I was even more surprised when I joined them. Of course there was a
little pressure at the time. I had the alternative choice of instant
death. But I still think it was a wise move. Under the motto “Set a
thief to catch one,” the Corps supposedly made good use of men like
myself to get rid of the more antisocial types that infest the universe.

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

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

One of my most effective mottoes has always been, “Secrecy can be an
obviousity.” What the magicians call misdirection. Let 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.”