The people I met were dull to the point of extinction. They treated me
like just another cog going around with the rest of the wheels. I was
coggy all right, and kept wondering how I had ever gotten into this
mess. Not really wondering, since the memory was still quite vivid. I
was carried along with the rest of the gears, their teeth sunk into
mine.
We ended up on a planetoid, that much was obvious. But I hadn't the
dimmest idea of what planets we were near or even what solar system
we were in. Everything was highly secret and hush-hush, as this place
was obviously the super-secret headquarters and main base of the Corps
School too.
This part I liked. It was the only thing that kept me from cracking
out. Dull as the cubes were who taught the courses, the material was
something I could really sink my teeth into and shake. I began to see
how crude my operations had been. With the gadgetry and techniques I
soaked up I could be ten times the crook I had been before. Pushing the
thought firmly away helped for a while, but it had a way of sneaking
back and whispering nastily in my ear during periods of depression and
gloom.
Things went from dull to dead. Half my time was spent working at the
files, learning about the numberless successes and few failures of
the Corps. I contemplated cracking out, yet at the same time couldn't
help but wonder if this wasn't part of a testing period--to see if I
had enough sticktoitiveness to last. I swallowed my temper, muffled
my yawns, and took a careful look around. If I couldn't crack out--I
could crack _in_. There had to be something I could do to
terminate this term of penal servitude.
It wasn't easy--but I found it. By the time I tracked everything down
it was well into sleep period. But that was all right. In some ways it
even made it more interesting.
When it comes to picking locks and cracking safes I admit to no master.
The door to Inskipp's private quarters had an old-fashioned tumbler
drum that was easier to pick than my teeth. I must have gone through
that door without breaking step. Quiet as I was though, Inskipp still
heard me. The light came on and there he was sitting up in bed pointing
a .75 caliber recoilless at my sternum.
"You should have more brains than that, diGriz," he snarled. "Creeping
into my room at night! You could have been shot."
"No I couldn't," I told him, as he stowed the cannon back under his
pillow. "A man with a curiosity bump as big as yours will always talk
first and shoot later. And besides--none of this pussyfooting around in
the dark would be necessary if your screen was open and I could have
got a call through."
Inskipp yawned and poured himself a glass of water from the dispenser
unit above the bed. "Just because I head the Special Corps, doesn't
mean that I _am_ the Special Corps," he said moistly while he
drained the glass. "I have to sleep sometime. My screen is open only
for emergency calls, not for every agent who needs his hand held."
"Meaning I am in the hand-holding category?" I asked with as much
sweetness as I could.
"Put yourself in any category you damn well please," he grumbled as he
slumped down in the bed. "And also put yourself out into the hall and
see me tomorrow during working hours."
He was at my mercy, really. He wanted sleep so much. And he was going
to be wide awake so very soon.
"Do you know what this is?" I asked him, poking a large glossy pic
under his long broken nose. One eye opened slowly.
"Big warship of some kind, looks like Empire lines. Now for the last
time--go away!" he said.
"A very good guess for this late at night," I told him cheerily. "It is
a late Empire battleship of the Warlord class. Undoubtedly one of the
most truly efficient engines of destruction ever manufactured. Over a
half mile of defensive screens and armament that could probably turn
any fleet existent today into fine radioactive ash--"
"Except for the fact that the last one was broken up for scrap over a
thousand years ago," he mumbled.
I leaned over and put my lips close to his ear. So there would be no
chance of misunderstanding. Speaking softly but clearly.
"True, true," I said. "But wouldn't you be just a _little_ bit
interested if I was to tell you that one is being built today?"
Oh, it was beautiful to watch. The covers went one way and Inskipp
went the other. In a single unfolding, concerted motion he left the
horizontal and recumbent and stood tensely vertical against the wall.
Examining the pic of the battleship under the light. He apparently did
not believe in pajama bottoms and it hurt me to see the goose-bumps
rising on those thin shanks. But if the legs were thin, the voice was
more than full enough to make up for the difference.
"Talk, blast you diGriz--_talk_!" he roared. "What is this
nonsense about a battleship? Who's building it?"
I had my nail file out and was touching up a cuticle, holding it out
for inspection before I said anything. From the corner of my eye I
could see him getting purple about the face--but he kept quiet. I
savored my small moment of power.
"Put diGriz in charge of the record room for a while, you said, that
way he can learn the ropes. Burrowing around in century-old, dusty
files will be just the thing for a free spirit like Slippery Jim
diGriz. Teach him discipline. Show him what the Corps stands for. At
the same time it will get the records in shape. They have been needing
reorganization for quite a while."
Inskipp opened his mouth, made a choking noise, then closed it. He
undoubtedly realized that any interruption would only lengthen my
explanation, not shorten it. I smiled and nodded at his decision, then
continued.
"So you thought you had me safely out of the way. Breaking my spirit
under the guise of 'giving me a little background in the Corps'
activities.' In this sense your plan failed. Something else happened
instead. I nosed through the files and found them most interesting.
Particularly the C & M setup--the Categorizer and Memory. That building
full of machinery that takes in and digests news and reports from all
the planets in the galaxy, indexes it to every category it can possibly
relate, then files it. Great machine to work with. I had it digging out
spaceship info for me, something I have always been interested in--"
"You should be," Inskipp interrupted rudely. "You've stolen enough of
them in your time."
I gave him a hurt look and went on--slowly. "I won't bore you with all
the details, since you seem impatient, but eventually I turned up this
plan." He had it out of my fingers before it cleared my wallet.
"What are you getting at?" he mumbled as he ran his eyes over the
blueprints. "This is an ordinary heavy-cargo and passenger job. It's no
more a Warlord battleship than I am."
* * * * *
It is hard to curl your lips with contempt and talk at the same time,
but I succeeded. "Of course. You don't expect them to file warship
plans with the League Registry, do you? But, as I said, I know more
than a little bit about ships. It seemed to me this thing was just
too big for the use intended. Enough old ships are fuel-wasters, you
don't have to build new ones to do that. This started me thinking
and I punched for a complete list of ships that size that had been
constructed in the past. You can imagine my surprise when, after three
minutes of groaning, the C & M only produced six. One was built for
self-sustaining colony attempt at the second galaxy. For all we know
she is still on the way. The other five were all D-class colonizers,
built during the Expansion when large populations were moved. Too big
to be practical now.
"I was still teased, as I had no idea what a ship this large could be
used for. So I removed the time interlock on the C & M and let it pick
around through the entire history of space to see if it could find a
comparison. It sure did. Right at the Golden Age of Empire expansion,
the giant Warlord battleship. The machine even found a blueprint for
me."
Inskipp grabbed again and began comparing the two prints. I leaned over
his shoulder and pointed out the interesting parts.
"Notice--if the engine room specs are changed slightly to include
this cargo hold, there is plenty of room for the brutes needed. This
superstructure--obviously just tacked onto the plans--gets thrown away,
and turrets take its place. The hulls are identical. A change here, a
shift there, and the stodgy freighter becomes the fast battle-wagon.
These changes could be made during construction, then plans filed.
By the time anyone in the League found out what was being built the
ship would be finished and launched. Of course, this could all be
coincidence--the plans of a newly built ship agreeing to six places
with those of a ship built a thousand years ago. But if you think so, I
will give you hundred-to-one odds you are wrong, any size bet you name."
I wasn't winning any sucker bets that night. Inskipp had led just as
crooked a youth as I had, and needed no help in smelling a fishy deal.
While he pulled on his clothes he shot questions at me.
"And the name of the peace-loving planet that is building this
bad-memory from the past?"
"Cittanuvo. Second planet of a B star in Corona Borealis. No other
colonized planets in the system."
"Never heard of it," Inskipp said as we took the private drop chute to
his office. "Which may be a good or a bad sign. Wouldn't be the first
time trouble came from some out-of-the-way spot I never even knew
existed."
With the automatic disregard for others of the truly dedicated, he
pressed the scramble button on his desk. Very quickly sleepy-eyed
clerks and assistants were bringing files and records. We went through
them together.
Modesty prevented me from speaking first, but I had a very short wait
before Inskipp reached the same conclusion I had. He hurled a folder
the length of the room and scowled out at the harsh dawn light.
"The more I look at this thing," he said, "the fishier it gets. This
planet seems to have no possible motive or use for a battleship. But
they are building one--_that_ I will swear on a stack of one
thousand credit notes as high as this building. Yet what will they do
with it when they have it built? They have an expanding culture, no
unemployment, a surplus of heavy metals and ready markets for all they
produce. No hereditary enemies, feuds or the like. If it wasn't for
this battleship thing, I would call them an ideal League planet. I have
to know more about them."
"I've already called the spaceport--in your name of course," I told
him. "Ordered a fast courier ship. I'll leave within the hour."
"Aren't you getting a little ahead of yourself, diGriz," he said. Voice
chill as the icecap. "I still give the orders and I'll tell you when
you're ready for an independent command."
I was sweetness and light because a lot depended on his decision. "Just
trying to help, chief, get things ready in case you wanted more info.
And this isn't really an operation, just a reconnaissance. I can do
that as well as any of the experienced operators. And it may give me
the experience I need, so that some day, I, too, will be qualified to
join the ranks...."
"All right," he said. "Stop shoveling it on while I can still breathe.
Get out there. Find out what is happening. Then get back. Nothing
else--and that's an order."
By the way he said it, I knew he thought there was little chance of its
happening that way. And he was right.
v
A quick stop at supply and record sections gave me everything I needed.
The sun was barely clear of the horizon when the silver barb of my ship
lifted in the gray field, then blasted into space.
The trip took only a few days, more than enough time to memorize
everything I needed to know about Cittanuvo. And the more I knew the
less I could understand their need for a battleship. It didn't fit.
Cittanuvo was a secondary settlement out of the Cellini system, and I
had run into these settlements before. They were all united in a loose
alliance and bickered a lot among themselves, but never came to blows.
If anything, they shared a universal abhorrence of war.
Yet they were secretly building a battleship.
Since I was only chasing my tail with this line of thought, I put it
out of my mind and worked on some tri-di chess problems. This filled
the time until Cittanuvo blinked into the bow screen.
One of my most effective mottoes has always been, "Secrecy can be an
obviousity." What the magicians call misdirection. Let people very
obviously see what you want them to see, then they'll never notice what
is hidden. This was why I landed at midday, on the largest field on
the planet, after a very showy approach. I was already dressed for my
role, and out of the ship before the landing braces stopped vibrating.
Buckling the fur cape around my shoulders with the platinum clasp, I
stamped down the ramp. The sturdy little M-3 robot rumbled after me
with my bags. Heading directly towards the main gate, I ignored the
scurry of activity around the customs building. Only when a uniformed
under-official of some kind ran over to me, did I give the field any
attention.
Before he could talk I did, foot in the door and stay on top.
"Beautiful planet you have here. Delightful climate! Ideal spot for a
country home. Friendly people, always willing to help strangers and
all that I imagine. That's what I like. Makes me feel grateful. Very
pleased to meet you. I am the Grand Duke Sant' Angelo." I shook his
hand enthusiastically at this point and let a one hundred credit note
slip into his palm.
"Now," I added, "I wonder if you would ask the customs agents to look
at my bags here. Don't want to waste time, do we? The ship is open,
they can check that whenever they please."
My manner, clothes, jewelry, the easy way I passed money around and the
luxurious sheen of my bags, could mean only one thing. There was little
that was worth smuggling into or out of Cittanuvo. Certainly nothing a
rich man would be interested in. The official murmured something with a
smile, spoke a few words into his phone, and the job was done.
A small wave of customs men hung stickers on my luggage, peeked into
one or two for conformity's sake, and waved me through. I shook hands
all around--a rustling handclasp of course--then was on my way. A cab
was summoned, a hotel suggested. I nodded agreement and settled back
while the robot loaded the bags about me.
* * * * *
The ship was completely clean. Everything I might need for the job
was in my luggage. Some of it quite lethal and explosive, and very
embarrassing if it were discovered in my bags. In the safety of my
hotel suite I made a change of clothes and personality. After the robot
had checked the rooms for bugs.
And very nice gadgets too, these Corps robots. It looked and acted like
a moron M-3 all the time. It was anything but. The brain was as good as
any other robot brain I have known, plus the fact that the chunky body
was crammed with devices and machines of varying use. It chugged slowly
around the room, moving my bags and laying out my kit. And all the time
following a careful route that covered every inch of the suite. When it
had finished it stopped and called the all-clear.
"All rooms checked. Results negative except for one optic bug in that
wall."
"Should you be pointing like that?" I asked the robot. "Might make
people suspicious, you know."
"Impossible," the robot said with mechanical surety. "I brushed against
it and it is now unserviceable."
With this assurance I pulled off my flashy clothes and slipped into
the midnight black dress uniform of an admiral in the League Grand
Fleet. It came complete with decorations, gold bullion, and all the
necessary documents. I thought it a little showy myself, but it was
just the thing to make the right impression on Cittanuvo. Like many
other planets, this one was uniform-conscious. Delivery boys, street
cleaners, clerks--all had to have characteristic uniforms. Much
prestige attached to them, and my black dress outfit should rate as
high as any uniform in the galaxy.
A long cloak would conceal the uniform while I left the hotel, but the
gold-encrusted helmet and a brief case of papers were a problem. I had
never explored all the possibilities of the pseudo M-3 robot, perhaps
it could be of help.
"You there, short and chunky," I called. "Do you have any concealed
compartments or drawers built into your steel hide? If so, let's see."
For a second I thought the robot had exploded. The thing had more
drawers in it than a battery of cash registers. Big, small, flat, thin,
they shot out on all sides. One held a gun and two more were stuffed
with grenades; the rest were empty. I put the hat in one, the brief
case in another and snapped my fingers. The drawers slid shut and its
metal hide was as smooth as ever.
I pulled on a fancy sports cap, buckled the cape up tight, and was
ready to go. The luggage was all booby-trapped and could defend itself.
Guns, gas, poison needles, the usual sort of thing. In the last resort
it would blow itself up. The M-3 went down by a freight elevator. I
used a back stairs and we met in the street.
Since it was still daylight I didn't take a heli, but rented a
groundcar instead. We had a leisurely drive out into the country and
reached President Ferraro's house after dark.
As befitted the top official of a rich planet, the place was a mansion.
But the security precautions were ludicrous to say the least. I
took myself and a three hundred fifty kilo robot through the guards
and alarms without causing the slightest stir. President Ferraro, a
bachelor, was eating his dinner. This gave me enough undisturbed time
to search his study.
There was absolutely nothing. Nothing to do with wars or battleships
that is. If I had been interested in blackmail I had enough evidence
in my hand to support me for life. I was looking for something bigger
than political corruption, however.
When Ferraro rolled into his study after dinner the room was dark.
I heard him murmur something about the servants and fumble for the
switch. Before he found it, the robot closed the door and turned on
the lights. I sat behind his desk, all his personal papers before
me--weighted down with a pistol--and as fierce a scowl as I could raise
smeared across my face. Before he got over the shock I snapped an order
at him.
"Come over here and sit down, _quick_!"
The robot hustled him across the room at the same time, so he had no
choice except to obey. When he saw the papers on the desk his eyes
bulged and he just gurgled a little. Before he could recover I threw a
thick folder in front of him.
"I am Admiral Thar, League Grand Fleet. These are my credentials. You
had better check them." Since they were as good as any real admiral's I
didn't worry in the slightest. Ferraro went through them as carefully
as he could in his rattled state, even checking the seals under UV. It
gave him time to regain a bit of control and he used it to bluster.
"What do you mean by entering my private quarters and burglaring--"
"You're in very bad trouble," I said in as gloomy a voice as I could
muster.
Ferraro's tanned face went a dirty gray at my words. I pressed the
advantage.
"I am arresting you for conspiracy, extortion, theft, and whatever
other charges develop after a careful review of these documents. Seize
him." This last order was directed at the robot who was well briefed
in its role. It rumbled forward and locked its hand around Ferraro's
wrist, handcuff style. He barely noticed.
"I can explain," he said desperately. "Everything can be explained.
There is no need to make such charges. I don't know what papers you
have there, so I wouldn't attempt to say they are all forgeries. I have
many enemies you know. If the League knew the difficulties faced on a
backward planet like this...."
"That will be entirely enough," I snapped, cutting him off with a wave
of my hand. "All those questions will be answered by a court at the
proper time. There is only one question I want an answer to now. Why
are you building that battleship?"
* * * * *
The man was a great actor. His eyes opened wide, his jaw dropped,
he sank back into the chair as if he had been tapped lightly with a
hammer. When he managed to speak the words were completely unnecessary;
he had already registered every evidence of injured innocence.
"What battleship?" he gasped.
"The Warlord class battleship that is being built at the Cenerentola
Spaceyards. Disguised behind these blueprints." I threw them across the
desk to him, and pointed to the one corner. "Those are your initials
there, authorizing construction."
Ferraro still had the baffled act going as he fumbled with the papers,
examined the initials and such. I gave him plenty of time. He finally
put them down, shaking his head.
"I know nothing about any battleship. These are the plans for a new
cargo liner. Those are my initials, I recall putting them there."
I phrased my question carefully, as I had him right where I wanted him
now. "You deny any knowledge of the Warlord battleship that is being
built from these modified plans."
"These are the plans for an ordinary passenger-freighter, that is all I
know."
His words had the simple innocence of a young child's. Was he ever
caught. I sat back with a relaxed sigh and lit a cigar.
"Wouldn't you be interested in knowing something about that robot who
is holding you," I said. He looked down, as if aware for the first time
that the robot had been holding him by the wrist during the interview.
"That is no ordinary robot. It has a number of interesting devices
built into its fingertips. Thermocouples, galvanometers, things like
that. While you talked it registered your skin temperature, blood
pressure, amount of perspiration and such. In other words it is an
efficient and fast working lie detector. We will now hear all about
your lies."
Ferraro pulled away from the robot's hand as if it had been a poisonous
snake. I blew a relaxed smoke ring. "Report," I said to the robot. "Has
this man told any lies?"
"Many," the robot said. "Exactly seventy-four per cent of all
statements he made were false."
"Very good," I nodded, throwing the last lock on my trap. "That means
he knows all about this battleship."
"The subject has no knowledge of the battleship," the robot said
coldly. "All of his statements concerning the construction of this ship
were true."
Now it was my turn for the gaping and eye-popping act while Ferraro
pulled himself together. He had no idea I wasn't interested in his
other hanky-panky, but could tell I had had a low blow. It took an
effort, but I managed to get my mind back into gear and consider the
evidence.
If President Ferraro didn't know about the battleship, he must have
been taken in by the cover-up job. But if he wasn't responsible--who
was? Some militaristic clique that meant to overthrow him and take
power? I didn't know enough about the planet, so I enlisted Ferraro on
my side.
This was easy--even without the threat of exposure of the documents
I had found in his files. Using their disclosure as a prod I could
have made him jump through hoops. It wasn't necessary. As soon as I
showed him the different blueprints and explained the possibilities he
understood. If anything, he was more eager than I was to find out who
was using his administration as a cat's-paw. By silent agreement the
documents were forgotten.
We agreed that the next logical step would be the Cenerentola
Spaceyards. He had some idea of sniffing around quietly first, trying
to get a line to his political opponents. I gave him to understand
that the League, and the League Navy in particular, wanted to stop the
construction of the battleship. After that he could play his politics.
With this point understood he called his car and squadron of guards and
we made a parade to the shipyards. It was a four-hour drive and we made
plans on the way down.
* * * * *
The spaceyard manager was named Rocca, and he was happily asleep when
we arrived. But not for long. The parade of uniforms and guns in the
middle of the night had him frightened into a state where he could
hardly walk. I imagine he was as full of petty larceny as Ferraro. No
innocent man could have looked so terror-stricken. Taking advantage of
the situation, I latched my motorized lie detector onto him and began
snapping the questions.
Even before I had all the answers I began to get the drift of things.
They were a little frightening, too. The manager of the spaceyard that
was building the ship had no idea of its true nature.
Anyone with less self-esteem than myself--or who had led a more honest
early life--might have doubted his own reasoning at that moment. I
didn't. The ship on the ways _still_ resembled a warship to six
places. And knowing human nature the way I do, that was too much of a
coincidence to expect. Occam's razor always points the way. If there
are two choices to take, take the simpler. In this case I chose the
natural acquisitive instinct of man as opposed to blind chance and
accident. Nevertheless I put the theory to the test.
Looking over the original blueprints again, the big superstructure hit
my eye. In order to turn the ship into a warship that would have to be
one of the first things to go.
"Rocca!" I barked, in what I hoped was authentic old space-dog manner.
"Look at these plans, at this space-going front porch here. Is it still
being built onto the ship?"
He shook his head at once and said, "No, the plans were changed. We had
to fit in some kind of new meteor-repelling gear for operating in the
planetary debris belt."
I flipped through my case and drew out a plan. "Does your new gear look
anything like this?" I asked, throwing it across the table to him.
He rubbed his jaw while he looked at it. "Well," he said hesitatingly,
"I don't want to say for certain. After all, these details aren't in
my department, I'm just responsible for final assembly, not unit work.
But this surely looks like the thing they installed. Big thing. Lots of
power leads--"
It was a battleship all right, no doubt of that now. I was mentally
reaching around to pat myself on the back when the meaning of his words
sank in.
"Installed!" I shouted. "Did you say installed?"
Rocca collapsed away from my roar and gnawed his nails. "Yes--" he
said, "not too long ago. I remember there was some trouble...."
"And what else?" I interrupted him. Cold moisture was beginning to
collect along my spine now. "The drives, controls--are they in, too?"
"Why, yes," he said. "How did you know? The normal scheduling was
changed around, causing a great deal of unnecessary trouble."
The cold sweat was now a running river of fear. I was beginning to
have the feeling that I had been missing the boat all along the line.
The original estimated date of completion was nearly a year away. But
there was no real reason why that couldn't be changed, too.
"Cars! Guns!" I bellowed. "To the spaceyard. If that ship is anywhere
near completion, we are in big, _big_ trouble!"
* * * * *
All the bored guards had a great time with the sirens, lights,
accelerators on the floor and that sort of thing. We blasted a
screaming hole through the night right to the spaceyard and through the
gate.
It didn't make any difference, we were still too late. A uniformed
watchman frantically waved to us and the whole convoy jerked to a stop.
The ship was gone.
Rocca couldn't believe it, neither could the president. They wandered
up and down the empty ways where it had been built. I just crunched
down in the back of the car, chewing my cigar to pieces and cursing
myself for being a fool.
I had missed the obvious fact, being carried away by the thought of a
planetary government building a warship. The government was involved
for sure--but only as a pawn. No little planet-bound political mind
could have dreamed up as big a scheme as this. I smelled a rat--a
stainless steel one. Someone who operated the way I had done before my
conversion.
Now that the rodent was well out of the bag I knew just where to look,
and had a pretty good idea of what I would find. Rocca, the spaceyard
manager, had staggered back and was pulling at his hair, cursing and
crying at the same time. President Ferraro had his gun out and was
staring at it grimly. It was hard to tell if he was thinking of murder
or suicide. I didn't care which. All he had to worry about was the next
election, when the voters and the political competition would carve him
up for losing the ship. My troubles were a little bigger.
I had to find the battleship before it blasted its way across the
galaxy.
"Rocca!" I shouted. "Get into the car. I want to see your
records--_all_ of your records--and I want to see them right now."
He climbed wearily in and had directed the driver before he fully
realized what was happening. Blinking at the sickly light of dawn
brought him slowly back to reality.
"But admiral ... the hour! Everyone will be asleep...."
I just growled, but it was enough. Rocca caught the idea from my
expression and grabbed the car phone. The office doors were open when
we got there.
Normally I curse the paper tangles of bureaucracy, but this was
one time when I blessed them all. These people had it down to a
fine science. Not a rivet fell, but that its fall was noted--in
quintuplicate. And later followed up with a memo, _rivet, wastage,
query_. The facts I needed were all neatly tucked away in their
paper catacombs. All I had to do was sniff them out. I didn't try
to look for first causes, this would have taken too long. Instead I
concentrated my attention on the recent modifications, like the gun
turret, that would quickly give me a trail to the guilty parties.
Once the clerks understood what I had in mind they hurled themselves
into their work, urged on by the fires of patriotism and the burning
voices of their superiors. All I had to do was suggest a line of search
and the relevant documents would begin appearing at once.
* * * * *
Bit by bit a pattern started to emerge. A delicate web-work of forgery,
bribery, chicanery and falsehood. It could only have been conceived by
a mind as brilliantly crooked as my own. I chewed my lip with jealousy.
Like all great ideas, this one was basically simple.
A party or parties unknown had neatly warped the ship construction
program to their own ends. Undoubtedly they had started the program
for the giant transport, that would have to be checked later. And once
the program was underway, it had been guided with a skill that bordered
on genius. Orders were originated in many places, passed on, changed
and shuffled. I painfully traced each one to its source. Many times the
source was a forgery. Some changes seemed to be unexplainable, until I
noticed the officers in question had a temporary secretary while their
normal assistants were ill. All the girls had had food poisoning, a
regular epidemic it seemed. Each of them in turn had been replaced by
the same girl. She stayed just long enough in each position to see that
the battleship plan moved forward one more notch.
This girl was obviously the assistant to the Mastermind who originated
the scheme. He sat in the center of the plot, like a spider on its web,
pulling the strings that set things into motion. My first thought that
a gang was involved proved wrong. All my secondary suspects turned out
to be simple forgeries, not individuals. In the few cases where forgery
wasn't adequate, my mysterious X had apparently hired himself to do the
job. X himself had the permanent job of Assistant Engineering Designer.
One by one the untangled threads ran to this office. He also had a
secretary whose "illnesses" coincided with her employment in other
offices.
When I straightened up from my desk the ache in my back stabbed
like a hot wire. I swallowed a painkiller and looked around at my
drooping, sack-eyed assistants who had shared the sleepless seventy-two
hour task. They sat or slumped against the furniture, waiting for
my conclusions. Even President Ferraro was there, his hair looking
scraggly where he had pulled out handfuls.
"You've found them, the criminal ring?" he asked, his fingers groping
over his scalp for a fresh hold.
"I have found them, yes," I said hoarsely. "But not a criminal ring. An
inspired master criminal--who apparently has more executive ability in
one ear lobe than all your bribe-bloated bureaucrats--and his female
assistant. They pulled the entire job by themselves. His name, or
undoubtedly pseudoname, is Pepe Nero. The girl is called Angelina...."
"Arrest them at once! Guards ... guards--" Ferraro's voice died away as
he ran out of the room. I talked to his vanishing back.
"That is just what we intend to do, but it's a little difficult at the
moment since they are the ones who not only built the battleship, but
undoubtedly stole it as well. It was fully automated so no crew is
necessary."
"What do you plan to do?" one of the clerks asked.
"I shall do nothing," I told him, with the snapped precision of an old
space veteran. "The League fleet is already closing in on the renegades
and you will be informed of the capture. Thank you for your assistance."
vi
I threw them as snappy a salute as I could muster and they filed out.
Staring gloomily at their backs I envied for one moment their simple
faith in the League Navy. When in reality the vengeful fleet was just
as imaginary as my admiral's rating. This was still a job for the
Corps. Inskipp would have to be given the latest information at once. I
had sent him a psigram about the theft, but there was no answer as yet.
Maybe the identity of the thieves would stir some response out of him.
My message was in code, but it could be quickly broken if someone
wanted to try hard enough. I took it to the message center myself.
The psiman was in his transparent cubicle and I locked myself in with
him. His eyes were unfocused as he spoke softly into a mike, pulling
in a message from somewhere across the galaxy. Outside the rushing
transcribers copied, coded and filed messages, but no sound penetrated
the insulated wall. I waited until his attention clicked back into the
room, and handed him the sheets of paper.
"League Central 14--rush," I told him.
He raised his eyebrows, but didn't ask any questions. Establishing
contact only took a few seconds, as they had an entire battery of
psimen for their communications. He read the code words carefully,
shaping them with his mouth but not speaking aloud, the power of his
thoughts carrying across the light-years of distance. As soon as he was
finished I took back the sheet, tore it up and pocketed the pieces.
I had my answer back quickly enough, Inskipp must have been hovering
around waiting for my message. The mike was turned off to the
transcribers outside, and I took the code groups down in shorthand
myself.
"... xybb dfil fdno, and if you don't--don't come back!"
The message broke into clear at the end and the psiman smiled as he
spoke the words. I broke the point off my stylus and growled at him
not to repeat _any_ of this message, as it was classified, and I
would personally see him shot if he did. That got rid of the smile, but
didn't make me feel any better.
The decoded message turned out not to be as bad as I had imagined.
Until further notice I was in charge of tracking and capturing the
stolen battleship. I could call on the League for any aid I needed. I
would keep my identity as an admiral for the rest of the job. I was to
keep him informed of progress. Only those ominous last words in clear
kept my happiness from being complete.
I had been handed my long-awaited assignment. But translated into
simple terms my orders were to get the battleship, or it would be my
neck. Never a word about my efforts in uncovering the plot in the
first place. This is a heartless world we live in.
This moment of self-pity relaxed me and I immediately went to bed.
Since my main job now was waiting, I could wait just as well asleep.
* * * * *
And waiting was all I could do. Of course there were secondary tasks,
such as ordering a Naval cruiser for my own use, and digging for more
information on the thieves, but these really were secondary to my main
purpose. Which was waiting for bad news. There was no place I could go
that would be better situated for the chase than Cittanuvo. The missing
ship could have gone in any direction. With each passing minute the
sphere of probable locations grew larger by the power of the squared
cube. I kept the on-watch crew of the cruiser at duty stations and
confined the rest within a one hundred yard radius of the ship.
There was little more information on Pepe and Angelina, they had
covered their tracks well. Their backgrounds were unknown, though the
fact they both talked with a slight accent suggested an off-world
origin. There was one dim picture of Pepe, chubby but looking too grim
to be a happy fat boy. There was no picture of the girl. I shuffled
the meager findings, controlled my impatience, and kept the ship's
psiman busy pulling in all the reports of any kind of trouble in space.
The navigator and I plotted their locations in his tank, comparing
the positions in relation to the growing sphere that enclosed all
the possible locations of the stolen ship. Some of the disasters and
apparent accidents hit inside this area, but further investigation
proved them all to have natural causes.
I had left standing orders that all reports falling inside the danger
area were to be brought to me at any time. The messenger woke me from
a deep sleep, turning on the light and handing me the slip of paper.
I blinked myself awake, read the first two lines, and pressed the
_action station_ alarm over my bunk. I'll say this, the Navy boys
know their business. When the sirens screamed, the crew secured ship
and blasted off before I had finished reading the report. As soon as my
eyeballs unsquashed back into focus I read it through, then once more
carefully from the beginning.
It looked like the one we had been waiting for. There were no witnesses
to the tragedy, but a number of monitor stations had picked up the
discharge static of a large energy weapon being fired. Triangulation
had led investigators to the spot where they found a freighter,
_Ogget's Dream_, with a hole punched through it as big as a
railroad tunnel. The freighter's cargo of plutonium was gone.
I read _Pepe_ in every line of the message. Since he was flying
an undermanned battleship, he had used it in the most efficient way
possible. If he attempted to negotiate or threaten another ship, the
element of chance would be introduced. So he had simply roared up to
the unsuspecting freighter and blasted her with the monster guns his
battleship packed. All eighteen men aboard had been killed instantly.
The thieves were also murderers.
I was under pressure now to act. And under a greater pressure not to
make any mistakes. Roly-poly Pepe had shown himself to be a ruthless
killer. He knew what he wanted--then reached out and took it.
Destroying anyone who stood in his way. More people would die before
this was over, it was up to me to keep that number as small as possible.
* * * * *
Ideally I should have rushed out the fleet with guns blazing and
dragged him to justice. Very nice, and I wished it could be done that
way. Except where was he? A battleship may be gigantic on some terms
of reference, but in the immensity of the galaxy it is microscopically
infinitesimal. As long as it stayed out of the regular lanes of
commerce, and clear of detector stations and planets, it would never be
found.
Then how _could_ I find it--and having found it, catch it? When
the infernal thing was more than a match for any ship it might meet.
That was my problem. It had kept me awake nights and talking to myself
days, since there was no easy answer.
I had to construct a solution, slowly and carefully. Since I couldn't
be sure where Pepe was going to be next, I had to make him go where I
wanted him to.
There were some things in my favor. The most important was the fact
I had forced him to make his play before he was absolutely ready. It
wasn't chance that he had left the same day I arrived on Cittanuvo.
Any plan as elaborate as his certainly included warning of approaching
danger. The drive on the battleship, as well as controls and primary
armament had been installed weeks before I showed up. Much of the
subsidiary work remained to be done when the ship had left. One witness
of the theft had graphically described the power lines and cables
dangling from the ship's locks when she lifted.
My arrival had forced Pepe off balance. Now I had to keep pushing until
he fell. This meant I had to think as he did, fall into his plan, think
ahead--then trap him. Set a thief to catch a thief. A great theory,
only I felt uncomfortably on the spot when I tried to put it into
practice.
A drink helped, as did a cigar. Puffing on it, staring at the smooth
bulkhead, relaxed me a bit. After all--there aren't that many things
you can do with a battleship. You can't run a big con, blow safes or
make burmedex with it. It is hell-on-jets for space piracy, but that's
about all.
"Great, great--but why a battleship?"
I was talking to myself, normally a bad sign, but right now I didn't
care. The mood of space piracy had seized me and I had been going along
fine. Until this glaring inconsistency jumped out and hit me square in
the eye.
Why a battleship? Why all the trouble and years of work to get a ship
that two people could just barely manage? With a tenth of the effort
Pepe could have had a cruiser that would have suited his purposes just
as well.
Just as good for space piracy, that is--but not for _his_
purposes. He had wanted a battleship, and he had gotten himself a
battleship. Which meant he had more in mind than simple piracy.
What? It was obvious that Pepe was a monomaniac, an egomaniac, and
as psychotic as a shorted computer. Some day the mystery of how he
had slipped through the screen of official testing would have to be
investigated. That wasn't my concern now. He still had to be caught.
* * * * *
A plan was beginning to take shape in my head, but I didn't rush it.
First I had to be sure that I knew him well. Any man that can con an
entire world into building a battleship for him--then steal it from
them--is not going to stop there. The ship would need a crew, a base
for refueling and a mission.
Fuel had been taken care of first, the gutted hull of _Ogget's
Dream_ was silent witness to that. There were countless planets that
could be used as a base. Getting a crew would be more difficult in
these peaceful times, although I could think of a few answers to that
one, too. Raid the mental hospitals and jails. Do that often enough and
you would have a crew that would make any pirate chief proud. Though
piracy was, of course, too mean an ambition to ascribe to this boy. Did
he want to rule a whole planet--or maybe an entire system? Or more? I
shuddered a bit as the thought hit me. Was there really anything that
could stop a plan like this once it got rolling? During the Kingly Wars
any number of types with a couple of ships and less brains than Pepe
had set up just this kind of empire. They were all pulled down in the
end, since their success depended on one-man rule. But the price that
had to be paid first!
This was the plan and I felt in my bones that I was right. I might
be wrong on some of the minor details, they weren't important. I knew
the general outline of the idea, just as when I bumped into a mark I
knew how much he could be taken for, and just how to do it. There are
natural laws in crime as in every other field of human endeavor. I
_knew_ this was it.
"Get the Communications Officer in here at once," I shouted at the
intercom. "Also a couple of clerks with transcribers. And fast--this is
a matter of life or death!" This last had a hollow ring, and I realized
my enthusiasm had carried me out of character. I buttoned my collar,
straightened my ribbons and squared my shoulders. By the time they
knocked on the door I was all admiral again.
Acting on my orders the ship dropped out of warpdrive so our psiman
could get through to the other operators. Captain Steng grumbled as we
floated there with the engines silent, wasting precious days, while
half his crew was involved in getting out what appeared to be insane
instructions. My plan was beyond his understanding. Which is, of
course, why he is a captain and I'm an admiral, even a temporary one.
Following my orders, the navigator again constructed a sphere of
speculation in his tank. The surface of the sphere contacted all the
star systems a day's flight ahead of the maximum flight of the stolen
battleship. There weren't too many of these at first and the psiman
could handle them all, calling each in turn and sending news releases
to the Naval Public Relations officers there. As the sphere kept
growing he started to drop behind, steadily losing ground. By this time
I had a general release prepared, along with directions for use and
follow up, which he sent to Central 14. The battery of psimen there
contacted the individual planets and all we had to do was keep adding
to the list of planets.
The release and follow-ups all harped on one theme. I expanded on it,
waxed enthusiastic, condemned it, and worked it into an interview. I
wrote as many variations as I could, so it could be slipped into as
many different formats as possible. In one form or another I wanted the
basic information in every magazine, newspaper and journal inside that
expanding sphere.
"What in the devil does this nonsense _mean_?" Captain Steng asked
peevishly. He had long since given up the entire operation as a futile
one, and spent most of the time in his cabin worrying about the effect
of it on his service record. Boredom or curiosity had driven him out,
and he was reading one of my releases with horror.
"Billionaire to found own world ... space yacht filled with luxuries
to last a hundred years," the captain's face grew red as he flipped
through the stack of notes. "What connection does this tripe have with
catching those murderers?"
* * * * *
When we were alone he was anything but courteous to me, having assured
himself by not-too-subtle questioning that I was a spurious admiral.
There was no doubt I was still in charge, but our relationship was
anything but formal.
"This tripe and nonsense," I told him, "is the bait that will snag our
fish. A trap for Pepe and his partner in crime."
"Who is this mysterious billionaire?"
"Me," I said. "I've always wanted to be rich."
"But this ship, the space yacht, where is it?"
"Being built now in the naval shipyard at Udrydde. We're almost ready
to go there now, soon as this batch of instructions goes out."
Captain Steng dropped the releases onto the table, then carefully wiped
his hands off to remove any possible infection. He was trying to be
fair and considerate of my views, and not succeeding in the slightest.
"It doesn't make sense," he growled. "How can you be sure this killer
will ever read one of these things. And if he does--why should he be
interested? It looks to me as if you are wasting time while he slips
through your fingers. The alarm should be out and every ship notified.
The Navy alerted and patrols set on all spacelanes--"
"Which he could easily avoid by going around, or better yet not even
bother about, since he can lick any ship we have. That's not the
answer," I told him. "This Pepe is smart and as tricky as a fixed
gambling machine. That's his strength--and his weakness as well.
Characters like that never think it possible for someone else to
outthink them. Which is what _I'm_ going to do."
"Modest, aren't you," Steng said.
"I try not to be," I told him. "False modesty is the refuge of the
incompetent. I'm going to catch this thug and I'll tell you how I'll
do it. He's going to hit again soon, and wherever he hits there will
be some kind of a periodical with my plant in it. Whatever else he is
after, he is going to take all of the magazines and papers he can find.
Partly to satisfy his own ego, but mostly to keep track of the things
he is interested in. Such as ship sailings."
"You're just guessing--you don't know all this."
His automatic assumption of my incompetence was beginning to get me
annoyed. I bridled my temper and tried one last time.
"Yes, I'm guessing--an informed guess--but I do know some facts as
well. _Ogget's Dream_ was cleaned out of all reading matter, that
was one of the first things I checked. We can't stop the battleship
from attacking again, but we can see to it that the time after that she
sails into a trap."
"I don't know," the captain said, "it sounds to me like...."
I never heard what it sounded like, which is all right since he
was getting under my skin and I might have been tempted to pull my
pseudo-rank. The alarm sirens cut his sentence off and we foot-raced to
the communications room.
Captain Steng won by a nose, it was his ship and he knew all the
shortcuts. The psiman was holding out a transcription, but he summed it
up in one sentence. He looked at me while he talked and his face was
hard and cold.
"They hit again, knocked out a Navy supply satellite, thirty-four men
dead."
"If your plan doesn't work, _admiral_," the captain whispered
hoarsely in my ear, "I'll personally see that you're flayed alive!"
"If my plan doesn't work, _captain_--there won't be enough of my
skin left to pick up with a tweezer. Now if you please, I'd like to get
to Udrydde and board my ship as soon as possible."
The easy-going hatred and contempt of all my associates had annoyed me,
thrown me off balance. I was thinking with anger now, not with logic.
Forcing a bit of control, I ordered my thoughts, checking off a mental
list.
"Belay that last command," I shouted, getting back into my old
space-dog mood. "Get a call through first and find out if any of our
plants were picked up during the raid."
While the psiman unfocused his eyes and mumbled under his breath I
rifled some papers, relaxed and cool. The ratings and officers waited
tensely, and made some slight attempt to conceal their hatred of me. It
took about ten minutes to get an answer.
"Affirmative," the psiman said. "A store ship docked there twenty hours
before the attack. Among other things, it left newspapers containing
the article."
"Very good," I said calmly. "Send a general order to suspend all future
activity with the planted releases. Send it by psimen only, no mention
on any other Naval signaling equipment, there's a good chance now it
might be 'overheard.'"
I strolled out slowly, in command of the situation. Keeping my face
turned away so they couldn't see the cold sweat.
* * * * *
It was a fast run to Udrydde where my billionaire's yacht, the
_Eldorado_, was waiting. The dockyard commander showed me the
ship, and made a noble effort to control his curiosity. I took a
sadistic revenge on the Navy by not telling him a word about my
mission. After checking out the controls and special apparatus with
the technicians, I cleared the ship. There was a tape in the automatic
navigator that would put me on the course mentioned in all the
articles, just a press of a button and I would be on my way. I pressed
the button.
It was a beautiful ship, and the dockyard had been lavish with their
attention to detail. From bow to rear tubes she was plated in pure
gold. There are other metals with a higher albedo, but none that
give a richer effect. All the fittings, inside and out, were either
machine-turned or plated. All this work could not have been done in the
time allotted, the Navy must have adapted a luxury yacht to my needs.
Everything was ready. Either Pepe would make his move--or I would sail
on to my billionaire's paradise planet. If that happened, it would be
best if I stayed there.
Now that I was in space, past the point of no return, all the doubts
that I had dismissed fought for attention. The plan that had seemed so
clear and logical now began to look like a patched and crazy makeshift.
"Hold on there, sailor," I said to myself. Using my best admiral's
voice. "Nothing has changed. It's still the best and _only_ plan
possible under the circumstances."
Was it? Could I be sure that Pepe, flying his mountain of a ship and
eating Navy rations, would be interested in some of the comforts and
luxuries of life? Or if the luxuries didn't catch his eye, would he be
interested in the planetary homesteading gear? I had loaded the cards
with all the things he might want, and planted the information where he
could get it. He had the bait now--but would he grab the hook?
I couldn't tell. And I could work myself into a neurotic state if I
kept running through the worry cycle. It took an effort to concentrate
on anything else, but it had to be made. The next four days passed very
slowly.
vii
When the alarm blew off, all I felt was an intense sensation of relief.
I might be dead and blasted to dust in the next few minutes, but that
didn't seem to make much difference.
Pepe had swallowed the bait. There was only one ship in the galaxy that
could knock back a blip that big at such a distance. It was closing
fast, using the raw energy of the battleship engines for a headlong
approach. My ship bucked a bit as the tug-beams locked on at maximum
distance. The radio bleeped at me for attention at the same time. I
waited as long as I dared, then flipped it on. The voice boomed out.
"... That you are under the guns of a warship! Don't attempt to run,
signal, take evasive action, or in any other way...."
"Who are you--and what the devil do you want?" I spluttered into the
mike. I had my scanner on, so they could see me, but my own screen
stayed dark. They weren't sending any picture. In a way it made my
act easier, I just played to an unseen audience. They could see the
rich cut of my clothes, the luxurious cabin behind me. Of course they
couldn't see my hands.
"It doesn't matter who we are," the radio boomed again. "Just obey
orders if you care to live. Stay away from the controls until we have
tied on, then do exactly as I say."
There were two distant clangs as magnetic grapples hit the hull. A
little later the ship lurched, drawn home against the battleship. I
let my eyes roll in fear, looking around for a way to escape--and
taking a peek at the outside scanners. The yacht was flush against the
space-filling bulk of the other ship. I pressed the button that sent
the torch-wielding robot on his way.
* * * * *
"Now let me tell you something," I snapped into the mike, wiping
away the worried billionaire expression. "First I'll repeat your own
warning--obey orders if you want to live. I'll show you why--"
When I threw the big switch a carefully worked out sequence took place.
First, of course, the hull was magnetized and the bombs fused. A light
blinked as the scanner in the cabin turned off, and the one in the
generator room came on. I checked the monitor screen to make sure, then
started into the spacesuit. It had to be done fast, at the same time it
was necessary to talk naturally. They must still think of me as sitting
in the control room.
"That's the ship's generators you're looking at," I said. "Ninety-eight
per cent of their output is now feeding into coils that make an
electromagnet of this ship's hull. You will find it very hard to
separate us. And I would advise you not to try."
The suit was on, and I kept the running chatter up through the mike
in the helmet, relaying to the ship's transmitter. The scene in the
monitor receiver changed.
"You are now looking at a hydrogen bomb that is primed and aware of the
magnetic field holding our ships together. It will, of course, go off
if you try to pull away." I grabbed up the monitor receiver and ran
toward the air lock.
"This is a different bomb now," I said, keeping one eye on the screen
and the other on the slowly opening outer door. "This one has receptors
on the hull. If you attempt to destroy any part of this ship, or even
gain entry to it, this one will detonate."
I was in space now, leaping across to the gigantic wall of the other
ship.
"What do you want?" These were the first words Pepe had spoken since
his first threats.
"I want to talk to you, arrange a deal. Something that would be
profitable for both of us. But let me first show you the rest of the
bombs, so you won't get any strange ideas about co-operating."
Of course I _had_ to show him the rest of the bombs, there was no
getting out of it. The scanners in the ship were following a planned
program. I made light talk about all my massive armament that would
carry us both to perdition, while I climbed through the hole in the
battleship's hull. There was no armor or warning devices at this spot,
it had been chosen carefully from the blueprints.
"Yeah, yeah ... I take your word for it, you're a flying bomb. So stop
with this roving reporter bit and tell me what you have in mind."
This time I didn't answer him, because I was running and panting like
a dog, and had the mike turned off. Just ahead, if the blueprints were
right, was the door to the control room. Pepe should be there.
I stepped through, gun out, and pointed it at the back of his head.
Angelina stood next to him, looking at the screen.
"The game's over," I said. "Stand up slowly and keep your hands in
sight."
"What do you mean," he said angrily, looking at the screen in front of
him. The girl caught wise first. She spun around and pointed.
"He's _here_!"
They both stared, gaped at me, caught off guard and completely
unprepared.
"You're under arrest, crime-king," I told him. "And your girl friend."
Angelina rolled her eyes up and slid slowly to the floor. Real or
faked, I didn't care. I kept the gun on Pepe's pudgy form while he
picked her up and carried her to an acceleration couch against the wall.
"What ... what will happen now?" He quavered the question. His pouchy
jaws shook and I swear there were tears in his eyes. I was not
impressed by his acting since I could clearly remember the dead men
floating in space. He stumbled over to a chair, half dropping into it.
"Will they do anything to me?" Angelina asked. Her eyes were open now.
"I have no idea of what will happen to you." I told her truthfully.
"That is up to the courts to decide."
"But he _made_ me do all those things," she wailed. She was young,
dark and beautiful, the tears did nothing to spoil this.
Pepe dropped his face into his hands and his shoulders shook. I flicked
the gun his way and snapped at him.
"Sit up, Pepe. I find it very hard to believe that you are crying.
There are some Naval ships on the way now, the automatic alarm was
triggered about a minute ago. I'm sure they'll be glad to see the man
who...."
"Don't let them take me, please!" Angelina was on her feet now, her
back pressed to the wall. "They'll put me in prison, do things to my
mind!" She shrunk away as she spoke, stumbling along the wall. I looked
back at Pepe, not wanting to have my eyes off him for an instant.
"There's nothing I can do," I told her. I glanced her way and a small
door was swinging open and she was gone.
"Don't try to run," I shouted after her, "it can't do any good!"
Pepe made a strangling noise and I looked back to him quickly. He was
sitting up now and his face was dry of tears. In fact he was laughing,
not crying.
"So she caught you, too, Mr. Wise-cop, poor little Angelina with the
soft eyes." He broke down again, shaking with laughter.
"What do you mean," I growled.
"Don't you catch yet? The story she told you was true--except she
twisted it around a bit. The whole plan, building the battleship, then
stealing it, was _hers_. She pulled me into it, played me like an
accordion. I fell in love with her, hating myself and happy at the same
time. Well--I'm glad now it's over. At least I gave her a chance to get
away, I owe her that much. Though I thought I would explode when she
went into that innocence act!"
The cold feeling was now a ball of ice that threatened to paralyze me.
"You're lying," I said hoarsely, and even I didn't believe it.
"Sorry. That's the way it is. Your brain-boys will pick my skull to
pieces and find out the truth anyway. There's no point in lying now."
"We'll search the ship, she can't hide for long."
"She won't have to," Pepe said. "There's a fast scout we picked up,
stowed in one of the holds. That must be it leaving now." We could feel
the vibration, distantly through the floor.
"The Navy will get her," I told him, with far more conviction than I
felt.
"Maybe," he said, suddenly slumped and tired, no longer laughing.
"Maybe they will. But I gave her her chance. It is all over for me
now, but she knows that I loved her to the end." He bared his teeth in
sudden pain. "Not that she will care in the slightest."
I kept the gun on him and neither of us moved while the Navy ships
pulled up and their boots stamped outside. I had captured my battleship
and the raids were over. And I couldn't be blamed if the girl had
slipped away. If she evaded the Navy ships, that was their fault, not
mine.