Planet of the Damned and Other Stories: A Science Fiction Anthology (Five Books in One Volume!) by Harry Harrison

information in every magazine, newspaper and journal inside that expanding sphere.
    "What in the devil does this nonsense mean ?" Captain Steng asked peevishly. He had long since given up the entire operation as a futile one, and spent most of the time in his cabin worrying about the affect of it on his service record. Boredom or curiosity had driven him out, and he was reading one of my releases with horror.
    "Billionaire to found own world ... space yacht filled with luxuries to last a hundred years," the captain's face grew red as he flipped through the stack of notes. "What connection does this tripe have with catching those murderers?"

    When we were alone he was anything but courteous to me, having assured himself by not-too-subtle questioning that I was a spurious admiral. There was no doubt I was still in charge, but our relationship was anything but formal.
    "This tripe and nonsense," I told him, "is the bait that will snag our fish. A trap for Pepe and his partner in crime."
    "Who is this mysterious billionaire?"
    "Me," I said. "I've always wanted to be rich."
    "But this ship, the space yacht, where is it?"
    "Being built now in the naval shipyard at Udrydde. We're almost ready to go there now, soon as this batch of instructions goes out."
    Captain Steng dropped the releases onto the table, then carefully wiped his hands off to remove any possible infection. He was trying to be fair and considerate of my views, and not succeeding in the slightest.
    "It doesn't make sense," he growled. "How can you be sure this killer will ever read one of these things. And if he does—why should he be interested? It looks to me as if you are wasting time while he slips through your fingers. The alarm should be out and every ship notified. The Navy alerted and patrols set on all spacelanes—"
    "Which he could easily avoid by going around, or better yet not even bother about, since he can lick any ship we have. That's not the answer," I told him. "This Pepe is smart and as tricky as a fixed gambling machine. That's his strength—and his weakness as well. Characters like that never think it possible for someone else to outthink them. Which is what I'm going to do."
    "Modest, aren't you," Steng said.
    "I try not to be," I told him. "False modesty is the refuge of the incompetent. I'm going to catch this thug and I'll tell you how I'll do it. He's going to hit again soon, and wherever he hits there will be some kind of a periodical with my plant in it. Whatever else he is after, he is going to take all of the magazines and papers he can find. Partly to satisfy his own ego, but mostly to keep track of the things he is interested in. Such as ship sailings."
    "You're just guessing—you don't know all this."
    His automatic assumption of my incompetence was beginning to get me annoyed. I bridled my temper and tried one last time.
    "Yes, I'm guessing—an informed guess—but I do know some facts as well. Ogget's Dream was cleaned out of all reading matter, that was one of the first things I checked. We can't stop the battleship from attacking again, but we can see to it that the time after that she sails into a trap."
    "I don't know," the captain said, "it sounds to me like...."
    I never heard what it sounded like, which is all right since he was getting under my skin and might have been tempted to pull my pseudo-rank. The alarm sirens cut his sentence off and we foot-raced to the communications room.
    Captain Steng won by a nose, it was his ship and he knew all the shortcuts. The psiman was holding out a transcription, but he summed it up in one sentence. He looked at me while he talked and his face was hard and cold.
    "They hit again, knocked out a Navy supply satellite, thirty-four men dead."
    "If your plan doesn't work, admiral ," the captain whispered hoarsely in my ear, "I'll personally see that you're flayed alive!"
    "If my plan doesn't work, captain —there won't be enough of my skin left to pick up with a tweezer. Now if you