A. van Vogt - The Empire of Isher

“Do you think they’ll get anywhere in their attempt to understand human emotional nature?”

Hedrock shook his head. “For thousands of years men have been trying to gain ascendancy over their emotional impulses. The secret, of course, is not to eliminate emotion from life but to channel it where it is healthy and sane: sex, love, good will, enthusiasm, alertness, personality, and so on. These are apparently aspects of existence which are not within the possible experience of the spider beings. I don’t see how they can ever understand, particularly because they have no method of distinguishing between a man who is willing to risk his life for a cause, and a man who takes a risk, for example, for gain. The inability to understand variations of human nature is a basic flaw, and forever bars them from real comprehension.”

Kershaw was thoughtful. At last he said, “What are our, chances of rescue?”

Hedrock said grimly, “Very good. I know it looks bad for us, but the spiders said they were definitely leaving this part of space. Why would they leave unless they have some reason to believe that soon great ships from Earth will be plying the Centauri traffic lanes? In my opinion the Empress will release the interstellar drive, and in these days of speedy manufacture they’ll have hundreds of drives installed into spaceships within a few weeks. And the trip itself could be completed in little more than two days, if necessary.”

“I think,” said Kershaw quietly, “we’d better get busy. You’ve put a lot of those disks out, but a few thousand more can’t hurt. You cut the trees and pile the disks. I’ll feed them into the machine.”

He stopped, and swayed in a curious fashion. His gaze flashed wildly up beyond Hedrock’s head. Hedrock whirled and stared into the sky. He saw a ship. For a moment he thought it was the spider ship as seen from far away. And then the mottled hue of it in the sun, and the great letters on its bottom snatched his attention. The letters said:

The ship was not far away, but low down. It skimmed over them less than half a mile up; and turned slowly back toward them in response to their urgent telestat calls. It made the return run to the earth in just over forty-one hours of flight. Hedrock had taken the precaution of having Kershaw and Neelan identify him as Gil’s brother, and so he landed without incident at Imperial City, and proceeded to one of his apartments.

A few minutes later he was connecting the apartment ’stat to one of his relay systems. By that roundabout fashion he called the Weapon Makers.

It was Peter Cadron’s image that appeared on the plate. He was not looking at the screen at the moment of contact, but was talking with animation to someone who was out of Hedrock’s line of vision. There was no sound, and Hedrock made no attempt to guess at what the former councilor was saying. He had time to wonder again how Cadron would receive him.

Nearly a month had passed since that night when he had been compelled to act against the Weapon Makers in self-defense. In spite of his personal admiration for the majority of the councilors, he had no regrets. Earth’s immortal man must assume his life was worth saving. For better or for worse he was what he was, and all the world must put up with him so long as he could protect himself.

Cadron was turning toward the ’stat plate. He froze as he saw who it was, and then hurriedly he clicked on the sound control. “Hedrock,” he said, “it’s you!”

A smile of pleasure came into his face. His eyes lighted up. “Hedrock, where have you been? We’ve been trying to contact you by every means.”

Hedrock said, “What is my status with the Weapon Makers?”

Cadron straightened a little. “I have been authorized,” he said, “by the retiring council to apologize to you for our hysterical actions against you. We can only assume that we were all caught up in a kind of mob attitude based on tension. I am personally sorry for what happened.”

“Thank you. That means definitely no plotting?”

“Our word of honor.” He broke off. “Hedrock, listen, we’ve been sitting on tenterhooks waiting for you to call. The Empress, as you know, released the drive unconditionally on the morning following the attack.”

Hedrock had learned that on the ship coming back to Earth, but all he said was, “Proceed.”

Cadron was excited. “We have received from her a most remarkable offer. Recognition for the Shops and a share in the government. It’s a surrender of the first order.”

Hedrock said, “You’re refusing, of course.”

“Eh?” Cadron’s image stared.

Hedrock went on firmly, “You don’t really mean that the Council considered accepting. You must realize there can never be a meeting ground between two such diametrically opposed forces.”

“But,” protested Cadron, “that’s one of the things you suggested yourself as a reason for your going to the palace.”

Hedrock said steadily, “That was a blind. During this crisis of civilization we had to have somebody in both the Shops and the palace. Wait!”

He went on in a ringing voice before the other could interrupt, “Cadron, the Weapon Shops constitute a permanent opposition. The trouble with the opposition of the old days was that they were always scheming for power; all too frequently their criticism was dishonest, their intentions evil; they lusted for control. The Weapon Shops never must allow such emotions to be aroused in their followers. Let the Empress rebuild her own chaos. I do not say she is responsible for the corrupt state of the empire, but the time has come for her to attempt a vigorous house-cleaning. Throughout, the Weapon Makers will remain aloof, interested, but maintaining their great standards for the relief throughout the galaxy of those who must defend themselves from oppression. The gunmakers will continue to sell their guns and stay out of politics.” Cadron said slowly, “You want us then to—”

“Go about the routine of your normal business; nothing more nor less. And now, Cadron —” Hedrock smiled. “Cadron, I have enjoyed knowing you personally. Pass on my felicitations to the retiring council. I intend to present myself at the palace one hour from now; and none of you will hear from me again. Goodbye to all of you, and good luck.”

He shut off the ’stat with a jerky movement and sat there conscious of that old, old pain of his. Once more he was withdrawing himself. He forced the great loneliness out of his soul at last and put his carplane down on the palace exactly on the hour. He had already called Innelda, and he was admitted at once to her apartment.

He watched her from half-closed eyes, as they talked. She sat stiffly beside him, a tall, graceful, long-faced woman whose green eyes hid her thoughts. They sat under a palm tree in the garden that was the reception room of the thirty-fourth floor. Soft breezes blew against them; the shaded lights shed a gentle glow over the quiet scene. Twice, he kissed her, conscious that her diffidence had an inner meaning that he must bring into the open. She took the kisses with all the passivity of a slave woman.

Hedrock drew back. “Innelda, what’s the matter?” She was silent; and he pressed on, “The first thing I find, when I come back, is that Prince del Curtin, who has been almost literally your right hand, has been banished from the palace. Why?”

The words seemed to rouse her out of some depth. She said with a shadow of fire in her tone, “My cousin has had the temerity to criticize and oppose a project of mine. I will not be badgered even by those I love.”

Hedrock said, “Badgered you, did he? That doesn’t sound like the Prince.”