The Misplaced Battleship | Page 4

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.