Alfred van Vogt - The World of Null-A

“Earth!” said Gosseyn.

His lips twisted wryly. Since his arrival on Venus, he had succeeded in letting one person know about the threat to the solar system. And at most that person, Amelia Prescott, had passed his story on to Detective Registry, not knowing that organization was now little more than an appendage of the gang. One human being out of two hundred million. Crang was speaking again.

“All right, Blayney,” he commanded, “bring in the Prescotts.”

Gosseyn started, then controlled himself. He watched curiously as John and Amelia Prescott were brought in, handcuffed and gagged. The man stared stolidly across the room at his erstwhile captor, but his wife looked shocked as she saw Gosseyn. For a moment she actually fought the gag. Her eyes twisted with the effort. She subsided gloomily and shook her head helplessly at Gosseyn.

He gazed at her with pitying eyes. Here was the result of her decision to trust that her husband was more null-A than gang. Prescott had failed her. If she had been a member of the group they wouldn't have gagged her. She would have been able to carry through the appearance of being a prisoner without needing to be restrained from speaking.

It must be annoying to her husband, that he too had to be gagged. And whatever the purpose of the farce, Gilbert Gosseyn had better play along with it. He knew who Prescott was, and they didn't know that he knew. It was one of his few advantages in a game where the cards were otherwise heavily stacked against him.

Through the vast dark rushed a spaceship with one woman and four hundred and two men aboard. Crang gave Gosseyn the figures on the second day out.

“I have orders,” he said, “to take no chances with you.”

Gosseyn made no comment. He was puzzled about Crang. The man obviously intended to cling to his position in the gang, regardless of his belief in the philosophy of null-A. It would necessitate unpleasant compromises, and even a remorseless attitude where individual lives were at stake. But if he intended in the long run to use his power for null-A, then all the intermediate concessions to the gang would be compensated for.

Crang passed on along the promenade. Gosseyn stood for a long time peering through one of the mammoth forward portholes out into the interplanetary night. There was a supernally bright star in the darkness ahead. Tomorrow it would take on the contours of earth. And tomorrow evening he would be inside the official residence of President Hardie, after a voyage in space of three days and two nights.

The landing was a disappointment to Gosseyn. Mists and clouds ringed the continents, and all the way down through the atmosphere of Earth those clouds hid the land below. And then-final disappointment-a blanket of fog lay over the city of the Machine covering all that the clouds had missed. He had a tantalizing glimpse of the atomic light that was the Games Machine's own dazzling beacon. And then the spaceship sank down into the cavernous interior of a gigantic building.

Gosseyn was whisked off into the gathering fog-ridden twilight. The street lamps came on, and were mist-blurred blobs of light. The courtyard of the presidential palace was deserted, but it came alive with the sounds of men who poured out of the escort cars and surrounded him. He was herded into a long, brightly lighted corridor and up a flight of stairs into a luxurious hallway. Crang led the way to a door at the far end.

“Here we are,” he said. “This will be your apartment while you remain a guest of the president. The rest of you remain outside, please.”

He opened a door into a living room that was at least twenty feet long and forty wide. There were three other doors leading into it. Crang indicated them.

“Bedroom, bathroom, and back entrance. There's another door inside the bedroom joining it to the bathroom.” He hesitated. “You will be neither locked in nor guarded, but I wouldn't try to get away if I were you. You couldn't possibly get out of the palace, I assure you.”

He grinned. It was an engaging grimace, and quite friendly.

“You'll find suitable dinner clothing in the bedroom. Do you think you could be ready in about an hour? I want to show you something before dinner.”

“I'll be ready,” said Gosseyn.

He undressed, thinking of the opportunities for escape. He didn't accept Crang's statement that it would be impossible to get away, if they really had no guards around. He wondered if they were trying to tempt him.

There were several suits of clothing in the clothes closet of the bedroom, and he had selected one that was made up of a dark but shiny material when he heard a door open. He slipped into his dressing gown and went out into the living room. Patricia Hardie was in the act of closing the door which Crang had called the back entrance. She whirled with a lithe movement and came toward him.

“You damned fool!” she said without preliminary. “Why did you leave so fast when those guards came into my apartment? Didn't you hear me tell them I didn't allow my rooms to be searched on Thorson's orders?” She made a movement with her hand, a silencing movement. “Never mind. It's past. You did leave, got yourself killed, and now here you are again. That was you that was killed, wasn't it? It wasn't only a chance resemblance?”

Gosseyn parted his lips. She cut him off.

“I can only stay a minute. Believe me, I'm suspect number one in your escape last month, and if I'm caught up here–” She shuddered convincingly. “Gosseyn, who are you? You must know by now.”

He studied her, infected by her excitement. She brought an aliveness into the room that had been missing. Her very breathlessness was intriguing.

“Tell me,” she said imperiously. “Quick!”

It was easy enough to tell her what he knew. He had awakened on Venus without memory of how he had gotten there. He had nothing to hide of subsequent events except his knowledge that Prescott was of the gang. Even that Patricia knew, for she had loudly made the identification within his hearing. It was the one fact, however, that he could not mention aloud. If dictaphones were listening to this conversation, that was a secret which they must share in silence.

But everything else he told her, succinctly. Before he finished, she flung herself into a chair and bit her lips in obvious vexation.

“This second body of yours,” she said finally, “actually knows nothing more than the first. You're really just a pawn.”

Gosseyn stood looking down at her. He couldn't decide whether to be annoyed or amused. He was not prepared to go into the problem of two Gosseyn bodies with her, though he had had a few thoughts on the subject. The reference to his being a pawn stung, because it was true.

“Look,” he said shortly, “where do you fit into all this?”

The girl's eyes softened. “I'm sorry,” she said. “I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. The truth is that your very lack of knowledge has startled all groups. Thorson, the personal representative of Enro, has postponed the invasion of Venus. There! I thought that would interest you. But wait! Don't interrupt. I'm giving you information which I intended to give you a month ago. You'll want to know about 'X.' So do the rest of us. The man has a will of iron, but no one knows what his purpose is. He seems to be primarily interested in his own aggrandizement, and he has expressed the hope that some use can be made of you. The Galactic League people are bewildered. They can't decide whether the cosmic chess player who has moved you into this game is an ally or not. Everybody is groping in the dark, wondering what to do next.”

She paused. Her eyes were bright and excited. “My friend,” she said, “there must be an opportunity for you in all this confusion. Take it.” She was suddenly earnest. “Take it if it is offered and hasn't got impossible conditions attached to it. Stay alive.”