Alfred van Vogt - The Players of Null-A

As he started forward again, he felt the nerve sensation that indicated the approach of a human being. A moment later, a man emerged from a door that led to the forward part of the vessel. The fellow was slim, with an edge of gray in his hair. He ran over to Leej, and knelt beside her. 'My dear,' he said, 'you're back.' He kissed her with a quick movement. At the window now, Gosseyn ignored the lovers. He was looking down and back at a fascinating scene. An island. A green island, set like an emerald in a sapphire sea. There was a gem within the green gem, a pile of buildings that shone gray-white in the sun, and already it was hard to make out the details. They seemed unreal, and actually did not resemble buildings at this distance. His knowledge that they were enabled his mind to fill in the gaps.

The ship was climbing a long, shallow slope of air. Its speed was evidently greater than he had thought from the smoothness of the acceleration, because, as he watched, the island shrank visibly in size. And he could see now that there was no apparent movement either on the ground or in the air above it.

That braced him, though there had been in his mind through all the dangerous moments the knowledge that, even if he were killed, the continuity of his memories and thoughts would immediately be carried on by another Gosseyn body, which would wake up automatically in a remote hiding place. Unfortunately, as he had learned from an earlier version of his body, now dead, the next group of Gosseyns were eighteen years old. He couldn't escape the conviction that no eighteen year old could handle the crisis that had been created by Enro. People had confidence in mature men and not in children. That confidence might make a difference between victory and defeat in a critical moment. It was important that he remain alive in this body. His eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he considered the immediate possibilities. He had work to do. He must stop further transportation of Predictors to Enro's fleet, seize the warships that had landed, and, as soon as possible, attack the shadow-thing on his island. There were preliminaries to be accomplished, but those were

the things he must work toward—and swiftly. Swiftly. The great and decisive battle of the Sixth Decant was hourly growing in fury. If he knew anything of human nature, then the League was already shaken to its tenuous foundations. Certainly, Enro expected it to collapse, and, childish though the dictator might be when it came to women, on the political and military level he was a genius.

He was about to turn from the window when it struck him that Jurig, under sentence of death as he was, might be bearing the brunt of the Follower's wrath. Hastily, he similarized Jurig to the woods outside the fence. If the man was at all afraid, he would hide there and so be available for transportation to the ship later on.

The action taken, he twisted back into the room in time to hear the woman say calmly, 'I'm sorry, Yanar, but he will want a woman, and naturally I must be the one. Good-by.'

The man was on his feet, his face dark. He looked up and his eyes met Gosseyn's. The hatred that sparkled in their dark depths was matched by the sensation that jumped from his nervous system to Gosseyn's extra brain. He said with a sneer, 'I don't give my mistress up to anyone without a fight, even someone whose future is a blur.'

His hand disappeared into a pocket, and came out with a small, fanlike instrument. He brought it up, and pressed the charger.

Gosseyn walked forward, and took the weapon from Yanar's fingers. The other did not resist. There was a strained look on his face, and the nervous rhythm that exuded from him had altered to a fear pattern. He was obviously stunned at the way his fragile appearing but powerful gun had failed to 'fire.' Gosseyn moved off several paces and examined the instrument curiously. The radial flanges that made up the antenna was typical, and verified, if verification was needed, the nature of the energy involved. Magnetic weapons operated on outside power, in this case the field set up by the magnetic engines in the hull. The field extended with dimming strength for a distance of nearly five miles beyond the hull.

Gosseyn slipped the instrument into his pocket, and tried to imagine the effect on Yanar of what had happened. He had photographed the entire weapon, and allowed one of the discharge points to flow to a similarized area into the prison cell of the Follower's Retreat. The distance in space prevented the current from coming back to the ship, and so the weapon, its energy diverted, had failed to function. The psychological effect must be slightly terrific.

The man's face remained a bleached white, but he brought his teeth together with a snap.

'You'll have to kill me,' he said, bitterly.

He was a middle-aged nonentity, set in his ways, thalamically bound up in A—as distinct from Null-A—habits, and because he could shoot for purely emotional reasons, he would be dangerous so long as they were both aboard the ship. He must be killed, or exiled, or—Gosseyn smiled grimly —guarded. He knew just the man who could do it. Jurig. But that was for later. Now, he half-turned to Leej, and questioned her pointedly about the marriage customs of the Predictors.

There was no marriage. 'That,' said Leej with disdain, 'is for the lesser breeds.'

She did not say so in so many words, but Gosseyn gathered that Yanar was one of a long line of lovers, and that, being older, he had had even more mistresses. These people wearied of each other, and because of their gift were usually able to name the exact hour when they would separate. The unexpected appearance of Gosseyn had terminated this affair sooner than anticipated.

Gosseyn was neither repelled nor attracted by the moves involved. His first thought had been to reassure Yanar that he needn't worry about losing his mistress. He didn't say it. He wanted a Predictor beside him from now on, and Leej might be insulted if she discovered that he did not make love to women who did not have some Null-A training.

He asked Leej one more question. 'What does Yanar do besides eat and sleep?'

'He runs the ship.'

Gosseyn motioned at Yanar. 'Lead the way,' he said curtly.

Further conversation with Leej could wait. He was a man who must depend on what he knew, and the sense of urgency was strong upon him again.

As he examined the ship, Gosseyn's mind jumped back to what Leej had said when they were running through the underbrush on the Follower's island. Trailer, she had called her machine.

A skytrailer. He could imagine the easy life these Predictors had lived for so many years on their world of islands and water. Floating lazily through the sky, landing when the mood touched them, and where they desired; seizing control of any 'lesser' human being whom it pleased them to enslave, and snatching any object they wanted to possess—there was a part of man's nature that longed for such a carefree existence. The fact that in this case it included a ruthless subjugation of people who did not have the precious gift of prophecy was easy to understand also. Overlordship could always be justified by minds that were not too critical. And, besides, recent generations had grown up from babyhood in an environment where slavery was not questioned by the Predictor hierarchy. The attitude was part of the set of their nervous systems.

Though they did not seem to realize it, the appearance of the Follower on their idyllic scene had forever broken the casual pattern of their existence. And now, the arrival of the galactic warship and the presence of Gilbert Gosseyn were further indicators of their changing conditions. They must either adjust or be swept aside.

The control room was in the nose of the vessel. It didn't take long to examine it. The controls were of the simple discharger type common to energy derived from the planet's own magnetic currents.