A. van Vogt - The Empire of Isher

Her hand moved. Metal flashed in it, metal as bright as steel in blinding sunlight. There was not the slightest hint of an apology in her voice as she said: “You will stay where you are, sir, until I have called my father. In our business, with our responsibilities, we never take chances. Something is very wrong here.”

Curiously, it was at that point that McAllister’s mind began to function clearly. The thought that came paralleled hers. How had this gunshop appeared on a 1951 street? How had he come here into this fantastic world? Something was very wrong indeed.

It was the gun that held his attention. It was a tiny thing, shaped like a pistol, but with three cubes projecting in a half circle from the top of the slightly-bulbous firing chamber. He began to feel shaken, looking at it, for that wicked little instrument, glittering there in her browned fingers, was as real as herself.

“Good Heaven,” he whispered. “What the devil kind of a gun is it? Lower that thing and let’s try to find out what all this is about.”

She seemed not to be listening. He noticed that her gaze was flicking to a point on the wall somewhat to his left. He followed her look in time to see seven miniature white lights flash on. Curious lights! He was fascinated by the play of light and shade, the waxing and waning from one tiny globe to the next, a rippling movement of infinitesimal increments and decrements, an incredibly delicate effect of instantaneous reaction to some supersensitive barometer. The lights steadied; his gaze reverted to the girl. To his surprise, she was putting away her gun. She must have noticed his expression.

“It’s all right,” she said coolly. “The automatics are on you now. If we’re wrong about you, we’ll be glad to apologize. Meanwhile, if you’re still interested in buying a gun, I’ll be happy to demonstrate.”

So the automatics were on him. McAllister thought. He felt no relief at the information. Whatever the automatics were, they wouldn’t be working in his favor. The young woman putting away her gun in spite of her suspicions spoke volumes for the efficiency of the new watchdogs. He’d have to get out of this place, of course. Meanwhile, the girl was assuming that a man who came into a gun-shop would, under ordinary circumstances, want to buy a gun. It struck him, suddenly, that of all the things he could think of, what he most wanted to see was one of those strange guns. There were incredible implications in the very shape of the instruments. Aloud he said:

“Yes, by all means show me.” A thought occurred to him. He added, “I have no doubt your father is somewhere in the background making some sort of study of me.”

The young woman made no move to bring out any weapons. Instead, she stared at him in puzzlement.

“You may not realize it,” she said slowly, “but you have already upset our entire establishment. The lights of the automatics should have gone on the moment father pressed the buttons, as he did when I called him. They didn’t! That’s unnatural, and yet—” her frown deepened—“if you were one of them, how did you get through that door? Is it possible that her scientists have discovered human beings who do not affect the sensitive energies? And that you are but one of many such, sent as an experiment to determine whether or not entrance could be gained? Yet that isn’t logical either. If they had even a hope of success, they wouldn’t risk the chance of throwing away an overwhelming surprise. In that case, you would be the entering wedge of an attack on a vast scale. She is ruthless, she’s brilliant; and she craves complete power over poor fools like you who have no more sense than to worship her and the splendor of the Imperial Court.”

The young woman paused, with the faintest of smiles. “There I go again, making a political speech. But you can see that there are at least a few reasons why we should be careful about you.”

There was a chair in one corner. McAllister started for it. His mind was calmer. “Look,” he began, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t even know how I came to be in this shop. I agree with you that the whole thing requires explanation, but I mean that differently than you do.”

His voice trailed. He had been half lowered over the chair, but instead of sinking into it, he came erect, slowly, like an old, old man. His eyes fixed on lettering that shone above a glass case of guns behind her. He said hoarsely:

“Is that—a calendar?”

She followed his gaze, puzzled. “Yes, it’s June 3rd. What’s wrong?”

“I don’t mean that. I mean—” He caught himself with an effort. “I mean those figures above that: I mean—what year is this?”

The girl looked surprised. She started to say something, then stopped and backed away. Finally: “Don’t look like that! There’s nothing wrong. This is eighty-four of the four thousand seven hundredth year of the Imperial House of Isher. It’s quite all right.”

Very deliberately McAllister sat down, and the conscious wonder came: Exactly how should he feel? Not even surprise came to his aid. The events were beginning to fall into a kind of distorted pattern. The building front superimposed on those two 1951 shops; the way the door had acted. The great exterior sign with its odd linking of freedom with the right to buy weapons. The actual display of weapons in the window, the finest energy weapons in the known universe!…He grew aware that the girl was talking earnestly with a tall, gray-haired man who was standing on the threshold of the door through which she had originally come.

There was a tenseness in the way they were talking. Their low-spoken words made a blur of sound in his ears, strange and unsettling. McAllister could not quite analyze the meaning of it until the girl turned, and said:

“What is your name?”

McAllister gave it.

The girl hesitated, then: “Mr. McAllister, my father wants to know what year you’re from!”

The gray-haired man stepped forward. “I’m afraid,” he said gravely, “that there is no time to explain. What has happened is what we gunmakers have feared for generations: that once again would come one who lusted for unlimited power; and who, to attain tyranny, must necessarily seek first to destroy us. Your presence here is a manifestation of the energy force that she has turned against us—something so new that we did not even suspect it was being used against us. But I have no time to waste. Get all the information you can, Lystra, and warn him of his own personal danger.” The man turned. The door closed noiselessly behind his tall figure.

McAllister asked: “What did he mean—personal danger?”

He saw the girl’s brown eyes were uneasy as they rested on him. “It’s hard to explain,” she began in an uncomfortable voice. “First of all, come to the window and I’ll try to make everything clear. It’s all very confusing to you, I suppose.”

McAllister drew a deep breath. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

His alarm was gone. The gray-haired man seemed to know what it was all about. That meant there should be no difficulty getting home again. As for all this danger to the gunmaker’s guild, that was their worry, not his. He stepped forward, closer to the girl. To his amazement, she cringed away as if he had threatened her. As he stared blankly, she laughed humorlessly; and finally she said:

“Don’t think I’m being silly; don’t be offended—but for your life’s sake, don’t touch any human body you might come in contact with.”

McAllister was conscious of a chill. Then, suddenly, he felt a surge of impatience at the fear that showed in the girl’s face. “Now look,” he began, “I want to get things clear. We can talk here without danger, providing I don’t touch, or come near you. Is that right?”