Alfred Van Vogt: Null–A Three

That was as far as he got. From the glassy ceiling, Voice Four interrupted, coldly: “You will presently receive the exact treatment that you deserve. In our predicament, we are entitled to be intensely suspicious when, after being precipitated to an unknown area of space, we find a capsule in that new location with you in it. And the fact that, on being awakened, you were immediately in communication with some distant alter ego makes you very suspect, indeed. Accordingly—” Pause; then: “Accordingly, we have brought you to this room, which we normally use for lectures, to be interviewed in the presence of our top specialists, who will determine your fate in not too many minutes.” Almost without pause, Four added commandingly to what were evidently subordinates. He said, “Take him to the podium!”

That last part, at least—it seemed to Gosseyn—had very little, or no reality. As he was led—he moved willingly, as before—across the intricately designed floor of that empty, empty “lecture” room, no podium was visible.

Except that when his guards and he were halfway to the far end of the room—where they seemed to be heading—the floor there suddenly moved.

Lifted. Silently raised itself about two feet. Simultaneously, a complex of movements began on the raised portion. Parts of the “podium” floor folded upward. Suddenly, there was a table taking shape, and chairs behind it. They faced towards the length of the room.

Several smaller movements between the platform and the floor produced a set of small steps.

Moments later, his guards and he came to the steps. And, since it seemed to be a destination, Gosseyn climbed them without a word. He thereupon also presumed his next move: without looking back, or awaiting instruction, he walked around the table, and sat down in the middle chair.

… Just in time to see the hundred feet of floor, over which he had just been escorted… start moving. Up.

It was no longer a complete surprise. As he gazed, interested, the intricate floor design was wordlessly explained. Each of the repetitive decorations, it quickly developed, was a folded-down chair. Which now folded up. And clicked into place.

Within a minute several hundred seats in the time-honored rows of auditoriums, theaters, and lecture rooms, were waiting out there in front of him for—

Click! click! click!

In three separate locations—back, middle and front—of both of the side walls, a wall section slid back. Through the six doorways, so swiftly created, trooped long lines of men. They were definitely all males, but differently arrayed than Voice One and Voice Two. In face and body they resembled his two guards. But their clothing was not puffed out. Was more streamlined, and uniformly gray.

And that, of course, was the clue: these were uniforms. Those who wore them must be military personnel.

Gosseyn held himself, unhappily, in his chair as the long lines of “top specialists”—he recalled the status as named by Voice Four—walked in through the six doors. Seemed to know where they were supposed to sit. And virtually, within a minute, were sitting there.

Staring at him.

… To be in a lecture room, sitting down at a table on the podium facing an audience: it was an earth stereotype for professors and other lecturers.

So it required a conscious mental effort on Gosseyn’s part to dismiss those automatic memory associations. It was not that the recollections of the stereotype took over his awareness; but they were there intruding, and interfering just enough to divert his attention from what, at another level of awareness, he believed was the hour of decision.

Voice Four had taken the big step. Thus, in a single action, the man was warding off responsibility for anything that might now occur, or be done.

In an autocracy, what Voice Four had done had to be close to the ultimate defense.

… Can I have any meaningful approach to what is about to happen? It was Gosseyn s silent question to himself.

Before he could analyze what such an approach might be, there was a sound to his right of a chair scraping. As Gosseyn turned to look, he saw that a large man, also in a gray uniform, was in the act of sitting down. At the moment—in that first look—there was no indication of where the new arrival had come from. Undoubtedly, another sliding door.

The big man had a square face, and a big, bushy head of brown hair sticking out from under the complicated head covering he wore. He must have been aware of Gosseyn’s glance. But he did not turn his head to acknowledge the look or the presence.

… Making sure, thought Gosseyn, cynical again, that no one, afterward, could accuse him in any way of treating the prisoner as a fellow human being.

The newcomer was clearly a key figure. For he raised his right hand and arm stiffly in front of him. Down there in the audience was surprisingly little shuffling, or sound. But if there had been, the authoritatively raised arm was clearly intended to stifle it.

After waiting several moments, apparently to make sure he had everyone’s attention, the big man parted his lips, and said in English: “In the name of his Divine Majesty, I call this meeting to order.”

For Gosseyn, it was a brief period of confusion. Because, English—spoken directly. At once, his earlier analysis of the source of the spoken English tongue (his belief that it came from the headgear, as a translation) was made meaningless.

That was only his first reaction and awareness. The second followed at the speed of thought. Because even word his seat mate had spoken, was loud, obviously intended for the audience to hear. But the voice that spoke the words was that of Voice Four.

So… no question; the analysis was off somewhere to one side of his thought: Voice Four was a somebody in the heirarchy that was confronting him in this determined fashion.

But, of course, the biggest revelation were the words:

. . In the name of his Divine Majesty—” There, finally, was the ultimate authority in this fantastic situation into which the third living Gilbert Gosseyn had been awakened. And, since everybody was being so careful, it was evident that “his majesty” operated in the grimmer regions of penalties and autocratic rule—

The tumble of thoughts in Gosseyn’s brain came to a pause. Because, suddenly, more was happening: out there on the floor, a rhythmic action. Every man in the audience leaped—virtually leaped—to his feet. Saluted. And sat down again.

Then there was complete quiet.

The speed of the entire sequence, from the moment the revealing words were vibrantly spoken to the final silence, left the one neutral listener essentially blank.

Not totally blank, of course. The meaning of “Divine Majesty” kept stirring associations. And there remained the fantastic fact that English was being spoken and understood by everyone. Yet, already, it was very apparent at this stage that any thought he could have on what had happened, would be speculation. And he had—it seemed to Gosseyn—already done enough of that.

Time, therefore, for his own verbal approach to these people… The first words he spoke, after he had had that decisive thought, were easy. Because: when in doubt throw the onus of—whatever (in this case, answers)—upon the other party.

What he said was, “I don’t understand what your predicament is. Earlier, I heard the statement that you people don’t know where you are. But the question to that has to be: in relation to what? Where are you from? And who are you?”

A pause. In speaking, he had turned to face the big man, presuming that, since the two of them were on the podium, any question and answer cycle would be between himself and Voice Four.

There was a pause. A pair of orange-yellowish eyes stared into his—color unknown; unless all the Gosseyn eyes were the same, in which case steely-gray was what Voice Four was seeing.