Alfred Van Vogt - Null–A Three

It was agreed, then, that Prescott and Crang would go with him. While they waited for the arrival of a car dispatched by the office of President Blayney, Gosseyn became aware that Dan Lyttle was beckoning him.

The two men went into the master bedroom; and Lyttle closed the door. Lyttle’s lean face was twisted into a mildly embarrassed smile, as he said, “I thought I should tell you. About this woman, Strella—”

What he reported was, in a way, amazing. All these years, Dan Lyttle had hesitated about subjecting an earth girl to being the wife of a hotel clerk, who worked on a night shift. But, apparently, as he evaluated Strella’s predicament, suddenly there were more possibilities. Because—Lyttle pointed out—the girl from Meerd was trapped. Speaking only English, she could never again fit into the society of her former friends on her home planet. No one there would understand. It was even possible that she would be considered mentally deranged.

Being a stranger on earth, with no way to turn, or return—unless she specifically requested this latter solution—she would, presumably, automatically tolerate being in a daytime-only-wife situation. It could be that, as the years went by, it would slowly dawn on her that hers was a special marriage.

“That is,” Dan concluded, “unless I can find a daytime job—which I now may consider doing. But that could take a while.”

… As he listened to the account, Gosseyn Three conducted one of his silent conversations with Gosseyn Two:

“It would appear,” he analyzed, “that people still automatically expect that the poor will automatically tolerate more severe conditions than the rich—”

The distant alter ego was calm: “My dear idealistic brother, there will—let us hope—never be a time when everybody reacts exactly like everyone else. The time may come when we have disposed of criminal behavior; but human beings will probably continue to have different life experiences, depending on where they were born; and will tend to choose friends and work that is congenial to the tens of thousands of small personal memories inside their heads; memories—which I will now point out—General Semantics has no intention of eliminating, even if at some future time, science can do the job of memory erasure.”

The distant Gosseyn Two concluded: “My suggestion is that as soon as you have taken care of people like Gorrold, and found out why that Gung-ho company that called the first day, didn’t show up to make an estimate for rebuilding the institute, that you get Dan appointed to be in charge of rebuilding the institute and, of course, the Games Machine. You don’t want to do these details yourself; but he may now be motivated to take on such a daytime job.”

“I can see,” Gosseyn Three replied mentally, “that a local hotel owner is about to have the job of finding himself another night clerk.”

He concluded his communication, smiling: “Be seeing you—very soon now, I believe, after Dr. Kair interviews me.”

The answer came, accompanied by misgivings: “I suppose it is, finally, going to happen. You and I meeting face to face—”

Gosseyn Three replied: “I’m due to leave in a few minutes.”

… As he sat in the rear seat of the limousine with Crang and Prescott, Gosseyn Three silently confronted the reality of what was about to happen:

“… Am I going to do everything that’s expected of me?—”

That was definitely a basic question. But, in terms of General Semantics, there was an even more fundamental consideration. It seemed, as he, memory-wise, glanced back over his behavior, the outward appearance was that he had, somehow, felt automatically committed to help the Dzan and the Troogs to return to their home galaxy.

But why return?

It seemed like a reasonable question. With their equipment, and their great ships, they would probably be acceptable colonists on any number of planets. And colonists seldom felt the need to go back to their homelands. The people, who had settled North America in those early days, for the most part never did, as individuals, return to Europe. Some of their descendants were occasionally, casually, interested to visit the land from which their forefathers had come. But theirs was a vacationer’s curiosity, without strong feeling, and certainly without a homing instinct.

“… If they stayed, I’d have to take on a lower profile, and cease to be a target for bomb throwers—”

Perhaps, he could move out to the middle west of earth, buy a little farm, and live there with Enin and Queen Mother Strala?

Gosseyn found himself smiling again, as he visualized that improbable outcome of what he had got himself into. Not easy to realize that Gosseyn One had originally arrived in the City of the Games Machine with the hypnotically-implanted belief that he had been a farmer living just outside a little town called Crest City, and had been married to Patricia Hardie.

What a confusion that had been—for a while.

The train of thought evoked from him another communication with his alter ego: “How is Queen Mother Strala?”

An instant smile impression came through. “She’s waiting for Enin to show up. That’s the only thing on her mind. I think she’s still mad at you.”

There was abruptly no time to consider that. The beautiful machine was pulling over to the curb in front of a familiar large, white bungalow.

… Dr. Lester Kair turned away from the viewing device, walked over to a chair, and sat down. Those piercing gray eyes of his were wide, and seemed to stare at the opposite wall.

There was silence, as they all looked at him expectantly. Even though he radiated a special inner excitement, he seemed unchanged from what the joint Gosseyn memory recalled: Long body, strongly built, face still smooth, the overall impression of an intelligent man in his early fifties.

Awareness of his audience came suddenly into his face. With that, he gulped, and spoke.

“That damaged nerve complex seems to have been only partly disconnected, and so it did get minimal support from the energy source to which, of course, it should have been firmly attached, but wasn’t. The result of that partial connection looks fantastic.”

“How do you mean?” Eldred Crang sounded puzzled, as he asked the question. “A damaged nerve end, as I visualize it, is merely a minute gray extension, which only an expert would be able to identify as being unnormal; but that word ‘fantastic’ is too dramatic.” Long pause. The tall man in the white doctorial over-cloak, so common in laboratory work, climbed to his feet. “Gentlemen,” he said, “I refuse to apologize for my reaction. I thought I had learned to accept the Gilbert Gosseyn extra-brain philosophically; but what I found myself looking at brought new awareness that we have here a neural interconnection with something basic in the universe. And, somehow, the damaged nerve group is in a state of over-stimulation.” He swallowed, and then finished the thought: “It’s like an actual light in there. If we opened his head, a brightness would pour forth.”

He beckoned Crang. “Come and take a look.” Gosseyn was still firmly held in the special chair; his head was virtually embedded in machinery, as Crang walked over, and out of his line of sight. He assumed that the Venusian detective was peering into the viewing lens.

Silence. Then there was the sound, and a feel of someone carefully backing away. Off to one side, Dr. Kair said, “Mr. Prescott, would you care to look, also?” Prescott’s answer was in his gentlest voice. “I have no medical qualifications; so, I think, one of us peering in is a sufficient witness for your statement.”

Crang walked into Gosseyn’s line of sight. “Well, Doctor,” he said, “how do we deal with this situation?” The psychiatrist, who had, on their arrival been given a detailed account of everything, said, “I think we’d better get the other special people over here; and then get Gosseyn Two.”