The Empire of Isher

by A. E. van Vogt

  The Weapon Shops had developed a dozen devices to circumvent such electronic circuits. The best one was the least complicated. It involved absolute faith in a curious characteristic of matter and energy. If a circuit was broken—or established—swiftly enough (the speeds involved were faster than light) the current would, in the former instance, continue to flow just as if there had been no break, and in the latter would establish a flow between two distant points in space just as if there was no distance. The phenomenon was no minor incident of science. The intricate matter transmitter that had made the Weapon Shops possible was based on it.

  Hedrock motioned Neelan back, and stepped close to the door. He used a different ring this time, and a glow of orange flame reflected for several feet from the point of contact. The light died into nothingness, and he shoved at the door. It opened with a faint squeal of its long unused hinges. Hedrock stepped across the threshold into an office twenty feet long by ten wide. There was a desk at one end, and several chairs as well as a small filing cabinet. In the corner beside the desk was a telestat, its plate blank and lifeless.

  The room was so bare, so obviously unlived in and unused that Hedrock walked forward a short distance and then stopped. Involuntarily, he turned to glance back at Neelan. The gambler was bending down beside the lock, studying it thoughtfully. He looked up at Hedrock, and shook his head wonderingly. “How did you do that?”

  It cost Hedrock a mental effort to realize that the other was referring to the way he had opened the door. He smiled, then said gravely, “I’m sorry, that’s a secret.” He added quickly, “Better come inside.

  We don’t want to rouse anyone’s suspicions.”

  Neelan straightened with alacrity, stepped into the room and closed the door. Hedrock said, “You take the desk, and I’ll examine the file cabinets. The faster we do this the better I’ll like it.”

  His own job was over in less than a minute. The file drawers were empty. He pushed the last one shut, and walked over to the desk. Neelan was peering into a bottom drawer, and Hedrock saw instantly that it was empty also. Neelan closed the drawer, and stood up.

  “That’s it,” he said. “What now?”

  Hedrock did not reply immediately. There were things that could still be done. There were probably new leads to be found in the terms of the lease under which the room had been rented. A check-up could be made with the telestat company. What calls had been made from and to this office? Given time, he could probably re-establish a very solid trail.

  That was the trouble. Time was the one thing he didn’t have. Once more, standing there, he was amazed that the Weapon Shops had not caught up to him long before this, In the days when he had been head of the coordination department, he’d have had his facts about Kershaw within minutes of the first notification from the council. It seemed incredible that his successor, the able and brilliant No-man trainee, John Hale, was not equally successful. Whatever the meaning of the delay, it couldn’t possibly last much longer. The sooner he departed the better.

  He turned and started for the door. And stopped. Because if he left now where else would he go?

  Slowly, then, he straightened and faced the room again. Perhaps his search hadn’t been quite thorough enough. Perhaps in his anxiety he had overlooked the obvious.

  He would remain and find out.

  At first there was nothing. As his gaze moved from the window behind the desk, he rejected each object in turn: the desk with its empty drawers; the filing cabinet, also empty; the chairs, the room itself, barren except for a minimum of furniture and no mechanisms except a telestat. He paused there, “Telestat,” he said out loud. “Why, of course.”

  He started towards it, and then stopped as he grew aware of Neelan’s eyes following him questioningly.

  “Quick,” he said, “against the wall.” He motioned to the area behind the ’stat. “I don’t think he should see you.”

  “Who?” said Neelan. But he must have been convinced, for he walked to the indicated position.

  Hedrock switched on the ’stat. He was furious at himself for not having made the test on entering the room. For years he had lived in the Weapon Shop world of channeled ’stats, ’stats that were connected only in series, ’stats that did not have dial systems, and he had lived in his own secret world of private, building-to-building ’stats. And therefore his slow understanding of the possibilities of this ’stat was almost a form of suicide.

  A minute passed, and the plate remained blank. Two minutes—was that a sound? He couldn’t be sure, but it seemed to be coming from the speaker, a padded movement as of—that was it—footsteps. They stopped abruptly, and there was silence. Hedrock tried to visualize a man staring uncertainly down at it undecided about answering it. The third minute went by. The sense of defeat began to weigh on him, for these were priceless minutes that were passing.

  At the end of five minutes, a man’s harsh voice said, “Yes, what is it?”

  The thrill of that reached clear down to Hedrock’s toes. He had his story prepared, but before he could reply the voice spoke again, more sharply, “Are you answering the ad? They told me it couldn’t go in till tomorrow. Why didn’t they ring me up and tell me they’d be able to get it in today?”

  He sounded furious, and once more he failed to wait for a reply. “Are you an atomic engineer?” he asked.

  “Yes,” said Hedrock.

  It was easy to say. The swift, way the other had jumped to a false conclusion made it as simple as that to change the story he had organized. His intention had been to pass himself off as Dan Neelan and explain that he had found the address of this office in his brother’s personal effects. He had had in mind to be callous about his brother’s death, and take the attitude that his interest was in the estate. It had seemed reasonable to him, and still seemed so, that the reaction to such a frank account would be highly significant. It would either show friendly awareness of Gil Neelan’s brother—in which case he’d tone down the callousness—or unfriendly awareness. And if there was no recognition at all, that also would have a meaning.

  He waited, but not for long this time. “You must,” said the voice from the telestat, “be wondering the why of this queer method of employment.”

  Hedrock felt vaguely sorry for the man. The other was so sharply conscious of the queerness of his own actions that he took it for granted that everyone else was conscious of them also. The best method of dealing with such a projection was to play along with it. “I did wonder,” he said, “but I don’t really give a damn.”

  The man laughed, not too pleasantly. “Glad to hear that. I’ve got a job here that’ll take just about two months; and I’ll pay you eight hundred credits a week, and no questions asked. How’s that?”

  More and more curious, Hedrock thought. It was a moment when caution would seem reasonable. He said slowly, “What is it you want me to do?”

  “Just What the ad said. Repair atomic motors. Well—” Peremptorily “—what do you say?”

  Hedrock asked the question, “Where do I report?”

  There was silence. “Not so fast,” the answer came at last. “I’m not going to hand out a lot of information, and then you not take the job. You realize that I’m paying you twice the going rate? Are you interested?”

  “It’s just the kind of job I’m looking for,” said Hedrock.

  He felt remote from the illegality that seemed to lie behind the other’s carefulness. Even Neelan’s problem was only incidental. There would be details of murder to investigate, but he who had watched generations of human beings die could never be too concerned with a few more dead men. His purposes were on a different level.

  The voice was saying, “Five blocks north along 131st Street . Then about nine blocks east to 1997 232nd Avenue , Center.

  It’s a tall, narrow, grayish building. You can’t miss it. Ring the bell, and wait for an answer. Get that?”

  Hedrock wrote the precious address down swiftly. “Got it,” he said finally. “When
shall I report?”

  “Right away.”The voice was threatening. “Understand me, I don’t want you rushing off somewhere else.

  If you want this job you’ll come over by public carplane, and I know just how long it will take, so don’t try to fool me. I expect you over here in about ten minutes.”

  Hedrock thought, “My God. Am I never going to get back to my apartment?”

  Aloud he said, “I’ll be there.”

  He waited. The ’stat plate remained blank. Evidently, the other man was not interested in seeing what the applicant looked like. Abruptly, there was a click, and he knew that the connection had been broken.

  The interview was over.

  Quickly, he used one of his rings to insure that the telestat would not be used by anyone else—and turned as Neelan came forward. He was smiling, a lithely built man, almost as tall, almost as big as Hedrock himself. “Good work,” he said. “That was a smooth job. What was that address again?

  Ninety-seven what street?”

  Hedrock said, “Let’s get out of here.”

  His mind worked swiftly as they walked rapidly to the elevator. He had been wondering what he was going to do with Neelan. The man was valuable and might prove to be a wonderful ally for a normally lone operator like himself. But it was too soon to take him into confidence. Besides, there wasn’t time to make the detailed story out of it that would be necessary to gain Neelan’s support.

  As their elevator raced towards the roof, Hedrock said, “My idea is that you go back to the Linwood shop and pick up your mail, while I go and see the unpleasant individual I talked to. Afterwards rent a room at the Hotel Isher—I’ll call you there. That way we’ll do both jobs in half the time.”

  There was more to it than that. The sooner Neelan returned to the Weapon Shop the greater the likelihood that he would get there before the Weapon Shop search team. And if he waited in a hotel instead of his room, it would take just so much longer for any searchers to locate him. His failure to remember the address the voice had given made sending him considerably less dangerous.

  Neelan was speaking. “You can drop me off at the first pub-’lie carplane platform. But what about that address?”

  “I’ll write it for you as soon as we get on my ship,” said Hedrock.

  They were on the roof now, and he had a moment of terrible tension as several carplanes swooped down and landed with a rush. But the men and women who climbed out of them paid no attention to the two men heading for the carplane on the north runway.

  As soon as they were up in the air, Hedrock saw the flashing sign of a carplane platform. He dived towards it, and simultaneously pulled a slip of paper towards him, and wrote, “97 131st Street.” A moment later they were on the pavement. He folded the paper, and gave it to Neelan as the latter climbed out of the carplane. They shook hands.

  “Good luck,” said Neelan.

  “Don’t go back to your brother’s room,” said Hedrock.

  He hurried back to the control chair, closed the door, and instants later manipulated his machine above the traffic. Through the rear view plate of the control board, he watched Neelan climb aboard a public carplane. It was impossible to tell whether he was aware that he had been given the wrong address.

  The Weapon Shop experts could use associative techniques to get the real one out of him, of course. He undoubtedly remembered it on some level of awareness. But it would take time to persuade him to cooperate, and time to induce the necessary associations. Hedrock actually had no objection to‘ the Shops having the information. As he guided his machine slowly towards the address given him by the voice, he wrote another, longer note, with the real address on it. This one he placed in an envelope. On the envelope he wrote: Peter Cadron, The Meteor Corporation, Hotel Ganeel, Imperial City — Deliver noon mail, the 6th. That was tomorrow.

  Under normal circumstances he would have been working with the Shops. Their purposes were basically his also, and it was unfortunate that the entire council had allowed itself to be frightened by one man, himself. But they had, and the emotion might conceivably interfere with their efficiency. Their very slowness in following up the Kershaw lead seemed to prove that their action had already endangered their cause. Hedrock had no doubts about what he was doing; In a crisis he trusted himself. Other people were skilful and brave, but they lacked his vast experience, and his willingness to take prolonged risks.

  It was possible that he was the only one as yet who really believed that this was one of the great crises of the critical reign of Innelda Isher. In the final issue a few minutes might make all the difference between success or failure. No one was better equipped than he to make those minutes count.

  His plane crossed 232nd Avenue , Center, and he brought it down in a carplane parking area on 233rd.

  He walked swiftly to the nearest corner, and mailed his letter, and then, satisfied, proceeded on to his destination. It was, he saw by his watch, exactly eleven minutes since he had talked to his prospective employer. Not too long.

  So that was the building! Hedrock continued walking, but he studied it with a frown. It was an ungainly structure in that it was out of proportion, much too long for its width. Like a great, gray dull needle it poked into the lowering sky three, four hundred feet, a curiously sinister construction. There was no sign outside it to indicate what went on inside, simply a narrow walk leading from the sidewalk to a single, unimposing door that was level with the street. As he rang the doorbell, he tried to visualize Gilbert Neelan walking along this street on the day of his death, striding forward up to the door and disappearing forever. The mental picture did not seem complete, and he was still considering it when the now familiar harsh voice said from a hidden speaker above the door:

  “You took your time about arriving.”

  Hedrock said steadily, “I came straight here.”

  There was a brief silence. Hedrock imagined the man measuring in his mind the distance from the Trellis Minor Building . The result seemed to be satisfactory, for he spoke again:

  “Just a minute.”

  The door began to open. Hedrock saw a wide, high alcoves just how high he couldn’t make out from where he was standing. He forgot the alcove as he found himself staring at a thick, partly open door made of dark, mottled metal. The entire inner wall, in which the big door was set, was smoothly wrought in the same metal. Hedrock stepped through the outer door, and paused as he realized what the over-all unnatural effect was. The inner wall was Fursching steel, the structural alloy that was used exclusively for the super hard shells of spaceships.

  The strange building was a hangar for a spaceship. And the ship was in.

  Kershaw’s ship! It was a guess, but the speed with which he was moving required that he act as if all his guesses and assumptions were realities. Subsidiary thoughts raced through his mind. Gil Neelan, the brother of Dan, had not died on earth but in a flight through space. Which would seem to mean that the interstellar drive had been tested a whole year before. But, then, why were the people aboard acting as they did? Surely, Kershaw, the inventor would not be cowering nervously inside because somebody had been killed in an experiment, or because he was afraid of the Empress? He must know that he could obtain the assistance of the Weapon Shops. All starred scientists were secretly advised that the “open”

  facilities of the Shops were available to them. On rare occasions even “confidential” information had been given certain trusted men.

  Poised there, Hedrock guessed grimly that Kershaw also was dead. His thoughts grew even swifter, and turned now toward decisive action. Should he try to get inside while he had the opportunity? Or retreat to go after the precious “business” suit?

  The questions almost answered themselves. If he left now, he would arouse the suspicions of the man to whom he had talked. If he remained and seized the ship, the entire problem of the drive would be solved.

  “What’s the matter?” The harsh voice came as he reached that point in his thoughts. “What ar
e you waiting for? The door’s open.”

  So he was already suspicious. But there was anxiety in his tone, also. This man, whoever he was, was definitely eager to have an atomic engineer come aboard. It placed him subtly in Hedrock’s control. It made it possible for Hedrock to say truthfully: “I’ve just discovered that this is a spaceship. I don’t want to leave earth.”

  “Oh!” There was silence. Then the voice said urgently, “Just a minute. I’ll be right out. I’ll prove to you that everything is as it should be. The ship can’t fly till the motors have been gone over.”

  Hedrock waited. He had an idea that the proof was going to involve a gun. The question was, how big would it be? Not that it made any difference. He was going in, even if at the beginning he was at a disadvantage. Sooner or later his ring weapons would give him the opportunity he needed. As he watched, the inner door that had been fractionally open, swung wide. It revealed a third door, which was also open, and beyond that, floating in the air, was a mobile energy gun, mounted and riding easily on antigravity plates. The three-nosed muzzle of the gun pointed with a mechanical steadiness at Hedrock.

  From an inner speaker, the man said in a tight, hard voice:

  “You probably carry a Weapon Shop gun. I hope you realize the futility of such a weapon against a ninety-thousand cycle unit. Just toss your revolver through the door.”

  Hedrock, who did not carry ordinary guns, said, “I’m unarmed.”

  “Open your coat.”Suspiciously.

  Hedrock did so. There was silence, then, “All right, come on in.”

  Without a word, Hedrock stepped through the two inner doors, each of which, in turn, clanged behind him with heavy finality.

  Six

  AS HEDROCK ADVANCED, THE GUN WITHDREW SIDEWAYS, and he had a kaleidoscope of swift impressions. He saw that he was in the control room of the spaceship, and that was startling. A control room was, by law, located in the center of a ship. That meant this hangar extended about four hundred feet underground, as we’ll as above. This was an eight-hundred foot spaceship, a veritable monster.