He was confirmed in his early beliefs that as a whole these were wonderful people; that they would make excellent citizens of the Federation. They had such a high sense of social justice; such deep feelings of right and wrong; such splendid habits of co-operative living. More even than the Terrans and the colonists, who had come far along the road of brotherliness in the past centuries, these Estrellans had an innate belief in the brotherhood of man.
What a great gap there was between the great mass of Estrellans and those few criminals with whom he was working? He remembered one time when he had been talking with his father about the way he worked.
"You want to be mighty careful," Admiral Newton warned. "Being around gangsters and criminals so much, you'll have to watch not to begin thinking like they do."
"You never need worry about that, dad," Hanlon had been very earnest. "The more I see of 'em, the less I like 'em, and the more I'm sure the common decencies of life are best. We must have law, government and order, and all decent citizens must always 'live and let live'. I could never be contented otherwise."
CHAPTER 8
THE NIGHT THE SNEAK BOAT WAS DUE TO return, Hanlon early sent word to Yandor that he was ill, and could not perform that night. The entrepreneur came, boiling over with anger, to Hanlon's rooms.
"Well now," he began, "what's all this about . . .?"
"Ooh, quiet, please," Hanlon moaned. He had been ready for just some such thing, and was lying in bed, face contorted with pain, and now pressed his hands to his ears as though Yandor's loud voice was more than he could stand. "Can't you see I'm sick? Why must you make so much noise?"
The agent was taken aback by this counterthrust. He calmed a bit then, but asked many questions. Hanlon's partial answers and evident pain finally convinced the impresario that his star performer was, indeed, too ill to appear.
"These attacks come only once or twice a year, and usually last only a day or two," Hanlon assured him in a weak voice. "I'll try my best to be on hand tomorrow."
"Very well, I'll expect you then. Well now, there is something I've been meaning to talk to you about, and now is a good time. I want you to work into your act various things to say against the Terrans; about how such wonderful performances as yours would be impossible if we were to submit to them and accept their so-called invitation to join their Federation. Suggest to the audience that we would all become slaves, and that neither would performers have time to prepare their acts, nor would the others be allowed to come and watch them."
Hanlon was slightly prepared for this because he had seen it forming in Yandor's mind, but he did not like it any the better. He was just about to make an angry retort when he took himself in hand, and continued keeping in the character he had assumed. He groaned a bit louder, and twisted more violently on the bed.
"Please, nyer, leave me now. I hate for anyone to see me while I'm like this. As for what you've just said, we'll talk about it later and see what can be worked out."
And, reluctantly, it seemed, Yandor finally left.
When night at last brought its cloak of darkness, Hanlon put the roches to sleep and slipped quietly from his room. Down in the back, though, he could not seem to get his tricky acetylene-powered engine to start. He fussed and tinkered for nearly two hours before he could finally get it going.
"So help me, I'm never going to cuss out a real ground-car after this because it acts up occasionally," he said as he rode out of the yard and down the dusty street. He drove as fast as he could out to the clearing where the sneakboat had already landed.
"Sorry to be late, fellows," he said as soon as he had given the password and been allowed aboard. Ile accepted gratefully the cup of coffee they gave him, and griped for five solid minutes about those gosh-awful excuses for transportation these so-and-so natives used.
"Here, have a box of candy bars, and quit belly-aching," one of them said at last. The other held out another gift, a pound can of pulverized instant coffee.
"Hey, these are wonderful," Hanlon's spirits rose as if by magic. "You guys are my friends for life."
"Why, Georgie," one of them simpered. "I didn't know you cared."
"You'll have to choose between us, though," the other said owlishly. "I'm not going to be a partner to bigamy."
Then they both laughed. "Look, he's blushing."
"Aw, I am not," Hanlon spluttered. "It's just this pink skin-dye," he added weakly.
"Anyway, here's your cat," the SS men got down to business, and fetched the crate containing the beautiful animal. "We happened to remember hearing that these people don't have milk, so we got you one that's accustomed to a meat and vegetable diet."
"Gee, thanks for that. I'd completely forgotten that point."
Hanlon examined the big, black cat, and his mind reached out and quieted its fright at the strange surroundings and this hairy being who was now handling it.
He talked with the men for some further time, told them he had not yet got any sure clues, but was beginning to get an "in" with some people he felt sure would lead him to some. They told him the other three men had reported about the same, although Hooper said the curve was rising steadily on the belief that Terrans were behind the crime wave here.
"Yeh, I've heard that bilge, too. It's just another of the things we'll have to stamp out before we can win out here. But we will."
"Sure you will," the two agreed. "Anything else you need?"
"No, can't think of a thing. The cat was the most important for now. It will really get me in more solid with Yandor, the guy I'm working on."
"Hope so, Han. Well, cheerio."
"Safe flights, you guys, and thanks again."
On the ride back he was glad he had a tricycle instead of a two-wheeled bike, for the crate was heavy and rather awkward with the cat in it, shifting its weight about from time to time.
Back in his room once more, Hanlon released the animal, which immediately dived under the bed, where it cowered in fright, having seen and smelled the roches who were sleeping in various places about the rooms.
But again Hanlon reached out and touched its mind, calmed its fear, and soon had it out of hiding and creeping into his arms. It lay there, purring, while he stroked it and impressed on its mind—whose texture he learned while doing this—that it was safe and with friends.
After he had done that, he woke the roches. At first sight of the feline a couple of them started toward it in curiosity. Swiftly Hanlon took over their minds and halted them where they were. He then brought each of them to the realization that this was a new friend and playmate. That was not too hard, for the roches had never seen a cat, and only its strangeness had made them curious.
He had more trouble with the cat, for the ages-old dislike and fear of dogs was strong within it. But he finally calmed it by implanting the knowledge firmly in its mind that these strange beings were not dogs, actually, and that they meant it no harm, and all were to be friends.
Soon he was grinning at his ability, as he saw the nine animals eating, drinking and playing together, as though they had been the best of comrades all their lives.
"I'm really quite an animal trainer," he chuckled to himself as he watched them.
High above the strange being lay on its padded bench and frustrated thoughts ran through its mind. It had noticed the two DIFFERENT minds who again had come briefly to this planet in their ship of space, talked with the three other different ones, and then had come to this western continent in its night time. The mind "heard" them conversing with that other but unreadable mind again, but still no sort of contact could be made. Why? it wondered again. What sort of mind was it, that it could not be touched?
Through its multiphased scanner the being carefully watched that entity below which appeared so like an Estrellan native—but after it had left on that peculiar conveyance, bearing a container with a strange animal, sight of the entity had been lost among the crowds of the city streets.
So now the mind above seethed with questions, to w
hich it could find no logical answers, even though it was beginning to understand the thought-concepts of those others it could "read."
Late the next day—for Hanlon had quickly adopted the actors' habit of beginning his day at noon—he fed and watered his animals, then got his own meal and ate it.
Then he impressed on the minds of his roches that they were to behave themselves, and not destroy things about the room in their play, and not to make too much noise.
"Sure is handy to be able to do this," he smiled. "Boy, what a baby sitter I'd make if I could control humans this way."
He called the cat to him, snapped on the harness and leash the SS men had brought with it, and took it down to Yandor's office.
He had worked carefully on the cat's mind, and knew the characteristics and texture thoroughly. He had practiced seeing through its eyes and hearing through its ears under all conditions—from ordinary daylight to bright carbides, from dusk to the blackness of a closet. He felt certain he could use the animal as planned, under any and all conditions.
"This is 'Ebony'," he explained to Yandor as he presented the cat. At the same time he was impressing on the feline's mind that this was to be its new master, that it must always obey him, and must allow itself to be the man's constant pet and companion without hesitation or animosity.
"'Ebony'," Hanlon went on saying to Yandor, "is the Terran word for 'black', and that is probably why its former owner gave it that name."
The impresario took the big, beautiful animal in his arms and exclaimed over and over at its wonderful appearance, its sleek lines, soft fur and intelligent face. But it was the cat's long, furry tail that was his greatest delight. He stroked and petted it as though he could not really believe such a thing was true. Hanlon was careful to explain to Yandor how he must stroke with the lay of the fur, and never against it.
"Well now, I can never thank you enough, my friend, for this marvelous gift," Yandor said. "I hope it didn't cost you too much."
Hanlon made himself cough in an embarrassed manner. "Well . . . er . . . it really didn't cost me . . . ", he grinned and left it at that, nor did Yandor, after a knowing look, refer to the matter again.
Instead, he said, "It shall be the prize of my collection. I shall treasure this above all others."
Yandor really was in the transports of delight, known only to collectors who have made an unusual find. Hanlon read from the surface of his mind the thought that this man was a wonderful friend, "and probably no menace to our plans at all. I am sure we can trust him—and use him."
The latter phrase delighted Hanlon, although he was careful not to let his feelings show in his face. This was what he was after. He had only to learn who "we" was. But he was making progress ; he could really begin to learn things.
"You do not need to keep the harness on Ebony all the time," he explained aloud. "Just when you want to go out with him. In your home or office, leave it off, as it is probably not too comfortable. I'm sure," he decided to do a bit of direct suggesting, "that you'll soon grow to love the cat enough so you'll want to keep it with you all the time. It will lie on your desk, or in your lap, and be the finest sort of companion."
"Yes, and be the envy of all my friends," Yandor swelled with importance.
Hanlon explained rapidly about its feeding and drinking habits, and that while it was house-broken it should be taken outdoors several times a day. When he was sure Yandor knew how to care for the animal, Hanlon left the office and went back to his rooms.
After the performance that night, Hanlon went quickly home and lay down on the bed. He sent out a portion of his mind to contact that of Ebony, which Yandor had taken to his own room and installed in a padded basket, as Hanlon had suggested.
Through the cat's eyes he could see the interior of Yandor's bedroom, and watched while the latter prepared for bed and finally dropped off to sleep. Then Hanlon withdrew his mind, and did the same.
He had set the wake-up on his time-teller for fairly early the next morning. Immediately upon awakening he sent part of his mind back into that of the cat. All during the day—which he spent mainly lying down or sprawled in his easy chair, when he was not preparing or eating his meals, or attending to the wants of his roches—he watched Yandor at his daily activities.
For the impresario, delighted with his new pet, kept the cat with him all the time, even to taking it into the office-like study of his home with him. There, as soon as they were inside, Hanlon made Ebony leap up onto the table-desk, and curl up on the one corner. He wanted this habit to become a permanent one—and it, too, delighted the Estrellan.
Now the cat was in the best possible place for Hanlon's spying while Yandor was at home.
Later in the day, when it was time for the entrepreneur to go to his downtown office, he put into effect another suggestion Hanlon had made. He put the small, ornate harness Hanlon had given him for that purpose onto the cat, snapped the leash to it, and took Ebony with him.
Dozens of Yandor's friends stopped him and complimented him—though somewhat jealously—upon his acquisition, which made him prouder than ever. For Ebony created such a sensation that it took Yandor nearly an hour longer than usual to get to his office.
He had not yet reached there, in fact, when Hanlon was surprised and a little nettled by a knock on his apartment door. Somewhat angrily he got up off the bed, and went and opened it. A native was standing there, grinning.
"What d'you want?" Hanlon growled querulously.
"Boy, are you in a temper this morning?" a voice said in Terran, while the grin grew lop-sided.
"Morrie!" Hanlon yelled, throwing his arms about the other. Then, over his shoulder, he noticed a number of his neighbors peering out of their doors, or standing about in the hall, listening, and knew with a sinking feeling that they must have heard the Terran words, and be wondering about them. His mind raced, then he spoke even more loudly in Estrellan.
"My brother, it is such a surprise to see you here. How did you happen to come from Lura to visit me?" Then he dragged the surprised SS man into his room, and shut the door.
"What gives? Why that 'my brother' routine?"
"Noticed the neighbors gawking, and knew they had heard us talking Terran. But I sure am glad to see you, even if I was so curt at first. Was concentrating on a job, and didn't like being interrupted just then."
"Oh, sorry. Want me to come back later?"
"No, no, it wasn't really that important." Hanlon was silent a short moment while he disengaged the part of his mind that was in Ebony, and brought it back into his own. "Come on, take that chair. Go ahead and gab while I get dressed."
Manning did as requested, and they talked seriously for some time, each bringing the other up to date on all they knew about their part of this business, and what they were planning.
In particular, Hanlon told Manning about the local aspects of the work of the criminal elements, and what he suspected as well as what he actually knew and had done.
"I'm almost certain now," he said, "that the criminals and the folks who're trying to keep Estrella out of the Federation are tied in together, but I haven't any real proof . . . yet. But I think I soon will have, with the line of investigation I'm on."
"We've about come to the same conclusion," Manning said thoughtfully, "but we haven't any more proof than you have, if as much."
Hanlon told him about stopping Auldin's "wrecking crew", and a few other possible leads he had uncovered to local men who seemed to be in on the activities here, especially one Ovil Esbor, a local politician.
"He's a sort of gang-boss or district captain," Hanlon added, "but I think he has quite a lot of fingers in different illegal pies."
"I'll get right at it," Manning said. "The admiral—he sent his regards, by the way—said we were to work together as closely as possible, and that you would feed me leads whenever you got 'em—as I will you."
"Sure, I will. Maybe I'm sticking my neck out, trying for the big fellows and asking you to take care of
the smaller fry, but it seems . . ."
"Think nothing of it, little chum," Manning waved his hand airily. "As long as we clean out his hoo-raw's nest, I don't care how we do it, and I'm ready to work at anything. The admiral said—and what you've told me clinches it—that I'd better be an aspirant for a spot in the political set-up here, so I'll pretend I heard about Esbor, and go right to him."
For another hour they discussed ways and means, and then Manning rose to go, after telling Hanlon where he was living here in Stearra.
"We'll see each other every few days," he said.
As soon as Manning was gone, Hanlon threw himself on the bed and again sent part of his mind back into that of the cat, now with Yandor in the latter's office. And Hanlon kept it in Ebony's brain all the rest of that day and early evening. But nothing in which he was particularly interested happened—and he was beginning to wonder if his ideas about Yandor were right after all. Nothing but legitimate theatrical business had been transacted all day—at least while Hanlon was watching. There had been those two hours or more while Manning was at his rooms . . . .
During the time Hanlon was on the stage that night, he had to concentrate all his mental faculties on his roches, and had to withdraw from the cat's brain. But once back in his dressing room and while going home and after he got there, Hanlon watched carefully the party the impresario gave to a group of friends in his palatial home.
Through the cat's eyes Hanlon carefully studied each one of the guests and listened avidly to their talk—and at times had to tighten his control of Ebony's mind and muscles to keep it acting friendly toward some of those people. They seemed to "rub its fur the wrong way" . . . and did, literally, on occasions. Also, they had an effluvia Ebony distinctly did not like.
But under Hanlon's compulsion, it continued to act in as friendly a manner as cats usually do . . . most of the time with customary feline indifference.
CHAPTER 9
Alien Minds Page 8