The World of Null-A (22 page)

He had proceeded about fifty feet along the limb when the bark under him collapsed. He fell down onto a floor. Instantly, the long trapdoor above him closed, and he was in darkness. Gosseyn scarcely noticed the absence of light. Because, as he hit the smooth floor,
it
tilted downward. Tilted sharply, fifty, sixty, seventy degrees. Gosseyn made one desperate leap upward. His fingers clawed against smooth wood, then slid off into emptiness. He hit the floor again, hard, and slid down that steep incline. It was not a long journey that he took then, not more than thirty feet. But its implications were bottomless. He was caught.

He had no intention of giving up. Even while he was still sliding, Gosseyn fought to get to his feet, fought to turn, to
return
before the floor could rise back into place out of his reach. He failed. In the very act of whirling, of flinging himself, he heard the click of the floor fitting itself into position above him. And still he did not pause. He jumped to the uttermost height that his strength would take him, and reached into the darkness with clawing fingers that groped only at air. This time he gathered himself for the fall and landed on his feet, balanced, conscious that if there was a way of escape he must find it within minutes. And yet, for a moment, he forced himself to stand still, to make the null-A cortical-thalamic pause, to think.

So far everything had seemed automatic. The section of tree limb had caved in because he had put His weight upon it. The floor had tilted for the same reason. The fact that such trapdoors existed was depressing. Alarms would be ringing. He’d have to find a way out before anybody came, or never!

He dropped to his knees, made a swinging but relaxed sweep of the floor. To his right, he touched a rug. He crawled over the rug and in seconds had fingered a chest of drawers, a table, an easy chair, and a bed. A bedroom! There’d be a light switch, perhaps a table lamp or bed light. His swift thought paused there, yielded to action.

The wall switch clicked under his fingers, and so, approximately three minutes after his first fall, he was able to see his prison.

It was not bad. There were twin beds, but they were in a large alcove of coral pink that opened onto a large living room at least as big, at least as luxurious, as the one in Crang’s apartment. The furniture had the glowing quality of fine wood beautifully finished. There were paintings on the walls, but Gosseyn did not pause to look at them because his restless gaze had lighted on a closed door. A sound came from it, a key clicking in the lock.

Gosseyn drew back, drawing his guns. As the door opened, he saw a robogun floating there. And the voice of Jim Thorson called out, “All right, Gosseyn, drop your weapons and submit to a search.”

There was nothing else to do. A moment later, after soldiers had come in and relieved him of his weapons, the gun drew back. And Jim Thorson came through the door.

On a cliff of metal on the planet of beasts, the League, ambassador landed. He walked slowly over to the parapet of that vast building and stared uneasily down at the jungle four miles below.

“I suppose,” he thought, “I’ll be expected to go hunting with the”-he paused, searched for the right word, then grimly-“extroverts who build hunting lodges as big as this.”

A voice behind him murmured, “This way, Your Excellency. The hunting party will leave in an hour, and Enro the Red will confer with you en route.”

“Tell His Excellency, the foreign minister of the Greatest Empire,” the ambassador began firmly, “that I have just arrived, and that-“

He stopped, the refusal unspoken. No one, least of all League agents, turned down the invitations of the reigning overlord of an empire of sixty thousand star systems, especially when one’s purpose required considerable tact. The ambassador finished quietly, “-and that I will be ready in time.”

It was a bloodthirsty business. There were guns for each type of beast, carried by noiseless machines, one machine for each hunter. The robots were always at hand, holding out just the right weapon, yet they never got in the way. The most dangerous animals were held off by energy screens while the hunters maneuvered for firing position.

There was one long, sleek, powerful, hoofed animal, gray in color, which realized after one burst of effort that it was trapped. It sat down on its haunches and began to cry. Enro the Red himself put a bullet through its nearest eye. It pitched over and lay sobbing and writhing for a minute, then grew still. Afterward, on the way back to that gigantic combination hunting lodge and alternate foreign office, the red-haired giant came over to the League ambassador.

“Great sport, eh?” he growled. “Though I notice you didn’t shoot much.”

“This is my first time,” apologized the other. “I was fascinated.”

That was true enough, if you thought of it in a certain way. Fascinated, horrified, shocked, disgusted. He saw that the great man was staring at him sardonically.

“You League men are all the same,” Enro said. “A bunch of coward!-” He stopped. He seemed to think better of his harsh indictment. “Peaceable!” he said.

“You must remember,” the ambassador said coolly, “that the League was organized by the nineteen galactic empires at a time when they were destroying each other in futile and indecisive wars. Peace is the trade of the League, and, like all institutions, it has gradually created men who actually
think
peace.”

“Sometimes,” said Enro proudly, “I believe I prefer war, however destructive.”

The League officer said nothing, and presently Enro ceased chewing on his lower lip and said curtly, “Well, what is it you wish?”

The ambassador began diplomatically, “We have recently discovered that your transportation ministry has been overzealous.”

“In what way?”

“The case to which I refer is that of a sun system called Sol by its dominant inhabitants.”

“The name does not strike a memory chord,” Enro said coldly.

The ambassador bowed. “It will undoubtedly be on record in your department, and the problem is very simple. A transit base was established there by your transport department about five hundred years ago without permission from the League. Sol is one of the systems discovered after the agreements were signed respecting the exploration and exploitation of new-found stars.”

“Hm-m!” The red one’s gaze was even more sardonic, and the ambassador thought, Enro
did
know about Sol! Enro said, “And are you going to give us permission to keep the base there?”

“It must be dismantled and removed,” the League man said firmly, “as prescribed by the articles of the League charter.”

“It seems a very minor affair,” said Enro thoughtfully. “Leave a memorandum with my transport secretary and I will have it looked into.”

“But the base will be dismantled?” said the ambassador determinedly.

Enro was cool. “Not necessarily. After all, if it’s been there a long time, it might cause considerable dislocation to the transport department to have it removed. If that is so, we will take the matter up with the League and seek confirmation of our position there. Such incidents are bound to happen in vast stellar organizations. They must be handled in a progressive and elastic fashion.”

It was the smaller man’s turn to be sardonic. “I’m sure Your Excellency would be the first to protest if some other empire accidentally added a star system to its possessions. The League attitude is very clear. Those who made the mistake must rectify it.”

Enro was scowling. “We will take the matter up at the next League session.”

“But that is a year away.”

Enro seemed not to hear. “I seem to remember something about this system now. Very bloodthirsty inhabitants, if my memory serves me correctly. Disorder or war of some kind going on there right now.”

He smiled grimly. “We shall ask permission to reestablish order. I am sure that the League delegates will not object to that.”

Somberly, Gosseyn watched as his enemy strode into the bedroom. It would be Thorson rather than Crang. Even Prescott would have been preferable. But Thorson it was-looming giant of a man with gray-green eyes, strong, heavy face, and dominating hawk nose. His lips twisted the faintest bit. His nostrils dilated and contracted noticeably as he breathed. His head bent slightly to the right as he motioned Gosseyn to a chair. He did not sit down himself. He said with a show of concern, “Did the fall hurt?”

Gosseyn dismissed the question with a shrug. “No.”

“Good.”

There was silence. Gosseyn had time to collect himself. His bitterness over his recapture began to fade. It couldn’t be helped. A man in an enemy stronghold was at a disadvantage and continuously in danger. Even if he had known for certain that there were ambushes, he could only have gone forward as he had done.

He braced to the situation. He thought back over his relationship with Thorson, and it was not as violent as it might have been. The man had yielded several times in his favor. He had refrained from murdering him out of hand. He had even been persuaded to free him.
That
would probably not happen again, but the danger from Thorson would never be fixed and unchanging so long as he had tongue to speak. He waited.

Thorson stroked his chin. “Gosseyn,” he said, “the attack on Venus has reached a curious stage. If conditions were normal, it might even be said to have failed… . Ah, I thought that would interest you. But whether the failure stands or not depends entirely on how receptive you are to an idea I have in mind.”

“Failed!” echoed Gosseyn. At that point he had stopped listening. He thought, “I couldn’t have heard him correctly.” Slowly, then, the meaning pressed upon him, and still he could not bring himself to believe. A hundred times he had tried to picture the invasion of Venus: The planet of colossal trees and perpetually marvelous climate attacked everywhere at once! Men dropping from the skies in such numbers that all the hazy heavens over cities he himself had never seen would be darkened by their falling shapes! Unarmed millions surprised by trained soldiers equipped with every conceivable type of weapon in unlimited quantities! It seemed incredible that such an assault had already failed.

Thorson said slowly, “No one but myself realizes the failure as yet, except possibly”-he hesitated-“Crang.” He stood frowning for a moment as at a secret thought. “Gosseyn, if you had been planning the defense on Venus, what precautions would you have taken against an attacking force that could theoretically muster more major weapons than you had men?”

Gosseyn hesitated. He had had a few thoughts about the defense of Venus, but he had no intention of telling Thorson. “I haven’t the faintest idea,” he said.

“What would you have done if you had been caught in the assault?”

“Why, I’d have headed for the nearest forest.”

“Suppose you were married? What would you have done with your wife and children?”

“They’d have come with me, of course.” He was beginning to glimpse the truth, and the vision was dazzling.

Thorson cursed. He smashed his right fist into his left palm. “But what would be the idea of that?” He said angrily. “Nobody takes women and children into the open. Our men had orders to treat the populace with consideration and respect, except where there was resistance.”

Gosseyn nodded, but couldn’t speak for a moment. There were tears in his eyes, tears of excitement and also of the first realization of the heavy losses that must already have been sustained. He said uneasily, “Their problem would have been to get hold of guns. How did they do that?”

Thorson groaned, and paced the floor. “It’s fantastic,” he said. He shrugged, walked over to a wall instrument, touched a dial, and then stepped back. “You might as well get that picture straightened out before we go any further.”

As he finished, the room darkened. A square patch of light brightened the wall. The light changed, deepened; the picture that formed took on a developing reality. To Gosseyn came the impression they were looking out of a window onto a noisy, troubled day scene. The window, and they with it, moved forward, turned, and showed towering trees to one side and on the level ground below men sleeping. Men by the thousands. They wore green uniforms of very light material. They looked strange, so many of them sleeping in the light of day. They kept stirring, tossing in their sleep, and there was never a moment when scores of them were not sitting up, rubbing their eyes, and then sinking back again to sleep some more.

Sentries walked along the rows and rows of sleeping men. Machines floated in the air above them, turning, twisting, their guns pointing now this way, now that, as if they, like the men, were also uneasy.

Two of the sentries walked beneath the “window” through which Gosseyn and Thorson gazed. One spoke to the other in a language Gosseyn had never heard before. He had already guessed that these were galactic soldiers, but the sound of their alien tongue jarred him, chilled him. Thorson’s voice came from near his shoulder, softly:

“They’re Altairans. We didn’t bother to give them the local language.”

Local language! Gosseyn took that in silence. The pictures that formed in his mind whenever he thought of a galactic empire and its myriad peoples were on a nonverbal level.

He was just beginning to wonder why Thorson was showing him the curious scene when he saw a movement on one, then the others, of the mighty trees. Tiny human figures-they seemed tiny against that background-were scrambling down the caves and tunnels, the enormous corrugations and indentations of the bark. As Gosseyn watched tensely, they reached the ground and raced forward, shouting. It was a strange sight, for they dropped down like monkeys from the thick lower branches, and they carried short clubs. At first they made a thin trickle, then there was a small stream, then a river, then a flood, and then they were everywhere, men in light brown shorts and brown sandals, carrying clubs. The forest swarmed like an anthill, but these ants had the shapes of men and they yelled like madmen.

The machines woke up first. Long lines of floating blasters sent their sizzling fire at the attackers. Automatically aimed weapons added their thunder to the bedlam. There were shrieks, and men went down by the hundreds. And now the camp was waking up. Cursing soldiers leaped to their feet and clutched hand weapons. Men with swinging clubs grappled them, and as the minutes lengthened there were more and more men with clubs. Above the melee of battle, the automatic weapons stuttered uncertainly, as if they were no longer sure of just where they should fire. As the sizzling of the blasters and the thunder of the weapons lessened, the sound of men cursing and grunting and breathing came clearer.