Null-A Three (25 page)

Somehow, he had taken for granted that the top officers would be talking to him. Was a higher-up monitoring this meeting? Were the minions at the table waiting for an expression of approval, or for a decision authorizing further action?

As the silence lengthened, Gosseyn waited with them. Waited unhappily; because his situation seemed to be worse, not better.

A thought came: “. . . It could be that unless I figure out how to break down these barriers, this could go on—”

Another thought, a memory related to General Semantics: “. . . That business of believing that I would be interested in a woman named Strella because I liked the similar name, Strala—”

It was a vague direction to take. But surely better than just sitting here in this dim room with the people who mattered. With that sudden motivation, he straightened a little, shuffled his feet—a little—and, addressing the spokesman, said:

“Do you have a name which distinguishes you from these—” He gestured vaguely towards the other Troogs at the table, and completed his question—“from these friends of yours?”

The big eyes stared. The little mouth said, “We all have names.”

But the speaker did not volunteer his own name. He continued to sit there, a glop version of a human being.

“The impression I have,” said Gosseyn, “is that your friends are not your equals.”

“We are Troogs.”

The tone of voice had in it, suddenly, an imperious quality. The expression of personal power evoked from Gosseyn his next question:

“Are you the—” he hesitated—“emperor?”

There was a distinct pause. The face and eyes continued to fix on Gosseyn. Finally, almost reluctantly—it seemed—the alien said, “We Troogs do not have emperors.” Another pause. Then: “I am the appointed leader of this ship.”

“Who appointed you?” Gosseyn asked.

If possible, the great eyes grew even rounder. Then, impatiently: “I appointed myself, of course.” The sudden irritation abruptly produced more words: “Look, our authority system is none of your business.”

Gosseyn rejected the meaning with a gentle shake of his head. Then: “Sir,” he said politely, “you’ve made this entire situation my business by your relentless pursuit of me and your attempt to control me. I should therefore comment that I find your system of government significant. Are you saying, in effect, that no one else was motivated to appoint
himself
commander-in-chief?”

Pause; then: “Several.” The big eyes stared into his.

“What happened to their acts of self-appointment?”

In front of him the small mouth twisted slightly. Then: “They never reached the appointment stage. When they spoke of their ambitions, nobody listened. So they got the message.”

“I gather that, somehow, you had put yourself over?” Gosseyn spoke the comment in a questioning tone.

The impatience was still there. “Mr. Gosseyn,” the leader said, “you yourself manifest many qualities of a commander. I feel certain that, among the human beings we have aboard, there is not one, considering the particular predicament they are all in, who would not accept your orders. Automatically.”

Particular predicament!

It was a relation-to-statement, and therefore within the General Semantics frame of reasoning.

The words that had been so casually spoken had an additional revelatory meaning: . . . other human beings aboard—

Aside, of course, from that poor, dumb youth who had served his omelette, it was now fairly certain that the reference was to Mr. and Mrs. Eldred Crang, the Prescotts, Leej and Enro, and the others. They were still alive. Captured but undamaged.

Suddenly, it was sad. Self-appointed leaders. These semi-human-looking people had evolved what had the implication of being an emergency-style system of living with each other. Somehow, in spite of their physical deformity, they had simultaneously achieved a mighty science.

Self-appointed government could work. There was a pragmatism involved that, in most situations, had a potential for almost sensational success.

The self-appointed whatever arriving at a cul-de-sac in his own forward drive—plan—purpose—research; and so not offering a resistance when an assistant asserted leadership by asserting that his—whatever
—would
work.

There was a sort of things-get-done momentum in such an idea. At least a partial certainty of nothing ever slowing down because a single individual could never for long fool his colleagues. Observably, the project he was working on would either be going forward, or it would not be.

Such a system could conceivably work best in the area of physics and chemistry. The results were always visible; and if a research-leader lagged, there were eager usurpers waiting down the line for the slightest sign of slowdown in creativity.

In fact, the leadership system could explain the superiority of Troog science, on the one hand, and a misuse of it, on the other.

Because, obviously, psychology, and the so-called social sciences, as well as humanitarian ideas, could never be observably true. In those fields, there could, as on earth, be “schools” with the usual variant beliefs. It was in such areas of study that General Semantics offered the individual a method of avoiding the
need
for certainty.

Nothing like that here, was his feeling-thought.

He was aware of other, similar thoughts crowding up from some equivalent of an inner well of ideas. But before they could take form, the two doors to his right opened again. The five Troog waiters and the human youth entered.

The Troogs were carrying tall, transparent glasses containing a liquid; and in the youth’s hand was a cup and a saucer, and a cream pitcher. Coffee?—Gosseyn wondered.

It was. Quickly set down in front of him by hands that, thereupon, reached over and removed the empty omelette plate. Presumably, particular Troogs picked up the same plates they had set down earlier. Interesting, then, that the human boy, as he withdrew with his alien companions, did not look at Gosseyn.

But his predicament had made an impression. And so Gosseyn gazed after him, and, just before the poor, little guy disappeared, took a 20-decimal mental photograph of him.

His thought was: “As soon as I get this whole situation clarified, so that I can be sure, I’ll put him somewhere on earth—”

It was a slightly flabbergasted Gosseyn who poured in a tiny portion of cream, stirred it, and took the first sip of what tasted like genuine coffee.

In picking up the cup, he saw that there were half a dozen sugar cubes at the edge of the saucer; but the Gosseyn bodies did not use sugar in coffee; so the cubes remained where they were.

It was evidently another instance of a self-appointed Troog studying human needs, and even coming up with coffee. It was the kind of thoroughness which assured that no other Troog down the line of command would be taking over his job.

That was probably also why they had brought the human youth aboard. To help on the finer details.

In such small matters, and in relation to science, the system had its points. But otherwise—

He put his cup down, and gazed at the leader, who, he saw, was sipping liquid from the glass that had been set for him. Gosseyn shook his head at the alien.

“I find it difficult,” he said, “to visualize such a leadership system in relation to important matters. Apparently, back in your own galaxy, the self-appointed super-leader evidently maintains a state of continuous warfare against the Dzan humans.”

Another one of those pauses. All the other Troog eyes stared at their leader expectantly.

Gosseyn waited, as one shoulder of the big body below that head made a movement that could have been described as a shrug. The small mouth said:

“Our Great One,” said the ship leader, “ordered the lesser race to submit itself to his commands.”

Pause. Silence. Finally: “When was this ultimatum given?” Gosseyn asked.

The huge eyes stared at him; and there was a small note of surprise from the voice that issued from the little mouth: “No one has ever asked that question before.”

There were so many implications in the reply that Gosseyn almost literally had to control consciously the wild way his thoughts leaped in every direction. Finally, with a gulp: “Was the ultimatum already in force when you were born?”

“Y-yes!” The hesitation this time was followed by sounds from other Troogs.

He was getting answers, so Gosseyn did not waste time.

“We, here in the Milky Way galaxy, were surprised to discover, when we went out into space, that human beings of various color combinations, inhabited most of the habitable planets—everywhere!

“Recently—” he continued—“we learned that we are descendants of long ago immigrants from your galaxy. The story was that some malignant energy field was moving in upon that galaxy. At the time millions of small spacecraft were constructed. Each contained two men and two women in a state of suspended animation and with life support systems for the long journey from your galaxy to this one.

“Now, with the arrival of the Dzan battleship and your battleship, we deduce that those persons who stayed behind, because there were not enough spacecraft to transport everybody—that, I repeat, those who remained were not destroyed, as was believed would happen.”

He drew a deep breath, and concluded, “Have you any explanation for the fact that, apparently, two human races—the Troogs and those who are like us here—survived the threatening catastrophe?”

Silence. They were staring.

It was no time to stop. Gosseyn pressed on: “When I look at you, Mr. Leader, and your colleagues, who are sitting here in this room with you, I see a human shape that appears to have been modified from the original standard human like myself. You are mutants. It would seem, then, that it was your ancestors who were caught in that cloud of malignant energies.

“And, of course,” he finished, “by the defensive mechanism, well-known in psychology, you thereupon concluded that what had happened made you superior; and here you are calling yourself the people who matter.” The leader was staring upward, seemingly at the wall behind Gosseyn. And the other Troogs were staring at him.

Abruptly, then—action! A Troog, whose body was easily the largest at the table, stood up—almost leaped up, actually (his chair scraped noisily)—and said in an almost yelling voice:

“Veen, you are no longer qualified to be leader. So I, Yona, appoint myself leader in your place!”

There was no sound from the alien, who had so suddenly been identified by name. He seemed to sink down in his chair; and, what was sensational, did not argue with the evaluation of him by his fellow Troog. Apparently, it was unwise, in this super-competitive society, to be surprised or caught off guard.

So Gilbert Gosseyn Three was now an individual who had been instrumental in overthrowing a Troog leader. There would be repercussions; and, in such a logical society, it would be interesting to see what they were.

Sitting there, Gosseyn had a sudden surge of hope. At once, he addressed the new leader, while the alien was still standing there in his moment of triumph.

“I’m now deducing,” Gosseyn said, “that this entire dinner, and what happened here, has been broadcast to the crew and officers of your ship. And so they are now aware that . . . (brief hesitation)—Yona is now the appointed leader of this battleship.”

If it were possible, the little mouth of the huge man tightened in what, in a human being, would have been a belligerent firming of the jaw section.

“That is true.” The alien’s tone had a challenging tone as if he dared anyone to criticize.

Gosseyn leaned back in his chair once more. This time it was not a relaxing action—he realized. The thought that the new leader’s verification brought was too huge.

At this instant—that was the sudden awareness—all the way down the line of subordinate leadership, and their waiting-to-pounce aides, Troogs would be thinking what
they
, as individuals,
should
do to fit into the new situation.

The astonishing thing, then was, he was so busy trying to analyze what might be happening, that other intruding thoughts did not penetrate until, suddenly, a directed message came on the mental yelling intensity:

“. . . Mr. Gosseyn Three—” It was the mental voice of Gosseyn Two—“I’ve been getting your thoughts for at least thirty seconds, now; and you’re still so concentrated on your own situation that you haven’t received mine . . .
Wake up! We’re connected again?”

In that dim lit earth-style dining room Gosseyn Three straightened in his chair. He was conscious of relief but, at the same time, did not lose momentum in what was happening in front of him.

He directed one, quick, mental message to his alter ego: “Bear with me, brother!”

To Yona, who was still standing, he said, “I hope that you will accept the offer I have made, of total cooperation.”

The big man looked at him grimly. “We have your promise that you will do what you can to help us get back to our home galaxy?”

“One hundred percent cooperation,” said Gosseyn. “Do you have any explanation”—it was an accusing tone, still—“of how all this happened?”