But the messages themselves were stored in a different part of the normal brain.
… So the Dzanian—and later the Troogs—instantly had the language neural complexes of their brains slightly altered. The original Dzanian—and Troogan—language neural pattern was shifted over to an equivalent in English.
At twenty decimal speed: instantly…
Neither personality, nor education, nor information of any kind, was involved.
The English language of Gilbert Gosseyn Three… was!
And now (Gosseyn concluded his lecture) are there any questions?
… Enro presently raised his hand, and his sister translated his words: “It has been my observation that women are even more elite-minded than men; and in that connection I have furnished the emperor’s mother with visual materials that will show her my palaces on Gorgzid…”
Gosseyn Two’s faraway thought came: “I think you should find out what those visual materials consist of besides pictures of palaces—”
“Maybe another little distorter, you mean?” Gosseyn Three replied.
“At least,” said his alter ego.
“Under the circumstances,” said Gosseyn Three, “I think—”
After a pause, and a careful effort at concentration, so that there would be no mistake, he 20-decimaled Enro into the capsule, to which the Troogs had brought the Gosseyn Three body after a number of initial experiments.
It should be an interesting interim problem for Enro to deal with; so it seemed to Gosseyn Three; and there seemed to be no objecting thought out there in remote space…
CHAPTER 28
Back on 26th century earth; all of the human beings except Enro…
Gosseyn, who had done the twenty-decimal transmitting of everyone, was the last to arrive. As he straightened from his arrival position, he saw that the others were waiting for him: the women were already seated in the chairs and on the couch, and the men were standing.
They had all been instructed—again—to leave the location of arrival quickly; and they had obviously done so.
He grew aware that President Blayney was on the phone, saying at that moment: “… And get over here at once!”
As Blayney replaced the receiver moments later, he saw Gosseyn. “It’s fifteen minutes after twelve noon,” he said: “I’ve been missing for three days.”
He added, “My security people will be here in a few minutes.”
Gosseyn said, “That’s interesting information, sir.”
He wondered what day it was in relation to when Enin and he had originally arrived. But actually that was incidental.
Quietly but quickly, he walked over and glanced into the bedroom he had shared with the young emperor. Empty. But the bed was unmade.
Moments later, he saw that the other bedroom was also unoccupied.
Swiftly, he strode over to the hall door, and opened it. Addressing Eldred Crang, who stood beside his wife—the former Patricia Hardie was sitting in the chair nearest the door—Gosseyn said, “I’m going up front to talk to the caretaker. I’ll be right back.”
Crang seemed to realize his concern. “I’m guessing they’ll be all right,” he said. “There’s no sign of violence around here.”
He added, “I think it’s still basically you they’re after.” Gosseyn said, “Thank you.” And went out into the wide hallway of the empty shell of a building that had been the Institute of General Semantics.
A minute later, after he had rung the caretaker s doorbell several times, there was that wrinkled face and those sneaky eyes looking up at him; and presently showing comprehension of his question.
“They went out to eat.” The face twisted. “That friend of yours must have brought some woman in here; because that’s who he and the boy went out with.” He finished in a disapproving tone: “Dressed strange, if you ask me—that woman.”
Gosseyn, remembering the young Interstellar Marriage Club’s Strella and her wraparound dress, but already feeling relieved by the information, said, “Probably one of the new styles.”
He cautioned: “You’d better get organized. The president’s personal guard will be here shortly.”
“Huh!”
During the seconds that the caretaker stood there absorbing what seemed to be a feeling of shock, Gosseyn’s eyes turned slightly, and located a spot on the carpeted floor half a dozen feet beyond the twisted shoulder nearest him.
He made his extra-brain mental photograph of the floor surface just inside the alcove, paying no attention to the room beyond—but fleetingly aware that it was probably the living room of the caretaker’s apartment. Then: “Thank you,” he said politely.
As he stepped back, the door closed with a click. Gosseyn turned and walked away. That was in case he was being watched through a peephole.
He counted to thirty because it would take a minute or so for the older man to get to the phone. Made a mental picture of the corridor floor in that location. And then he did his twenty decimal jump to the alcove position.
As he grew aware again, he heard the caretaker’s voice saying: “Tell Mr. Gorrold that… that fellow Gosseyn is back.”
He seemed to be listening to a reply because, after a few moments more, his voice spoke an acknowledgment: “All right, all right.”
At that point Gosseyn made his jump back to the hallway location, and returned to the apartment.
As he entered Blayney was shaking hands with the men, and bowing to the women. His back was to Gosseyn as he said, “Anything you need, I’ll be in touch with Mr. Gosseyn.”
As he finished speaking, he turned and saw Gosseyn, came over, and said. “You can get through to me any time. And I suggest—” his tone was suddenly grim—“until we get those people out of this galaxy, we’d better stay in touch, and on the ball.”
Gosseyn said, “Sir, Mr. Crang and I will walk you to the front door.”
Outside in the hallway, he made his only comment on Blayney’s admonition; “I’m sure that at this moment nobody can guarantee how all this is going to come out. Just about everybody is primarily and with total determination concerned with his own situation.” With that, as they walked along, he asked a question that Gosseyn Two, out there on the Dzan battleship, wanted an answer to.
Blayney was amused.
“We picked up, and stored, all the jewels and precious metals,” he said. “What’s left is this uneven floor surface and the torn walls.”
Gosseyn said, “I’m still hoping it can be rebuilt; and although I, personally, never saw any of the valuables, I gather that what you’re saying is that they were never disposed of; never sold at auction, or to individual collectors.”
“They’re in a government security building.”
Gosseyn said, “My brother out there in space would like to have them available again. He thinks they should be returned to their legal owner: a rebuilt institute.” Blayney’s strong face relaxed into a faint smile. “It’s a very complicated subject,” he said, “I’ll think about what’s best, from my point of view.”
As, a minute later, Crang opened the front door, a roboplane was sinking to the pavement fifty feet away. As it touched the surface, a door opened, and a dozen uniformed men leaped down. They loped over and took up position beside the door. In the time-honored fashion, each man clicked his heels, and snapped his hand up to a salute.
A smiling Blayney acknowledged the salute; and then stood there with Gosseyn and Crang another four minutes before five gleaming limousines came charging down the street and through the gate into the Institute grounds. More men leaped out.