A. E. Van Vogt - The Weapon Shops of Isher.pdf - A. E. Van Vogt - borsukomiks

In this powerful and brilliant novel, A.E. van Vogt introduces such amazing

characters as Cayie Clark, who could never lose at cards, Robert Hedrock, who

knew everyone's secrets, Peter Cadron who sold illegal super-weapons in

public, and inneida Isher who never had to take no for an answer.

Packed with super-science, an astonishing future concept, and a tight suspense

plot, THE WEAPON SHOPS OF ISHER. is truly a science fiction classic.

"Wholly absorbing ... a wonderful roller coaster thrill."

-Galaxy

Other ACE books by A.E. van Vogt:

THE BATTLE OF FOREVER

CHILDREN OF TOMORROW

DARKNESS ON DIAMONDIA

QUEST FOR THE FUTURE

THE WAR AGAINST THE RULL

FUTURE GLITTER

THE SILKIE

THE WORLDS OF A.E. VAN VOGT

THE UNIVERSE MAKER

THE WORLD OF NULL-A

The Weapon

Shops Of Isher

by A. E. v a n V o g t

ace books

A Division of Charter Communications Inc.

1120 Avenue of the Americas New York, N.Y. 10036

THE WEAPON SHOPS OF ISHER

First Ace Printing: December 1954

Second Ace Printing: January 1961

Third Ace Printing: November 1969

Fourth Ace Printing: November 1973

Printed in U.S.A.

The Weapon Shops of Isher

PROLOGUE

MAGICIAN BELIEVED TO

HAVE HYPNOTIZED CROWD

June 11, 1951-Police and newspapermen believe that Middle City will shortly be

advertised as the next stopping place of a master magician and they are

prepared to extend him a hearty welcome if he will condescend to explain

exactly how he fooled hundreds of people into believing they saw a strange

building, apparently a kind of gun-shop.

The building seemed to appear on the space formerly, and still, occupied by

Aunt Sally's Lunch and Patterson Tailors. Only employees were inside the two

aforementioned shops, and none noticed any untoward event. A large, brightly

shining sign featured the front of the gunshop, which had been so miraculously

conjured out of nothingness; and the sign constituted the first evidence that

the entire scene was nothing but a masterly illusion. For from whichever angle

one gazed at it, one seemed to be staring straight at the words, which read:

FINE WEAPONS

THE RIGHT TO BUY WEAPONS

IS THE RIGHT TO BE FREE

The window display was made up of an assortment of rather curiously shaped

guns, rifles as well as small arms; and a glowing sign in the window stated:

THE FINEST ENERGY WEAPONS

IN THE KNOWN UNIVERSE

Inspector Clayton of the Investigation Branch attempted to enter the shop, but

the door seemed to be locked. A few moments later, C. J. (Chris) McAllister,

reporter of the Gazette-Bulletin, tried the door, found that it opened, and

entered.

Inspector Clayton attempted to follow him, but discovered that the door was

again locked. It is believed that McAllister went through to the back, as

several spectators reported seeing him. Immediately after his reappearance,

the strange building vanished as abruptly as it had appeared.

Police state they are baffled as to how the master magician created so

detailed an illusion for so long a period before so large a crowd. They are

prepared to recommend his show, when it comes, without reservations.

(Author's Note: The foregoing account did not mention that the police,

dissatisfied with the affair, attempted to contact McAllister for a further

interview, but were unable to locate him. Weeks have passed; and he has still

not been found.

What did happen to McAllister from the instant that he found the door of the

gunshop unlocked?)

There was a curious quality about the gunshop door. It was not so much that it

opened at his first touch as that, when he pulled, it came away like a

weightless thing. McAllister had the impression that the knob had freed itself

into his palm.

He stood very still, startled. The thought that came finally had to do with

Inspector Clayton who, a minute earlier, had found the door locked. The

thought was like a signal. From behind him boomed the voice of the inspector:

"Ah, McAllister, I'll handle this now."

It was dark inside the shop beyond the door, too dark to see anything, and

somehow, his eyes wouldn't accustom themselves to the intense gloom. Pure

reporter's instinct made him step forward toward the blackness that pressed

from beyond the rectangle of door. Out of the corner of one eye, he saw

Inspector Clayton's hand reaching for the door handle that his own fingers had

let go a moment before. And he knew instantly that if the inspector could

prevent it, no reporter would get inside that building. His head was still

turned, his gaze more on the police officer than on the darkness in front; and

it was as he began another step forward that the remarkable thing happened.

The door handle would not allow Inspector Clayton to touch it. It twisted in

some queer way, in some energy way, for it was still there, a strange, blurred

shape. The door itself, without visible movement it was so swift, was suddenly

touching McAllister's heel. Light, almost weightless, was that touch; and

then, before he could think or react to what had happened, the momentum of his

forward movement had carried him inside. As he breasted the darkness, there

was a sudden, agonized tensing along his nerves. Then the door shut tight. the

brief, unexpected agony faded. Ahead was a brightly-lit shop; behind-were

unbelievable things!

For McAllister, the moment that followed was one of blank impression. He

stood, body twisted awkwardly, only vaguely conscious of the shop's interior,

but tremendously aware in the brief moment before he was interrupted of what

lay beyond the transparent panels of the door through which he had just come.

There was no unyielding blackness anywhere, no Inspector Clayton, no muttering

crowd of gaping spectators, no dingy row of shops across the way. It was not

even the same street. There was no street. Instead, a peaceful park was

visible. Beyond it, brilliant under a noon sun, was the skyline of a vast

city. From behind him, a husky, musical, woman's voice said:

"You will be wanting a gun?"

McAllister turned. The movement was automatic reaction to a sound. And because

the affair was still like a dream, the city scene faded almost instantly; his

mind focused on the young woman who was advancing slowly from the rear section

of the store. Briefly, his thought wouldn't come clear. A conviction that he

ought to say something was tangled with first impressions of the girl's

appearance. She had a slender well-shaped body; her face was creased with a

pleasant smile. She had brown eyes, and wavy brown hair. Her simple frock and

sandals seemed so normal at first glance that he gave them no further thought.

He was able to say:

"What I can't understand is why the police officer, who tried to follow me,

couldn't get in. And where is he now?"

To his surprise, the girl's smile became faintly apologetic: "We know that

people consider it silly of us to keep harping on that ancient feud." Her

voice grew firmer. "We even know how clever the propaganda is that stresses

the silliness of our stand. Meanwhile, we never allow any of her men in here.

We continue to take our principles very seriously."

She paused as if she expected comprehension from him. But McAllister saw from

the slow puzzlement creeping into her eyes that his face must look as blank as

the thoughts behind it. Her men! The girl had spoken the words as if she were

referring to some personage, and in direct reply to his use of the word,

police officer. That meant her men, whoever she was, were policemen; and they

weren't allowed in this gunshop. So the door was hostile, and wouldn't admit

them. An emptiness struck into McAllister's mind, matching the hollowness that

was beginning to afflict the pit of his stomach, a sense of un-plumbed depths,

the first staggering conviction that all was not as it should be. The girl was

speaking in a sharper tone:

"You mean you know nothing of all this, that for generations the gunmaker's

guild has existed in this age of devastating energies as the common man's only

protection against enslavement? The right to buy guns-" She stopped, her

narrowed eyes searching him; then: "Come to think of it, there's something

very peculiar about you. Your outlandish clothes-you're not from the northern

farm plains are you?"

He shook his head dumbly, more annoyed with his reactions every passing

second. But he couldn't help it. A tightness was growing in him now, becoming

more unbearable instant by instant, as if somewhere a vital mainspring was

being wound to the breaking point.

The young woman went on more swiftly: "And come to think of it, it is

astounding that a policeman should have tried the door, and there was no

alarm."

Her hand moved. Metal flashed in it, metal as bright as steel in blinding

sunlight. There was not the slightest hint of an apology in her voice as she

said: "You will stay where you are, sir, until I have called my father. In our

business, with our responsibilities, we never take chances. Something is very

wrong here."

Curiously, it was at that point that McAllister's mind began to function

clearly. The thought that came paralleled hers. How had this gunshop appeared

on a 1951 street? How had he corne here into this fantastic world? Something

was very wrong indeed.

It was the gun that held his attention. It was a tiny thing, shaped like a

pistol, but with three cubes projecting in a half circle from the top of the

slightly-bulbous firing chamber. He began to feel shaken, looking at it, for

that wicked little instrument, glittering there in her browned fingers, was as

real as herself.

"Good Heaven," he whispered. "What the devil kind of a gun is it? Lower that

thing and let's try to find out what all this is about."

She seemed not to be listening. He noticed that her gaze was flicking to a

point on the wall somewhat to his left. He followed her look in time to see

seven miniature white lights flash on. Curious lights! He was fascinated by

the play of light and shade, the waxing and waning from one tiny globe to the

next, a rippling movement of infinitesimal increments and decrements, an

incredibly delicate effect of instantaneous reaction to some supersensitive

barometer. The lights steadied; his gaze reverted to the girl. To his

surprise, she was putting away her gun. She must have noticed his expression.

"It's all right," she said coolly. "The automatics are on you now. If we're

wrong about you, we'll be glad to apologize. Meanwhile, if you're still

interested in buying a gun, I'll be happy to demonstrate."

So the automatics were on him. McAllister thought. He felt no relief at the

information. Whatever the automatics were, they wouldn't be working in his

favor. The young woman putting away her gun in spite of her suspicions spoke

volumes for the efficiency of the new watchdogs. He'd have to get out of this

place, of course. Meanwhile, the girl was assuming that a man who came into a

gun-shop would, under ordinary circumstances, want to buy a gun. It struck

him, suddenly, that of all the things he could think of, what he most wanted

to see was one of those strange guns. There were incredible implications in

the very shape of the instruments. Aloud he said:

"Yes, by all means show me." A thought occurred to him. He added, "I have no

doubt your father is somewhere in the background making some sort of study of

me."

The young woman made no move to bring out any weapons. Instead, she stared at

him in puzzlement.

"You may not realize it," she said slowly, "but you have already upset our

entire establishment. The lights of the automatics should have gone on the

moment father pressed the buttons, as he did when I called him. They didn't!

That's unnatural, and yet-" her frown deepened-"if you were one of them, how

did you get through that door? Is it possible that her scientists have

discovered human beings who do not affect the sensitive energies? And that you

are but one of many such, sent as an experiment to determine whether or not

entrance could be gained? Yet that isn't logical either. If they had even a

hope of success, they wouldn't risk the chance of throwing away an

overwhelming surprise. In that case, you would be the entering wedge of an

attack on a vast scale. She is ruthless, she's brilliant; and she craves

complete power over poor fools like you who have no more sense than to worship

her and the splendor of the Imperial Court."

The young woman paused, with the faintest of smiles. "There I go again, making

a political speech. But you can see that there are at least a few reasons why

we should be careful about you."

There was a chair in one corner. McAllister started for it. His mind was

calmer. "Look," he began, "I don't know what you're talking about. I don't

even know how I came to be in this shop. I agree with you that the whole thing

requires explanation, but I mean that differently than you do."

His voice trailed. He had been half lowered over the chair, but instead of

sinking into it, he came erect, slowly, like an old, old man. His eyes fixed

on lettering that shone above a glass case of guns behind her. He said

hoarsely:

"Is that-a calendar?"

She followed his gaze, puzzled. "Yes, it's June 3rd. What's wrong?"

"I don't mean that. I mean-" He caught himself with an effort. "I mean those

figures above that: I mean-what year is this?"

The girl looked surprised. She started to say something, then stopped and

backed away. Finally: "Don't look like that! There's nothing wrong. This is

eighty-four of the four thousand seven hundredth year of the Imperial House of

Isher. It's quite all right."

Very deliberately McAllister sat down, and the conscious wonder came: Exactly

how should he feel? Not even surprise came to his aid. The events were

beginning to fall into a kind of distorted pattern. The building front

superimposed on those two 1951 shops; the way the door had acted. The great

exterior sign with its odd linking of freedom with the right to buy weapons.

The actual display of weapons in the window, the finest energy weapons in the

known universe!...He grew aware that the girl was talking earnestly with a

tall, gray-haired man who was standing on the threshold of the door through

which she had originally come. There was a tenseness in the way they were

talking. Their low-spoken words made a blur of sound in his ears, strange and

unsettling. McAllister could not quite analyze the meaning of it until the

girl turned, and said:

"What is your name?"

McAllister gave it.

The girl hesitated, then: "Mr. McAllister, my father wants to know what year

you're from!"

The gray-haired man stepped forward. "I'm afraid," he said gravely, "that

there is no time to explain. What has happened is what we gunmakers have

feared for generations: that once again would come one who lusted for

unlimited power; and who, to attain tyranny, must necessarily seek first to

destroy us. Your presence here is a manifestation of the energy force that she

has turned against us-something so new that we did not even suspect it was

being used against us. But I have no time to waste. Get all the information

you can, Lystra, and warn him of his own personal danger." The man turned. The

door closed noiselessly behind his tall figure.

McAllister asked: "What did he mean-personal danger?"

He saw the girl's brown eyes were uneasy as they rested on him. "It's hard to

explain," she began in an uncomfortable voice. "First of all, come to the

window and I'll try to make everything clear. It's all very confusing to you,

I suppose."

McAllister drew a deep breath. "Now we're getting somewhere."

His alarm was gone. The gray-haired man seemed to know what it was all about.

That meant there should be no difficulty getting home again. As for all this

danger to the gunmaker's guild, that was their worry, not his. He stepped

forward, closer to the girl. To his amazement, she cringed away as if he had

threatened her. As he stared blankly, she laughed humorlessly; and finally she

said:

"Don't think I'm being silly; don't be offended-but for your life's sake,

don't touch any human body you might come in contact with."

McAllister was conscious of a chill. Then, suddenly, he felt a surge of

impatience at the fear that showed in the girl's face. "Now look," he began,

"I want to get things clear. We can talk here without danger, providing I

don't touch, or come near you. Is that right?"

She nodded. "The floor, the walls, every piece of furniture-in fact the entire

shop is made of non-conducting material."

McAllister had a sense of being balanced on a tight rope over a bottomless

abyss. He forced calm onto his mind. "Let's start," he said, "at the

beginning. How did you and your father know that I was not of-" he paused

before the odd phrase, then went on-"of this time?"

"Father photographed you," the girl said. "He photographed the contents of

your pockets. That was how he first found out what was the matter. You see,

the sensitive energies themselves become carriers of the energy, with which

you're charged. That's what was wrong. That's why the automatics wouldn't

focus on you, and-"

"Energy-charged?" said McAllister.

The girl was staring at him. "Don't you understand?" she gasped. "You've come

across seven thousand years of time. And of all the energies in the universe,

time is the most potent. You're charged with trillions of trillions of

time-energy units. If you should step outside this shop, you'd blow up

Imperial City and half a hundred miles of land beyond.

"You-" she finished on an unsteady, upward surge of her voice-"you could

conceivably destroy the EarthI"

III

He hadn't noticed the mirror before. Funny, too, because it was large enough,

at least eight feet high, and directly in front of him on the wall where, a

minute before (he could have sworn) had been solid metal.

"Look at yourself," the girl was saying soothingly. "There's nothing so

A. E. Van Vogt - The Weapon Shops of Isher.pdf

Plik z chomika:

Inne pliki z tego folderu:

Inne foldery tego chomika: