Recording by Phil Chenevert
Chapter 1
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 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, in 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 battleships.
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 battlewagon. 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 going on. 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.
Since my forced induction into the Corps six
months earlier I had been stuck on this super-secret
planetoid that was its headquarters and main
base. I had very little sitting-down patience
anyway, and it had been long since exhausted.
It had been interesting at first. Particularly
since up until the time I was drafted into
the Special Corps I wasn't even certain it
really existed. It was too much like a con
man's nightmare to be real. A secret worry.
After a few happy years of successful crime
you begin to wonder how long it will last.
Planetary police are all pushovers and you
start to feel you can go on forever if they're
your only competition. What about the League
though? Don't they take any interest in crime?
Just about that time you hear your first rumor
of the Special Corps and it fits the bad dreams.
A shadowy, powerful group that slip silently
between the stars, ready to bring the interstellar
lawbreaker low. Sounds like TV drama stuff.
I had been quite surprised to find they really
existed.
I was even more surprised when I joined them.
Of course there was a little pressure at the
time. I had the alternative choice of instant
death. But I still think it was a wise move.
Under the motto "Set a thief to catch one,"
the Corps supposedly made good use of men
like myself to get rid of the more antisocial
types that infest the universe.
This was still all hearsay to me. I had been
pulled into headquarters and given routine
administration work for training. Six months
of this had me slightly ga-ga and I wanted
out. Since no one seemed to be in a hurry
to give me an assignment I had found one for
myself. I had no idea of what would come if
it, but I also had no intention of returning
until the job was done.
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.
End of section 1
Chapter 2
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
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 webwork 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 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 dog. "The
League fleet is already closing in on the
renegades and you will be informed of the
capture. Thank you for your assistance."
End of section 2
Section 3
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 origin was 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 lead
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 now 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 days 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 by 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 affect 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?"
End of section 3
Section 4
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 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 pick up 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 riffled 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.
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
towards 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. Attempt to destroy any part of
this ship, or even gain entry to it, and 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.
I had my victory all right.
Then why did it taste like ashes in my mouth?
It's a big galaxy, but it wasn't going to
be big enough to hide Angelina now. I can
be conned once but only once. The next time
we met things were going to be very different.
End of section 4
End of the misplaced battleship by Harry Harrison.
