The Misplaced Battleship

by Harry Harrison

theyproduce. No hereditary enemies, feuds or the like. If it wasn't for thisbattleship thing, I would call them an ideal League planet. I have toknow 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. Voicechill as the icecap. "I still give the orders and I'll tell you whenyou're ready for an independent command."

  I was sweetness and light because a lot depended on his decision. "Justtrying 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 thatas well as any of the experienced operators. And it may give me theexperience I need, so that some day, I, too, will be qualified to jointhe 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. Nothingelse--and that's an order."

  By the way he said it, I knew he thought there was little chance of itshappening that way. Since my forced induction into the Corps six monthsearlier I had been stuck on this super-secret planetoid that was itsheadquarters and main base. I had very little sitting-down patienceanyway, and it had been long since exhausted.

  * * * * *

  It had been interesting at first. Particularly since up until the timeI was drafted into the Special Corps I wasn't even certain it reallyexisted. It was too much like a con man's nightmare to be real. A secretworry. After a few happy years of successful crime you begin to wonderhow long it will last. Planetary police are all pushovers and you startto feel you can go on forever if they're your only competition. Whatabout the League though? Don't they take any interest in crime? Justabout that time you hear your first rumor of the Special Corps and itfits the bad dreams. A shadowy, powerful group that slip silentlybetween the stars, ready to bring the interstellar lawbreaker low.Sounds like TV drama stuff. I had been quite surprised to find theyreally existed.

  I was even more surprised when I joined them. Of course there was alittle pressure at the time. I had the alternative choice of instantdeath. But I still think it was a wise move. Under the motto "Set athief to catch one," the Corps supposedly made good use of men likemyself to get rid of the more antisocial types that infest the universe.

  This was still all hearsay to me. I had been pulled into headquartersand given routine administration work for training. Six months of thishad me slightly ga-ga and I wanted out. Since no one seemed to be in ahurry to give me an assignment I had found one for myself. I had no ideaof what would come if it, but I also had no intention of returning untilthe 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 myship lifted in the gray field, then blasted into space.

  The trip took only a few days, more than enough time to memorizeeverything I needed to know about Cittanuvo. And the more I knew theless I could understand their need for a battleship. It didn't fit.Cittanuvo was a secondary settlement out of the Cellini system, and Ihad run into these settlements before. They were all united in a loosealliance 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 outof my mind and worked on some tri-di chess problems. This filled thetime until Cittanuvo blinked into the bow screen.

  One of my most effective mottoes has always been, "Secrecy can be anobviousity." What the magicians call misdirection. Let people veryobviously see what you want them to see, then they'll never notice whatis hidden. This was why I landed at midday, on the largest field on theplanet, 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, Istamped down the ramp. The sturdy little M-3 robot rumbled after me withmy bags. Heading directly towards the main gate, I ignored the scurry ofactivity around the customs building. Only when a uniformedunder-official of some kind ran over to me, did I give the field anyattention.

  Before he could talk I did, foot in the door and stay on top.

  "Beautiful planet you have here. Delightful climate! Ideal spot for acountry home. Friendly people, always willing to help strangers and allthat I imagine. That's what I like. Makes me feel grateful. Very pleasedto meet you. I am the Grand Duke Sant' Angelo." I shook his handenthusiastically at this point and let a one hundred credit note slipinto his palm.

  "Now," I added, "I wonder if you would ask the customs agents to look atmy bags here. Don't want to waste time, do we? The ship is open, theycan check that whenever they please."

  My manner, clothes, jewelry, the easy way I passed money around and theluxurious sheen of my bags, could mean only one thing. There was littlethat was worth smuggling into or out of Cittanuvo. Certainly nothing arich man would be interested in. The official murmured something with asmile, 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 oneor two for conformity's sake, and waved me through. I shook hands allaround--a rustling hand-clasp of course--then was on my way. A cab wassummoned, a hotel suggested. I nodded agreement and settled back whilethe robot loaded the bags about me.

  * * * * *

  The ship was completely clean. Everything I might need for the job wasin my luggage. Some of it quite lethal and explosive, and veryembarrassing if it was discovered in my bags. In the safety of my hotelsuite I made a change of clothes and personality. After the robot hadchecked the rooms for bugs.

  And very nice gadgets too, these Corps robots. It looked and acted likea moron M-3 all the time. It was anything but. The brain was as good asany other robot brain I have known, plus the fact that the chunky bodywas crammed with devices and machines of varying use. It chugged slowlyaround the room, moving my bags and laying out my kit. And all the timefollowing a careful route that covered every inch of the suite. When ithad finished it stopped and called the all-clear.

  "All rooms checked. Results negative except for one optic bug in thatwall."

  "Should you be pointing like that?" I asked the robot. "Might makepeople suspicious, you know."

  "Impossible," the robot said with mechanical surety. "I brushed againstit and it is now unserviceable."

  With this assurance I pulled off my flashy clothes and slipped into themidnight black dress uniform of an admiral in the League Grand Fleet. Itcame complete with decorations, gold bullion, and all the necessarydocuments. I thought it a little showy myself, but it was just the thingto make the right impression on Cittanuvo. Like many other planets, thisone was uniform-conscious. Delivery boys, street cleaners, clerks--allhad to have characteristic uniforms. Much prestige attached to them, andmy 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 thegold-encrusted helmet and a brief case of papers were a problem. I hadnever explored all the possibilities of the pseudo M-3 robot, perhaps itcould be of help.

  "You there, short and chunky," I called. "Do you have any concealedcompartments or drawers built into your steel hide? If so, let's see."

  For a second I thought the robot had exploded. The thing had moredrawers 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 stuffedwith grenades; the rest were empty. I put the hat in one, the brief casein another and snapped my fingers. The drawers slid shut and its metalhide was as smooth as ever.

  I pulled on a fancy sports cap, buckled the cape up tight, and was readyto go. The luggage was all booby-trapped and could defend itself. Guns,gas, poison needles, the usual sort of thing. In the last resort itwould blow itself up. The M-3 went down by a f
reight elevator. I used aback stairs and we met in the street.

  Since it was still daylight I didn't take a heli, but rented a groundcarinstead. We had a leisurely drive out into the country and reachedPresident 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 tookmyself and a three hundred fifty kilo robot through the guards andalarms without causing the slightest stir. President Ferraro, abachelor, was eating his dinner. This gave me enough undisturbed time tosearch his study.

  There was absolutely nothing. Nothing to do with wars or battleshipsthat is. If I had been interested in blackmail I had enough evidence inmy hand to support me for life. I was looking for something bigger thanpolitical corruption, however.

  When Ferraro rolled into his study after dinner the room was dark. Iheard 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 downwith a pistol--and as fierce a scowl as I could raise smeared across myface. 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 nochoice except to obey. When he saw the papers on the desk his eyesbulged and he just gurgled a little. Before he could recover I threw athick folder in front of him.

  "I am Admiral Thar, League Grand Fleet. These are my credentials. Youhad better check them." Since they were as good as any real admiral's Ididn't worry in the slightest. Ferraro went through them as carefully ashe could in his rattled state, even checking the seals under UV. It gavehim 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 couldmuster.

  Ferraro's tanned face went a dirty gray at my words. I pressed theadvantage.

  "I am arresting you for conspiracy, extortion, theft, and whatever othercharges develop after a careful review of these documents. Seize him."This last order was directed at the robot who was well briefed in itsrole. 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 havethere, so I wouldn't attempt to say they are all forgeries. I have manyenemies you know. If the League knew the difficulties faced on abackward planet like this...."

  "That will be entirely enough," I snapped, cutting him off with a waveof my hand. "All those questions will be answered by a court at theproper time. There is only one question I want an answer to now. Why areyou building that battleship?"

  * * * * *

  The man was a great actor. His eyes opened wide, his jaw dropped, hesank 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 hadalready registered every evidence of injured innocence.

  "What battleship!" he gasped.

  "The Warlord class battleship that is being built at the CenerentolaSpaceyards. Disguised behind these blueprints." I threw them across thedesk 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 finallyput them down, shaking his head.

  "I know nothing about any battleship. These are the plans for a newcargo liner. Those are my initials, I recall putting them there."

  I phrased my question carefully, as I had him right where I wanted himnow. "You deny any knowledge of the Warlord battleship that is beingbuilt from these modified plans."

  "These are the plans for an ordinary passenger-freighter, that is all Iknow."

  His words had the simple innocence of a young child's. Was he evercaught. I sat back with a relaxed sigh and lit a cigar.

  "Wouldn't you be interested in knowing something about that robot who isholding you," I said. He looked down, as if aware for the first timethat the robot had been holding him by the wrist during the interview."That is no ordinary robot. It has a number of interesting devices builtinto 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 andfast 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 poisonoussnake. I blew a relaxed smoke ring. "Report," I said to the robot. "Hasthis man told any lies?"

  "Many," the robot said. "Exactly seventy-four per cent of all statementshe made were fake."

  "Very good," I nodded, throwing the last lock on my trap. "That means heknows 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 weretrue."

  Now it was my turn for the gaping and eye-popping act while Ferraropulled himself together. He had no idea I wasn't interested in his otherhanky-panky, but could tell I had had a low blow. It took an effort, butI managed to get my mind back into gear and consider the evidence.

  If President Ferraro didn't know about the battleship, he must havebeen taken in by the cover-up job. But if he wasn't responsible--whowas? Some militaristic clique that meant to overthrow him and takepower? I didn't know enough about the planet, so I enlisted Ferraro onmy side.

  This was easy--even without the threat of exposure of the documents Ihad found in his files. Using their disclosure as a prod I could havemade him jump through hoops. It wasn't necessary. As soon as I showedhim the different blueprints and explained the possibilities heunderstood. If anything, he was more eager than I was to find out whowas using his administration as a cat's-paw. By silent agreement thedocuments were forgotten.

  We agreed that the next logical step would be the CenerentolaSpaceyards. He had some idea of sniffing around quietly first, trying toget a line to his political opponents. I gave him to understand that theLeague, and the League Navy in particular, wanted to stop theconstruction of the battleship. After that he could play his politics.With this point understood he called his car and squadron of guards andwe made a parade to the shipyards. It was a four-hour drive and we madeplans on the way down.

  * * * * *

  The spaceyard manager was named Rocca, and he was happily asleep when wearrived. But not for long. The parade of uniforms and guns in the middleof 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 mancould have looked so terror stricken. Taking advantage of the situation,I latched my motorized lie detector onto him and began snapping thequestions.

  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 thatwas building the ship had no idea of its true nature.

  Anyone with less self-esteem than myself--or who had led a more honestearly life--might have doubted his own reasoning at that moment. Ididn'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 acoincidence to expect. Occam's razor always points the way. If there aretwo choices to take, take the simpler. In this case I chose the naturalacquisitive 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 hitmy eye. In order to turn the ship into a warship that would have to beone 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 stillbeing built onto the ship?" />
  He shook his head at once and said, "No, the plans were changed. We hadto fit in some kind of new meteor-repelling gear for operating in theplanetary debris belt."

  I flipped through my case and drew out a plan. "Does your new gear lookanything 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 mydepartment, I'm just responsible for final assembly, not unit work. Butthis surely looks like the thing they installed. Big thing. Lots ofpower leads--"

  It was a battleship all right, no doubt of that now. I was mentallyreaching around to pat myself on the back when the meaning of his wordssank 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 tocollect along my spine now. "The drives, controls--are they in, too?"

  "Why, yes," he said. "How did you know? The normal scheduling waschanged around, causing a great deal of unnecessary trouble."

  The cold sweat was now a running river of fear. I was beginning to havethe feeling that I had been missing the boat all along the line. Theoriginal estimated date of completion was nearly a year away. But therewas no real reason why that couldn't be changed, too.

  "Cars!