Null-A Three (18 page)

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.

As they went through the unlocked door, marked private, Enin said, “Looks like we’re meeting nothing but crumby people and going to nothing but crumby places:” The thought which the comment evoked in Gosseyn Three brought a smile to his lips; whereupon, after a small pause, he spoke the famous General Semantics concept:

“Enin, the map is not necessarily the territory; and, besides, you’ve got your maps slightly mixed. After all, we’ve just come from a meeting with the top government leader of this continent.”

There was a pause. Then: “Oh, him!” Another pause, followed by a frown, and the words: “What do you mean, map?”

“Later,” said Gosseyn, “I’ll explain.”

But with him, also, and, with or without the aid of General Semantics’ concepts, the living quarters he was looking at, did not evoke love at first sight.

The apartment, in which they found themselves, was large enough for their immediate purpose; but it had definitely not been well-kept. And it had, visibly, been stripped of some of its furniture.

There was only one place in the living room to sit down: a couch. No chairs were to be seen, and only one small table, and a cabinet phone.

In the kitchen there was a built-in breakfast nook, a built-in oven, and a large, built-in refrigerator. Missing from the surrounding built-in shelves were about three quarters of the dishes that must have been there at one time.

There were two bedrooms, one with a single, kingsized bed and the other with twin beds; but no other furniture. Built-in clothes closets were available in both bedrooms; so at least there would be a place to store any clothing they might acquire.

He was aware of Enin going into the smaller bedroom. So Gosseyn headed for the kitchen. In his initial search of the drawers there, he had noticed a pad and a pen. So now he sat down and began to make a list.

It was his first quiet moment since their arrival. Sitting there, he became aware of an odd sensation inside his head and body. Gosseyn paused, pen poised, frowning . . . What, what?—

Interruption: Enin’s voice reached to him from beyond the door: “Do you think he means it? Do you think he really going to do it?”

“Do what?”

His awareness of the strange internal feeling grew dim, as he called out the question, and followed it with another one:

“And who do you mean?”

“Mr. Blayney! Do you think he’ll really rebuild this place?”

Gosseyn finished writing the word “milk.” Then he laid the pen down. Stood up. And walked out to the living room. As he did so he realized he was experiencing a complexity of thoughts and awareness:

. . . Awareness that the strange sensation had been there all these minutes, maybe even hours, damped out by the demanding presence of Enin; thought about how to answer the boy’s question; vague consciousness of his alter ego, and all those realities—

He found Enin lying on the living room floor in what could essentially be called a twisted position. But the kid seemed at ease. Gosseyn walked over, and stood looking down at the emperor of all Dzan, and spoke again in General Semantics phraseology:

“The best answer I can give you is based on a generalized map I have inside me of the way governments work.”

“But you said the map is not the territory.” The boy’s eyes were bright.

The man was aware of himself smiling. “I meant the map is not necessarily the territory. And that’s particularly true when we’re dealing with the maps we have of the way the world is and the way people are in general. Here on earth, President Blayney has a lot of money at his disposal for public spending. One or more companies will do the re-building of the institute; and they’ll receive government aid to do it. What’s important about that is, it puts the builders on our side. So—”

At that moment the phone rang. Gosseyn walked over, lifted the receiver, and said, “Hello! Who are you calling?”

A man’s voice said, “This is the Daynbar Construction Company. We understand you have been authorized to rebuild the institute; and we’d like to send a team over to discuss the renovation.”

Gosseyn had his moment of awe, even though he had just predicted something basic like this. His instant deduction was that an associate of Blayney had contacted a builder who, presumably, at some later time would pay the informant for the information.

Since it was, for him, a positive development, his reply was within the frame of business courtesy: “When can your people get over here?”

It developed that their “team” would show up at 8
A.M.
next day . . . all very normal, Gosseyn realized. But, somehow, not fast enough for the feeling of urgency that was—somehow—reaching into him from . . . somewhere.

After he had replaced the receiver, he grew aware that Enin was up and standing in the kitchen doorway, staring at him. But the boy said nothing. Whereupon Gosseyn commented: “I hope all this is not too boring for you.”

There was a pause, and then—of all things—a grin creased that youthful face. “I guess—” the boy said—“you’ve got some assumptions about me wanting to be back on that stupid ship with all those suck-ups.”

“More like, maybe you want to be back with your mother,” Gosseyn answered.

But even as he spoke, he was silently adjusting to Enin’s analysis. It was not wrong after all those boyish complaints; but he had to admit that the thought—belief in his mind had been that, to his Imperial Majesty of Dzan, a place like earth, with no one kowtowing was, well, crumby. And crumby in at least one of its meanings implied that whoever felt that way didn’t want to be here.

As that thought completed, Enin spoke again: “Things happen around you,” he said, “and you’re not a sissy. Just imagine—you let yourself be tied up back there, and you got rid of those gun carriers . . .” Pause. The boy’s eyes grew wider. “Hey, I forgot to ask. Where did you put those guys?”

Gosseyn smiled. Grimly. “On that ice world, where we were.”

“Boy!” Another pause. “You don’t think they’ll freeze?”

Gosseyn said, “They had on pretty regular clothes, and there’s only about a mile to go to that building; so I’m not worried.”

He thought for a moment. Then: “It’s the price I’m charging them for not being aware of the assumptions by which they operate.”

He concluded: “You remember, I gave them all a chance to think about it, and none of them bothered.” There was, if it were possible for a boy of twelve to have such an expression, a pensive look in Enin’s face. “Yeah,” he said then, “yeah.” He added, “It’s hard to picture us just sitting here while they re-build this place. Is there anything else coming up?”

It was a good question. The feeling inside Gosseyn of something probing at him, was stronger. And it was definitely time to determine what, if anything, was causing such a strange sensation in his head.

The phone rang again, instants after that purpose was born.

Enin’s voice came from off to one side: “Looks like another company w ants the job.”

Gosseyn, who was heading toward the phone, made no verbal reply. But he did have the thought-answer that, on this high government level, there would probably be no bidding for specific construction projects.

Any call having to do with rebuilding would have to be about another aspect of the task. And, of course, the truth was there would be many aspects.

However, moments later, as he spoke the same question—as before—into the receiver, there was a far more significant difference in the reply. The man’s voice at the other end of the line had a harsh quality, as it said, “Let me just make it very clear: if you don’t get off those premises by the end of this day, you’ll get hurt. That institute of stupidity is not going to be rebuilt!”

Gosseyn, who had automatically noted that the message, and the voice, were being recorded—automatically—by the cabinet machine, was able to recover from the unexpected threat in time to say, “Be sure to dress warmly from this moment on!”

There was actually a pause at the other end of the line. And then the same voice but with a baffled instead of a threatening tone, said, “What kind of nonsense is that?”

Bang! Down went the receiver at the other end.

“. . . On that call,” Gosseyn analyzed moments later, “I am inclined to deduce that it is the result of our caretaker advising someone who is willing to pay him for the information.”

Enin frowned. “I don’t get the assumption,” he said.

Gosseyn could not restrain a smile at the use of the General Semantics term—which was not entirely applicable. But all he said was, “My reasoning is that groups, or individuals, against re-educating the public would have a very inexpensive source of information about any projected activity on these premises, if they bribed the caretaker.”