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

“defect” and “broken connection.”
    Thinking of that, he said tentatively, “I seem to be in good physical condition. Why do you ask?”
    Breemeg nodded toward Onda. “You tell him.”
    The larger of the two scientists—which was what Gosseyn presumed they were—also did a nodding motion with that long head of his, saying, “One of the connections from your life support system inside the capsule was broken. Examination of the two broken ends, one of which was connected to a nerve end in your neck, would indicate that the break occurred long ago.”
    “So—” he shrugged—“something that someone believed was needed to keep you in good condition in that confined area, has been missing for years.”
    He broke off: “You haven’t noticed anything?” Gosseyn had already done a swift, mental survey of his actions since awakening; and so General Semantics did something for him, now, when the direct question was asked: He had no need to re-examine what had already been evaluated. He simply shook his head. “I feel alert and strong.”
    “Well,” said Onda, in a doubtful tone, “it’s hard to believe that the builders of such equipment would include anything that wasn’t vital to the life process. So—” He straightened his thick body—“our advice to you is, if you notice anything at all, report it at once, and maybe we can still do something to rectify the missing element.” Gosseyn nodded. “It is to my interest to do so.”
    “Something electrical involved.” Voice One spoke for the first time from where he stood in the doorway. “A neural stimulant of some kind.”
    Gosseyn saw that Breemeg was getting restless; and since he had already noticed that there was a half-inch wide, ten-inch-long, plastic straw lying beside his soup bowl, he now picked it up.
    What he was presently sucking up through the straw had some of the flavor of what the earlier Gosseyns might have labeled dishwater, and a vague taste of sweetness, resembling orange juice, and an impression of fatty material in small quantities.
    It turned out that his stomach was able to hold down the entire liquid mixture. At which point, as he virtually drained the bowl, he looked up and saw that Breemeg was motioning at him.
    The man said, “All right, Mr. Gosseyn, let’s go! . . .” The Place was another garden-like lead-up to a somewhat more ornate door. But the emperor himself answered the bell, or whatever signal was triggered when Breemeg touched something at one side.
    Gosseyn was aware of the courtier swallowing, literally—his throat moved in the gulping movement. But before the man could recover his official aplomb, the boy said, dismissingly, “You may leave, Breemeg. I’ll take over our guest, thank you.”
    He thereupon beckoned Gosseyn with a hand gesture. Moments after that, it was over; Breemeg with the door closed in his face was presumably either seething outside, or relieved to be able to depart . . .
CHAPTER

7
    Dutifully—in at least one meaning of the word—Gosseyn followed the boy emperor across a large, tastefully decorated room. But noticed that here, also, as in his Palomar apartment, the elegance, which was here much greater, was nevertheless modified by the requirements of space flight.
    The settees, and chairs, and tables, were built-in: everything was locked in position. And, through the carpet under his feet, he could feel the no-give metallic floor below.
    He was surprised that the boy seemed to be alone. There were no visible servants, no sign of the mother, and no guards. There were several closed doors; but not a sound was audible from the rooms they presumably led into.
    . . . Himself and the young emperor heading in a specific direction toward what seemed to be a decorated wall. He was not too surprised when the decoration turned out to be the field of play of the game, scroob.
    What am I doing here? he wondered, ruefully.
    But, of course, he knew. He had saved himself from a confrontation with a