The Empire of Isher

by A. E. van Vogt

  She crossed swiftly to her personal ’stat, said in a tired, flat voice, “Bring the prisoner, Edward Gonish, to my office.”

  For five minutes she stood almost unmoving until the door opened and Gonish was ushered in. The guards departed on her command. She relaxed sufficiently then to ask the questions.

  The No-man answered her steadily. “I do not understand the electronic shield through which you say he disappeared, but yes, Your Majesty, Captain Hedrock is one of the giants, or”—he hesitated, then added slowly—“or, and this thought has just come, the giant.”

  The significance of the hesitation was not lost on her. She swayed wearily. “But why should he want to marry the woman whose empire he is trying to ruin?”

  “Madam”—Gonish spoke quietly—“it was only two months ago that we discovered Captain Hedrock was deceiving the Weapon Shops. It was the accidental disclosure of his remarkably superior intelligence that proved him to be a man to whom the Isher line and the Weapon Makers are but a means to an end.

  What that end is, I am only beginning to suspect. If you will answer a few questions, I shall be able to tell you in a few minutes who Captain Hedrock is, or rather, was! I say ‘was’ of necessity. I regret to say that the intention of the Weapon Makers was to question him in a specially constructed chamber; then immediately execute him.”

  Silence settled over the room. Actually, the capacity of her body for shock was gone. She stood, cold and numb, without thought, waiting. She noticed finally, absently, that the No-man was an extremely distinguished-looking individual. She studied him, and then forgot his personal appearance as he began to speak:

  “I have, of course, all the information about Captain Hedrock that is known to the Weapon Makers. My search led into very unusual by-ways. But if similar curious paths exist in the Isher annals, as I believe they do, then the section of wall Hedrock removed from the tombs is only the final clue. But let me ask: Is there any picture, or film, any physical record available of the husband of the Empress Ganeel?”

  “Why—no!”The breathlessness was accompanied by a dizziness , almost a spinning of her brain for her mind had made an improbable leap. She spoke blurrily, “Mr. Gonish, he said that, except for my dark hair, I reminded him of Ganeel.”

  The No-man bowed gravely. “Your Majesty, I see you have already plunged into these strange waters.

  I want you to run your mind back and back through the history of your line, and remember—Whose pictorial record is missing, husband or emperor?”

  “They’re mostly husbands of empresses,” she said slowly, steadily. “That is how the traditions began, that consorts should remain in the background.” She frowned. “So far as I know there is only one emperor, of whom picture, portrait or film record is not available. That one is understandable. As the first of the line, he—”

  She stopped. She stared at Gonish. “Are you crazy?” she said. “Are you crazy? ”

  The No-man shook his head. “You may now regard it as a full intuition. You know what my training is. I take a fact here and a fact there, and as soon as I have approximately ten per cent, the answer comes automatically. They call it intuition, but actually it is simply the ability of the brain to co-ordinate tens of thousands of facts in a flash, and to logicalize any gaps that may exist.

  “One of the facts in this case is that there are no less than twenty-seven important pictorial records missing in the history of the Weapon Shops. I concentrated my attention on the writing of the men in question, and the similarity of mental outlook, the breadth of intellect, was unmistakable.” He finished.

  “You may or may not know it, but just as the first and greatest of the Ishers is only a name, so our founder, Walter S. de Lany, is a name without a face.”

  “But who is he?” said Prince del Curtin, blankly. “Apparently, somewhere along the line the race of man bred an immortal.”

  “Not bred. It must have been artificial. Had it been natural, it would have been repeated many times in these centuries. And it must have been accidental, and unrepeatable, because everything the man has ever said or done shows an immense and passionate interest in the welfare of the race.’

  “But,” said the prince, “what is he trying to do? Why did he marry Innelda?”

  For a moment, Gonish was silent. He stared at the woman, and she returned his gaze, the color in her cheeks high and brilliant. Finally she nodded, and Gonish said:

  “For one thing, he has tried to keep the Isher strain Isher. He believes in his own blood, and rightly so, as history has proven. For instance, you two are only remotely Isher. Your blood is so diluted that your kinship to Captain Hedrock can hardly be called a relation. Hedrock remarked to me once that the Isher emperors tended to marry brilliant and somewhat unstable women, and that this periodically endangered the family. It was the empresses, he said, who always saved the line by marrying steady, sober, able men.”

  “Suppose—” The woman did not think of her words as an interruption; the thought came; she spoke it.

  “Suppose we offered to trade you for him?”

  Gonish shrugged. “You can probably obtain his corpse for me.”

  That burned and chilled by turns, but the brief fever left her colder, more remote from emotion. Death was something that she had seen with icy eyes, and she could face it for him as well as for herself.

  “Suppose I were to offer the interstellar drive?”

  Her intensity seemed to astound the man. He drew back and stared at her. “Madam,” he said finally, “I can offer you no intuition one way or the other, nor any logical hope. I must admit that I am puzzled by the electronic shield, but I get nothing, no sense of what it could be, or why it should help him. Whatever he did when he was within it could not to my knowledge assist him to escape through the impregnable walls of a Weapon Shop battle cruiser, or out of the metal room where he was taken. All the science of the Weapon Makers and the Isher Empire is arrayed against him. Science moves in spurts, and we are in the dynamic middle of the latest one. A hundred years from now, when the lull has set in, an immortal man may begin to get his bearings, not before.”

  “Suppose he tells them the truth?” It was Prince del Curtin who spoke.

  “Never!” the woman flashed. “Why, that would be begging. No Isher would think of such a thing.”

  Gonish said, “Her Majesty is right, but that is not the only reason. I will not explain. The possibility of a confession does not exist.”

  She was only vaguely aware of his words. She whirled on her cousin. She held herself straight, her head high. She said in a thrillingly clear voice, “Keep trying to contact the Weapon Makers. Offer them Gonish, the interstellar drive, and legal recognition, including an arrangement whereby their courts and ours establish a liaison, all in exchange for Captain Hedrock. They would be mad to refuse.”

  The passion sagged. She saw that the No-man was gazing at her gloomily. “Madam,” he said sadly,

  “you have obviously paid no attention to my earlier statement. The intention was to kill him within a maximum of one hour. In view of his previous escape from the Weapon Makers, that intention will not be deviated from. The greatest human story in history is over. And, Madam—”

  The No-man stared at her steadily. “For your sake, it is just as well. You know as well as I do that you cannot have children.”

  “What’s this?” said Prince del Curtin in a vast amazement. “Innelda—”

  “Silence!”Her voice was harsh with mortified fury. “Prince, have this man returned to his cell. He has really become intolerable. And I forbid you to discuss your sovereign with him.”‘

  The prince bowed. “Your Majesty commands,” he said coldly. He turned.“This way, Mr. Gonish.”

  She had wondered if she could be hurt further; and here it was. She stood, after a moment, alone in her shattered world. Long minutes dragged before she realized that sleep at least would be kind.

  Sixteen

  IT WAS NOT SO MUCH A ROOM IN WHICH HE
DROCK FOUND himself as a metal cavern.

  He stopped short in the doorway, beside Peter Cadron, a sardonic smile on his face. He saw that the councilor was watching him from narrowed eyes, and his lips curled.

  Let them wonder and doubt. They had surprised him once by an unexpected arrest. This time it was different. This time he was ready for them. His gaze played boldly over the twenty-nine men who sat around the V table which the Weapon Maker Council used in their public hearings. He waited until Peter Cadron, the thirtieth of that high council, had walked over and seated himself; waited while the commander of the guards reported that the prisoner was stripped of all rings, that his clothes had been changed and his body subjected to a transparency and found to be normal, with nowhere a hidden weapon.

  Having spoken, the commander and his guards withdrew, but still Hedrock waited. He smiled as Peter Cadron explained the reason for the precautions; and then, slowly, coolly, he walked forward and faced the open end of the V table. He saw that the men’s eyes were on him. Some looked curious, some expectant, some merely hostile. All seemed willing for him to speak,

  “Gentlemen,” Hedrock said in his ringing voice, “I’m going to ask one question: Does anyone present know where I was when I stepped through that shield? If not, I would suggest that I be released at once because the mighty Weapon Makers’ Council is in for a devil of a shock.”

  There was silence. The men looked at each other. “I would say,” said young Ancil Nare, “that the sooner the execution is carried out the better. At the present moment, his throat can be cut; he can be strangled; a bullet can smash his head; an energy gun disintegrate him. His body is without protection—if necessary we could even club him to death. We know that all this can be done this instant. We do not know, in view of his strange statements, that it can be done ten minutes from now.” In his earnestness, the youthful executive stood up as he finished, “Gentlemen, let us act now!”

  Hedrock’s loud clapping broke the silence that followed. “Bravo,” he said, “bravo. Such well-spoken advice merits being acted upon. Go ahead and try to kill me in any fashion you please. Draw your guns and fire; pick up your chairs and bludgeon me; order knives and pin me against the wall. No matter what you do, gentlemen, you’re in for a shock.” His eyes were chilling.“And deservedly so.

  “Wait!” His thunderous voice crowned the attempt of the solid-faced Deam Lealy to break into speech.

  “I’ll do the talking. It is the Council that is on trial, not I. It can still win leniency for its criminal action in attacking the Imperial Palace by recognizing now, without further offence, that it has broken its own laws.”

  “Really,” a councilor wedged in the words, “this is beyond toleration.”

  “Let him talk,” Peter Cadron said. “We shall learn a great deal about his motives.”

  Hedrock bowed gravely. “Indeed you shall, Mr. Cadron. My motives are concerned entirely with the action of this Council in ordering the attack on the palace.”

  “I can understand,” said Cadron ironically, “your vexation that this Council did not respect a regulation more than three thousand years old when apparently you had counted upon it and upon our natural reluctance to make such an attack, and accordingly felt yourself safe to pursue your own ends, whatever they are.”

  Hedrock said steadily, “I did not count upon the regulation or the reluctance. My colleagues and I”—it was just as well to suggest once more that he was not alone—“have noted with regret the developing arrogance of this Council, its growing belief that it was not accountable for its actions, and that therefore it could safely flout its own constitution.”

  “Our constitution,” said Bayd Roberts, the senior councilor, with dignity, “demands that we take any action necessary to maintain our position. The proviso that this be done without an attack on the person or residence of the reigning Isher, her heirs or successors, has no meaning in an extreme emergency such as this. You will notice that we did secure the absence of Her Majesty during the attack.”

  “I must interrupt.” It was the chairman of the Council. “Incredibly, the prisoner had succeeded in concentrating the conversation according to his own desires. I can understand that we all have a guilty feeling about the attack on the palace, but we are not required to defend our actions to the prisoner.” He spoke curtly into his chair-arm ’stat, “Commander, come in here and put a sack over the prisoner’s head.”

  Hedrock was smiling gently as the guard of ten came in. He said, “We will now have the shock.”

  He stood perfectly still as the men grabbed him. The sack came up and—

  It happened.

  When Hedrock, in the palace half an hour before, had stepped through the section of wall which he had brought up from the tombs, he found himself in a dim world. He stood for a long time letting his body adjust, hoping that no one would attempt to follow him through that electronic-force field. It was not a personal worry. The vibratory shield was tuned to his body and his alone, and during all the years that it had been part of the wall in the underground palace storeroom the only danger had been that someone might unknowingly wander into it, and suffer damage. Hedrock had often wondered what would happen to such an unlucky innocent. Several animals that he had tagged and put through an experimental model had been sent back from points as far away as ten thousand miles. Some had never been returned despite the high reward offer printed on the tag.

  Now that he himself was in, there was no hurry. Normal time and space laws had no meaning in this realm of half-light. It was nowhere and it was everywhere. It was the quickest place in which to go mad, because the body that intruded on it experienced time; it didn’t. He had found that a six-hour session made serious inroads on his sanity. His incursion earlier in the evening, through the shield in his hide-out, had been for what would have been two hours normal time, and the trip had revealed to him that the Empress wanted to marry him. Temporarily, that had guaranteed his safety; what was more important, it also guaranteed he would have access to the shield in the palace tombs. Accordingly, he had withdrawn swiftly, conserving the remaining four hours of the six that was the human limit.

  His present incursion mustn’t occupy more than four hours, preferably three, more preferably two. After which, he’d have to stay away from the mind-destroying thing for months. The idea for the invention had been broached to him during one of his terms as chairman of the Weapon Makers’ Council, an enormously autocratic position that had enabled him to assign an entire laboratory of physicists to assist the brilliant young man whose brain child it was. Simply, the problem had been: The Weapon Shop vibratory transmitter bridged the spatial gap between two points in interplanetary space by mechanically accepting that space had no material existence. Why not then, the inventor had expounded, why not reverse the process and create an illusion of space where there had been nothing?

  The research was a success. The inventor reported the details to Hedrock, who thought it over and informed the man and his colleagues that the Council had decided on secrecy. To the Council itself, he made a negative report on the invention. And it had worked . The subject, once explored, was considered one more closed door, was entered as such in the files of Information Center for the future reference of men who might have a repetition of the idea. Accordingly, it would never again be the subject of Weapon Shop research. Some day, he would release the knowledge.

  It was, Hedrock reflected, as he stood there patiently letting his body adjust, not the first time that an invention had come into his possession and been withheld from the public. His own discovery, vibratory magnification, he had kept as a personal secret for twenty centuries before finally using it to established the Weapon Shops as a counter-balance to the Isher emperors. He still had several others. And his main rule for withholding or not had always been: Would release for general use be of benefit to the progressive spirit of man? Or would the power that it represented merely assist some temporal group in tightening a tyranny already too rigid? Quit
e enough dangerous inventions were carelessly produced during the inventive spurts that came every few centuries by scientists who never thought in a practical fashion of what the effect of their discoveries might be.

  Damn it, why should a billion people die because some inventor had a brain that couldn’t see an inch into human nature?

  Then, of course, there were the people who saw an invention in terms of their own private or group welfare. If they were withholding, as the Empress was withholding the interstellar drive, they must be forced by all means to yield their secret. Sometimes, the decision had been a hard one, but who else had the power, the experience to decide? For better or for worse, he was the arbiter.

  He let the thought drain slowly out of him. His body was ready. The time had come for action. Hedrock began to walk forward in the mist. He could see the people in the palace, standing rigidly like carved figures seen at late dusk. His time relation to them had not changed a single instant. He paid them no attention, even when they were in his way, but stepped through their bodies as if they were clouds of gas.

  Walls yielded before his mass, but that had to be carefully done. It would have been just as easy, too easy, to sink through the floor, and so on into the earth. The laboratory experiments of the inventor and his assistants had produced one such casualty; and repetition was not desired. To avoid the calamity, the research staff finally designed that the initial creation of new space should be on a partial scale only. A ring was provided which, when activated, would increase or decrease the original apportionment at will, for use when heavy materials had to be penetrated.

  The ring, one of two—the other had a different purpose—was what Hedrock used when he came to walls. First, an easy jump, followed as his feet left the floor by a touch on the activator of the ring, then swift release of the activator, and then a gentle landing on a floor that gave like thick mud under his feet.

  It was simple for muscles so perfectly coordinated as his own . He reached the cache of machines which he had long ago tuned to this space and secreted in the palace. There was a small spaceship, with lifting devices, magnetizers large and small, particularly there were dozens of machines that could snatch and hold things. There were various weapons and, of course, every tool, every instrument from spaceship to mechanical fingers had its own equivalent of the two adjusters necessary to their complete operation.