosseyn in case I take certain action. Will you verify that one point?”

The answer was prompt. “That's right,” said the instrument.

Gosseyn swallowed the pill, stood for a moment waiting for effects. When none occurred, he said, “I hope everything will be all right with your wife.”

“Thanks,” was all Prescott said. He departed hastily by the door that led to the main corridor. Gosseyn finished dressing and then sat down to wait for Crang. He was more disturbed than he cared to admit. The people who had come to see him had been intent each in his own purpose. But one thing they had in common-an earnest belief that a crisis was imminent.

Venus was to be attacked-by whom was not clear. A great galactic military power? It was strangely easy to picture, because this was the way it would be. This was the way that a race bound to its own sun and planets would be subjugated. Mysterious agents, meaningless actions, infiltration, and finally an irresistible attack from nowhere. The various references to a league of galactic powers opposed to the assault seemed vague and insubstantial beside the fact of the presence of Thorson and the steps that had already been taken. Murder. Betrayal. Seizure of power on Earth.

“And I'm supposed to stop it?” said Gosseyn aloud.

He laughed curtly, feeling ridiculous. Fortunately, the problem of himself was slowly untangling. For him, one of the most dangerous periods had been his partial acceptance of the propaganda that he had come to life again in a second Gosseyn body. At least his logic was slowly disposing of that. He could face the evening with his mind closer to sanity.

A knock on the door drew -him out of his uneasy reverie. To his relief it was Crang.

“Ready?” the man asked.

Gosseyn nodded.

“Then come along.”

They went down several flights of stairs and along a narrow corridor to a locked door. Crang unlocked it and pushed it open. Through it, Gosseyn had a glimpse of a marble floor and of machines.

“You're to go in alone and look at the body.”

“Body?” said Gosseyn curiously. Then he got it. Body!

He forgot Crang. He went in. The larger view of the room disclosed more machines, some tables, wall cabinets lined with bottles and beakers, and in one corner a longish shape lying on a table, covered by a white sheet. Gosseyn stared at the sheeted figure and a considerable portion of his remaining calm began to slip from him. For many days he had heard talk of this other body of his, and, while the verbal picture he had conjured so often had affected him, there was a difference.

It was the difference between a thought and an event, between words and reality, between death and life. So mighty was that difference that his organs experienced a profound metabolic change, and his nerves, unable to integrate the new reactions, began to register wildly.

Bodily sanity came back with a rush. He grew aware of the floor pressing against his feet, and of the air of the room, cool and dry as ashes, in his lungs and in his mouth. His vision blurred. Slowly, conscious again of his human-ness but still not normal, he let his mind float out toward that still, dead form. And though he had no consciousness of any movement, he walked to the body, reached forward, and, with the tips of his fingers, lifted the sheet and dragged it off the body onto the floor.