The Weapon Makers

by A. E. van Vogt

  Abruptly, he felt grimmer. He allowed himself the icy and swift thought that his discovery only confirmed his opinion of the man. A veritable cannon hidden in his office—what damnable stuff! His private case history of Triner showed that he wasn’t merely self-centered and ruthless, common traits in an age of gigantic administration trusts. Nor was he simply amoral; hundreds of thousands of Isher citizens had committed as many murders as Triner, but the difference in motive was like the difference between right and wrong. Triner was a prurient wretch, a lecherous skunk, a very hound of evil.

  The man was coming forward, holding out his hand, a hearty smile on his pale face, a hearty tone to his voice, as he said, “I don’t know whether to believe in you or not, but at least I’m willing to listen.”

  Hedrock strode toward the outstretched hand as if to shake

  it. At the last instant, he stepped past the man and in a moment had seated himself in the big chair behind the curving desk. He faced the startled executive, thinking savagely: So Triner was willing to talk, was he? That was nice. But first he’d get some psychological bludgeoning and a lesson in straightforward ruthlessness with emphatic punctuation of the fact that there were tougher men in the world than J. T. Triner. Keep pushing him; keep him off balance. Hedrock said curtly:

  “Before you sit down in that chair, Mr. Triner, before we talk, I want you to start your staff on the job you’re going to do for me—are you listening?”

  There was no doubt about it. Triner was not only listening, he was shocked and angry and bewildered. Not that he looked cowed. Hedrock knew better than to expect fear. Triner’s expression simply grew cautious, with a mixture of curiosity thrown in. He said, “What is k you want done?”

  That was too important for ruthlessness of manner. Hedrock drew a folded paper from his pocket. “There,” he said earnestly, “are the names of fifty cities. I want all my business properties in those cities listed according to avenues and streets. Never mind who’s in them. Just get the street numbers, two, four, six, eight and so on. And only in cases where there are many in a row, such as a whole block, at least a dozen altogether. Do you follow that?”

  “Yes, but—” Triner looked dazed. Hedrock cut him off:

  “Give the order.” He studied the man from narrowed eyes, then he leaned forward. “I—hope—Triner—that you have been living up to Article 7 of your constitution.”

  “But, man, that article was promulgated nearly a thousand years ago. You can’t mean—”

  “Can you provide that list, or can’t you?”

  Triner was sweating visibly. “I guess so,” he said finally. “I really don’t know. I’ll see.” He stiffened abruptly, added through clenched teeth, “Damn you, you can’t come in here and—”

  Hedrock realized when he had pushed a man far enough, “Give the order,” he said mildly, “then we’ll talk.”

  Triner hesitated. He was a badly shaken man, and, after a moment, he must have realized that he could always countermand any instructions. He said, “I’ll have to use the desk ’stat.”

  Hedrock nodded and watched and listened while the order was transmitted to an underling chief. He then smirked at Hedrock.

  “What’s the dope?” he asked in a confidential tone. “What’s it all about?”

  The man’s seeming acquiescence gave him away. Hedrock sat icily thoughtful. So the controls of the gun were in the desk, somewhere beside where Triner had drawn his chair. Hedrock studied the physical situation thoughtfully. He was sitting at the desk, his back to the cannon and with Triner to his left. The door leading to the outer office was about fifty feet away, and beyond it was the reception girl. The wall and door would protect her. Anybody else who came in would have to be kept well to the left, preferably behind and beside Triner. Hedrock. nodded with satisfaction. His gaze had never left Triner; and now he said:

  “I’m going to tell you everything, Triner—” that was an appetizer for the man’s undoubted curiosity, and should restrain his impatience. Hedrock went on—“but first I want you to do one more thing. You have an executive accountant in the head office here, named Royan. Ask him to come up. After I’ve spoken to him, you’ll have a better idea as to whether he’ll be in the firm after today.”

  Triner looked puzzled, hesitated, and then spoke briefly into the ’stat. A very clear, resonant voice promised to come up immediately. Triner clicked off, and leaned back in his chair. “So you’re the man behind that mysterious wall ’stat,” he temporized finally.

  He waved his hand at the design on the wall beside him, then said suddenly, his voice intense, “Is the Empress behind us? Is it the House of Isher that owns this business?”

  “No!” said Hedrock.

  Triner looked disappointed, but said, “I’m going to believe that, and do you know why? The House of Isher needs money too badly and too continuously to let a treasure like this company vegetate the way it’s been doing. All that stuff about dividing the profits with the tenants periodically, whatever else it is, it isn’t Isher.”

  “No, it isn’t Isher,” said Hedrock. And watched the baffled look that came into Triner’s face. Like so many men before him, Triner didn’t quite dare defy the secret owner so long as there was a possibility that the owner was the Imperial family. And Hedrock had found that denial only increased the doubts of the ambitious.

  There was a knock at the door, and a young man of about thirty-five came in. He was a big chap with a brisk manner, his eyes widened a little as he took in the seating arrangement of the men in the private office. Hedrock said:

  “You’re Royan?”

  “Yes.” The young man glanced at Triner questioningly, but Triner did not look up.

  Hedrock motioned to the decoration that was the wall telestat. “You have been previously informed as to the meaning behind this ’stat?”

  “I’ve read the incorporation articles,” Royan began; and then he stopped. Understanding poured into his eyes. “You’re not that—”

  “Let us,” said Hedrock, “have no histrionics. I want to ask you a question, Royan?”

  “Yes?”

  “How much money—” Hedrock articulated his words “did Triner take out of the firm last year?”

  There was a little hiss of indrawn breath from Triner, then silence. Finally, Royan laughed softly, an almost boyish laugh, and said, “Five billion credits, sir.”

  ‘That’s a little high, isn’t it,” Hedrock asked steadily, “for a salary?”

  Royan nodded. “I don’t think Mr. Triner regarded himself as being on salary, but rather as an owner.”

  Hedrock saw that Triner was staring fixedly down at the desk, and his right hand was moving casually toward a tiny ornamental statue.

  Hedrock said, “Come over here, Royan.” He motioned with his left hand, waited until the young man had taken up a position to the left Of Triner, and then manipulated the ring control of his own magnifier. The magnification involved was small, not more than an inch all around. He could have gained the same physical effect by sitting up and swelling out his chest. What was important about it was that it changed the basic structure of his “business” suit and of his own body. Both became virtually as impregnable as a weapon shop itself.

  Almost everything that had happened to him after his escape from the Weapon Makers was the result of his not being able to wear the suit into a weapon shop.

  Hedrock felt the greater rigidity of his body and his throat was stiffer, his voice slower, as he said, “I would say the salary was much too high. See that it is cut down to five million.”

  There was a wordless sound from Triner, but Hedrock went on speaking to Royan in that slow, steely voice. “Furthermore, in spite of its co-operative structure, this firm has acquired an unenviable reputation for remorselessness, and the policy of its president of having pretty women picked up in the street and taken to his various secret apartments is—”

  He saw the final movement as Triner convulsively grasped the statuette. Hedrock st
ood up, as Royan yelled a warning.

  The fire from the cannon disintegrated the chair on which Hedrock had sat, spumed off the metal desk, drenched the ceiling with flame. It was immensely violent, at least ninety thousand cycles of energy, but it was not so strong that Hedrock did not notice the flash of Royan’s gun. After a moment, the sequence of events was clear. Triner had manipulated and fired the cannon at Hedrock, then whirled, drawing his imperial gun with the intention of killing Royan. But Royan, using a Weapon Shop defensive model, bad fired first.

  Where Triner had been was a shiningness that twinkled and faded instantly as the powerful suction pumps (automatically set off by the cannon) drew great gulps of fresh air through the room. It was a standard process, so swift that the total volume of air in the room was actually changed five times a second.

  In the office, between Hedrock and Royan, silence settled. “I don’t see,” said Royan finally, “how you escaped.”

  Hedrock switched off his magnification, said hurriedly:

  “You’re the new president of the company, Royan. Your salary is five million a year. What kind of mind-training course are you giving your son?”

  Royan was recovering more rapidly than Hedrock had expected. “The usual,” he said.

  “Change it. The Weapon Shops have recently published the details of a new course, which is not very popular as yet. It includes the strengthening of moral functions. But now ... when will the lists be ready that Triner ordered for me? Or don’t you know about them?”

  The speed of the conversation seemed to be dazing Royan again, but he carried the load. “Not before six. I—”

  Hedrock cut him off. “You are going to get some awful shocks tomorrow, Royan, but bear up. Don’t lose your head. We have incurred the wrath of a powerful secret organization. We are to be given a lesson. There will be great destruction of our property, but do not under any circumstances let on to anyone that it is our property, nor begin reconstruction for a month, or until further notice.”

  He finished grimly, “We must take our losses without outcry. Fortunately, tomorrow is Rest Day. The people will be away from their shops. But remember, have—those—lists—ready—at—six!”

  He left the man abruptly. The reference to a secret organization was as good a story as any, and when the giant started moving, all its weaknesses would be dwarfed by the horrendous reality. But first, now, some other calls, a few of the easier ones, then eat, then the arrogant Nensen, and then take action on the vastest scale.

  He killed Nensen an hour later by the simple method of reflecting the energy of the man’s own gun back at him. The once indomitable Deely turned out harmless, a reformed monster of an old man who resigned swiftly when he saw that Hedrock was not interested in so delayed a conversion. The other men were obstacles whose curiosity and mental inertia had to be overcome. It was a quarter to seven the next morning when Hedrock took an energy drug, several vitamin shots and lay down for half an hour to let them work on his weary body.

  He ate an enormous breakfast, and a few minutes before eight o’clock adjusted the magnifier of his “business” suit to full power. The day of the giant had come.

  Thirteen

  A FEW MINUTES BEFORE THE FIRST NEWS CAME THROUGH Innelda was saying coldly, “Why do we always need money? Where does it go? Our annual budget is astronomical, and yet all I ever see are statements showing that so much of it goes for one general department and so much of it for another, and so on ad nauseam. The solar system is wealthy beyond estimate; the daily turnover at the Exchange runs into hundreds of billions of credits; and yet the government has no money. What’s the matter? Are tax receipts in arrears?”

  There was silence. The lord of finance glanced helplessly around the long cabinet table. His gaze came to rest finally on the face of Prince del Curtin. His eyes lighted up with silent appeal. The Prince hesitated, and then said:

  “These cabinet meetings are beginning to follow a pattern, your Majesty. The rest of us are silent while you nag us. These days you have the perpetual complaining tone of a wife who, having spent all her husband’s money, berates him for not having more.”

  She was slow in realizing the implications of that. She was so accustomed to plain speaking in private from her cousin that it did not strike her immediately that this comment was being made during an official meeting of the cabinet. She noted absently that the other—men seemed relieved, but she was concentrating too hard on her own words for the full meaning to penetrate. She went on angrily:

  “I am tired of being told that we haven’t the money to carry on the normal expenses of government. The Imperial household expenses have been the same for generations. Any private property I have is maintained out of its earnings, and not by the State. I have been told many times that we have been taxing business and individuals to the limit, and that in fact business complains bitterly of the burden. If these astute business men would examine their books they would discover that there is another less obvious drain upon their resources. I refer to the levies of that outrageous, illegal organization, the Weapon Shops, which taxes the resources of this country fully as heavily as the legitimate government. Their pretense that they sell only guns is one of the greatest frauds ever perpetrated on a people. Their method is cunningly designed to enlist the support of grasping individuals among the unthinking masses. It is common knowledge that you need merely make an accusation that a business firm has swindled you, and the secret Weapon Shop courts will adjudicate for you. The question is, when does legitimate profit become a swindle? It is “a purely philosophical problem, and could be argued endlessly. But these Shop courts all too easily assess triple damages, give half the money to the accuser, and keep the other half themselves. I tell you, gentlemen, we must start a campaign. We must convince business men that the Weapon Shops are a greater drain on them than is the government. Actually, of course, if business men were honest, it would make no difference. In such an event, the sanctimonious Weapon Makers would be exposed for the thieves they really are. Because, of course, they would still have to have money to maintain their organizations.”

  She paused, momentarily breathless, and remembered what Prince del Curtin had said earlier. She frowned at him. “So I sound like a nagging wife, do I, cousin? Having spent all my loving husband’s money, I—”

  She stopped short. She had a sudden, startled remembrance of the expression of relief that had come to the faces of the cabinet members after the Prince’s comment. In a flash she realized what had not struck her before, that she had been personally accused in front of her whole cabinet.

  “Well, I’ll be damned!” she said explosively. “So I’m responsible. So I’ve been spending government money like an irresponsible woman—”

  Once more she paused for breath. She was about to speak again when the ’stat beside her chair came to life. “Your Majesty, an urgent news message has just come through from the Middle West. A giant human being, one hundred and fifty feet tall, is destroying the business section of the city of Denar.”

  “What?”

  “If you wish, I will show you the scene. The giant is retreating slowly before the attacks of mobile units.”

  “Never mind—” Her voice was cool and incisive. She finished her curt dismissal, “It must be some robotic machine built by a mad man, and the navy can handle it. I cannot give the matter my attention at the moment. Report later.”

  “Very well.”

  During the silence that followed, she sat like a statue, her face whitely immobile, her eyes feeling hot in their sockets. She whispered finally, “Can it be some new action of the Weapon Shops?”

  She hesitated, and then broke the thrall of what had happened. With a rush her mind came back to what she had been saying before the interruption. Her first words struck at the heart of the implied accusation.

  “Prince, am I to understand that you hold me responsible in this public fashion for the financial predicament in which the government finds itself?”

/>   The Prince was cool. “Your Majesty is misreading my words. My point was that these cabinet meetings have become nothing but scolding parties. The various departmental lords have a responsibility to parliament, and no useful purpose is served by destructive criticism.”

  She stared at him, and realized angrily that he had no intention of elaborating on his original statement. She said quickly, “Then you do not regard my suggestion that we inform business men of Weapon Shop thieving tactics—you do not regard that as constructive?”

  The Prince was silent so long that she snapped, “Well, do you, or don’t you?”

  He stroked his jaw, and then looked directly at her. “No!” he said.

  She stared at him wide-eyed, and breathless again. For this was being said in front of the entire cabinet. “Why not?” she said finally, in her most reasonable voice. “It would at least ease the pressure of criticism against us because taxes are so high.”

  “If it will make you happy,” said Prince del Curtin, “it would probably do no harm to launch such a propaganda campaign. It shouldn’t put us very much further in the red.”

  Innelda was cold again. “It has nothing to do with my happiness,” she snapped, “I am thinking only of the State.”

  Prince del Curtin held his silence; and she gazed at him with a gathering determination. “Prince,” she said earnestly, “you and I are related by blood. We are good friends in private, and we have had violent disagreements on many matters. However, now you have implied that I allow my private interests to intrude upon my responsibility to the State. Of course, I have always taken for granted that one cannot have two personalities, and that an individual’s every act reflects to some extent his or her private prejudice. But there is a difference between unconscious assumptions which influence the individual’s opinions—between that and a policy calculated to further the person’s private ends. In what way have I become calculating? What made you suddenly utter a statement with so many implications? Well, I’m waiting.”