But his predicament had made an impression. And so Gosseyn gazed after him, and, just before the poor, little guy disappeared, took a 20-decimal mental photograph of him.
His thought was: “As soon as I get this whole situation clarified, so that I can be sure, I’ll put him somewhere on earth—”
CHAPTER 25
It was a slightly flabbergasted Gosseyn who poured in a tiny portion of cream, stirred it, and took the first sip of what tasted like genuine coffee.
In picking up the cup, he saw that there were half a dozen sugar cubes at the edge of the saucer; but the Gosseyn bodies did not use sugar in coffee; so the cubes remained where they were.
It was evidently another instance of a self-appointed Troog studying human needs, and even coming up with coffee. It was the kind of thoroughness which assured that no other Troog down the line of command would be taking over his job.
That was probably also why they had brought the human youth aboard. To help on the finer details.
In such small matters, and in relation to science, the system had its points. But otherwise—
He put his cup down, and gazed at the leader, who, he saw, was sipping liquid from the glass that had been set for him. Gosseyn shook his head at the alien.
“I find it difficult,” he said, “to visualize such a leadership system in relation to important matters. Apparently, back in your own galaxy, the self-appointed super-leader evidently maintains a state of continuous warfare against the Dzan humans.”
Another one of those pauses. All the other Troog eyes stared at their leader expectantly.
Gosseyn waited, as one shoulder of the big body below that head made a movement that could have been described as a shrug. The small mouth said:
“Our Great One,” said the ship leader, “ordered the lesser race to submit itself to his commands.”
Pause. Silence. Finally: “When was this ultimatum given?” Gosseyn asked.
The huge eyes stared at him; and there was a small note of surprise from the voice that issued from the little mouth: “No one has ever asked that question before.”
There were so many implications in the reply that Gosseyn almost literally had to control consciously the wild way his thoughts leaped in every direction. Finally, with a gulp: “Was the ultimatum already in force when you were born?”
“Y-yes!” The hesitation this time was followed by sounds from other Troogs.
He was getting answers, so Gosseyn did not waste time.
“We, here in the Milky Way galaxy, were surprised to discover, when we went out into space, that human beings of various color combinations, inhabited most of the habitable planets—everywhere!
“Recently—” he continued—“we learned that we are descendants of long ago immigrants from your galaxy. The story was that some malignant energy field was moving in upon that galaxy. At the time millions of small spacecraft were constructed. Each contained two men and two women in a state of suspended animation and with life support systems for the long journey from your galaxy to this one.
“Now, with the arrival of the Dzan battleship and your battleship, we deduce that those persons who stayed behind, because there were not enough spacecraft to transport everybody—that, I repeat, those who remained were not destroyed, as was believed would happen.”
He drew a deep breath, and concluded, “Have you any explanation for the fact that, apparently, two human races—the Troogs and those who are like us here—survived the threatening catastrophe?”
Silence. They were staring.
It was no time to stop. Gosseyn pressed on: “When I look at you, Mr. Leader, and your colleagues, who are sitting here in this room with you, I see a human shape that appears to have been modified from the original standard human like myself. You are mutants. It would seem, then, that it was your ancestors who were caught in that cloud of malignant energies.
“And, of course,” he finished, “by the defensive mechanism, well-known in psychology, you thereupon concluded that what had happened made you superior; and here you are calling yourself the people who matter.” The leader was staring upward, seemingly at the wall behind Gosseyn. And the other Troogs were staring at him.
Abruptly, then—action! A Troog, whose body was easily the largest at the table, stood up—almost leaped up, actually (his chair scraped noisily)—and said in an almost yelling voice:
“Veen, you are no longer qualified to be leader. So I, Yona, appoint myself leader in your place!”
There was no sound from the alien, who had so suddenly been identified by name. He seemed to sink down in his chair; and, what was sensational, did not argue with the evaluation of him by his fellow Troog. Apparently, it was unwise, in this super-competitive society, to be surprised or caught off guard.
So Gilbert Gosseyn Three was now an individual who had been instrumental in overthrowing a Troog leader. There would be repercussions; and, in such a logical society, it would be interesting to see what they were.
CHAPTER 26
Sitting there, Gosseyn had a sudden surge of hope. At once, he addressed the new leader, while the alien was still standing there in his moment of triumph.
“I’m now deducing,” Gosseyn said, “that this entire dinner, and what happened here, has been broadcast to the crew and officers of your ship. And so they are now aware that… (brief hesitation)—Yona is now the appointed leader of this battleship.”
If it were possible, the little mouth of the huge man tightened in what, in a human being, would have been a belligerent firming of the jaw section.
“That is true.” The alien’s tone had a challenging tone as if he dared anyone to criticize.
Gosseyn leaned back in his chair once more. This time it was not a relaxing action—he realized. The thought that the new leader’s verification brought was too huge.
At this instant—that was the sudden awareness—all the way down the line of subordinate leadership, and their waiting-to-pounce aides, Troogs would be thinking what they, as individuals, should do to fit into the new situation.
The astonishing thing, then was, he was so busy trying to analyze what might be happening, that other intruding thoughts did not penetrate until, suddenly, a directed message came on the mental yelling intensity:
“… Mr. Gosseyn Three—” It was the mental voice of Gosseyn Two—“I’ve been getting your thoughts for at least thirty seconds, now; and you’re still so concentrated on your own situation that you haven’t received mine… Wake up! We’re connected again?”
In that dim lit earth-style dining room Gosseyn Three straightened in his chair. He was conscious of relief but, at the same time, did not lose momentum in what was happening in front of him.
He directed one, quick, mental message to his alter ego: “Bear with me, brother!”
To Yona, who was still standing, he said, “I hope that you will accept the offer I have made, of total cooperation.”
The big man looked at him grimly. “We have your promise that you will do what you can to help us get back to our home galaxy?”
“One hundred percent cooperation,” said Gosseyn. “Do you have any explanation”—it was an accusing tone, still—“of how all this happened?”
It was obvious from the aggressiveness of the question that the new Troog leader was clearly trying to maintain his momentum of control.
Let him! There was nothing to be gained by opposing him.
Gosseyn said cautiously, “Sir, whatever I can do—you give the orders.”
. . I’m really sucking up—” he thought. But his belief was that he had done all the attacking that was necessary on Leader Veen; and what he needed now was to benefit from the transfer of power to the self-appointed Yona.