Alfred Van Vogt: Null–A Three

His defensive acts completed, he glanced now, finally, towards Voice One and, beyond, Voice Two. As he did so, there was an interruption: “Your excellency—” it was Voice Three, speaking from the ceiling—“may I say something urgent?”

There was a pause. Then, also from the ceiling: “For what purpose?” Voice Four spoke in an even tone.

“Sir, the prisoner’s brain manifested an unusual configuration of energy flows, according to our instruments.”

“You mean—-just now?”

“Yes, excellency.”

Pause. Then: “Well, prisoner, what did you do?” Voice Four spoke in a demanding sharp tone.

To Gosseyn it was one of those special moments when the science of General Semantics was needed in its drabbest fashion.

Accordingly, he said, “Sir, as I climbed off the couch on which, as you know, I had been at rest for an indeterminate time, and to which I had been attached until I was released a very short time ago, my first interest was in the craft that, according to the words spoken by your aides during the past many minutes, has been a transport for my body. I had, and have, no recollection of ever having seen this craft which the words I overheard described as a capsule found floating in space. So I gazed at it out of genuine curiosity. Then I turned my attention to the couch itself. And that’s it, sir. In both instances, I was extremely interested. Perhaps, this registered on your dials in some excessive way.”

Even as he was speaking the elaborately evasive explanation, Gosseyn found himself progressively unhappy with the necessity for doing so. Although the long-winded explanation-type-of-thing was, in a negative fashion within the frame of General Semantics, and definitely a technique, a more basic reality of the human nervous system was that lying, or evasiveness, were not good for the individual. Worse, he had the unpleasant feeling that he was only at the beginning of a period where evasive answers would be required for his survival.

There was silence after he had spoken. He could see that Voice One and Voice Two were standing very quietly. And it seemed advisable for him to imitate them while “his excellency” considered the over-verbal reply the “prisoner” had given.

It was not too difficult to guess what had happened. Apparently, their instruments had reacted in some way to the brain processes with which he had achieved his two actions of mentally photographing with twenty decimal accuracy the two locations in the room that he had selected as being most necessary for him in the event that there were further developments at some future time. And that act of “photography” was not a phenomenon that he cared to describe to his captors.

It was more than that. He realized he was startled in a complex way by the fact that they had, twice now, been able to detect his extra-brain in action—the first time when he communicated with Gosseyn Two.

The feeling of disconcertment had in it a strong implication of defilement… his greatness being observed by instruments. Somehow, the extra-brain interconnection with a basic reality of the universe seemed abruptly to be a more prosaic phenomenon… if it could be examined.

In action, what he could do transcended the known inter-galactic vastness; yet, obviously, there were energy flows involved.

What was still missing was the nature of those flows… One of these days—he thought… It was a vague beginning of a purpose: to discover the underlying dynamics. But even as he had that tiny, beginning consideration, the expected interruption came.

Abruptly, Voice Four spoke in the tone of a commander giving an order: “Remove this person from this room, and from all contact with this area. Do not bring him back here for any reason without the consent of top authority!”

The removal that followed had only one delay in it. Voice Two reached to a wall, and grabbed what looked like a gray uniform. The coat part was flung at Gosseyn; and, as he caught it, the two men jumped forward, and slipped what seemed to be pajama bottoms over his lower legs.

Realizing that he was being given clothes, and that super-speed was demanded by Voice Four, Gosseyn hastily put on the “coat”. And then, literally, slid down into the legs of the “pants”.

As he adjusted them over his waist, the two men jammed something onto and around his feet, one man to a foot. Gosseyn had no time to examine what the “shoes” were like, or even to glance down at them. But they felt as if they were made of a thin, stretching rubber; and they tightened automatically over the foot and heel, and, in a sense, clamped into position.

By the time that awareness was in him, Gosseyn was being led rapidly—and unresisting—toward a door in one corner, and through that door into a narrow hallway.

Clearly, the next stage of whatever was to happen, was somewhere ahead.

Corridors—Gosseyn told himself—do not go on forever. And, since he still believed that he was on a spaceship, he felt entitled to anticipate that his two guards and he would presently arrive in another room. He presumed, further, that it would not simply be a residential room of the type found on a planet, where people lived in apartments and houses. For a location inside a spaceship—particularly, as he had reason to believe, a space warship—he expected that it would be another place where machinery was kept.

The first signal that, perhaps, the journey through the dimly lit metal hallway was about to end, was that Voice One and Voice Two slackened their rapid walking. And their gripping fingers on his arms slowed his walk, also. Naturally, he adjusted to the easier pace immediately. And, when moments later, they stopped before a barrier, he was not surprised when a hand reached past him, and touched something in the wall.

There was a click. And then the wall moved, and became a sliding door. There was brightness beyond. Gosseyn needed no urging. Even as they pushed at him, he stepped forward willingly. And there it was: a room.

It was a large room, with walls and ceiling of what seemed to be a glassy substance. The glass was opaque. The walls were light blue in color, and the ceiling a darker shade of blue. The floor that spread a good hundred feet in front of Gosseyn looked different.

A hundred long, and about seventy wide, of emptiness. No machinery was visible. No tables. No chairs. No equipment. The floor seemed to be made of some non-glassy material, but it was vaguely bluish in color and was decorated by an unusually intricate and repetitive design.

The deserted condition of what he had been brought to evoked a feeling of surprise. But there seemed to be nothing to do but await further communication.

Once more, Gosseyn waited. His captors had removed their hands from him. And so, tentatively, and slowly, Gosseyn took several steps forward thereby entering the room. No attempt was made to stop him. In fact, he was aware that Voice One and Voice Two had followed him, and were still on either side of him, as close as before.

It was Gosseyn who, after going forward half a dozen feet, came to a stop. He stood there. And it seemed to him that there was still no purpose he could have in this situation except a sort of re-affirmation of future purpose: keep finding out, if possible, what this big ship was and where it had come from. Provide only minimum clues about himself. Do nothing dramatic, or revealing, except in an emergency. But he didn’t know at the moment what he meant by an emergency.

With those limitations in mind, he parted his lips, intending to test if there were any communication outlets in the glassy stuff on either side or above.

And he actually, then, had time to say, “My impression is that I am being badly treated for no good reason. I should not be regarded as a pris—”