The Original and Complete Null-A Trilogy, page 60
. . . This planet, where Enin and I landed so automatically, could be one of those preliminary test locations that no one ever actually went to—Was it earth? Was it Yalerta? Was it the unknown planet?
Obviously, it would not be possible to find out immediately. But if this was earth—What? There seemed to be several possibilities, all of them vague.
He kept stamping his feet, and rubbing his hands. And he was reluctantly realizing that, if the boy and he were this cold already, there was no chance that they could walk a whole mile to the dark area where the river made its turn. Even getting down to the shore of the river seemed as if it would be too much for their freezing bodies.
Yet he was feeling better about the mis-transmission that had brought him here. . . Have to learn to control that, of course; such accidents would need to be analyzed, and something positive done, but—The kid had been in this icy world at least twenty minutes longer than he had. And evidently two things had saved him until now. During all those first minutes the sun had been shining. Also, a young boy’s better circulation and overall warmer condition had had its good result.
Unfortunately, those special advantages had run out of time. And so—for both of them—the moment had come for one of those vague possibilities.
Gosseyn reached over, caught the boy’s cold, right hand, and squeezed it. Holding the hand firmly, and having gained the other’s attention, he said earnestly, “Listen, Enin, you and I have special abilities. And what might be the most advisable special thing for us to do right now is to find some way to trigger one of those electrical charges that you can do.”
Gloomily, the boy shook his head. “But it has to come from an energy source that already exists. A cloud with lightning in it, or a live wire somewhere.”
Gosseyn nodded. “That bunch of clouds up there—” he pointed with his thumb—“and this tree right here, set it on fire!”
The tree he pointed at was a twisted, twenty-foot-long, winter-denuded object. With its leafless, spread-out branches, it poked out of the side of the cliff just above the ledge, and seemed to hang there at a downward angle.
He waited while the boy looked at it; then glanced up at the cloud; and then: “Is there lightning in the winter?” Enin asked dubiously.
“Oh!” said Gosseyn.
It was a question which—he had to admit it—had never crossed his, or any Gosseyn’s mind. Ruefully, he realized that lightning on earth was connected with summer thunderstorms.
“I guess you’re right,” he agreed. But he was bracing himself with another possibility. He pointed with his free hand. “If that dark spot is actually a building, and it has electric wires in it, what could you do at this distance?”
Silently, the boy stared in the indicated direction. There was a pause; not long.
Abruptly a crackling sound, and the tree burst into flame!
Minutes later, they were still warming themselves as near the flames as they dared to go. The tree burned with a satisfying intensity; and even when it presently became a blackened ruin, it still gave off heat.
But getting warm ceased to be a principal preoccupation. Gosseyn grew aware that his companion was gazing off to one side, a troubled expression on his face. “Look!” the boy pointed, and added, “I was afraid that might happen.”
What Gosseyn saw, when his gaze followed the pointing finger, was a column of smoke a mile away, where the dark spot had, indeed, turned out to be a habitation.
“The electricity I brought over here,” said Enin, “set their place on fire when I forced it out of the wires.”
He seemed concerned; and it occurred to the man that the imperial child seemed to have acquired, or was automatically—now that he was away from his lifetime environment—showing moral qualities of a well-brought-up twelve-year-old who knew right from wrong.
As he had that thought, the boy spoke again: “So now if we go there, we may not find any place where we can stay.”
Gosseyn stared silently at the pall of black smoke that reared up into the sky, thinking ruefully: . . . Well, maybe not that moral, after all—Aloud, he said, “I hope no one was injured.”
The visible damage that was being done to the distant structure abruptly brought his mind back once more to the question: what planet was this? What kind of people were out there in that burning building? What level of technology?
. . . Obviously not possible to find out immediately.
Gosseyn had the conscious, dismissing thought. And saw that the boy had ducked under the smoldering tree and was restlessly walking along the ledge beyond it, peering over the edge as he did so.
Abruptly, Enin called, “I think we can get down better from here.” He pointed where the snowy slope seemed to be less steep.
“I’ll be there in a minute,” Gosseyn called back.
First, his own, next purpose needed to be tested out.
Gingerly, he reached down, and took hold of the thickest of the blackened tree branches. Flinched. And let go again immediately. It was more than just warm.
It took a few minutes then. He threw snow on the sections he wanted to grab until they cooled; rather quickly, it turned out. As soon as he could comfortably take hold, he used his feet as a brace, and tore the entire branch loose from the tree.
Carrying the branch, he joined the boy. Moments later, they were heading down the slope again. But now they had with them something which, while it held its warmth, would be the equivalent of a portable heater.
The downward journey had its darker aspects. Both his and the boy’s hands were soon black from the need to touch the warm spots. Also, they each, several times, stood on the warmer, thicker part of the branch to warm their feet. So there was presently a trail of black ashes in the snow behind, and above, them. And their footgear showed the consequent smears of black.
Gosseyn tried to avoid touching the loose suit he wore; but in those moments that they slid down steep embankments, there were accidents.
They came down, presently, to the shore line of the river; and it was encouraging to feel that the tree branch still had some heat in it. Gosseyn was suddenly hopeful that, by walking swiftly on this relatively level ground, they would be able to make it to the inhabited area a mile away.
It was Enin who pointed out the price of the descent. “We sure look like a couple of dirty bums,” he said. “You got black on your chin and your right cheek, and I can feel stuff on me, too.”
“It’s principally on your forehead and neck,” said Gosseyn, and added, “And, of course, our hands are doomed till we get to some warm water.”
“Let’s head!” said the boy.
It still wasn’t quite that settled in Gosseyn’s mind. But they headed, while he thought about it.
Snow and ice to every horizon—except for the dark area ahead, closer now . . . The fire there was evidently under control because no smoke was visible.
That relieved Gosseyn, but there was a growing feeling inside him of reluctance to be here on this river shore, tramping along over frozen ground, carrying a tree branch that was now barely warm.
All the minutes that he walked the thoughts of his alter ego had made a steady impingement alongside his personal awarenesses. Out there, in faraway space, Gosseyn Two was in motion. Already, he had made the jump to the Dzan ship. And the mental pictures after his arrival reported that the computer system in the huge space battleship had automatically put up an energy screen, which cut off the robotic mind control forces of the alien vessel.
From this safer environment, Gosseyn Two had time to notice Three’s disturbed reaction, and to offer advice: “You’ve saved the boy. The fact that that happened as a consequence of a problem you’re having with your extra-brain is interesting for the information it gives us; but it should not result in your being negative about yourself.”
Two continued his admonition: “Right now, remember that human beings tend to have mental hang-ups on a mystery. And that’s what your situation is to a slight degree: a mystery. Where are you? What is the strange building ahead? Why not walk on, and clear up that mystery?”
It seemed to Gosseyn Three that the more important truth was that, if this were earth . . . “I should be in the capitol city finding out what is going on there.”
“Eventually,” came the reply, “that’s a good purpose. Particularly, since you shouldn’t come back here until I leave. You and I should not have a confrontation at close quarters until we’ve analyzed what might happen to a couple of duplicates like us at close quarters. But I deduce from events that I won’t be aboard this ship very long—”
And the reason for that had also come through from mind to mind—automatically: why Enro had wanted to be one of the delegates to the ship from another galaxy. It seemed he had brought with him a signal device, whereby units of his fleet could make the jump to the nearest planet with a Distorter system, and then another jump toward but just short of the signal device. In all the surrounding space, the warships of the Greatest Empire were flicking into view, and taking up positions.
As a consequence, it appeared that the alien enemy was having second thoughts. Because he had ceased all aggressive action, and had begun communicating concern and confusion, those aboard apparently didn’t know where they were either.
A strange message had come from it: “Let’s negotiate!” It was a hitherto unheard-of alien concession, and therefore suspect. But Gosseyn Two was in favor of negotiation.
“So—” his direct thought—“save yourself and the boy. I’ve already told Queen Mother Strala, and you may believe me when I say she is relieved that it’s you that’s there with her son.
Gosseyn Three, still walking, skidding a little, still manipulating the big tree branch so that it did not accidentally knock over the boy . . . considered the implications of the young mother’s gratitude without knowing exactly how he should feel. But one thought came: “It looks, Mr. Alter Ego, as if I’m going to be the first Gosseyn to go into a bedroom with a woman for a purpose other than sleeping.”
The reply to that was philosophical. Gosseyn Two responded in the silent fashion of thought communication: “It just happens that my particular lady has not yet shown up in my life. As you know, both Leej and Patricia had, and have, other commitments.”
His thought continued in the same speculative vein, “By the time this entire situation resolves, we may all have a clearer awareness of our ultimate destiny. In your case, save the son—and you’ve got the mother.” Still walking along that icy shore on a world that could be earth, Gosseyn Three said, “Let’s leave the distant future alone. I’m in a situation that I want to get out of, principally because my feet keep freezing, and my body is chilled to the bone.” His thought, still intended for the other Gosseyn’s attention, went on: “The way I analyze my extra-brain situation is that, if I concentrate, and allow no side thoughts about other locations at the moment of connection, I’ll go where I want to go.”
The reply to that was a slight change of subject. “There may be a problem,” said Gosseyn Two. “It seems Enro has taken a look at the lady, and having, of course, failed to marry his sister, Patricia, has stated that a marriage between two super Imperial families could be very useful in inter-galactic relationships.”
Standing there in a frozen universe, Gosseyn Three was not exactly clear as to whether he should feel relieved or disturbed. What it came to, finally, was a mild blankness. And then: “Has the Lady Strala been informed of the great man’s interest in her?”
“I believe,” was the reply, “that she has got the thought. But my own feeling—”
Surprisingly, the mental communication was vague, almost like a pause.
“Yes?” Gosseyn Three urged.
The answer had in it a speculative aspect: “I think that by the time this entire situation resolves, we may all have a clearer awareness of our ultimate destiny. In your case, save the son—and you’ve got the mother . . . is my belief.”
Gosseyn Three had had another thought. “We must,” he said, “do our best to deduce how Enro, the galactic ruler, can utilize this contact to his advantage. And because he’s capable of mass murder in the military meaning of the term, we must try to make sure that no advantage occurs.”
He continued: “I’m sure you will agree that we do not want Enro’s fleet to gain access to that other galaxy. So—no marriage for him to the emperor’s mother, if I can help it.”
He concluded, “But that’s for later. Right now—” The firm decision in his mind must have reached across the years of miles; for the alter ego faraway thought came, simply: “Good luck Three.”
To protect himself from any possible mental hangups from the mystery, Gosseyn, there in that winter world, located a section of frozen soil, took his extrabrain photograph of it. And so, at any time in the future, he could return to this location, and resume his journey on foot. Naturally, if that ever happened, he would make sure that he was more warmly dressed, thank you.
His final mental comment to the remote alter ego was: “I think I can live with the mystery of what that building ahead might be. And I suppose I can live with my regret that I never got a chance to interact with one of the alien prisoners aboard the Dzan battleship; the first non-human we’ve ever heard of in all the Gosseyn travels. Though Breemeg did call the aliens semi-human, didn’t he? But even that is a unique event. Nevertheless, I’ll have to live with both mysteries because, right now, it’s getting colder here every minute; and it’ll soon be dark. So—”
CHAPTER
13
Earth!
They stood in the backyard of a small house. The little place was located on a slope, so that there, partly visible below them, was a city. In all the near miles, Gosseyn could see, principally, roof tops of residences, and the greenery that surrounded almost every visible home.
Standing there, he was conscious of both an outer—the air felt summery—and inner warmth. The inner good feeling seemed to be there so naturally that many moments went by before he identified it:
. . . It’s as if I’ve come home—
It took other moments, then, to argue mildly with himself that, really, a body that had been found floating in space in a capsule could not, except by a considerable extension of logic, establish a legal status of belonging to a specific planet.
Presumably, that inward argument could have continued except, at that precise moment, Enin stirred beside him, and said, “What kind of crumby place is this? Where are we?”
It was a distinctly variant point of view. And, as he glanced down at the boy, Gosseyn saw that the emperor of the Dzan was not looking at the vista of city below, but at the backyard and the rear of the house that was in the yard.
And, for the first time since their arrival, that reminded Gosseyn of his earlier—light-years-away—anxiety about where they would end up: at the aimed-for destination, or somewhere else?
. . . I made it! The method of concentrating, and shutting out side thoughts, works—“Hey, Gosseyn Two, got that? I can control that defect—”
There was no reply from his faraway alter ego, and, in fact, no particular awareness of the other’s thoughts. So—later!
So he looked down at the boy, and said in a chiding tone: “We’re where it’s warm. Or, would you rather be back on the ice?”
Enin dismissed that with, apparently, no gratitude for the change. “How did we get to a place like this?” he asked in a disgusted tone.
Gosseyn smiled. “Well, it’s like this, Enin. What I can do in making those shifts in space—which is my special thing, as you should know—”
The twelve-year-old face that was tilted up to him held in it no criticism of how what he “could do” had on one occasion affected the emperor of the Dzan in front of his courtiers. The lips merely parted, and said, “Yeah! So—”
Gosseyn explained: “It’s best to have places to come to where no one sees you arrive. Now, this little house is the home of a friend, and it’s located very nicely for what I just said. No one in the neighborhood can easily see how we got here. Right?”
Presumably, the boy had already, in his initial disapproving survey, noticed those very drab details. But he seemed to be motivated to take another look. And, evidently, the analysis made sense.
“Hey, yeah,” he nodded, “you’re right.”
“And,” Gosseyn continued, “if you’ll look up, you’ll see that it’s still morning. And so we’ve got almost a whole day ahead of us.”
He had already had the realization of the time of day from where the sun was in the sky. But saying that meaning aloud brought an awareness of an automatic. . . thalamic? . . . feeling inside him. The feeling was a sense of belonging, not necessarily here in this backyard, but here, everywhere, on this planet.
He saw that the bright eyes had narrowed. “What are we going to do here?”
That was not really a problem. The time of day it was, had evoked a thought: at last report, Dan Lyttle, the owner of the little place, had been a night clerk in a hotel. Which could mean that, at this early hour of the day, he had not yet departed for his job.
Abruptly hopeful, Gosseyn walked forward, and knocked on the back door. He was aware of Enin coming up beside him.
The boy’s voice came, puzzled: “You want inside? Why don’t we just go in?”
In a way, in this instance, it was not an impossibility. If Dan Lyttle were still the owner, he would probably not be disturbed, if he was out, and returned to find who it was that had entered.
But that wasn’t the meaning of his Imperial Majesty’s words. Shaking his head, Gosseyn turned towards the boy. “Listen,” he said in a firm tone, “we’re not on one of your planets. Here, we have to live by the local rules.” He was gazing into those youthful, unabashed eyes as he completed his admonition in the same firm voice: “You do not intrude on other people’s property without permission. Understood?”
Fortunately, there was no time for Enin to reply. Because at that exact instant, there was a sound. And the door opened.
