“What I’ve been trying to figure out,” the man said in that soft voice of his, “is, why did you let it happen—again?”
The question seemed to imply that Blayney had heard of the 20-decimal abilities of the Gosseyn brain.
Naturally, that was a possibility only, and not to be taken for granted. So Gosseyn parried: “I’m no smarter than I was last time.” He added, “Who would suspect that you would take the trouble to keep this little house under surveillance.”
He was watching the smooth face as he spoke the words, with their implied praise. And felt pleased as he detected a tiny smugness in the other’s expression.
But Blayney said nothing; offered no explanation of his foresightedness.
In a way, of course, his comment did not need a reply. First, it was doubtful if an honest answer would ever be given by a conniver. There had been a small group of top people involved, secretly backed by the mighty armies of Enro, commanded by Thorson.
Of those individuals, President Hardie was dead, and Thorson was dead. Not too surprising that Blayney who had been a close associate of one or the other, had taken advantage.
And, obviously, when elections were rigged, those who did the rigging—or their chief aides—tried to gain advantages. But even yet it was hard to believe that the people of the western hemisphere of earth had come down to this in the 26th century A.D.
It showed what secret intervention by interstellar forces could do to the unsuspecting inhabitants of a planet.
Fortunately, except for further action Enro might take while aboard the Dzan battleship, that conspiracy had been essentially defeated.
… And except, of course, for the leftover debris—like Blayney—that still remained to be cleaned up on earth. Hopefully, there was a possibility that the man knew nothing of the background of what had happened—
Also, it was possible that the question asked by Gilbert Gosseyn Three had averted a violent reaction from the new head of the government in this area of earth.
Other than that, the Gosseyn predicament remained the same. So far, nothing basic had been accomplished.
Thinking thus, and still lying there, Gosseyn Three allowed himself a partial General Semantics awareness.
Naturally, first impression was, once more, of the interior of this little house. And second, the thought that it was probably significant that Blayney had not yet indicated his purpose in coming to a place like this… coming here from the grandeur of the presidential mansion. But the reality that he had come at all indicated that a decision would presently be made.
So the biggest threat had to do with the presence in this room of a very special type of ordinary, old style human beings: meaning, most of the individuals who had intruded into Dan Lyttle’s small house would probably do nothing inimical until they were given a direct command.
Gosseyn, who had already, earlier, taken the precaution of mentally photographing the four gunmen with his extra-brain, decided that at very least he should offer them a way out. Since there was now a person present with the “right” to give them any order, including “Shoot him!”—and they would—the time of such an offer had to be now, and not at the moment that the command was given.
It was purpose on an intermediate level; and so he turned his head, and spoke to the four:
“I’d appreciate it if you would all put away your guns.” He added, “They’re not needed, now that I’m handcuffed and tied up.”
Interesting, then, that three of the men simply sat there as if they had not heard. The fourth man—at the far end of the quartet—glanced over at his, presumably, sergeant, or equivalent—the civilian who had, so far, done all the talking for this lower echelon group—and said, “You got any thoughts on that, Al?”
The man addressed replied immediately in his soft voice: “The Big Boss is here—” He indicated the beautifully arrayed individual standing beside Gosseyn—“and he’ll give the orders when he feels like it.”
The gun-holder, who had spoken, glanced at Gosseyn. And shrugged. Whereupon, he sank back into silence, gun still in hand.
Gosseyn turned his gaze away from the men, and smiled grimly up at Blayney. “Looks like there’s not a future Venusian in your group,” he said.
The man-who-had-become-the-equal-of-king was frowning down at the prisoner. “Was that an attempt to subvert men who have sworn to do their duty whenever called upon to do so by an authorized commander?” Gosseyn gazed up at other’s slightly heavy, frowning face, and shook his head. “On one level,” he said, “General Semantics recognizes the rule of law in a backward society. But what has happened here seems to transcend ordinary legal, or criminal, ordinances.” He broke off: “Am I to understand that I can be tied up in this fashion without any charges being leveled against me?” Blayney stroked his jaw. “You’re a special situation. And I gave the order.” His lips twisted into a smile. “And these men obeyed it, as they should.”
“That’s why I spoke to them. They are participants in a pre-emptive action. Their role is that of automatons. In coming here, they came as minions and not with any intention of finding out the facts. Later, when they go to their homes, if someone asks them what they did today, what will they be able to say?”
Blayney’s smile was tighter, his teeth showing. “They’re bound by their oaths not to reveal to unauthorized persons anything that happens during their period of duty.”
“In other words,” replied Gosseyn, “if you were to order them to shoot me, they would do so without having to know the reason?”
“Exactly.” Blayney’s manner abruptly showed impatience. “Government by authority will be continuing on earth for some time. So let’s get to the point. What are you here for?”
But Gosseyn had turned his attention back to the four gun carriers. And it was them he addressed: “As individuals,” he asked, “do you each, separately, wish to be bound by the minion condition in this specific situation?”
The Gun-holder-second-from-Gosseyn’s-left stirred, and said to Blayney, “Any special orders, Mr. President?” Silently, that individual shook his head.
So there was still time to obtain more data. Gosseyn turned. And called, “Mr. Lyttle!”
It must have been unexpected. For Lyttle, though he had ceased all kitchen work, and had his hands free, merely stood there. And waited.
It seemed a good idea to let the man recover. The recovery occurred in about five seconds, as Lyttle replied, “Yes, Mr. Gosseyn?”
Before Gosseyn could acknowledge that, there was another interruption. Enin, who had been staring, said, “You fellows just going to talk?” he asked, “Or—” to Gosseyn—“you need help from me?”
Gosseyn smiled. “Not yet, Enin. If I do, I’ll let you know. Right now, if you wish, you can go back to your game.”
“Okay.”
Moments later, the delighted cries began again.
And Gosseyn said, “Mr. Lyttle, what would you like to have happen on earth?”
The reply came immediately, “I’m hoping that you’ll stay, and help restore the whole General Semantics preliminary to Venus here on earth, including—” after a small pause—“complete rehabilitation of the Games Machine.”
Gosseyn commented, “It’s generally agreed among semanticians that the Games Machine proved to be unexpectedly vulnerable to interference with its activities.”
“We have to remember,” was the reply, “that it’s basically a computer; and the addition of a few thousand chips, each with its protective programming, would be of great assistance to it in the future. But of course—” he spoke firmly—“no machine should ever transcend human control.”