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The Weapon Makers

Weapon Shops, Book 1

( One Against Eternity , 1947)

A. E. Van Vogt

orcenturies 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 Empressherslef 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.

“—Underthe 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

somberawareness, that the young woman was still in the conference room, alone now. Shesat, 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 clampedtight, 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 needevery

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 twopurposes, 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 notso 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, buthis own nervous condition was more important.

It was as delicate a task as threading a needle. Three times his handtrembled 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 hadbeen 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

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