Null-A Three (9 page)

So that the words that were spoken next came as a distinct shock.

It was a question, spoken by Onda: “Perhaps, Mr. Breemeg, before we proceed, you are not able to make a comment about the defect we mentioned earlier, in relation to Mr. Gosseyn.”

The courtier, who had been standing of! to one side, came forward. “The broken connection?” he asked. “Yes, sir.”

Pause.

“General Semantics,” thought Gosseyn, ruefully, “where are you when I need you?”

His feeling: this ship and its people continued to confront him with unanticipated situations . . . Defect! Broken connection!—there were vague, unpleasant implications; and nothing to do but wait and Find out what they were.

He saw that Breemeg had walked to the opposite side of the table, and was gazing at him. Breemeg said, “In your opinion, are you in good health? Do you have any awareness of a weakness, or of anything missing? How are you reacting physically to so much activity after years of being in a state of suspended animation?” On the surface it seemed to be a reasonable question; and Gosseyn was aware of himself relaxing. Reasonable—he thought—except for the negative meaning of “defect” and “broken connection.”

Thinking of that, he said tentatively, “I seem to be in good physical condition. Why do you ask?”

Breemeg nodded toward Onda. “You tell him.”

The larger of the two scientists—which was what Gosseyn presumed they were—also did a nodding motion with that long head of his, saying, “One of the connections from your life support system inside the capsule was broken. Examination of the two broken ends, one of which was connected to a nerve end in your neck, would indicate that the break occurred long ago.”

“So—” he shrugged—“something that someone believed was needed to keep you in good condition in that confined area, has been missing for years.”

He broke off: “You haven’t noticed anything?” Gosseyn had already done a swift, mental survey of his actions since awakening; and so General Semantics did something for him, now, when the direct question was asked: He had no need to re-examine what had already been evaluated. He simply shook his head. “I feel alert and strong.”

“Well,” said Onda, in a doubtful tone, “it’s hard to believe that the builders of such equipment would include anything that wasn’t vital to the life process. So—” He straightened his thick body—“our advice to you is, if you notice anything at all, report it at once, and maybe we can still do something to rectify the missing element.” Gosseyn nodded. “It is to my interest to do so.”

“Something electrical involved.” Voice One spoke for the first time from where he stood in the doorway. “A neural stimulant of some kind.”

Gosseyn saw that Breemeg was getting restless; and since he had already noticed that there was a half-inch wide, ten-inch-long, plastic straw lying beside his soup bowl, he now picked it up.

What he was presently sucking up through the straw had some of the flavor of what the earlier Gosseyns might have labeled dishwater, and a vague taste of sweetness, resembling orange juice, and an impression of fatty material in small quantities.

It turned out that his stomach was able to hold down the entire liquid mixture. At which point, as he virtually drained the bowl, he looked up and saw that Breemeg was motioning at him.

The man said, “All right, Mr. Gosseyn, let’s go! . . .” The Place was another garden-like lead-up to a somewhat more ornate door. But the emperor himself answered the bell, or whatever signal was triggered when Breemeg touched something at one side.

Gosseyn was aware of the courtier swallowing, literally—his throat moved in the gulping movement. But before the man could recover his official aplomb, the boy said, dismissingly, “You may leave, Breemeg. I’ll take over our guest, thank you.”

He thereupon beckoned Gosseyn with a hand gesture. Moments after that, it was over; Breemeg with the door closed in his face was presumably either seething outside, or relieved to be able to depart . . .

Dutifully—in at least one meaning of the word—Gosseyn followed the boy emperor across a large, tastefully decorated room. But noticed that here, also, as in his Palomar apartment, the elegance, which was here much greater, was nevertheless modified by the requirements of space flight.

The settees, and chairs, and tables, were built-in: everything was locked in position. And, through the carpet under his feet, he could feel the no-give metallic floor below.

He was surprised that the boy seemed to be alone. There were no visible servants, no sign of the mother, and no guards. There were several closed doors; but not a sound was audible from the rooms they presumably led into.

. . . Himself and the young emperor heading in a specific direction toward what seemed to be a decorated wall. He was not too surprised when the decoration turned out to be the field of play of the game, scroob.

What am I doing here? he wondered, ruefully.

But, of course, he knew. He had saved himself from a confrontation with a mad boy by, personally, introducing the game element. And so, that same boy was now eager to introduce him to a shining surface on the wall, whereby, when you pressed a small decoration, that part of the surface changed color. They were most of the colors that he knew; and the idea was that if you could be the first to line up one color the length of that surface either up, or sideways, then you were the winner.

When a game was won, the pattern was restored for a new game by pushing a decoration that was off to one side: a control button whereby a computer promptly set up a new, hidden, winning line and winning color.

There were supposed to be clues, as the young emperor explained it, in the color sequence that turned on whenever a decoration changed color. If you were smart you could eventually read the clues, and decide which color would be the next winner, and which direction it would win.

Gosseyn was smart, and, after he lost three games to a delighted younger winner, he saw how he could win the fourth game. After a momentary hesitation, he, in fact, decided to win it.

The boy’s reaction to the victory of his opponent was . . . he whirled. He ran across the wide part of the floor, dodging tables and chairs. Moments later, he was pounding on a beautiful blue door in one corner, and yelling: “Mother, mother, he beat me at scroob!”

There was a pause. And then the door opened; and a young woman emerged. Or, at least, Gosseyn assumed that the blonde individual, who was dressed in a man-like uniform, with trousers, but with only a colored shirt over the upper part of the body, and no jacket . . . that this fine-faced individual was, in fact, the mother, so urgently summoned moments before.

And, indeed, when she spoke it was a woman’s musical voice. What she said, was, “Sir, Enin told me about you. He doesn’t seem to remember your name clearly.”

Gosseyn pronounced it for her, and added, “I think I can show the emperor what the clues are, that lead to the winning condition.”

He continued, “He knows some of them, but there are a few special signals.”

As he made the explanation, he was noticing her slim form, and, her even-featured, distinctive face. And his judgment was that the emperor’s mother would be a real beauty, properly arrayed in silks, or in dresses, generally.

He also noticed the name she had called her son: Enin . . . I’m really getting fast information on this big ship, and from top echelon people—

It could be that that had to continue to be his purpose: learn, find out, get details.

The woman was speaking again: “No more games right now, Enin. It’s time for your lessons. Off you go, dear.”

She leaned over, and kissed him on the right cheek. “Leave Mr. Gosseyn here. I’d like to speak to him.”

“All right, mother.” The boy’s voice sounded subdued. He thereupon turned to Gosseyn, and said in an almost beseeching tone: “You’re not going to be a problem of any kind, are you, Mr. Gosseyn?”

Gosseyn shook his head, smiling. “I’m your friend and fellow game player from now on.”

The small face lighted up. “Oh, boy! We’re going to have a great time.” He turned happily to the woman, and said, “You treat him right, mother.”

The woman nodded. “I’ll treat him just like I did your father.”

“Oh, my gosh!” The boy trembled. The blue eyes widened. “You mean—maybe you and Mr. Gosseyn will go into your bedroom, and lock the door, and won’t come out for an hour, the way you and dad used to do?”

Before she could answer, he turned to Gosseyn. “Sir, if she takes you into her room, will you tell me afterwards what the conversation was?”

“Only with your mother’s permission,” Gosseyn replied, “will I ever reveal anything about a private conversation?”

“Oh, damn!”

“That,” continued Gosseyn, “applies also to anything you and I discuss in private. And, as one example, I won’t tell anyone that I beat you at one game of scroob—without your permission.”

“Oh!” Pause. The face looked acceptant. Then: “I guess that makes sense.”

The mother was taking her son by the hand. “All right, darling, off you go.” Whereupon, she led him to a brown door at the far right, opened it, and called out to someone who was evidently there: “Your pupil has arrived. Time for lessons.”

It was a little difficult for Gosseyn to visualize the teacher’s reaction to those words. Whoever it was might not be anymore happy about this pupil than, for example, Breemeg and his fellow courtiers. Unless—

Could it be that here in The Place, it was a normal family life that the boy emperor lived? Here, with his mother as an accepted and beloved guide.

But as for himself, and his progress toward anything that mattered—he could see nothing . . . I’m being shunted around from one minor situation to another. Basically, it was a zero situation.

Standing there, he couldn’t even imagine anything that he should do. He was a prematurely awakened, duplicate Gilbert Gosseyn. It still seemed true that there must be a significant reason for his being discovered by the Dzan. But it was also likely that Gosseyn Two could handle all necessary investigations relating to the arrival of these people in this area of space.

Unfortunately, now that he was conscious, the idea of deliberately returning to the space capsule—which was certainly one of the options—was not something he cared to contemplate.

So here he was, an unneeded Gosseyn, who presumably—if he could help it—would be around for a while. But he had better leave the serious business to his predecessor.

“. . . How about that, Gosseyn Two?—”

The reply, as it came into his mind, seemed to have a smile associated with it: “My other self, you are in the center of the biggest event in the space-time of this galaxy; and I’m way out here with a few important friends, watching from a distance. I should tell you that Enro seems to be the most disturbed by what has happened, and would like to use our transport method, personally, to come over there, and talk to these people. So far I have resisted the idea; but even Crang would like to visit with you on the command ship. Perhaps, now that you are on friendly terms with both the emperor and his mother, something could be arranged.”

Gosseyn Three replied mentally, “For all I know, they would be interested in having visitors. But maybe not right now.”

Gosseyn Two’s reply was: “It isn’t settled in our minds here that it would be a good idea at all. So we’ll discuss it later.”

Gosseyn Three did not pursue the matter. It had been a swift mental conversation. But even as it was, the woman had had time to close the classroom door, had turned, and started in his direction.

It seemed to be a perfectly normal moment in time and space. As Gosseyn watched her coming towards him, he had a simple, unsophisticated thought; and so he said, apologetically, “Madam, I imagine I should now have someone take me back to my assigned apartment until your son has further need of me.”

The young woman had paused while he was still speaking. And now she stood gazing at him with an odd expression on her face. The expression included a hint of a smile. Then:

“That will be in a little over an hour,” she said. And added, “The lesson, I mean.”

She was the Greatest Lady of this realm; and so the naming of the time lapse had no significance for Gosseyn; made no personal connection. What did strike him once more was the perfect use of English. But even that mystery was something he had no intention of discussing with her. That was for scientists to deal with. Later.

Again, considering all that he had heard, he deduced that the boy’s father had somehow died in his late twenties or early thirties. The age, of course, was an earth comparison. But, presumably, imperial widows of Dzan did not succeed their husbands in power and position.

And that fleeting thought, also, ran its rapid, unsuspecting course.

The . . . unexpected . . . came instants later, as the young woman said, earnestly, “You’re the first man to whom Enin has responded as a boy might to a father. And I’m wondering, now that I’ve seen you, if you would marry me, and try to do for him what no one else apparently can do?”

A faraway thought floated into Gosseyn’s mind. It was a thought he had had before, but it came now with a special impact: “At this moment, I am utterly surprised. I feel as if I have been taken off guard the way no one with General Semantics training ever should be.”