Free The World of Null-A by A. E. van Vogt, van Vogt Page B

partial control of his situation.
    The man and woman lay where he had left them. They were both conscious, and they looked at him with anxiety. He had no intention of harming them, but it wouldn’t hurt to keep them jittery. He gazed down at them thoughtfully. In a sense, now that he was ready to concentrate on them, he was seeing them for the first time.
    Amelia Prescott was dark-haired, slim, and good-looking in a very mature fashion. She wore a midriff blouse, shorts, and sandals. When Gosseyn removed her gag, her first words were, “Young man, I hope you realize that I’ve got a dinner on the stove.”
    “Dinner?” said Gosseyn involuntarily. “You mean it will be dark soon?”
    She frowned at that, but did not answer directly. “Who are you?” she said instead. “What do you want?”
    The questions reminded Gosseyn unpleasantly that he didn’t know anything more about himself basically than she did. He knelt beside her husband. As he untied the gag, he studied Prescott’s face. It was a stronger countenance, seen so closely, than he expected. Only positive beliefs could put that look on a man’s face. The problem was, were his convictions rooted in null-A? Or did his strength derive from the certainties that a leader must cultivate?
    He expected Prescott’s comment on his predicament to furnish a clue to his character. He was disappointed. The man lay staring up at him, more thoughtfully now. But he said nothing at all.
    Gosseyn faced the woman again. “If I should call Roboplane Service,” he said, “what should I say to them to get a plane?”
    She shrugged. “That you want a plane, of course.” She looked at him, an odd expression on her face. “I’m beginning to understand,” she said slowly. “You’re on Venus illegally, and unfamiliar with everyday life here.”
    Gosseyn hesitated. “Something like that,” he admitted finally. He returned to his problem. “I don’t have to quote a registry number or anything like that?”
    “No.”
    “I dial their number and say I want a plane? Do I tell them where to send it?”
    “No. All public roboplanes are connected with the dial system. That goes by pattern. The planes follow the electronic pattern and come to the videophone.”
    “There’s absolutely nothing else to do?”
    She shook her head. “No, nothing.”
    It seemed to Gosseyn that her replies were too frankly given. There was a way to settle that. A lie detector. He remembered having seen one in an adjoining room. He got it and set it up beside her. The lie detector said, “She’s telling the truth.”
    To the woman, Gosseyn said, “Thanks!” He added, “How long will it take a plane to get here?”
    “About an hour.”
    There was a video extension on the table near the window. Gosseyn sank into a chair beside it, looked up the number, and dialed it. The video plate on the earphone did not even flicker. Gosseyn stared at it, startled. He dialed again, hurriedly, and this time listened intently at the receiver. Dead silence.
    He got up, and ran downstairs to the main instrument in the living room. Still no answer. He clicked open the door at the back and peered into the heart of the machine. It was normally warm. All the transparent tubes were glowing. The fault must be outside the building.
    Slowly, Gosseyn climbed back to the second floor. There was a picture in his mind, a picture of himself cut off here on this mountain. Cut off physically and by the mystery of himself. It was a dark inward world at which he gazed. He felt depressed and tense. The idyl was over.
    His belief that he was in control of the situation was meaningless in the face of what had happened to the videophone.
    Somewhere out there the forces that had put him here were waiting. For what?

VIII
     
    Gosseyn climbed slowly up the stairs. At the top he stopped to collect his thoughts. His plan for an easy departure had failed. He visualized the potentialities. He would get some information and then leave on