THE MISPLACED BATTLESHIP
By HARRY HARRISON
It might seem a little careless to lose track of something asbig as a battleship ... but interstellar space is on a differentscale of magnitude. But a misplaced battleship—in thewrong hands!—can be most dangerous.
Illustrated by Schoenherr
HEN it comes to pickinglocks and crackingsafes I admit to nomaster. The door to Inskipp'sprivate quartershad an old-fashioned tumbler drumthat was easier to pick than my teeth.I must have gone through that doorwithout breaking step. Quiet as Iwas though, Inskipp still heard me.The light came on and there he wassitting up in bed pointing a .75 caliberrecoilless at my sternum.
"You should have more brainsthan that, diGriz," he snarled."Creeping into my room at night!You could have been shot."
"No I couldn't," I told him, as hestowed the cannon back under hispillow. "A man with a curiositybump as big as yours will always talkfirst and shoot later. And besides—noneof this pussyfooting around inthe dark would be necessary if yourscreen was open and I could havegot a call through."
Inskipp yawned and poured himselfa glass of water from the dispenserunit above the bed. "Justbecause I head the Special Corps,doesn't mean that I am the SpecialCorps," he said moistly while hedrained the glass. "I have to sleepsometime. My screen is open onlyfor emergency calls, not for everyagent who needs his hand held."
"Meaning I am in the hand-holdingcategory?" I asked with as muchsweetness as I could.
"Put yourself in any category youplease," he grumbled as he slumpeddown in the bed. "And also putyourself out into the hall and see metomorrow during working hours."
He was at my mercy, really. Hewanted sleep so much. And he wasgoing to be wide awake so very soon.
"Do you know what this is?" Iasked him, poking a large glossy picunder his long broken nose. Oneeye opened slowly.
"Big warship of some kind, lookslike Empire lines. Now for the lasttime—go away!" he said.
"A very good guess for this lateat night," I told him cheerily. "Itis a late Empire battleship of theWarlord class. Undoubtedly one ofthe most truly efficient engines ofdestruction ever manufactured. Overa half mile of defensive screens andarmament, that could probably turnany fleet existent today into fineradioactive ash—"
"Except for the fact that the lastone was broken up for scrap over athousand years ago," he mumbled.
I leaned over and put my lips closeto his ear. So there would be nochance of misunderstanding. Speakingsoftly, but clearly.
"True, true," I said. "But wouldn'tyou be just a little bit interested ifI was to tell you that one is beingbuilt today?"
Oh, it was beautiful to watch. Thecovers went one way and Inskippwent the other. In a single unfolding,in concerted motion he left thehorizontal and recumbent and stoodtensely vertical against the wall. Examiningthe pic of the battleshipunder the light. He apparently didnot believe in pajama bottoms andit hurt me to see the goose-bumpsrising on those thin shanks. But ifthe legs were thin, the voice wasmore than full enough to make upfor the difference.
"Talk, blast you diGriz—talk!" heroared. "What is this nonsense abouta battleship? Who's building it?"
I had my nail file out and wastouching up a cuticle, holding it outfor inspection before I said anything.From the corner of my eye I couldsee him getting purple about theface—but he kept quie