Free Null-A Three by A.E. Van Vogt

another, smaller room, Voice One, he deduced that he was to be kept in contact with a small number of individuals, particularly persons who were already acquainted with his background.
    So he said, “Hello!” to Two, and waved vaguely at One. Throughout the tiny interchange, he was aware of Breemeg behind him. And so, it was not an unexpected comment when the courtier said in the tone of a superior talking to a subordinate:
    “Mr. Onda, what have you prepared for our guest?” . . . So he was about to learn names. Or—as it turned out—only one name. But even that was welcome.
    Voice Two—Onda—said in a tone that accepted the subservient role, “Sir, we have chemically tested the fluids that were used in the capsule to feed our, uh, guest. And we have prepared a soup mixture combining some of the food elements we found.”
    He was the larger of the two men—except for his head, which was long, whereas Voice One had a square-built face. Onda was the older of the two men. He spoke now almost apologetically, “It will require a few hours to prepare a more substantial meal.”
    Breemeg acknowledged the explanation with a curt nod that somehow conveyed imperious acceptance. Whereupon, he took Gosseyn by the arm. “Let me show you your quarters,” he said.
    It was the first actual verbal confirmation that he had, indeed, arrived at the first of his destinations. And that here, presumably, he would be staying while he was aboard ship. Gosseyn decided not to consider at the moment how long he would stay aboard. That decision should be discussed with his faraway alter ego.
    What followed was a quick tour to, first, a bedroom, with an adjoining bath, then to a small, combination study and dining room—at least that was his silent description of the place: what made it a study was that something resembling a TV screen and other electronic equipment was either on one wall, or extended from it; and there was a chair and a desk; and at one end a glossy table that could have been a dining table. A number of chairs were spaced at intervals.
    He presumed it was normal that his identifications reflected earth ideas on such matters; but then so did the apartment, with its resemblance to living quarters available all over the solar system for human occupation. The similarity extended to the fourth room, which had the look of a kitchen, complete with something that looked like a cooking surface; and a small table, with a chair in front of it, where Voice One had already set up a steaming bowl of greenish-brown soup.
    There were other objects, including shelving, and drawers. But the purpose of the soup was so obvious that, as Onda indicated for him to sit down in the chair in front of the bowl, he did so automatically, and definitely expected no unpleasant surprises.
    So that the words that were spoken next came as a distinct shock.
    It was a question, spoken by Onda: “Perhaps, Mr. Breemeg, before we proceed, you are not able to make a comment about the defect we mentioned earlier, in relation to Mr. Gosseyn.”
    The courtier, who had been standing of! to one side, came forward. “The broken connection?” he asked. “Yes, sir.”
    Pause.
    “General Semantics,” thought Gosseyn, ruefully, “where are you when I need you?”
    His feeling: this ship and its people continued to confront him with unanticipated situations . . . Defect! Broken connection!—there were vague, unpleasant implications; and nothing to do but wait and Find out what they were.
    He saw that Breemeg had walked to the opposite side of the table, and was gazing at him. Breemeg said, “In your opinion, are you in good health? Do you have any awareness of a weakness, or of anything missing? How are you reacting physically to so much activity after years of being in a state of suspended animation?” On the surface it seemed to be a reasonable question; and Gosseyn was aware of himself relaxing. Reasonable—he thought—except for the negative meaning of