The Misplaced Battleship | Page 8

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 Each of them in turn had been
replaced by the same girl.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."
* * * * *
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