The World of Null-A

XXVIII

Somberly, Gosseyn watched as his enemy strode into the bedroom. It would be Thorson rather than Crang. Even Prescott would have been preferable. But Thorson it was-looming giant of a man with gray-green eyes, strong, heavy face, and dominating hawk nose. His lips twisted the faintest bit. His nostrils dilated and contracted noticeably as he breathed. His head bent slightly to the right as he motioned Gosseyn to a chair. He did not sit down himself. He said with a show of concern, “Did the fall hurt?”

Gosseyn dismissed the question with a shrug. “No.”

“Good.”

There was silence. Gosseyn had time to collect himself. His bitterness over his recapture began to fade. It couldn't be helped. A man in an enemy stronghold was at a disadvantage and continuously in danger. Even if he had known for certain that there were ambushes, he could only have gone forward as he had done.

He braced to the situation. He thought back over his relationship with Thorson, and it was not as violent as it might have been. The man had yielded several times in his favor. He had refrained from murdering him out of hand. He had even been persuaded to free him. That would probably not happen again, but the danger from Thorson would never be fixed and unchanging so long as he had tongue to speak. He waited.

Thorson stroked his chin. “Gosseyn,” he said, “the attack on Venus has reached a curious stage. If conditions were normal, it might even be said to have failed. . . . Ah, I thought that would interest you. But whether the failure stands or not depends entirely on how receptive you are to an idea I have in mind.”

“Failed!” echoed Gosseyn. At that point he had stopped listening. He thought, “I couldn't have heard him correctly.” Slowly, then, the meaning pressed upon him, and still he could not bring himself to believe. A hundred times he had tried to picture the invasion of Venus: The planet of colossal trees and perpetually marvelous climate attacked everywhere at once! Men dropping from the skies in such numbers that all the hazy heavens over cities he himself had never seen would be darkened by their falling shapes! Unarmed millions surprised by trained soldiers equipped with every conceivable type of weapon in unlimited quantities! It seemed incredible that such an assault had already failed.

Thorson said slowly, “No one but myself realizes the failure as yet, except possibly”–he hesitated–“Crang.” He stood frowning for a moment as at a secret thought. “Gosseyn, if you had been planning the defense on Venus, what precautions would you have taken against an attacking force that could theoretically muster more major weapons than you had men?”

Gosseyn hesitated. He had had a few thoughts about the defense of Venus, but he had no intention of telling Thorson. “I haven't the faintest idea,” he said.

“What would you have done if you had been caught in the assault?”

“Why, I'd have headed for the nearest forest.”

“Suppose you were married? What would you have done with your wife and children?”

“They'd have come with me, of course.” He was beginning to glimpse the truth, and the vision was dazzling.

Thorson cursed. He smashed his right fist into his left palm. “But what would be the idea of that?” He said angrily. “Nobody takes women and children into the open. Our men had orders to treat the populace with consideration and respect, except where there was resistance.”

Gosseyn nodded, but couldn't speak for a moment. There were tears in his eyes, tears of excitement and also of the first realization of the heavy losses that must already have been sustained. He said uneasily, “Their problem would have been to get hold of guns. How did they do that?”

Thorson groaned, and paced the floor. “It's fantastic,” he said. He shrugged, walked over to a wall instrument, touched a dial, and then stepped back. “You might as well get that picture straightened out before we go any further.”

As he finished, the room darkened. A square patch of light brightened the wall. The light changed, deepened; the picture that formed took on a developing reality. To Gosseyn came the impression they were looking out of a window onto a noisy, troubled day scene. The window, and they with it, moved forward, turned, and showed towering trees to one side and on the level ground below men sleeping. Men by the thousands. They wore green uniforms of very light material. They looked strange, so many of them sleeping in the light of day. They kept stirring, tossing in their sleep, and there was never a moment when scores of them were not sitting up, rubbing their eyes, and then sinking back again to sleep some more.

Sentries walked along the rows and rows of sleeping men. Machines floated in the air above them, turning, twisting, their guns pointing now this way, now that, as if they, like the men, were also uneasy.

Two of the sentries walked beneath the “window” through which Gosseyn and Thorson gazed. One spoke to the other in a language Gosseyn had never heard before. He had already guessed that these were galactic soldiers, but the sound of their alien tongue jarred him, chilled him. Thorson's voice came from near his shoulder, softly:

“They're Altairans. We didn't bother to give them the local language.”

Local language! Gosseyn took that in silence. The pictures that formed in his mind whenever he thought of a galactic empire and its myriad peoples were on a nonverbal level.

He was just beginning to wonder why Thorson was showing him the curious scene when he saw a movement on one, then the others, of the mighty trees. Tiny human figures-they seemed tiny against that background-were scrambling down the caves and tunnels, the enormous corrugations and indentations of the bark. As Gosseyn watched tensely, they reached the ground and raced forward, shouting. It was a strange sight, for they dropped down like monkeys from the thick lower branches, and they carried short clubs. At first they made a thin trickle, then there was a small stream, then a river, then a flood, and then they were everywhere, men in light brown shorts and brown sandals, carrying clubs. The forest swarmed like an anthill, but these ants had the shapes of men and they yelled like madmen.

The machines woke up first. Long lines of floating blasters sent their sizzling fire at the attackers. Automatically aimed weapons added their thunder to the bedlam. There were shrieks, and men went down by the hundreds. And now the camp was waking up. Cursing soldiers leaped to their feet and clutched hand weapons. Men with swinging clubs grappled them, and as the minutes lengthened there were more and more men with clubs. Above the melee of battle, the automatic weapons stuttered uncertainly, as if they were no longer sure of just where they should fire. As the sizzling of the blasters and the thunder of the weapons lessened, the sound of men cursing and grunting and breathing came clearer.

It was the awkwardness of the fighting, the close-in awkwardness of it, that suddenly enlightened Gosseyn.

“My God,” he said, “is that fight going on in darkness?”

The question was rhetorical, for he could see now the difference between daylight and the daylight out there. This was a scene of the night taken by radaric cameras. From behind him, Thorson said thickly, “That's where all weapons fail. Darkness. Every man has a device for seeing in the night, but it takes power to operate it, and you have to fit it into place.” He moaned with anger. “It's enough to drive you mad, to watch those stupid fools acting like all the stupid soldiers that ever were.”

He raved on for another minute, then stopped. There was silence behind Gosseyn, and then Thorson spoke in a much calmer voice.

“What am I getting heated up about?” he said. “That attack took place the first night. It happened in every camp established by our soldiers. It was devastating, because no one expected unarmed hordes to attack one of the best equipped armies in the galaxy.”

Gosseyn scarcely heard. He watched the battle with utter fascination. The attackers now numbered thousands. Their dead lay sometimes three deep stretching from every tree. But they were not alone. Here and there in that overwhelmed camp galactic soldiers were still struggling.

Hand blasters still flashed with an occasional murderous thrust, but as often as not, now, the wielder was a Venusian null-A.

In ten minutes more, there was no doubt of the result. And army of determined men with clubs had seized a modern military camp with all its equipment.