Hedrock felt astounded. His muscles, dynamically ready for the run that was to take him through the ranks of the men while they stood paralyzed, tensed. The large carplane which had seemed so near a moment before, only twenty-five feet, tantalized him now. His purpose, to reach it, collapsed into an awareness of his desperate situation. One man with one gun against twenty guns! True, his was an Unlimited, and like all Weapon Shop guns projected a defensive half circle around its owner, sufficient to counteract the fire of eight ordinary weapons, but he had never underestimated the capacity of a blaster.
His hard, mental assessment of his position ended as the huskily built young man who had pronounced him under arrest stepped forward from the group and said crisply, “Now, don’t do anything rash, Mr. Weapon Shop Jones. You’d better come quietly.”
“Jones!” said Hedrock. Shock made the word quiet, almost gentle. Shock and relief. For a moment, the gap between his first assumption and the reality seemed too great to bridge without some superhuman effort of will. The next second he had caught hold of himself and the tension was over. His gaze flashed with lightning appraisal toward the uniformed palace guards who were standing on the fringe of the group of plain-clothes men, interested spectators rather than participants. And he sighed under his breath as their faces remained blank of suspicion. He said, “I’ll go quietly.”
The plain-clothes men crowded around him, and herded him into the carplane. The machine took off with a lurch, so swiftly was it maneuvered into the air. Breathless, Hedrock sank into the seat beside the man who had given him the Weapon Shop password for the day. He found his voice after a minute.
“Very bravely done,” he said warmly. “Very bold and efficient, I may say, though, you gave me a shock.”
He laughed at the recollection, and was about to go on when the odd fact struck him that his hearer had not smiled in sympathetic response. His nerves, still keyed to unnatural sensitivity, examined that small, jarring fact. He said slowly, “You don’t mind if I ask your name?”
“Peldy,” the man said curtly.
“Who thought of the idea of sending you?”
“Councilor Peter Cadron.”
Hedrock nodded. “I see. He thought if I had to fight my way to the roof, I’d be needing help by the time I got there.’
“I have no doubt,” said Peldy, “that that is part of the explanation.”
He was cold, this young man. The chill of his personality startled Hedrock. He stared gloomily down through the transparent floor at the unreeling scene below. The plane, conforming to speed regulations, was slowly heading deeper into the city. The strain of his transcendental purpose, which required that he keep from all men the knowledge that he was immortal, was briefly hard to bear. Hedrock roused himself finally and said, “Where are you taking me?”
“To the hotel.”
Hedrock considered that. The Hotel Royal Ganeel was the city headquarters of the Weapon Makers. To be taken there indicated that something serious had happened.
The Hotel Royal Ganeel was about two hundred years old. It had cost, if he remembered correctly, seven hundred and fifty billion credits. Its massive base spread over four city blocks. From this beginning, it went up in pyramidic tiers, streamlined according to the waterfall architecture of its age, leveling off at twelve hundred feet into a roof garden eight hundred feet long by eight hundred feet wide, the hard squareness of which was skillfully alleviated by illusion and design. He had built it in memory of a remarkable woman who was also an Isher empress, and in every room he had installed a device which, properly activated, provided a vibratory means of escape.
The activating instrument, unfortunately, was one of the three rings he had left behind him in the palace. Hedrock grimaced in vexation as he headed with the others from the plane to the nearest elevator. He had spent careful moments deciding not to wear more than the ring gun lest suspicion fall upon those remarkable secret machines of the Weapon Shops. There were other rings in secret panels scattered through the hotel, but it was doubtful if a man with twenty guards escorting him to the great section of the building occupied by the Imperial City headquarters of the Weapon Makers would have any time for side trips.
His reverie ended as the elevator stopped. The men crowded him out on to a broad corridor before a door on which glowing letters spelled out:
THE METEORITE CORPORATION
HEAD OFFICES
The sign, Hedrock knew, was only half false. The gigantic mining trust was a genuine firm, doing a vast metal and manufacturing business. It was also an unsuspected subsidiary of the Weapon Shops, which was aside from the main point except, as in the present instance, where its various offices served as fronts behind which facets of the Weapon Shop world glittered in uninterrupted, unhindered activity.
As Hedrock walked into the great front offices, a tall, fine-looking, middle-aged man was emerging from an opaque door fifty feet away. Recognition was almost simultaneous. The man hesitated the faintest bit, then came forward with a friendly smile.
“Well, Mr. Hedrock” he said, “how’s the Empress?”
Hedrock’s smile was stiff. The great No-man’s hesitation had not been lost on him. He said, “I am happy to say that she is in good health, Mr. Gonish.”
Edward Gonish laughed, a rich-toned laughter. “I’m afraid there are thousands of people who are always saddened when they hear that. At the moment, for instance, the council is trying to use my intuitive training to track down the secret of the Empress. I’m studying Pp charts of known and potentially, great men. It’s miserable data to go on, far less than the ten percent I need. I’ve only reached the letter M as yet, and I have only come to tentative conclusions. If it’s an invention, I would say interstellar travel. But that isn’t a full intuitive.”
Hedrock frowned. “Interstellar travel! She would be opposed to that—” He stopped; then, in an intense voice: “You’ve got it! Quick, who’s the inventor?”
Gonish laughed again. “Not so fast. I have to go over all the data. I’ve got my attention on a scientist named Derd Kershaw, if you’re interested.”
His laughing eyes grew abruptly grave. The No-man stood frowning at Hedrock. He said finally, anxious, “What the devil’s up, Hedrock? What have you done?”
The secret police officer, Peldy, stepped forward quickly and said, “Really, Mr. Gonish, the prisoner can’t—”
The proud face of the No-man turned coldly on the young man. “That will do,” he said. “Step back out of hearing. I wish to talk to Mr. Hedrock alone.”
Peldy bowed. “I beg your pardon, sir. I forgot myself.”
He backed away, then began to wave his men off. In less than a minute, however, Hedrock was alone with the No-man, the first shock fading in a series of little, mental pain waves. A prisoner! He had known it, of course, in a kind of a way, but he had tried to think of himself as being under suspicion only, and he had hoped that if he pretended not to recognize it, the Weapon Shop leaders might not force the issue into the open.
Gonish was speaking again, swiftly, “The worst part of it is, they refused to listen when I suggested that the whole business be left over for me to investigate in my capacity as No-man, That’s bad. Could you give me some idea?”
Hedrock shook his head. “All I know is that two hours ago they were worried that I might be killed by the Empress. They actually sent a rescue force, but it turned out I was, and am, under close arrest.”
The tall Gonish stood thoughtful. “If you could only put them off some way,” he said. “I don’t know enough about the individual psychologies of the councilors or about the case to offer one of my intuitive opinions, but if you can possibly twist the affair into a trial of evidence and counterevidence, that would be a partial victory. They’re a pretty highhanded outfit, so don’t just knuckle under to their decision as if it were from God.”
He walked off, frowning, toward a distant door, and Hedrock grew aware of Peldy striding forward. “This way, sir,” the young man said.
“The Council will see you immediately.”
“Eh?” said Hedrock. The sense of warmth produced by the No-man’s friendly intent faded. “You mean, the Council is in the local chamber?”
There was no answer, nor did he really expect one. Stiffly erect, he followed the secret-police officer to the door of the council chamber.
The men sitting at the V-shaped table lifted their eyes and stared at him as he crossed the threshold into the room. The door closed behind him with a faint click as he walked forward toward the table. It seemed strange to be thinking that two years before he had refused to run for a seat on the council. The councilors were of every age, ranging from the brilliant thirty-year-old executive, Ancil Nare, to hoary-headed Bayd Roberts. Not all the faces were familiar to him. Hedrock counted noses, thinking about what the No-man had said: “Make it a trial!” That meant, force them out of their smug rut. He finished his counting, shocked. Thirty! The full council of the Weapon Makers. What could they have found out about him, to bring all of them here? He pictured these leaders at their headquarters far and near, on Mars, Venus, on those moons that rated so exalted a representative—everywhere councilors stepping through their local vibratory transmitters, and instantly arriving here.
All for him. Abruptly, that was startling again. And steadying. With shoulders thrown back, fully conscious of his leonine head, and of his unmistakably notable appearance, aware, too, of the generations of men like this who had lived and died, and lived and died, and died, and died, since his own birth—Hedrock broke the silence. “What’s the charge?” he asked resonantly. And into those words he put all the subtle, tremendous power of his trained voice, his vast experience in dealing with every conceivable type and group of human beings.
There was a stirring along the gleaming V-table. Feet shuffled on the dimly glowing dais. Men turned to look at each other questioningly. It was Peter Cadron who finally climbed to his feet. “I have been asked,” he said quietly, “to speak for the council. It was I who originated the charge against you.” He did not wait for a reply, but turned slowly to face the men at the table. He said gravely, “I am sure that everyone present has suddenly become acutely aware of the personality of Mr. Hedrock. It is interesting to note how exactly this exhibition of hitherto concealed power verifies what we have discovered. I must confess my own amazement at the vivid force of it.”
“That goes for me, too,” interrupted the heavy-faced Dearn Lealy. “Until this minute I thought of Hedrock as a soft-spoken, reserved sort of fellow. Now, suddenly, he’s cornered and he flashes fire.”
“There’s no doubt,” said the youthful Ancil Nare, “that we’ve uncovered something remarkable. We should strive for a thorough explanation.”
It was disconcerting. His entire action was being enlarged upon beyond his intent, distorted by an expectation that he was not what he seemed. “What is the charge?” Hedrock asked again majestically.
There was silence. Then Peter Cadron said, “You will learn that in due time. But first—Mr. Hedrock, where were you born?”
So they had got that far.
He felt no fear. He stood there, a little sad, conscious of amusement that his oldest bogey had at last come home to roost. It was possible that he had grown careless.
He said, “You have my records. I was born in Centralia, Middle Lakeside States.”
“You took a long time answering that question,” snapped a’ councilor.
“I was,” said Hedrock coolly, “trying to imagine what lay behind the question.”
Cadron said, “What was your mother’s name?”
Hedrock studied the man’s even-featured countenance in the beginning of puzzlement. Surely they didn’t expect to confuse him with anything so simple as that. He said, “Delmyra Marker.”
“She had three other children?”
Hedrock nodded. “My two brothers and sister all died before reaching their majority.”
“And your father and mother died when?”
“My father eight years ago, my mother six.”
Amazingly, that came hard. For a bare moment, it was difficult to employ those intimate terms for two pleasant middle-aged people whom he had never met, but about whom he had forced himself to learn so much. He saw that Cadron was smiling with dark satisfaction at the other councilors.
Cadron said, “You see, gentlemen, what we have here: A man whose people are deceased, Who has no living relatives, and who less than ten years ago, after all his family was dead, entered the Weapon Shop organization in the usual manner—and by means of talents considered extraordinary even then, when we didn’t know how much of himself he was holding back, quickly rose to a position of great trust. Subsequently he persuaded us to sponsor his present adventure. We agreed to do so because we had become alarmed that the Empress might do us harm unless she was watched more carefully than previously. One of the important factors to consider now is that it is doubtful if, in all our vast organization, with its tens of thousands of able men, a single other person could have been found who was capable of sustaining the interest of the Empress Innelda for six long months.”
“And even now,” Hedrock interrupted, “has only been temporarily banished from her circle.’” He finished sardonically, “Yon have not been interested, bat-that was the result of the turmoil in the palace today. The time involved, if I may add the information, is two months.”
Peter Cadron bowed at him politely, then turned back to the silent men at the table. “Bear that in mind while I question Mr. Hedrock about his education.” His gray gaze glowed at Hedrock. “Well?” he said.
“My mother,” said Hedrock, “had been a university professor. She taught me privately. As you know, that has been common practice among the well-to-do for hundreds of years, the controlling factor being that periodic examinations must be passed. You will find that I handed in my examination certificates with my application.”
The dark smile was back on Cadron’s face. “A family on paper, an education—on paper; an entire life history verifiable only by documents.”
It looked bad. Hedrock did not need to look at the faces of the councilors to realize how bad. Actually, of course, it was unavoidable. There never had been an alternative method. To have trusted to a living person to back up his identity in a crisis would have been suicidal. People, however friendly to you, however much they had been paid, could be made to tell the truth. But no one could ever more than cast suspicion on a properly executed certificate. He refused to believe that they had guessed even near the real truth.
“Look here!” he said, “what are you trying to prove? If I’m not Robert Hedrock, who am I? “
He gained a bleak content from the baffled expression that crept over Cadron’s face. “That,” the man rapped finally, “is what we are trying to find out. However, one more question. After your parents were married, your mother didn’t keep in touch with her university friends, or any former colleagues?”
Hedrock hesitated, staring straight into the councilor’s glinting eyes. “It fits in, doesn’t it, Mr. Cadron?” he said at last in a tight, hard voice. “But you’re right. We lived in apartments. My father’s work kept us moving every few months. It is doubtful if you can find anyone who will remember having met them or me. We truly lived a shadow existence.”
There was a subtle psychological victory in having spoken the indictment himself but—Hedrock smiled grayly—if ever he had heard a damning build-up of innuendo, here it was. He grew aware that Cadron was speaking.
“—We recognize, Mr. Hedrock, that this is not evidence, nor is that what we are after. The Weapon Shops do not hold trials in any real sense. They pass judgments. And the sole criterion always is, not proof of guilt, but doubt of innocence. If you had attained a less exalted position with the Shops, the punishment would be very simple. You would be given amnesia and released from service. As it is, you know too much about us, and accordingly the penalty must be very severe. You know that, in our position, we cannot do otherwise.
Fortunately for our peace of mind, we have more than suspicion. Is it possible that you have anything to add to what has already gone?”
“Nothing,” said Hedrock.
He stood very still, letting his mind settle around the situation. He had originally, by secret maneuvering, persuaded the Meteor Corporation to take offices near the roof of the Hotel Royal Ganeel because it had seemed to him that their unsuspected Imperial City headquarters would be safer in a building of his than anywhere else, For his own protection, however, he had had removed out of their part of the building all those ring activators and vibratory devices which now he needed so desperately. If he hadn’t had that forethought, there would now be a ring behind that panel.
Peter Cadron was speaking, the charge at long last. It was hard at first for Hedrock to keep his mind on the man’s words. Naturally in arriving at their decision, the psychologists made a swift though careful examination of his psychology chart. It was this examination that brought out an extraordinary fact.
Peter Cadron paused. His gaze fixed on Hedrock’s face, and for a moment he seemed to be probing in its lineaments for secret information. He finished weightily, “There was a variation between your courage in action and the Pp record of your potential courage. According to the Pp you would never even have considered staying for that dangerous luncheon at the palace.”
Cadron stopped, and Hedrock waited for him to finish. The seconds passed, and suddenly he was startled to see that dozens of the men were leaning forward, tensely, sharp eyes fixed on him. They were waiting for his reaction. It was all over. This was the charge.
The Pp record technique! Hedrock tried to concentrate his mind on remembering what he had heard about the machine. It was one of the original inventions, many thousands of years old. In the beginning it had been similar to the Imperial Lambeth Mind Control. There had been improvements from time to time, a widening of its scope, the power to assess intelligence, emotional stability, and other things. But it had never worried him, who had a partial ability to control his mind. At the time of the examination he had simply attempted to synchronize his intellectual attributes with the character he had decided would best suit his purpose among the Weapon Makers,
The Weapon Makers Page 3