A. van Vogt - The Empire of Isher

The man was coming forward, holding out his hand, a hearty smile on his pale face, a hearty tone to his voice, as he said, “I don’t know whether to believe in you or not, but at least I’m willing to listen.”

Hedrock strode toward the outstretched hand as if to shake it. At the last instant, he stepped past the man and in a moment had seated himself in the big chair behind the curving desk. He faced the startled executive, thinking savagely: So Triner was willing to talk, was he? That was nice. But first he’d get some psychological bludgeoning and a lesson in straightforward ruthlessness with emphatic punctuation of the fact that there were tougher men in the world than J. T. Triner. Keep pushing him; keep him off balance. Hedrock said curtly:

“Before you sit down in that chair, Mr. Triner, before we talk, I want you to start your staff on the job you’re going to do for me—are you listening?”

There was no doubt about it. Triner was not only listening, he was shocked and angry and bewildered. Not that he looked cowed. Hedrock knew better than to expect fear. Triner’s expression simply grew cautious, with a mixture of curiosity thrown in. He said, “What is it you want done?”

That was too important for ruthlessness of manner. Hedrock drew a folded paper from his pocket. “There,” he said earnestly, “are the names of fifty cities. I want all my business properties in those cities listed according to avenues and streets. Never mind who’s in them. Just get the street numbers, two, four, six, eight and so on. And only in cases where there are many in a row, such as a whole block, at least a dozen altogether. Do you follow that?”

“Yes, but—” Triner looked dazed. Hedrock cut him off:

“Give the order.” He studied the man from narrowed eyes, then he leaned forward. “I— hope—Triner—that you have been living up to Article 7 of your constitution.”

“But, man, that article was promulgated nearly a thousand years ago. You can’t mean—”

“Can you provide that list, or can’t you?”

Triner was sweating visibly. “I guess so—” he said finally. “I really don’t know. I’ll see.” He stiffened abruptly, added through clenched teeth, “Damn you, you can’t come in here and —”

Hedrock realized when he had pushed a man far enough, “Give the order,” he said mildly, “then we’ll talk.”

Triner hesitated. He was a badly shaken man, and, after a moment, he must have realized that he could always countermand any instructions. He said, “I’ll have to use the desk ’stat.”

Hedrock nodded and watched and listened while the order was transmitted to an underling chief. He then smirked at Hedrock.

“What’s the dope?” he asked in a confidential tone. “What’s it all about?”

The man’s seeming acquiescence gave him away. Hedrock sat icily thoughtful. So the controls of the gun were in the desk, somewhere beside where Triner had drawn his chair. Hedrock studied the physical situation thoughtfully. He was sitting at the desk, his back to the cannon and with Triner to his left. The door leading to the outer office was about fifty feet away, and beyond it was the reception girl. The wall and door would protect her. Anybody else who came in would have to be kept well to the left, preferably behind and beside Triner. Hedrock. nodded with satisfaction. His gaze had never left Triner; and now he said:

“I’m going to tell you everything, Triner—” that was an appetizer for the man’s undoubted curiosity, and should restrain his impatience. Hedrock went on—“but first I want you to do one more thing. You have an executive accountant in the head office here, named Royan. Ask him to come up. After I’ve spoken to him, you’ll have a better idea as to whether he’ll be in the firm after today.”

Triner looked puzzled, hesitated, and then spoke briefly into the ’stat. A very clear, resonant voice promised to come up immediately. Triner clicked off, and leaned back in his chair. “So you’re the man behind that mysterious wall ’stat,” he temporized finally.

He waved his hand at the design on the wall beside him, then said suddenly, his voice intense, “Is the Empress behind us? Is it the House of Isher that owns this business?”

“No!” said Hedrock.

Triner looked disappointed, but said, “I’m going to believe that, and do you know why? The House of Isher needs money too badly and too continuously to let a treasure like this company vegetate the way it’s been doing. All that stuff about dividing the profits with the tenants periodically, whatever else it is, it isn’t Isher.”

“No, it isn’t Isher,” said Hedrock. And watched the baffled look that came into Triner’s face. Like so many men before him, Triner didn’t quite dare defy the secret owner so long as there was a possibility that the owner was the Imperial family. And Hedrock had found that denial only increased the doubts of the ambitious.

There was a knock at the door, and a young man of about thirty-five came in. He was a big chap with a brisk manner, his eyes widened a little as he took in the seating arrangement of the men in the private office. Hedrock said:

“You’re Royan?”

“Yes.” The young man glanced at Triner questioningly, but Triner did not look up.

Hedrock motioned to the decoration that was the wall telestat. “You have been previously informed as to the meaning behind this ’stat?”

“I’ve read the incorporation articles,” Royan began; and then he stopped. Understanding poured into his eyes. “You’re not that—”

“Let us,” said Hedrock, “have no histrionics. I want to ask you a question, Royan?”

“Yes?”

“How much money—” Hedrock articulated his words “did Triner take out of the firm last year?”

There was a little hiss of indrawn breath from Triner, then silence. Finally, Royan laughed softly, an almost boyish laugh, and said, “Five billion credits, sir.”

’That’s a little high, isn’t it,” Hedrock asked steadily, “for a salary?”

Royan nodded. “I don’t think Mr. Triner regarded himself as being on salary, but rather as an owner.”

Hedrock saw that Triner was staring fixedly down at the desk, and his right hand was moving casually toward a tiny ornamental statue.

Hedrock said, “Come over here, Royan.” He motioned with his left hand, waited until the young man had taken up a position to the left Of Triner, and then manipulated the ring control of his own magnifier. The magnification involved was small, not more than an inch all around. He could have gained the same physical effect by sitting up and swelling out his chest. What was important about it was that it changed the basic structure of his “business” suit and of his own body. Both became virtually as impregnable as a weapon shop itself.

Almost everything that had happened to him after his escape from the Weapon Makers was the result of his not being able to wear the suit into a weapon shop.

Hedrock felt the greater rigidity of his body and his throat was stiffer, his voice slower, as he said, “I would say the salary was much too high. See that it is cut down to five million.”

There was a wordless sound from Triner, but Hedrock went on speaking to Rovan in that slow, steely voice. “Furthermore, in spite of its co-operative structure, this firm has acquired an unenviable reputation for remorselessness, and the policy of its president of having pretty women picked up in the street and taken to his various secret apartments is—”

He saw the final movement as Triner convulsively grasped the statuette. Hedrock stood up, as Royan yelled a warning.

The fire from the cannon disintegrated the chair on which Hedrock had sat, spumed off the metal desk, drenched the ceiling with flame. It was immensely violent, at least ninety thousand cycles of energy, but it was not so strong that Hedrock did not notice the flash of Royan’s gun. After a moment, the sequence of events was clear. Triner had manipulated and fired the cannon at Hedrock, then whirled, drawing his imperial gun with the intention of killing Royan. But Royan, using a Weapon Shop defensive model, had fired first.