Alfred Van Vogt - Null–A Three

His mind went back again to the realization that this young woman might possibly be permanently damaged in relation to her home planet. And, again, the faraway amazement that the Troogs must believe that any woman with a similar name would be equally attractive to him—

With that—decision! Simply and directly, Gosseyn acted. He made his instant mental, extra-brain photograph of Strella, and at once transmitted her to the floor location in the Institute of General Semantics on earth, where he had brought the business man, Gorrold, from the Andes in South America.

It was a location where, at least, she would be able to make herself understood—up to a point.

As he completed the best saving action he could think of for the young woman… something stirred in his brain.

Sudden awareness, after all these minutes, of Gosseyn Two—out there.

It must have been a simultaneous realization; for his alter ego addressed an urgent mental message to him: “I have bad news. The moment you left the restaurant, the people there were taken aboard the Troog battleship.” The shock of guilt inside Gosseyn Three faded quickly. The truth was, even if he had stayed to help them, the aliens would have been able to capture the majority; so far he himself had operated at the rate of only one 20-decimal transport at a time.

His immediate thought-purpose must have reached out. Because Gosseyn Two said across the light-years in a resigned mental voice: “The truth has to be that you’re the one they really want. If anyone can help them return to their own galaxy—the method is probably available somewhere in that tangle of nerves in your head.”

He concluded, “Good luck, brother—I guess that’s what we are: twin brothers.”

… Not quite twins, thought Gosseyn Three.

He did not pause to reason out the details of difference; but at once transmitted himself into the laboratory aboard the Troog warship.

The final struggle was about to begin.

That was Gosseyn’s impression as he realized he was lying on a floor. Lying face down; not standing.

So, somehow, in those split instants before transmission occurred, the Troogs had been able, with their mighty science, to modify one aspect of the 20-decimal transport method, whereby he had always, in the past, arrived in the physical-muscular-body position that had existed at the moment of departure. On Meerd, he had been standing. Here—

Gosseyn stayed where he was. Did not even turn his head immediately.

“… I could be killed as I lie here—” was his thought. But he realized that he believed the aliens still needed him. And in every way had proved it in three separate control actions. On each occasion death could have been administered; but it wasn’t.

Here he sprawled, face down. His nose was actually pressed against what seemed to be a soft, smooth floor. His eyes stared directly down at the grayish-white, slightly gleaming flatness. He was, he realized, still presuming that this was the laboratory floor toward which he had aimed himself from the remote star system, which the young woman, Strella, had called Meerd.

… Time to show awareness, and to move carefully. What he did, he raised himself to his knees.

And saw that, though he had only glimpsed it fleetingly as he was emerging from the capsule, it was, in fact, the room, which he had originally thought of as a laboratory.

For some reason, the identification—the recognition—evoked a strong reaction of relief.

“… I am where I wanted to be—”

Even as he had the awareness, he was lifting himself in the same unhurried fashion; it was still his assumption that any quick movement could bring an unpleasant reaction.

Standing, he looked around a bright, large interior. Visible were numerous, gleaming machines and instrument boards projecting from wall and floor.

However, there was no sign of the space capsule inside which his body had lain while the Troogs duplicated his original awakening as it had taken place—earlier—on the Dzan ship. Not that he had expected it to be still there. It had obviously been brought aboard through some wall opening. The most likely wall was the one with the least instrumentation built into it, and with a long, dark slash right down the middle from ceiling to floor; that was where it must divide and slide back. It was through such an opening that large objects could be brought into the laboratory or taken out.

It seemed a shame that time was being wasted. Because here he was, the man with all the answers to everybody’s questions.

… Surely, they knew that he was here—

It seemed to him there must be something he could do while he waited for their reaction… The truth was, the more he found out—now—the safer he’d feel when the moment of crisis came—

Perhaps, contact Gosseyn Two?

It was a passing impulse. The fact was, he had already noticed that the ether was silent. There was absolutely no mental awareness of his alter ego. It was a case of complete cut off. Again.

Perhaps, he should try to decide what the Troogs had in mind for the other prisoners? That would require leaving the room, with the intention of looking for, and locating, Crang, Patricia, the Prescotts, Enro—

It was staring at what looked like a door—off to his right—that brought that thought. Without hesitation, he headed for it.

Whatever it was, the flat surface that looked like a door, had several metallic attachments that undoubtedly had some purpose. Gosseyn pulled, pushed, twisted at each separate piece. Two of the items made a clicking sound when thus manipulated; but there was no I give to the door, if that was what it was.

He stepped back, suddenly more determined Okay, maybe if he made a 20-decimal connection between the energy feeding one of the instrument boards and the door mechanism—

The failure of the Troogs to acknowledge his presence was beginning to be a little irritating. A waste of time.

Above everything else he needed an audience that would hold still for what he had to say.

The wry thought was still in his mind, and he was still there, moments later, when a tenor voice said, in English, from the ceiling:

“Gilbert Gosseyn, we have you completely in our control. Here, you cannot even use your extra-brain method to escape.”

Although the words conveyed a possibility that had already occurred to Gosseyn, hearing the meaning spoken aloud brought a thought: “… This is what they learned how to do during those three trips they sent me on—”

So there seemed to be no question: this whole madness was about to enter its decisive stage.

Despite his instant hope, there he still stood at least a minute later, waiting—he realized ruefully—for the self-appointed enemy to provide him with the opportunity to act.

During that minute, his environment was the same gleaming metal room with the same gray-ish floor, and all those instruments jutting out and up.

He had been assuming that the Troogs could, to some extent, read his mind. But since they had missed a decisive aspect of his General Semantics orientation, perhaps all they could essentially study was the brain itself, with occasional thoughts available in some connecting situation.

Another fifteen seconds—at least—went by… They’re waiting, and I’m waiting. For what?

After several more moments of consideration he walked over, and once more tried the door mechanism. This time, when the two clicks sounded, the door swung open.

Gosseyn wasted no time, with not even a single backward glance, he walked through the opening into a wide, high-ceilinged hallway.

Momentarily, then, the rueful feeling came back:

“… Okay, okay,” he thought, “I was reasoning some human way, and they had their Trogg approach to logic—”