The World of Null-A

VII

It seemed to be a hospital. There were fifteen additional bedrooms, each complete with electronic and other standard hospital equipment. The laboratory and the surgery were in the basement. Gosseyn hurried from room to room. When he had finally convinced himself that no one else was around, he began a more careful search of the rooms.

He felt dissatisfied. Surely it wasn't going to be as easy as this. As he peered into clothes closets and riffled hastily through unlocked drawers, he decided that his best plan was to get the facts he wanted, then leave. The sooner he departed the less chance there was of someone else appearing on the scene.

All his rummaging failed to locate a weapon. The disappointment of that sharpened his sense of danger from an outside source. Finally, hastily, he went out onto the veranda in the front of the building and then the terrace in the rear. A quick look, he thought, to see if anyone was coming, and then questions.

There were so many questions.

It was the view from the terrace that delayed him. For he realized why he had been unable to see the valley that was there beyond the garden. From the edge of the terrace, he looked down, down, into the gray-blue haze of distance. The hill on which the hospital was built was not really a hill at all, but a lower peak of a mountain. He could see where the slopes leveled off. There were trees down there, too. They stretched for scores of miles and faded into the mists of remoteness. There were no mountains in that direction, so far as he could make out.

But that didn't matter. What seemed clear now was that this building could be approached only from the air. True, they could land a mile or more away, as he must have been landed, and then walk. But the air approach was an essential step in the process.

It was not particularly encouraging. One minute the sky could be empty except for the hazy atmosphere. The next a ship loaded with gang members could be settling down on the terrace itself.

Gosseyn drew a deep, slow, exhilarated breath. The air was still rain-fresh, and it braced him to acceptance of his danger. The very mildness of the day calmed his restless mind. He sighed and let the sweetness of the day tingle upon and through his body. It was impossible to tell what time of day it was. The sun was not visible. The vast height of the sky was cut off by clouds that were almost hidden in the haze of an atmosphere that was more than a thousand miles thick. A hush lay over the day, a silence so intense that it was startling–but not frightening. There was a grandeur here, a peace unequaled by anything in his experience. He felt himself in a timeless world.

The mood passed more swiftly than it had come. For him, it was time that mattered. What he could learn in the shortest possible time might determine the fate of the solar system. He searched the sky in a quick last look. And then he went inside and up to his prisoners. His presence here was an unqualified mystery, but through them he had at least partial control of his situation.

The man and woman lay where he had left them. They were both conscious, and they looked at him with anxiety. He had no intention of harming them, but it wouldn't hurt to keep them jittery. He gazed down at them thoughtfully. In a sense, now that he was ready to concentrate on them, he was seeing them for the first time.

Amelia Prescott was dark-haired, slim, and good-looking in a very mature fashion. She wore a midriff blouse, shorts, and sandals. When Gosseyn removed her gag, her first words were, “Young man, I hope you realize that I've got a dinner on the stove.”

“Dinner?” said Gosseyn involuntarily. “You mean it will be dark soon?”

She frowned at that, but did not answer directly. “Who are you?” she said instead. “What do you want?”

The questions reminded Gosseyn unpleasantly that he didn't know anything more about himself basically than she did. He knelt beside her husband. As he untied the gag, he studied Prescott's face. It was a stronger countenance, seen so closely, than he expected. Only positive beliefs could put that look on a man's face. The problem was, were his convictions rooted in null-A? Or did his strength derive from the certainties that a leader must cultivate?

He expected Prescott's comment on his predicament to furnish a clue to his character. He was disappointed. The man lay staring up at him, more thoughtfully now. But he said nothing at all.

Gosseyn faced the woman again. “If I should call Roboplane Service,” he said, “what should I say to them to get a plane?”

She shrugged. “That you want a plane, of course.” She looked at him, an odd expression on her face. “I'm beginning to understand,” she said slowly. “You're on Venus illegally, and unfamiliar with everyday life here.”

Gosseyn hesitated. “Something like that,” he admitted finally. He returned to his problem. “I don't have to quote a registry number or anything like that?”

“No.”

“I dial their number and say I want a plane? Do I tell them where to send it?”

“No. All public roboplanes are connected with the dial system. That goes by pattern. The planes follow the electronic pattern and come to the videophone.”

“There's absolutely nothing else to do?”

She shook her head. “No, nothing.”

It seemed to Gosseyn that her replies were too frankly given. There was a way to settle that. A lie detector. He remembered having seen one in an adjoining room. He got it and set it up beside her. The lie detector said, “She's telling the truth.”

To the woman, Gosseyn said, “Thanks!” He added, “How long will it take a plane to get here?”

“About an hour.”

There was a video extension on the table near the window. Gosseyn sank into a chair beside it, looked up the number, and dialed it. The video plate on the earphone did not even flicker. Gosseyn stared at it, startled. He dialed again, hurriedly, and this time listened intently at the receiver. Dead silence.

He got up, and ran downstairs to the main instrument in the living room. Still no answer. He clicked open the door at the back and peered into the heart of the machine. It was normally warm. All the transparent tubes were glowing. The fault must be outside the building.

Slowly, Gosseyn climbed back to the second floor. There was a picture in his mind, a picture of himself cut off here on this mountain. Cut off physically and by the mystery of himself. It was a dark inward world at which he gazed. He felt depressed and tense. The idyl was over.

His belief that he was in control of the situation was meaningless in the face of what had happened to the videophone.

Somewhere out there the forces that had put him here were waiting. For what?