The Misplaced Battleship
A quick stop at supply and record sections gave me everything I needed.
The sun was barely clear of the horizon when the silver needle 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 custom 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 hand-clasp 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 was 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 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 fake."
"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