Alfred Van Vogt - Null–A Three

… I wonder if I went to a Troog planet, would I make a point of noticing where they got that glop they ate here today?—

Looking back, he could not recall Gosseyns One and Two ever paying attention to the origin of the food on the planets where they had been: since other humans ate the stuff, so had they also.

His after-eating survey had been swift, but long enough. And so he had a strong feeling of relief when, directly across from him, one of the bulkier bodies stood up. For a long moment, the individual—presumably a leader—gazed at Gosseyn with those round, black eyes. And then, the tiny mouth under the tiny, slitted nose, said in a surprisingly normal, medium tenor voice: “As you are undoubtedly aware, something unfortunate happened. An entire shipload of the people who matter arrived in this galaxy, and in the process lost their ability to speak their own language, and instead acquired an equivalent ability to speak English, one of many languages spoken on the planet earth: but—and very significant this—your language.”

There was only one sentence in those introductory remarks that gave information Gosseyn did not already have:

… The People Who Matter …

It was an automatic acceptance of being better. All through human history on that singularly important planet of the solar system, there had been similar self-laudatory judgments by groups and by individuals, whereby the conclusion was forced upon them: somehow, they were superior.

Odd that, with all those brains, the Troogs had made such a huge project out of getting the help of the one person who possessed, somewhere in his head, the ability to assist them in their basic purpose.

As soon as possible he would tell them he was ready and willing. But even as he reiterated that thought within himself, the feeling came that the positive approach would run into problems.

Hard to know what? But if anyone could do it these people would find a way to negate what anyone from another race might try to do.

Fortunately, there were verities still.

The room, the table, the dishes, and those who had eaten—including himself—remained as they had been. The hidden source of light continued to shed the same dim illumination. The speaker was still standing; which seemed to promise more words would be spoken.

In fact, even as Gosseyn had the awareness, the human-like alien continued:

“Many of these developments are new, and have never before been observed. The implication is that our theory of the nature of the universe needs to be re-examined, and we shall seek an understanding that will include the new data.

“Our study—” he went on—“of that special section of your brain, has not yielded as much information as we need. Fortunately, you yourself have evidently finally realized that you could not escape from us; and so you have come here, presumably with one of those devious schemes, which we have noticed to be a common behaviour of those members of your kind in this galaxy, whom we have observed in their daily activities. I must warn you, therefore, that we are not easily deluded, and urge that you cooperate without mental, or other, reservations of any kind.”

With that, he performed a dangerous—it seemed to Gosseyn—physical feat. With only that thin neck to support the movement, he nodded the large head at the prisoner-guest, straightened the head again until it was once more balanced evenly above the body; and sat down.

Gosseyn remained where he was. He had a small feeling of an overwhelm. So many words had been spoken that he was aware of a need arising inside him to counteract, to defend, and point out, and, among other realities, to ask about the aggressive behavior of the Troogs; and other questions.

It took a long moment, then, to brace himself against those numerous little impulses. But he was finally able to exercise the necessary control, and to say, simply, “Sir, and gentlemen, you may count on my fullest cooperation.”

The silence that greeted his words was finally broken by a stirring movement: the old, human habit—it sounded like feet changing position, and making a shuffling noise in the process.

Then… the spokesman leaned forward. He did not get up; but when he spoke, his tone was accusing: “Don’t think for one minute that you can fool us with pretended cooperation. We are perfectly aware that you do not know how to deal with the damage that was done to that special part of your brain, whereby a reversal of some kind took place—and brought us here.” Gosseyn’s first reaction: it was definitely not a gracious acceptance of his offer. It also seemed to him that he could not entirely agree with the negative analysis of the situation. Surely, in those instants when he had been extra-careful, he had been able to control the deviant tendencies of the damaged nerve endings; and had, as one example, arrived safely aboard this ship, his intended destination; and had done so without deviation.

That part, of course, could be explained. But what additionally disturbed him about what the Troog had said, was a feeling that the speech was only partly for his benefit.

“… For some reason, he wants these onlookers to believe that he’s on the ball; that he’s handling one of those cagey characters from earth—me—in a no-nonsense manner, please notice, everyone—”

It was an oddly tense moment. And, sitting there, Gosseyn yielded to an impulse to shift his own body position before he spoke again.

He said, “I’m sure there must be a way by which we can convince each other that we actually need to cooperate for mutual benefit.”

He concluded as simply as possible, “Why don’t we set up a step by step program? And then, as we achieve each step in turn, we shall progressively gain confidence that all will be well.”

There was silence. The spokesman stared at him. His huge eyes had an odd, baffled expression in them. Sitting there, Gosseyn experienced a strange thought: could it be that this individual was not the chief authority?

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.”