The Misplaced Battleship | Page 7

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