That part, of course, could be explained. But what additionally disturbed him about what the Troog had said, was a feeling that the speech was only partly for his benefit.
“… For some reason, he wants these onlookers to believe that he’s on the ball; that he’s handling one of those cagey characters from earth—me—in a no-nonsense manner, please notice, everyone—”
It was an oddly tense moment. And, sitting there, Gosseyn yielded to an impulse to shift his own body position before he spoke again.
He said, “I’m sure there must be a way by which we can convince each other that we actually need to cooperate for mutual benefit.”
He concluded as simply as possible, “Why don’t we set up a step by step program? And then, as we achieve each step in turn, we shall progressively gain confidence that all will be well.”
There was silence. The spokesman stared at him. His huge eyes had an odd, baffled expression in them. Sitting there, Gosseyn experienced a strange thought: could it be that this individual was not the chief authority?
Somehow, he had taken for granted that the top officers would be talking to him. Was a higher-up monitoring this meeting? Were the minions at the table waiting for an expression of approval, or for a decision authorizing further action?
As the silence lengthened, Gosseyn waited with them. Waited unhappily; because his situation seemed to be worse, not better.
A thought came: “… It could be that unless I figure out how to break down these barriers, this could go on—”
Another thought, a memory related to General Semantics: “… That business of believing that I would be interested in a woman named Strella because I liked the similar name, Strala—”
It was a vague direction to take. But surely better than just sitting here in this dim room with the people who mattered. With that sudden motivation, he straightened a little, shuffled his feet—a little—and, addressing the spokesman, said:
“Do you have a name which distinguishes you from these—” He gestured vaguely towards the other Troogs at the table, and completed his question—“from these friends of yours?”
The big eyes stared. The little mouth said, “We all have names.”
But the speaker did not volunteer his own name. He continued to sit there, a glop version of a human being.
“The impression I have,” said Gosseyn, “is that your friends are not your equals.”
“We are Troogs.”
The tone of voice had in it, suddenly, an imperious quality. The expression of personal power evoked from Gosseyn his next question:
“Are you the—” he hesitated—“emperor?”
There was a distinct pause. The face and eyes continued to fix on Gosseyn. Finally, almost reluctantly—it seemed—the alien said, “We Troogs do not have emperors.” Another pause. Then: “I am the appointed leader of this ship.”
“Who appointed you?” Gosseyn asked.
If possible, the great eyes grew even rounder. Then, impatiently: “I appointed myself, of course.” The sudden irritation abruptly produced more words: “Look, our authority system is none of your business.”
Gosseyn rejected the meaning with a gentle shake of his head. Then: “Sir,” he said politely, “you’ve made this entire situation my business by your relentless pursuit of me and your attempt to control me. I should therefore comment that I find your system of government significant. Are you saying, in effect, that no one else was motivated to appoint himself commander-in-chief?”
Pause; then: “Several.” The big eyes stared into his.
“What happened to their acts of self-appointment?”
In front of him the small mouth twisted slightly. Then: “They never reached the appointment stage. When they spoke of their ambitions, nobody listened. So they got the message.”
“I gather that, somehow, you had put yourself over?” Gosseyn spoke the comment in a questioning tone.
The impatience was still there. “Mr. Gosseyn,” the leader said, “you yourself manifest many qualities of a commander. I feel certain that, among the human beings we have aboard, there is not one, considering the particular predicament they are all in, who would not accept your orders. Automatically.”
Particular predicament!
It was a relation-to-statement, and therefore within the General Semantics frame of reasoning.
The words that had been so casually spoken had an additional revelatory meaning:… other human beings aboard—
Aside, of course, from that poor, dumb youth who had served his omelette, it was now fairly certain that the reference was to Mr. and Mrs. Eldred Crang, the Prescotts, Leej and Enro, and the others. They were still alive. Captured but undamaged.
Suddenly, it was sad. Self-appointed leaders. These semi-human-looking people had evolved what had the implication of being an emergency-style system of living with each other. Somehow, in spite of their physical deformity, they had simultaneously achieved a mighty science.
Self-appointed government could work. There was a pragmatism involved that, in most situations, had a potential for almost sensational success.
The self-appointed whatever arriving at a cul-de-sac in his own forward drive—plan—purpose—research; and so not offering a resistance when an assistant asserted leadership by asserting that his—whatever—would work.
There was a sort of things-get-done momentum in such an idea. At least a partial certainty of nothing ever slowing down because a single individual could never for long fool his colleagues. Observably, the project he was working on would either be going forward, or it would not be.
Such a system could conceivably work best in the area of physics and chemistry. The results were always visible; and if a research-leader lagged, there were eager usurpers waiting down the line for the slightest sign of slowdown in creativity.
In fact, the leadership system could explain the superiority of Troog science, on the one hand, and a misuse of it, on the other.
Because, obviously, psychology, and the so-called social sciences, as well as humanitarian ideas, could never be observably true. In those fields, there could, as on earth, be “schools” with the usual variant beliefs. It was in such areas of study that General Semantics offered the individual a method of avoiding the need for certainty.
Nothing like that here, was his feeling-thought.
He was aware of other, similar thoughts crowding up from some equivalent of an inner well of ideas. But before they could take form, the two doors to his right opened again. The five Troog waiters and the human youth entered.
The Troogs were carrying tall, transparent glasses containing a liquid; and in the youth’s hand was a cup and a saucer, and a cream pitcher. Coffee?—Gosseyn wondered.
It was. Quickly set down in front of him by hands that, thereupon, reached over and removed the empty omelette plate. Presumably, particular Troogs picked up the same plates they had set down earlier. Interesting, then, that the human boy, as he withdrew with his alien companions, did not look at Gosseyn.