A. van Vogt - The Empire of Isher

“Paradise is a complete store,” said one flashing sign to which Lucy called his attention. “If there is anything you do not see that fits in with our slogan, ‘Everything for the Man,’ ask for it. We have it at a price.”

“That includes women,” Lucy said matter-of-factly. “They charge the same for women as they do for their suits, anywhere from five credits to fifty thousand. You’d be surprised how many women of good family register when they need money. It’s all very discreet, of course.”

Cayle saw that she was looking at him thoughtfully. And that he was expected to make a comment. It was so direct that he was startled. He said hastily, “I shall never pay money for a woman.”

It seemed to satisfy her, for they went from there to the suits. There were thirty floors of suits but each floor had its own price range. Lucy took him to the twenty-thirty credit floor and pointed out to him the difference in weave between “city” cloth and the cloth of his own suit. For thirty-two credits he bought a suit, tie, socks and shoes.

“I don’t think,” said Lucy practically, “you should go any higher than that yet.”

She refused his offer of the credits he owed her. “You can pay me that later on. I’d rather you put it in the bank now, as a reserve fund.”

It meant he would see her again. It seemed to mean she wanted to see him again.

“Better hurry and change,” said Lucy. “I’ll wait.”

It was that that decided him to try to kiss her before they separated. But when he came out, her first words dashed this determination. “I didn’t realize how late it was,” she said. “It’s three o’clock.”

She paused to look at him, smiled. “You’re a big, strong, handsome man,” she said. “Did you know? But now, let’s hurry.”

They separated at the gargantuan entrance, Lucy hurrying to a carplane stop, leaving him empty behind her. The feeling departed slowly. He began to walk at a quickening pace.

By the time he came to where the Fifth Interplanetary Bank sat heavily on the base from which its ethereal spires soared to a height of sixty-four stories, ambition was surging in him again. It was a big bank in which to deposit the tiny sum of fifteen credits but the money was accepted without comment, though he was required to register his fingerprints.

Cayle left the bank, more relaxed than he had been at any time since the robbery. He had a savings account. He was suitably dressed. There remained one more thing before he proceeded to the third phase of his gambling career. From one of the public carplanes he had located the all-directional sign of a weapon shop, nestling in its private park near the bank.

He walked briskly up the beflowered pathway, and he was almost at the door when he noticed the small sign, which he had never seen before in a weapon shop. The sign read:

Cayle retreated reluctantly. It was one possibility he had not expected, the fabulous weapon shops being closed. He turned as a thought came. But there was no indication as to when the shops would reopen, no date, nothing at all but the one simple announcement. He stood frowning, experiencing a sense of loss, shocked by the silence. Not, he realized that that last should be bothering him. In Glay it was always silent around the weapon shop.

The feeling of personal loss, the what-ought-he-to-do-now bewilderment grew. On impulse, he tried the door. It was solid and immovable. His second retreat began, and this time he carried through to the street.

He stood on a safety isle undecided as to what button to push. He thought back over the two and a half hours with Lucy and it seemed a curious event in space-time. He felt appalled, remembering how drab his conversation had been. And yet, except for a certain directness, a greater decisiveness, her own conversation left no dazzling memories.

“This is it,” he thought. “When a girl puts up with a dull fellow for an afternoon, she’s felt something.”

The pressures inside him grew stronger, the will to action telescoping his plans, impelling him to swift activity. He had thought—weapon shop, more gambling, then Army District Headquarters commanded by Colonel Medlon—over a period of a week. The weapon shop had to be first because weapon shops did not open for Imperial agents, whether soldiers or merely government employees.

But he couldn’t wait for that now. He pressed the button that would bring down the first carplane going toward District Number 19. A minute later he was on his way.

District 19 headquarters was an old style building of the waterfall design. The pattern was overdone, the design renewing itself at frequent intervals. Stream after marble stream poured forth from hidden crevices and gradually merged one with another.

It was not a big building, but it was big enough to give Cayle pause. Its fifteen stories and its general offices, filled with clucking file machines and clerks, were impressive. He hadn’t pictured such a field of authority behind the drunken man on the plane.

The building directory listed civil functions and military functions. Cayle presumed that he would find Colonel Medlon somewhere behind the heading: STAFF OFFICES, PENTHOUSE.

A note in brackets under the listing said: Secure pass to penthouse elevator at reception desk on 15th floor.

The reception department took his name, but there was a subdued consultation before a man attached it to a relayer and submitted it for the examination of an inner office authority. A middle-aged man in captain’s uniform emerged from a door. He scowled at Cayle. “The colonel,” he said, “doesn’t like young men.” He added impatiently, “Who are you?”

It didn’t sound promising. But Cayle felt his own stubbornness thickening in his throat. His long experience at defying his father made it possible for him to say in a level voice, “I met Colonel Medlon on a plane to Imperial City yesterday and he insisted I come to see him. If you will please inform him that I am here—”

The captain looked at him for a full half minute. Then, without a word, he went back into the inner sanctum. He emerged, shaking his head but more friendly. “The colonel says that he does not remember you but that he will give you a minute.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Was he—uh—under the influence?”

Cayle nodded. He did not trust himself to speak. The captain said in a low, urgent voice, “Go inside and push him for all he’s worth. A very important personage has called him twice today and he wasn’t in. And now you’ve got him nervous. He’s frightened of what he says when he’s under. Doesn’t dare touch a drop when he’s in town, you know.”

Cayle followed the backstabbing captain, with one more picture of the Isher world taking form in his mind. Here was a junior officer who appeared to be maneuvering for his superior’s job.

He forgot that as he stepped out of the penthouse elevator. He wondered tensely if he were capable of handling this situation. The gloomy feeling came that he wasn’t. He took one look at the man who sat behind a great desk in the corner of a large room and the fear that he would be thrown bodily out of the 19th District Headquarters evaporated.

It was the same man as on the ship, but somehow shrunken. His face, which had seemed bloated when he was drunk, looked smaller. His eyes were thoughtful, and he drummed nervously on his desk.

“You may leave us alone, captain.” His voice was quiet and authoritative.

The captain departed with a set look on his face. Cayle sat down.