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

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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 con-

stituted 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 star-

ing 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 reappear-

ance, 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 in-

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

still not been found.

Ah, McAllister, Ill 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 dark-

ness in front; and it was as he began another step forward that the remark-

able 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 inter-

rupted 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?"

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 gun-

maker's guild has existed in this age of devastating energies as the com-

mon 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."

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 supersensi-

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

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

sion.

"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 inter-

ested 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

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."

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,

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 tril-

lions 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"

with a finger on one of a series of wall switches. Abruptly, he felt better.

"Thank you," he said quietly. "I certainly needed that."

She smiled encouragingly; and he was able now to be amazed at her

conflicting personality. There had been on the one hand her inability a few

minutes earlier to get to the point of the danger, an incapacity for explaining

things with words. Yet obviously her action with the mirror showed a keen

understanding of human psychology. He said: "The problem now is, from

your point of view, to circumvent this Isher woman and get me back to 1951

before I blow up the Earth of ... of whatever year this is."

The girl nodded. "Father says that you can be sent back, but as for the

rest, watch!"

He had no time for relief at the knowledge that he could be returned to

his own time. She pressed another button. Instantly, the mirror was gone

into metallic wall. Another button clicked. The wall vanished. Before him

stretched a park similar to the one he had already seen through the front

door, obviously an extension of the same gardenlike vista. Trees were

there, and flowers, and green, green grass in the sun.

One vast building, as high as it was long, towered massively dark

against the sky and dominated the entire horizon. It was a good quarter

mile away; and incredibly, it was at least that long and that high. Neither

near that monstrous building, nor in the park, was a living person visible.

Everywhere was evidence of man's dynamic labor, but no men, no move-

ment. Even the trees stood motionless in that breathless sunlit day.

"Watch!" said the girl again, more softly.

There was no click this time. She made an adjustment on one of the

buttons, and the view was no longer so clear. It wasn't that the sun had

dimmed its bright intensity. It wasn't even that glass was visible where a

moment before there had been nothing. There was still no apparent sub-

stance between them and that gemlike park. But the park was no longer

deserted.

Scores of men and machines swarmed out there. McAllister stared in

amazement; and then as the sense of illusion faded, and the dark menace

of those men penetrated, his emotion changed to dismay.

have been destroyed without ever knowing what happened.

"But," McAllister exclaimed sharply, "what are you going to do? They're

still out there, working-"

Her brown eyes burned with a fierce, yellow flame. "My father has

warned the guild. And individual members have now discovered that similar

invisible guns are being set up by invisible men outside their shops. The

council will meet shortly to discuss defenses."

Silently, McAllister watched the soldiers connecting what must have

been invisible cables that led to the vast buildings in the background; foot

thick cables that told of the titanic power that was to be unleashed on the

tiny weapon shop. There was nothing to be said. The reality out there over-

shadowed sentences and phrases. Of all the people here, he was the most

useless, his opinion the least worth while. He must have said so, but he did

not realize that until the familiar voice of the girl's father came from one side

of him.

"You're quite mistaken, Mr. McAllister. Of all the people here you are the

most valuable. Through you, we discovered that the Isher were actually

attacking us. Furthermore, our enemies do not know of your existence,

therefore have not yet realized the full effect produced by the new blanket-

ing energy they have used. You, accordingly, constitute the unknown fac-

tor. We must make immediate use of you."

The man looked older, McAllister thought. There were lines of strain in

his lean, sallow face as he turned to his daughter, and his voice, when he

spoke, was edged with sharpness: "Lystra, No. 7!"

As the girl's fingers touched the seventh button, her father explained

swiftly to McAllister, "The guild supreme council is holding an immediate

emergency session. We must choose the most likely method of attacking

the problem, and concentrate individually and collectively on that method.

Regional conversations are already in progress, but only one important

idea has been put forward as yet and-ah, gentlemen!"

He spoke past McAllister, who turned with a start. Men were coming out

of the solid wall, lightly, easily, as if it were a door and they were stepping

across a threshold. One, two, three-thirty.

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insidethetwoaforementionedshops,andnonenoticedanyuntowardevent.Alarge,brightlyshiningsignfeaturedthefrontofthegunshop,whichhadbeensomiraculouslyconjuredoutofnothingness;andthesigncon-stitutedthefirstevidencethattheentirescenewasnothingbutamasterlyillusion.Forfromwhicheverangleonegazedatit,oneseemedt...

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