Complete Short Fiction, page 271
Every report he had heard was different. Priests were allowed to look at the God at their initiation rites. Not one of them ever saw the same thing. The Sleeping God was an old man, a child, a youth of fifteen, a baby—the subsequent accounts had as little relationship as that.
Those details held Gosseyn’s mind only flashingly, Whether those: who looked were hypnotically deluded, or whether the illusion was mechanical seemed of incidental importance. The aspect of the picture that almost shocked Gosseyn out of his. seat Was the detail of the Sleeping God’s daily existence—unconscious he Was, but fed and exercised by a complicated system of machinery. The entire temple hierarchy was organized to keep that machinery running.
The light, that broke: upon Gosseyn at that moment was dazzling because—this was the way a Gosseyn body would be looked after.
His mind strained at the thought. For many seconds, the idea seemed too fantastic for acceptance. A Gosseyn body here at what was now the headquarters of the Greatest Empire. Here, and protected from harm by all the forces of a powerful pagan religion.
Crang broke the silence. “Time for lunch,” he said. “That’s for all of us, I believe. Enro doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
Lunch! Gosseyn estimated that an hour had passed since Enro had ordered him to report. Long enough to set the stage for a crisis. But lunch itself passed in virtual silence. The dishes were whisked off, and still Enro remained seated, thus holding the others to the table also. Fey the first time the dictator stared directly at Gosseyn-Ashargin. His gaze was bleak and unfriendly.
“Secoh,” he said, without looking around.
“Yes?” The lord guardian was quick.
“Have the He detector brought in.” The steely gaze remained fixed upon Gosseyn’s eyes. “The prince has been asking for an investigation and I am happy to oblige him.” Considering the circumstances, it was about as true a statement as Enro had made, but Gosseyn would have changed one word in the utterance. He had expected an investigation. And here it was.
Enro did not remain seated. As the lie detector knobs were fastened to Gosseyn-Ashargin’s palms, he climbed to his feet and stood looking down at the table. He waved the others to remain in their chairs, and began:
“We have here a very curious situation,” he said. “One week ago, I had the Prince Ashargin brought to the palace. I was shocked at his appearance and his actions.” His lips twisted. “Apparently, he suffered from a strong sense of guilt, presumably as a result of his feeling that his family had failed the people of the Greatest Empire. He was nervous, tense, shy, almost tongue-tied and a pitiful spectacle. For more than ten years he had been isolated from interplanetary and local affairs.”
Enro paused, his face serious, his eyes glowing. He continued in the same intense tone.
“Even that first, morning he showed one or two flashes of insight and understanding that were not in character. During his week on the flagship of Admiral Paleol, he behaved to some extent as his past history would have led us to expect. During his final hour aboard the ship, he changed radically once more and again showed knowledge that was beyond the possibilities of his, position. Among other things, he sent the following message to the destroyer, Y-381907 . . .”
He turned with a quick movement to one of the hovering secretaries, and held out his hand. “The message,” he said. A sheet of paper was handed to him.
Gosseyn listened as Enro read the message. Every word seemed as incriminating as he had known it was. A dictator, the most powerful warlord in the galaxy, had turned aside from his many ditties to give attention to an individual whom he had intended to use as a pawn in his own game.
Whether or not the unseen player who had similarized the mind of Gilbert Gosseyn into the brain of Prince Ashargin had foreseen such a crisis as this didn’t matter, Gosseyn might be a pawn himself, subject to being moved at someone else’s will, but when he was in charge events happened his way—if he could make them.
Enro was speaking again in his dark voice. “It did not occur immediately to either Admiral Paleol or myself what mission that ship was on. I will say only this now. We identified the ship finally, and it seems incredible that Prince Ashargin should ever have heard about it. Its mission was secret and important. And though I will not mention the nature of the mission, I can inform the prince that his message was not delivered to the ship.”
Gosseyn refused to accept that. “The roboperator on the flagship sent the message while I was there,” he said quickly.
The big man shrugged. “Prince,” he said, “it was not stopped by us. The message was not acknowledged by the destroyer. We have been unable to contact the Y-381907 for several days, and I am afraid that I shall have to ask you for some very straight answers. The destroyer is being replaced on Yalerta by a battleship, but it will require more than a month of flight for the replacement ship to reach that planet.”
Gosseyn received the two pieces of news with mixed feelings. It was a great victory that no more Predictors would be sent from Yalerta for an entire month. The destroyer was another matter.
“But where could it have gone?” he asked.
He thought of the Follower, and grew tense. After a moment he rejected the more dangerous implications of that idea. It was true, apparently, that the Follower frequently was not able to predict events that were related to Gilbert Gosseyn. Yet that applied only when the extra brain was being used. It seemed reasonable, accordingly, to believe that he knew where Gosseyn was.
Right there that train of logic ended. There was no reason at all why the Follower should suddenly become secretive with Enro as to the whereabouts of the destroyer. Gosseyn gazed up at Enro with unflinching eyes. The time had come to deliver another shock.
“Doesn’t the Follower know?” he asked.
Enro had parted his lips to speak again. Now, he brought his teeth together with a click. He stared at Gosseyn with baffled eyes. At last he said:
“So you know about the Follower, That settles it. It’s time the lie detector gives us some idea of what goes on in your mind.”
He turned a switch.
There was silence at the table, Even Crang, who had been absently pecking at the food on his plate, stirred in his chair, and laid down his fork. Secoh was frowning thoughtfully. Patricia Hardie watched her brother with a faint curl to her lips. It was she who spoke first.
“Enro, don’t be so stupidly melodramatic.”
The big man twisted towards her, his eyes narrowed, his face dark with anger. “Silence,” he said harshly, “I need no comments from a person who has disgraced her brother.”
Patricia shrugged, but Secoh said sharply: “Your excellency, restrain yourself.”
Enro turned toward the priest, and for a moment, so ugly was the expression on his face, it seemed to Gosseyn that he was going, to strike the lord guardian.
“Always were interested in her, weren’t you?” he said with a sneer.
“Your sister,” said the priest, “is co-ruler of Gorgzid and of the overlordship of the Sleeping God.”
Enro ran one hand through his red hair, and shook himself like a young Hon. “Sometimes, Secoh,” he said, and the sneer was broader, “you give the impression that you are the Sleeping God. It’s a dangerous illusion.”
The priest said quietly: “I speak with authority vested in me by the State and the Temple. I can do no less.”
“I am the State,” said Enro coldly.
Gosseyn said: “I seem to remember hearing that one before.”
Neither man seemed aware of his remark. And for the first time it struck him that he was witnessing a major clash. Gosseyn sat up.
“You and I,” said Secoh in a singsong voice, “hold the cup of life but for a moment. When we have drunk our fill, we shall go down into darkness—and there will still be a State.”
“Ruled by my blood.” Violently.
“Perhaps.” His voice sounded faraway. “Excellency, the fever that has seized on you I shall feed until victory is achieved.”
“And then?”
“You will receive the Temple call.”
Enro parted his lips to say something. Then he closed them again. There was a blank expression on his face, that slowly changed into a comprehending smile.
“Clever, aren’t you?” he said. “So I’ll receive the Temple call, will I, to become ah initiate. Is there anything significant, possibly, in the fact that you issue the calls?”
The priest said quietly: “When the Sleeping God disapproves of what I say or do, I’ll know.”
The sneer was back on Enro’s face. “Oh, you will, will you? He’ll let you know, I suppose, and then you’ll tell us?”
Secoh said simply: “Your thrusts do not reach me, excellency. If I used my position for my own ends, the Sleeping God would not long tolerate such blasphemy.”
Enro hesitated. His face was no longer dark, and it seemed to Gosseyn that the powerful ruler of one third of the galaxy felt himself on dangerous ground.
He was not surprised. Human beings had a persistent, attachment for their own homes. Behind all Enro’s achievements, inside the skin of this man whose word was law on nine hundred thousand warships, were all the impulses of the human nervous system.
In him they had become twisted until, in some cases, they were barely recognizable as human. Yet the man had once been a boy, and the boy a baby born on Gorgzid. So strong was the connection that he had brought the capitol of the Greatest Empire to his home planet. Such a man would not lightly insult the pagan religion by the tenets of which he had been reared.
Gosseyn saw that he had read correctly the processes of the other’s mind, Enro bowed sardonically to Patricia.
“Sister,” he said, “I humbly beg your pardon.
He turned abruptly toward Gosseyn-Ashargin. “These two people on the destroyer,” he said. “Who are they?”
The moment for the test had come.
Gosseyn answered promptly, “The woman is a Predictor, of no particular importance. The man is called Gilbert Gosseyn.”
He glanced at Patricia and Crang casually as he spoke the name so familiar to them. It was important that they show no sign of recognition.
They took it, it seemed to Gosseyn, very well indeed. They continued intently watching his face, but there was not a trace of surprise in their eyes.
Enro was concentrating on the lie detector. “Any comments?” he asked.
The pause that followed was of many seconds duration. Finally, cautiously, the detector said: “The information is correct as far as it goes.”
“How much farther should it go?” Enro asked sharply.
“There is confusion,” was the reply.
“Of what?”
“Identity.” The detector seemed to realize the answer was inadequate. It repeated. “There is confusion.” It started to say something else, but the sound must have been cut off, for not even the sense of a letter came through.
“Well, I’ll be—” said Enro explosively. He hesitated. “Is the confusion in connection with the two people on the destroyer?”
“No,” said the detector briskly. “That is”—it sounded uncertain again—“that is, not exactly.” It spoke up with determination, “Your excellency, this man is Ashargin, and yet he isn’t. He—” It was silent for a moment, then lamely, “Next question, please.”
Patricia Hardie giggled. It was an incongruous sound. Enro sent her a terrible glance. He said savagely:
“What fool brought this faulty detector in here? Bring a replacement at once.”
The second lie detector, when it had been attached, said in answer to Enro’s question, “Yes, this is Ashargin.” It paused. “That is—he seems to be.” It finished uncertainly, “There is some confusion.” There was some confusion now in the dictator, also. “This is unheard of,” he said. He braced himself. “Well, we’ll get to the bottom of it.” He stared at Ashargin. “These people on the destroyer—I gather from your message to Captain Free that they are prisoners.”
Gosseyn nodded. “That’s right.”
“And you want them brought here. Why?”
“I thought you might like to question them,” said Gosseyn.
Enro looked baffled again. “I can’t see how you expect to use anyone against me once they’re here in my power.” He turned to the machine. “What about that, Detector? Has he been telling the truth?”
“If you mean, does he want them brought here? Yes, he does. As for using them against you—it’s all mixed up.”
“In what way?”
“Well, there’s a thought about the man on the ship being here already, and there’s a thought about the Sleeping God—they all seem to be mixed up somehow with Ashargin.”
“Your excellency,” interposed Secoh, as the astounded Enro stood silent, “may I ask a question of the Prince Ashargin?”
Enro nodded but said nothing. “Prince,” said the priest, “have you any idea as to the nature of this confusion?”
“Yes,” said Gosseyn.
“What is your explanation?”
“I am periodically possessed, dominated, controlled and directed by the Sleeping God.”
And, thought Gosseyn with deep satisfaction, let the lie detectors try to disprove that.
Enro laughed. It was the laughter of a man who has been keyed up and is suddenly confronted with something ridiculous. He sat down at the table, put his face in his palms, his elbows on the table, and laughed. When he looked up finally, there were tears in his eyes.
“So you are the Sleeping God,” he said, “and now you have taken possession of Ashargin.”
The humor of it struck him anew, and he guffawed for a full half minute before once more controlling himself. This time he glanced at Secoh.
“Lord guardian,” he said, “how many is this?” He seemed to realize that the question required explanation for the others at the table. He turned to Gosseyn. “During the course of a year, about a hundred people on this planet alone come forward claiming to be possessed by the Sleeping God. Throughout the Empire about two thousand, red-haired men pretend to be Enro the Red, and during the last eleven years approximately ten thousand people have come forward claiming to be Prince Ashargin. About half of these are over fifty years old.”
Gosseyn said: “What happens when they appear before a lie detector?”
The big man scowled. “All right,” he said, “let’s have it. How do you do it?”
Gosseyn had expected skepticism. Except for Crang, these were thalamic people. Even Patricia Hardie, friendly though she was to Venus, was not an Ā. Such individuals would hold contradictory ideas, and even discuss the contradiction, without in any way being influenced by the reality. The important thing was that a seed had been planted. He saw that Enro was scowling.
“Enough of this farce,” said the big man. “Let’s get down to some facts. I admit you fooled me, but I don’t see how you expect to gain anything by it. What do you want?”
“An understanding,” said Gosseyn. He spoke cautiously, yet he felt bold and determined. “As I see it, you want to use me for something. Very well, I’m willing to be used—up to a point. In return, I want freedom of action.”
“Freedom of what?”
Gosseyn’s next words took in the other people at the table. “In launching this war,” he said, “you endangered the life of every person in the galaxy, including the Greatest Empire. I think you should accept advice from those who will share your fate if anything goes wrong.”
Enro leaned forward, and drew his arm back as if to strike him in the face. He sat like that for a moment, tense, his lips compressed and his eyes bleak. Slowly, he relaxed, and leaned back in his chair. There was a faint smile on his face, as he said:
“Go on, hang yourself.”
Gosseyn said: “It seems to me that you’ve concentrated so completely on the offensive part of the war that you have perhaps not taken into account some equally important aspects.”
Enro was shaking his head wonderingly. “All this,” he said in amazement, “from someone who has spent the last eleven years in a vegetable garden.”
Gosseyn ignored the comment. He was intent, and it seemed to him that he was making progress. His theory was simplicity itself. The Prince Ashargin had not been brought forward at this critical moment except for the most urgent reasons. He would not be lightly eliminated until the purpose for which he had been resurrected was accomplished.
Besides, this was a good time to obtain information as to just what Enro was doing about certain individuals.
“For instance,” Gosseyn said, “there is the problem of the Follower.” He paused to let that sink in, then went on. “The Follower is a virtually indestructible being. You don’t think that, when this war is won, a man like the Follower will allow Enro the Red to dominate the galaxy.”
Enro said grimly: “I’ll take care of the Follower if he ever gets any ideas.”
“That’s easy to say. He could come into this room at this moment, and kill everybody in it.”
The big man shook his head. He looked amused. “My friend,” he said, “you’ve been listening to the Follower’s propaganda. I don’t know how he makes that shadow shape of his, but I decided long ago that all the rest was based on normal physics. That means Distorters and, in case of weapons, energy transmission. There are only two Distorters in this building not in my control, and I tolerate them. I defy any one to build machines in my vicinity that I don’t know about.”
Gosseyn said: “Still, he can predict your every move.”
The smile faded from the other’s face. “He can make any prediction he pleases,” he said harshly. “I have the power. If he tries to interfere with it, he’ll quickly find himself in the position of a man who has been sentenced to hang. He knows the exact day and hour, but there is nothing he can do about it.”
Gosseyn said: “In my opinion you haven’t thought that through the way you ought to.”
Enro was silent, his gaze fixed on the table. He looked up finally, “Anything else?” he said. “I’m waiting for these conditions you mentioned.”
