"Roughly cylindrical"—in surprise. "They're hiding a lot of stuff, of course, but they can't possibly—"
"I'm afraid that they can, and will. I've been checking up on the building. Ten years old. Plans and permits QX except for the fact that nobody knows whether or not the inside of the building resembles the plans in any particular."
"Klono's whiskers!" Kinnison was aghast, his mind racing. "How could that be, chief? Inspectors—builders—contractors—workmen?"
"The city inspector who had the job came into money later, retired, and nobody has seen him since. Nobody can locate a single builder or workman who saw it constructed. No competent inspector has been in it since. Cominoche is lax—all cities are, for that matter—with an outfit as big as Wembleson's, that carries its own insurance, does its own inspecting, and won't allow outside interference. Wembleson's isn't alone in that attitude—they're not all zwilniks, either."
"You think that it's really fortified, then?"
"Sure of it. That's why we ordered a gradual, but complete, evacuation of the city, beginning a couple of months ago."
"How could you?" Kinnison was growing more surprised by the minute. "The businesses—the houses—the expense!"
"Martial law—the Patrol takes over in emergencies, you know. Businesses moved, and mostly carrying on very well. People ditto—very nice temporary camps, lake and river cottages, and so on. As for expense, the Patrol pays damages. We'll pay for rebuilding the whole city if we have to—much rather that than leave that Boskonian base standing there untouched."
"What a mess! Never thought of it that way, but you're right, as usual. They wouldn't be there at all unless they thought—but they must know, chief, that they can't hold off the stuff that you can bring to bear."
"Probably betting that we won't destroy our own city to get them—if so, they're wrong. Or possibly they hung on a few days too long."