The Weapon Makers
Weapon Shops, Book 1
(One Against Eternity, 1947)
A. E. Van Vogt
or centuries the Isher Dynasty has ruled a huge empire that includes earth and other planets. The Dynasty's power is checked only by the Weapon Makers, a group of dedicated scientists who prevent total take-over, who provide checks and balances to the Dynasty's political establishemnt. Now, for the first time in history, there is a spy among the Weapon Makers. He is in the confidence of the young Empress. Then Wy is it the Empress herslef who insists that he be killd? Why has she conceived this passionate hatred of Captain Hedrock? Suddenly the brilliant captain is hunted by both powers ... and not even his incredible talent for survival is likely to help.
First published in book form in 1946. Originally serialized in Astounding Science Fiction in 1943. Although this book is published in 1946, I think it is actually the sequel to The Weapon Shops of Isher, published in 1951.
CONTENT
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
One
HEDROCK ALMOST FORGOT THE SPY RAY. IT CONTINUED TO glow, the picture on the screen showing the Imperial conference room as clearly as ever. There were still men bowing low over the hand of the cold-faced young woman who sat on the throne chair, and the sound of their voices came distinctly. Everything was as it should be.
For Hedrock, however, all interest in that palatial room, that courtly scene, had faded. The icy words of the young woman spun around and around in his mind, though minutes had now passed since she had spoken them.
“—Under the circumstances,” she had said, “we cannot afford to take further risks with this Weapon Shop turncoat. What has happened is too important. Accordingly, General Grail, you will, as a purely precautionary measure, arrest Captain Hedrock an hour after lunch and hang him. The time sequence is important, as he will, as usual, sit at my table during lunch, and also because I wish to be present at the execution.”
“Very well, Your Majesty—”
Hedrock paced back and forth in front of his viewing machine. Finally, he stared again at the screen, which, in its present materialized form, occupied an entire corner of the apartment. He saw, with a somber awareness, that the young woman was still in the conference room, alone now. She sat, a faint smile on her long face. The smile faded as she touched an instrument on her chair and began to dictate in a clear, bell-like voice.
For a moment, Hedrock allowed the meaning of the routine palace matters she was discussing to penetrate his mind; then he withdrew his attention. There was a purpose in his mind, a hardening determination not to accept the failure that was here. Very carefully, he began to adjust his machine. The scene showing the young empress faded. The viewing plate flickered with formless light, finally caught the face of a man, and steadied. Hedrock said, “Calling the High Council of the Weapon Makers.”
“It will take a minute,” said the man on the screen, gravely, “to bring the various councilors to their locals.”
Hedrock nodded stiffly. He was suddenly nervous. His voice had been steady enough, but he had the feeling that it would deteriorate into a quaver. He stood very still, consciously relaxing the tension. When he looked again at the screen, a dozen faces had replaced the one; enough members for a quorum. He began at once an account of the sentence of death that had been pronounced on him. He finished, finally: “There is no doubt that something important is happening. Time and again during the last two weeks, when an Imperial conference has been called, I have found myself headed off into tedious conversations with superior officers, prevented from returning to my rooms. To my mind, however, the significant factor of the hanging order is the time element involved. Note that I am not to be arrested until an hour after lunch, that is, about three hours from now. And then, too, I was allowed to return to my apartment in time to hear the sentence pronounced. If they know the Weapon Shops, they must realize that, given three hours warning, I have ample time to escape.”
“Are you suggesting,” said Councilor Peter Cadron sharply, “that you are going to remain?”
The cold, stiff feeling came back to Hedrock. When he spoke again, his voice shook the faintest bit though the words themselves were precise and, in their essence, confident: “You will remember, Mr. Cadron, that we have analyzed the Empress’ character. The abnormal sociotechnical pressures of the age have made her as restless and as adventure-minded as are her nineteen billion subjects. She wants change, excitement, new experiences. But above everything else she is the Imperial power, representative of the conservative, anti-change forces. The result is a constant tug of mind, a dangerous state of unbalance, which makes her the most difficult enemy the Weapon Shops have had in many centuries.”
“The hanging, no doubt,” said another man coldly, “will supply a fillip to her jaded nerves. For the few moments that you jerk and bounce in the noose, her life will seem less drab.”
“What I had in mind,” said Hedrock steadily, “was that one of our No-men might resolve the various factors and advise on the practicability of my remaining.”
“We will consult Edward Gonish,” said Peter Cadron. “Now please have patience while we discuss this matter privately.”
They withdrew, but not visually, for their faces remained on the viewer, and though Hedrock could see their lips move, no voice came through. The conversation went on for a very long time, and there was a seemingly endless period when something was being explained to somebody not on the screen. The time grew so long that Hedrock stood finally with teeth clamped tight, and clenched hands. He sighed with relief as the silence ended, and Peter Cadron said:
“We must regretfully report that the No-man, Edward Gonish, considers that there are not sufficient known factors for him to offer an intuition. This leaves us with only logic, and so we wish to ask one question: At what time will your present chances of escaping from the palace begin to deteriorate sharply? Can you possibly stay for lunch?”
Hedrock held himself steady, letting the shock of the report of the No-man’s verdict drain out of him. He hadn’t realized how much he was depending on that superbly trained intuitive genius to decide on his life or death. In an instant, the situation had become uncertain and dangerous beyond his previous conception. He said at last, “No, if I stay to lunch I’m committed. The Empress likes to play cat and mouse, and she will definitely inform me of the sentence during the meal. I have a plan, dependent on her emotional reactions and based on the fact that she will consider it necessary to justify herself.”
He paused, frowning at the screen. “What were the conclusions of your discussion? I need every possible assistance.”
It was Councilor Kendlon, a thick-faced man who had hitherto not spoken, who said, “As you know, Hedrock, you are in the palace for two purposes, one being to protect the Weapon Shops from a surprise attack during what we have all agreed is a dangerous time for our civilization. Your other purpose is, of course, your own pet scheme of establishing a liaison between the Weapon Shops and the Imperial government. You are a spy, therefore, only in a minor sense. Any lesser information you may gain is yours alone. We do not want it. But think back in your mind: Have you heard anything—anything—that might provide a foundation for your theory that something tremendous is being planned?
Hedrock shook his head slowly. Quite suddenly, he felt no emotion. He
had a sense of being physically detached. He spoke finally as out of a remote, cold region, precisely, evenly, conclusively, “I can see, sirs, that you have come to no decision, yet you cannot deny that you are reluctant to have my connection here broken. And there is no doubt of your anxiety to learn what the Empress is concealing. Finally, there is, as you say, my pet scheme. Accordingly, I have decided to remain.”
They were not so quick as that to agree. The strange, restless character of the empress made it possible that the slightest wrong word on his part would be fatal. Details—details—they discussed them with a painstaking thoroughness. There was the fact that he was the first apparent traitor to the Weapon Shops in history, one who nevertheless refused to give any information to the curious ruler. His striking appearance, mental brilliance and strong personality had already fascinated her, and should continue to do so. Therefore, except for the fact that she was engaged in something secret and important, the threat of hanging was a test, product of suspicion. But be careful. If necessary, give her secret Weapon Shop information of a general nature, to titillate her appetite for more and—
At that point the door buzzer broke off the conversation. With a start, Hedrock flicked off the controls, and shut off the power. Then, acutely conscious that he had allowed himself to become jumpy, he deliberately removed the plain gold pin from his tie, and bent down over the table. The ring lay there, a small, bright design, its ornamental head an exact duplicate of the spy-ray machine, the image of which was built up into solid form by the atomic forces manufactured by the perfect power plant inside the ring. It would be quicker to release the tiny, automatic lever that was attached to the ring for that very purpose, but his own nervous condition was more important.
It was as delicate a task as threading a needle. Three times his hand trembled the slightest bit and missed the almost invisible depression that had to be contacted. The fourth time he got it. The spy-ray machine winked out like a smashed light, except that there was no debris, nothing but empty air. Where it had stood on the corner table was only the blanket he had used to protect the table top from scratches. Hedrock whisked the blanket back to the bedroom, and then stood for a moment with the ring in his palm, undecided. He put it finally in a metal box with three other rings, and set the controls of the box to dissolve the rings if there were any tampering. Only the ring gun remained encircled on his finger when at last he walked coolly to answer the insistent buzzer.
Hedrock recognized the tall man who stood in the corridor as one of the Empress’ orderlies. The fellow nodded recognition, and said, “Captain, Her Majesty asks me to inform you that lunch is being served, and will you please come at once.”
For a moment, Hedrock had the distinct impression that he was the object of a practical joke, and that Imperial Innelda was already playing her little thrill game. It couldn’t be lunch time so soon. He glanced at his wrist watch. The little dial showed twelve thirty-five. An hour had passed since he had heard the sentence of death from the Empress’ firm, finely shaped mouth.
Actually, the question of whether or not he remained till lunch had not been his to decide. The event had rushed upon him even as he was telling the council that it was an hour away. The reality of his position became clear as he walked along past scores of soldiers who stood in every corridor on his way to the royal dining hall; and that reality was that he was staying. It was so final that Hedrock stopped on the threshold of the great room, stood for a moment, smiling sardonically, and was himself.
Quietly, still smiling faintly, he made his way among the tables of noisy courtiers, and sank into his place five chairs down from the Empress at the head table.
Two
THE COCKTAIL AND—SOUP COURSES WERE ALREADY PAST.
Hedrock sat, more pensive now that he was not physically on the move, waiting for whatever was next. He studied the men around the table, the young, strong, arrogant, intelligent thirty-year-olds who made up the personal following of her Imperial Majesty.
He felt a pang of regret at the thought that it must now end. He had enjoyed his six months among this brilliant gathering. It had been exciting again to watch young people tasting the fruits of stupendous power, an untamed enjoyment of joy that was reminiscent of his own distant past. Hedrock smiled wryly. There was a quality about his immortality that he had not allowed for, a developing disregard of risks until the crisis was upon him, a pre-danger casualness about the danger. He had known, of course, that he would sooner or later involve himself beyond even his secret powers. Now as in the past, only his over-all purpose, as distinct from the purposes that people thought he had, was important.
The Empress’ voice rose for the first time above the clamor of conversation and cut off his reverie. “You seem very thoughtful, Captain Hedrock.”‘
Hedrock turned his head slowly to face her. He had been wanting to give her more than the cursory glance he had allowed himself so far. But he had been aware of her green eyes watching him from the moment he had seated himself. Hers was a striking, almost a noble countenance. She had the high-cheeked, firm-chinned facial structure of the famous Isher family; and there was no doubt at all that here was only the latest, not the last member of a star human line. Willful passions and power unlimited had twisted her handsome face. But already it was apparent that the erratic, brilliant Innelda, like all the remarkable men and women who were her ancestors, would carry on through corruption and intrigue? in spite of character defects, and that the extraordinary Isher family would survive another generation.
The important thing now, Hedrock thought with a sharpening alertness, was to bring her out into the open under the most advantageous—for him—circumstances. He said, “I was thinking, Innelda, of your grandmother seven times removed, the lovely Ganeel, the golden-haired Empress. Except for your brown hair, you’re very like her as she was in her younger days.”
The green eyes looked puzzled. The Empress pursed her lips, and then parted them as if to say something. Before she could speak, Hedrock went on, “The Weapon Shops have an entire pictorial of her life. What I was thinking of was the rather sad idea that some day you, too, would be but a pictorial record in some dusty Information Center.”
It struck deep. He had known that this young woman could not bear the thought of old age or death in connection with herself. Anger brought a gleam to her eyes, and produced as it always had in the past what she was really thinking.
“You at least,” she snapped in a brittle, yet ringing voice, “will not live to see any pictorial of my life. You may be interested to know, my dear captain, that your spy work here has been found out, and you are to be hanged this afternoon.”
The words shocked him. It was one thing to theorize in advance that here was nothing but a cunning, murderous test, a determined attempt to draw him out—and quite another to sit here beside this woman, who could be so cruel and merciless and yet whose every whim was law, and hear her pronounce his death sentence. Against such a flesh and blood tyrant, all logic was weak, all theory unreal and fantastic.
Abruptly, it was difficult to understand the reasoning that had made him place himself in such a predicament. He could so easily have waited another generation, or two, or more, for a woman to turn up again in the Isher line. It was true, of course, that this was the logical point, both biologically and historically. He ended the thought and fought off the black mood. He forced himself, then, to relax and to smile. After all, he had drawn that answer out of her, clearly before she really wanted to announce the sentence. In a grisly sort of way, it was a psychological victory. A few more victories like that, however, and he’d be all set for a nervous breakdown.
There was still conversation going on in the great dining room, but not at the royal table. That brought Hedrock back to full awareness of his environment. Some of the young men were sitting staring at the Empress. Others looked at Hedrock, then at the Empress, then at Hedrock again. All were transparently puzzled. They seemed uncertain as to whether it was a bad joke or
one of the damnable real-life dramas that the Empress precipitated from time to time, seemingly for the sole purpose of ruining everybody’s digestion. The important thing, Hedrock thought tightly, was that the situation now had the full attention of the men whom he expected to save his life.
It was the Empress who broke the silence. She said softly, tauntingly, “A penny for your latest thoughts, Captain.”
She couldn’t have put it better. Hedrock suppressed a savage smile, and said, “My earlier statement still holds. You’re very like the lovely, temperamental, explosive Ganeel. The main difference is that she never slept with a live snake when she was sixteen.”
“What’s this?” said a courtier. “Innelda sleeping with snakes? Is this intended symbolically or literally? Why look, she’s blushing.”
It was so. Hedrock’s cool gaze studied the Empress’ scarlet-cheeked confusion with amazed curiosity. He had not expected to obtain so violent a response. In a moment, of course, there would be a flood of bad temper. It wouldn’t disturb most of the bold young men, who had, each in his own way, found that middle path between yes-man and individual that the young woman demanded of all her personal followers.
“Come, come, Hedrock,” said the mustachioed Prince del Curtin, “you’re not going to keep this splendid tidbit to yourself. I suppose this also is derived from the pictorial files of the Weapon Shops.”
Hedrock was silent. His smile of acknowledgment seemed to be directed at the prince-cousin of the Empress, but actually he scarcely saw the man. His gaze and attention were concentrated on the only person in the room who mattered. The Empress Isher sat, the flush on her face slowly yielding to anger. She climbed to her feet, a dangerous glint in her eyes, but her voice had in it only a fraction of the fury that he had hoped for. She said grimly: “It was very clever of you, Captain Hedrock, to twist the conversation the way you did. But I assure you it won’t do you the slightest good. You’re swift response merely confirms that you were aware in advance of my intention. You’re a spy, and we’re taking no more chances with you.”
The Weapon Makers Page 1
