There was no sign of anything unusual as he approached the Linwood shop. His carplane was fitted with extremely sensitive detectors and if there had been a Weapon Shop warship hovering out of sight in the blue mists anywhere above the city they would have spotted it. That gave him, he estimated, a leeway of approximately five minutes, allowing for acceleration and deceleration of a spaceship in the atmosphere near the surface of the earth.
Hedrock brought his machine down beside the shop and glanced at his watch. Twenty-three minutes had passed since he had broken the ’stat connection with the Weapon Shop information center. And that meant it was now three quarters of an hour since, his escape from the council room of the Weapon Makers. Warnings about him would be spreading farther through the vast organization. The time would come when the attendants of this weapon shop before him would also be advised. That put a pressure on him. And yet, despite the need for quick action, Hedrock stepped down from the carplane without haste and paused for another more searching examination of the shop. The usual sign glowed above it:
FINE WEAPONS
THE RIGHT TO BUY WEAPONS IS THE RIGHT TO
BE FREE
Like all similar glitter signs, it seemed to turn to face him as he walked toward it. The illusion was one of the commoner aspects of a main thoroughfare, and yet a few hundred such signs could make so dazzling a spectacle that people had been known to become light-intoxicated. It was a pleasant experience, with colors and the sensation of floating on air, and no dangerous after effects. There was a pill you could take to, normalize the vision centers quickly.
The shop stood in a glade of green and floral vegetation. It made a restful and idyllic picture in its garden-like setting. It all seemed very normal and as of old. The window sign when—he approached it was the same as it had always been. The letters were smaller than those on the outside sign, but the words were equally positive:
THE FINEST ENERGY WEAPONS
IN THE KNOWN UNIVERSE
Hedrock knew that that was true. He gazed at the gleaming display of revolvers and rifles and he was briefly shocked to realize that more than 100 years had passed since he had last visited a weapon shop. It made the shop itself more interesting than it might otherwise have been. He had a sudden awareness of what a wonderful organization the Weapon Makers were, with their shops existing in tens of thousands of cities and towns in the far-flung Isher Empire, an independent, outlawed, indestructible, altruistic opposition to tyranny. It was sometimes hard to believe that every weapon shop was an impregnable fort and that bloodily earnest attempts had been made by the Isher governments in the past to smash the organization.
Hedrock walked quickly now toward the door. It wouldn’t open when he pulled at it. He let go, and stared at it, startled. And then he realized what was the matter. The sensitive door was condemning him because there were so many thoughts near the surface of his mind of the action taken against him by the Weapon Shop council. The door worked by thought and no enemy of the Shops, no servant of the Empress, had ever been admitted.
He closed his eyes and let himself relax, let all the tense thoughts of the past hour drain from him. Presently, he tried the door again.
It opened gently, like a flower unfolding its petals, only faster. It was weightless in his fingers, like some supernally delicate and insubstantial structure, and when he stepped through the opening it crowded his heels without touching them and closed behind him silently as a night in space.
Hedrock stepped gingerly through a little alcove into a larger room.
Five
IT WAS QUIET INSIDE. NOT A SOUND PENETRATED FROM the busy daylight world from which he had come. His eyes swiftly accustomed themselves to the soft lighting, which came like a reflection from the walls and ceiling. He glanced around alertly, and at first he had the impression that there was no one in the outer room. That tensed him, for it seemed to indicate that they had been unable to hold Neelan.
It might even be that the expected warning had come through, and that this was a trap.
Hedrock sighed, and relaxed. Because if it was a trap then his chances of escape would depend on how many men they were prepared to sacrifice. They must know he would fight to avoid capture. On the other hand, if it was not a trap there was nothing to worry about. He decided not to worry, for a time anyway. He gazed curiously at the showcases which stood against the walls or were neatly arranged around the floor. They were shining structures, about a dozen of them altogether. Hedrock stepped up to the one nearest the door, and gazed at the four rifles that were mounted inside it. The sight of them thrilled him. He had had much to do with the development of these intricate energy weapons, but with him familiarity with machines had never bred contempt.
Many of these weapons still carried the old names. “Guns” they were called, or “revolvers,” or “rifles,” but there the resemblance ended. These “guns” did not shoot bullets, they discharged energy in many forms and quantities. Some of them could kill or destroy at a thousand miles if necessary, and yet they were controlled by the same sensitive elements as the weapon shop door. Just as the door refused to open for police officers, Imperial soldiers or people unfriendly to the Shops, so these guns had been set to fire only in self-defense, and against certain animals during open season.
They also had other special qualities, particularly as to defense and speed of operation.
Hedrock moved around the edge of the case, and saw that there was a tall man sitting in a chair almost out of sight behind another showcase. He presumed it was Neelan, but before he could go over and introduce himself, there was an interruption. The door to the rear of the shop opened, and an older, heavily built man emerged. He came forward with an apologetic smile on his lips.
“I beg your pardon, Mr. Hedrock,” he said. “I was aware of the outer door opening, and guessed it was you. But I had started a mechanical operation which I could not leave.”
He was still being treated as if he was a major Weapon Shop personage. Hedrock gave the attendant one sharp glance, and decided that the man hail not yet been advised that Robert Hedrock no longer had Weapon Shop privileges. The attendant raised his voice, “Oh, Mr. Neelan, this is the gentleman I mentioned to you.”
The stranger climbed to his feet, as Hedrock and the clerk came over. The clerk said, “I took the liberty of informing Mr. Neelan a few minutes ago that you were coming.” He broke off. “Mr. Neelan, I want you to meet Robert Hedrock, an executive officer of the Weapon Shops.”
As they shook hands, Hedrock was aware of himself being examined by a pair of hard, black eyes. Neelan’s face was heavily tanned, and Hedrock guessed that he had recently been to planets or on meteors that had little or no protection from the direct rays of the sun.
He began to regret that he had not taken the time to find out a little more about Dan Neelan and his missing brother. Having failed to do so, the important thing now was to take Neelan out of the shop to a place where they could talk in safety. Before he could speak, the attendant said: “For your information, Mr. Hedrock, we are securing Mr. Neelan’s mail for him from his Martian postal address. You’ll have plenty of time to talk to him.”
Hedrock did not argue the matter. The words had a fateful clang. But what had happened was natural enough. The women at Information Center had sought a simple solution to the problem of holding Neelan for him in this shop. So they had offered to secure his mail from Mars by way of a Weapon Shop transmitter.
They had set a limited objective, and they had achieved it. It was possible that Neelan could be lured out of the shop for a short time. But there was a stubborn twist to the man’s lips, and his eyes were ever so faintly narrowed, as if he had had to accustom himself to watch for trickery. Hedrock knew that breed of men, and it was unwise to try to put them under pressure. A suggestion to leave the shop would have to wait, but the need for speed could be indicated. He turned to the attendant.
“Great issues are at stake, so I hope you won’t think me impolite if I sta
rt to talk immediately to Mr. Neelan.”
The older man smiled. “I’ll leave you two alone,” he said, and went into the back room.
There was another chair in a nearby corner. Hedrock dragged it over, motioned Neelan back into his own chair, and settled down himself. He began immediately: “I’m going to be very frank with you, Mr. Neelan. The Weapon Shops have reason to believe that Derd Kershaw and your brother have invented an interstellar drive. There is evidence that the Empress of Isher would be unalterably opposed to the release of such an invention. And, accordingly, Kershaw and your brother are in serious danger of being killed and imprisoned. It’s vitally important to find out where they were building this drive and what has happened to them.” He finished quietly, “I hope you will be able to tell me what you know of the affair.”
Neelan was shaking his head. His smile was ironic, almost grim. “My brother is in no danger of being killed,” he said.
“Then you know where he is?” Hedrock was relieved.
Neelan hesitated. When he finally spoke, Hedrock had the feeling that the words were not those that the man had first intended to utter. Neelan said, “What do you want of me?”
“Well, for one thing, who are you?”
The determined face relaxed the faintest bit. “My name is Daniel Neelan. I am the twin brother of Gilbert Neelan. We were born in Lakeside ... Is that what you mean?”
Hedrock smiled his friendliest smile. “A development of that. There are lines in your face that indicate a lot has happened since then.”
“Right now,” said Neelan, “I could be classified as a meteor miner. For the past ten years I’ve been away from earth. Most of that time I spent as a gambler on Mars, but two years ago I won a meteorite from a drunken fellow named Carew. I gave him back half of it out of pity, and we became partners. The meteor is three miles in diameter, and it’s practically a solid chunk of ‘heavy’ beryllium. On paper we’re worth billions of credits, but it needs another couple of years of development before we can start to cash in. About a year ago I had a very special reason for believing that something had happened to my brother.”
He paused. There was an odd expression on his face. Finally, he said, “Have you ever heard of the experiments conducted by the Eugenics Institute?”
“Why, yes,” said Hedrock, with the beginning of understanding. “Some remarkable work has been done, particularly with identical twins.”
Neelan nodded. “That makes it easier to tell you what happened.”
He stopped again, and then slowly began his account. The scientists had taken them at the age of five, Daniel and Gilbert Neelan, identical twins already sensitive to each other, and magnified the sensitivity until it was a warm interflow of life force, a world of dual sensation. The interrelation grew so sharp that at short distances, thought passed between them with all the clarity of the electronic flux in a local telestat.
Those early years had been pure joy of intimate relation. And then at the age of twelve began the attempt to make them different without breaking the nervous connection. Like a kid tossed into a deep pool to sink or swim, he was subjected to the full impact of Isher civilization, while Gil was secluded and confined to studious ways. Over those years, their intellectual association declined. Thoughts, though still transmittable, could be concealed. Neelan developed a. curiously strong, big-brother attitude toward Gil, while Gil—
The grim man paused in his account, glanced at Hedrock, and then continued, “I guess I noticed the diffident way in which Gil tackled adulthood by the way he reacted to my experiences with taking out women It shocked him, and so I began to realize that we had a problem.” He shrugged. “There never was any question as to which of us would leave Earth.
On the day that the contract with the Eugenics Institute terminated, I bought a ticket for Mars. I went there in the belief that Gil would have his chance at life. Only—” he finished in a drab voice “—it turned out to be death.”
“Death?” said Hedrock.
“Death.”
“When?”
“A year ago. That’s what brought me to Earth. I was on the meteor when I felt him die.”
Hedrock said, “It’s taken you a long time to get here.” The remark sounded too sharp, so he added quickly, “Please understand, I’m only trying to obtain a clear picture.”
Neelan said wearily, “We were caught on the far side of the sun, because the meteor’s velocity almost matched that of Earth. It only recently came into a position where we could figure out an acceptable orbit for our simple type freighter. A week ago Carew set me down at one of the cheap northern spaceports. He departed at once, but he’s due to pick me up in about six months.”
Hedrock nodded. The account was satisfactory. “Just what did you feel when your brother died?” he asked.
Neelan shifted in his chair. There had been pain, he explained uneasily. Gil had died in agony, suddenly, without expecting it. The anguish had bridged the multimiles between Earth and the meteor, and twisted his own nerves in dreadful sympathy. Instantly, there had been an end to that neutral pressure which had constituted, even at that distance, the bond between his brother and himself.
He finished, “I haven’t felt so much as a tingle since then.”
In the silence that followed, Hedrock realized that his time must be running short.
For minutes the necessity for concentrating on Neelan’s words had kept the pressure of urgency away from his mind. Now that barrier was no more, and the pressure was on. Time to leave! Leave now! The purpose was steady and intense; and because of his sharp awareness of things Weapon Shop he knew that he dared not ignore the warning impulse. And yet—he leaned back in his chair, and stared at the other man soberly. When he departed he wanted to take Neelan with him, and that meant the process must be orderly. He made a mental calculation, and slowly shook his head.
“I can’t quite see this affair as having gone through a major crisis as far back as a year ago.”
Neelan’s black eyes were suddenly dull as tarnished metal. “I’ve noticed that the death of one man seldom produces a crisis,” he said in a drab voice. “I hate to say that in connection with my own brother, but it’s the truth.”
“And yet,” said Hedrock, “something happened. For Kershaw is also missing.”
He did not wait for a reply, but climbed to his feet and walked to the control board, which was located on the wall to his left. All these minutes he had been acutely conscious that Weapon Shop soldiers might swarm through the transmitter that was there. He couldn’t take the chance of that happening while he was organizing his retreat.
He stepped close to the board, with its winking lights. He intended to make sure Neelan couldn’t see what he was doing. Quickly, he activated one of his rings, and burned a needle-small hole in the delicate transmitter circuit. Instantly, a tiny light behind the paneling went dead.
Hedrock turned away from the board, relieved but as intent on his purpose as ever. He had protected his flank, nothing more. There was another transmitter in the rear of the shop, and for all he knew men were coming through it at this very moment. And other men in armored warships could be swinging in to cut him off from his carplane.
The risks he was taking were measured in just such desperate terms. He walked back to Neelan, and said, “I have an address of your brother’s that I’d like to check right away. And I want you to come with me.” He spoke earnestly. “I assure you speed is important. You can tell me the rest of your story on the way, and I can drop you back here afterwards to pick up your mail.”
Neelan stood up. “Actually, there’s not very much more to tell,” he said. “When I arrived in Imperial City, I located my brother’s old address, and learned something that—”
“Just a moment,” said Hedrock. He walked to the door that led to the rear, knocked on it, and called, “I’m taking Mr. Neelan with me, but he’ll be back fur his mail. Thank you for j your cooperation.”
He didn’t wait for a repl
y, but returned to Neelan. “Let’s go,” he said briskly.
Neelan headed for the front entrance, talking as he went. “I discovered that my brother had maintained a false residence for registration purposes.”
As they were going out of the door, Hedrock said, “You mean he didn’t live at his registered address?”
“His landlady told me,” said Neelan, “that he not only didn’t live there, but gave her permission to rent the room. He turned up one evening a month, as required by law, and so her conscience was clear.”
Out of the shop and along the walk that led toward the car-plane ... Hedrock knew that Neelan was talking, and presently the meaning would penetrate. But his attention now was on the heavens. Planes flitted across them, but no long dark shape; no torpedo-like structure darting in on wings of atomic energy ... He held the door of his small machine open for Neelan, and stepped in after him. A moment later, he sank into the control chair; and from its vantage point saw that there was no movement around the shop.
As the carplane climbed into the air Hedrock saw that Neelan was examining the controls. There was a confidence about his exploration that spoke “expert” louder than words. The man caught his gaze, and said, “There’re a couple of new things here. What’s this gadget?” He indicated the detector system.
That particular device was a Weapon Shop secret. It was pot a very important one, however, so Hedrock had risked putting it in a plane that could conceivably fall into the hands of people hostile to the Shops. The Imperial government had similar devices but of slightly different construction.
Hedrock countered Neelan’s question. “I see you’re familiar with machinery?”
“I majored in atomic engineering,” said Neelan. He added with a faint smile, “The Eugenic Institute does well by its protégés.”
The Weapon Makers Page 5
