Hanlon was glad of Auldin's silence as they walked along. It enabled him to get his own thoughts in order, and to try to plan as best he could for this coming interview with Yandor, not knowing what to expect . . . except that it would undoubtedly try his abilities to the utmost.
There were some slight traces of fear in his mind, for he was, after all, still a very young and inexperienced man playing a dangerous game. But his success in his first assignment—the dangers he had faced and the victories he had wrested because of his unusual and growing wild talent—thought of them brought back his self-confidence and with it an almost contemptuous view of the dangers here. There was really nothing to fear after all, he told himself. But still
Hanlon and Auldin came to a place in the street where it climbed a fairly steep hill—there were many such throughout this city—and were nearly winded when they finally reached the top. Still wordless, they were both glad of the chance to stop and rest a moment. Then they started on again, along a much nicer part of the street, rapidly approaching the home of Ino Yandor.
This entertainment entrepreneur (that was, in effect, the nearest approach to a familiar profession of which Hanlon could think) was the one the young secret serviceman's investigations had led him to believe was the first rung on the ladder he must climb to find the knowledge that lay at the top.
"Ali, here's the place," Auldin said at last, as they turned up a sort of cobbled walk leading to the fairly imposing residence. It was an ornately-decorated, two-story house, pentagonal in shape, and with a green-tiled roof, of course. The three sides Hanlon could see were painted in different, though mutually complementary colors. The surrounding lawns were made of the peculiar grass so general here, with its minutely-petalled flower-tips. There were also numerous beds of the strange, native flowers, highly-perfumed, but not heavily blossomed except in the mass.
Hanlon thought he caught large numbers of thought-emanations from animal minds of various kinds, but before he could investigate, Auldin spoke.
"One word of warning. Don't be too eager. Yandor may seem slow thinking and calculating, but don't make the mistake of thinking him stupid. And don't irritate him —he seldom shows his temper, but he is deadly vindicative to those he takes a dislike to. But he is a good employer—and generous to those who serve him well and efficiently."
"Thanks for the tip. I'll be on my good behavior." But Hanlon grinned to himself as he read the reason for that warning in Auldin's mind. If this stranger was spying for Yandor, he would have to make a good report on Auldin.
Then, as the mobster used the ornate knocker, Hanlon tensed himself for—literally—anything.
CHAPTER 4
AFTER A CONSIDERABLE WAIT THE DOOR WAS opened. By the light from inside George Hanlon saw a fairly tall native, his hair and beard sleek and burnished from much brushing, and trimmed with unusual care. He was wearing a sort of slip-on gown of heavy cloth, probably a lounging robe. Perhaps the man had already gone to bed—in which case he would undoubtedly be quite provoked at their untimely call, Hanlon thought. Indeed, the man's face showed surprise and petulance at this interruption.
But Hanlon could see shrewdness and a crafty trickiness inherent in the black eyes, that caused an inward tremor. "I'd sure better be on my toes with this fellow," he thought.
Yandor scanned the two for a long moment, without a word, then beckoned them inside. But as soon as the door was shut—and locked—he turned angrily on Auldin.
"Well now, what's the big idea, you stupid idiot, of coming here, and at night, and bringing someone with you. Are you trying to cross me, Ran? You know that isn't healthy."
Ran Auldin cringed somewhat and made his voice apologetic. "It's because it was night, nyer, and we wouldn't be noticed, that I came now. Besides, I think this is important. I want you to meet Gor Anlo, who's just come from Lura, looking for a chance, he says, to get into our businesses."
Auldin slightly emphasized that last word, and Yandor's eyes snapped wide. He swung about and faced Hanlon, studying him carefully. The young man bore the scrutiny without flinching, a smile of greeting on his face, but without a sign of boldness or brashness.
After a moment Yandor motioned them into an adjoining room, and himself went to sit behind a large, ornate, wooden tabledesk. "Sit," he waved a delicate hand at the two chairs facing him in such a manner that the desk-lamp's light was strong in the faces of the two, while leaving his own more or less in the shadows. Hanlon could barely repress a grin at this—it smacked so intimately of the old Terran police-questioning technique.
During the short moments they had been in the hallway, however, Hanlon had noticed a small roch standing there, apparently one that Yandor must have partially tamed and kept as a pet. Quickly the SS man had transferred a part of his mind into that of the beast. Now, while his own body and nine-tenths of his mind were in that office room for the interview with Ino Yandor, the other tenth, inside the brain of the roch, was making the animal roam the house, seeking whatever secrets it might find there.
The impresario looked at Hanlon searchingly. "Well now, so you think you'd like to get into the entertainment business, eh?" he said with an attempt at joviality.
"Yes, nyer, that . . . and other things," Hanlon answered calmly. "Back in Lura where I come from, sir, the people seem to be against the idea of a young fellow getting ahead in the world. So," shrugging, "I came here where I thought there was a better chance of doing myself some good. Me, I'm out after a basketful of gold pentas . . . and not too particular how I get 'em," he added levelly, but in his eyes was an unmistakable message the Estrellan could not help reading correctly.
"But there are entertainment procurers on the Eastern Continent," Yandor was sparring for time to evaluate this situation better. "If you have a good way of pleasing the people, they would be glad to take you in hand."
"Anlo isn't stupid, Yandor," Auldin interrupted . . . and Hanlon was glad he did at just that moment. For the roch had just peered through the half-open doorway of a room upstairs, and found a man, probably a servant, lying there on the bed, apparently reading from a scroll.
Hanlon did not especially like this spying on anyone, but he had to learn all he could about what was going on here, no matter how he gained the information.
So he reached out and studied the man's mind. The fellow was not reading at the moment, he found, but was thinking of the "payback" he owed someone named Ovil Esbor, who had obtained this position for him. This Esbor was much like a Terran "ward boss"—a minor politician, but connected with many shady dealings. Hanlon had not previously heard that name, but made a mental note to investigate the man further. He might be another lead.
The SS man withdrew his mind after a bit, and sent the roch searching the other rooms. He noticed quite a few animal pets about the house, but thought nothing special of it at the moment. Meanwhile he, in his own person, began paying more attention to what Auldin and Yandor were saying."
“. . . been in town several days, he says, looking over the situation. How he found out I don't know, but he knows all our businesses.”
Yandor barely repressed a start of surprise, and his crafty black eyes narrowed. "Why are you spying on . . . no, who are you spying on us for?" he demanded in cold tones that again sent a shiver down Hanlon's spine. For there was no mercy or lack of ruthlessness in that tone. Nor in the man's attitude. Yet, at the same time, the young man realized stunningly that Yandor, too, was as much afraid of his superior as Auldin was of Yandor . . . and Hanlon knew after a fleet scanning of the gangster's mind that he now felt relief that Yandor had not been investigating him through Hanlon.
But the young SS man had been reading the impresario's thoughts as best he could, as well as hearing what he was saying. He felt that he knew now how to handle this agent.
"As Auldin said, I'm not stupid, and I am on the make for my fortune. I knew the only way was to check first and talk later. So I asked seemingly innocuous questions here and there—and I'm wise enough n
ever to ask more than one from any one person. That way I found out a lot. I do know something about the entertainment business and can hold up my end of the performance. But I also know the really big money is in the other things you control."
Yandor did gasp at that. His face grew black and he half-rose and opened his mouth to say something—but Hanlon beat him to it.
"Incidentally," Incidentally," he lowered his voice but still kept it penetrant as he leaned forward confidentially, "there's someone in the next room, listening through that door there, to what we're saying."
At Hanlon's quiet words, Ino Yandor's eyes opened wide, while Ran Auldin barely repressed an exclamation. Neither guessed, of course, that the stranger was looking through the eyes of Yandor's pet roch which, in the course of its investigation of the house for Hanlon's benefit, had come to the open doorway of that adjoining room, and had seen the man kneeling there, his ear pressed against the door-panels, listening intently.
Now Yandor reached into a sort of pigeon-hole in his table-desk and quietly took out a flamegun. Tensing himself, he suddenly swung his chair about and leaped to the door. Flinging it open he found, indeed, another man there, before that other could rise and run.
Grabbing the spy's collar with one surprisingly strong hand, Yandor yanked him to his feet and into the light.
"Ondo!" he exclaimed. "Well now, what in the name of Zappa were you doing?"
The small man cringed. "Pardon, nyer, I was was only trying to make sure that no one was attempting to harm you . . . and . . . and standing by to help you if they were."
"I think he's lying," Hanlon said, knowing from his quick probe into the other's mind that lie was. "I'll bet he's a spy for someone."
This last, he knew however, was not correct. Ondo was regularly employed by Yandor as a houseman. But he was one of those intensely curious and inquisitive people who always try to find out everything that goes on in any house they happen to be working in.
"By Zappa, you'll never spy again," Yandor's face grew livid. "You know better'n to cross me. You know it isn't healthy."
And before anyone could guess what he was about to do, the raging impresario chopped down with the butt of his flamer, and Ondo fell unconscious to the floor, blood welling from a gash in his forehead. The furious entrepreneur was swinging the weapon into firing position to kill the fallen man when Hanlon leaped forward and grasped his arm, holding him back.
"Wait, nyer. Don't cinder him," he said almost in a tone of command. "It wouldn't look well for a man of your public position, if word of it ever leaked out."
"I say kill the snake," Ran Auldin spat. "There's no sense taking chances with a man we know is a spy."
"No!" Hanlon was still quietly determined to save Ondo's life. He spoke as impressively as he could. "Such a killing, with a body to dispose of, would most certainly be traced back to you in time, nyer, and you would lose much of the respect the public holds for you. Your success in your . . . other . . . endeavors is largely due to the fact that everyone knows you for such a high-principled, public-spirited citizen, that no one suspects you of being anything else. Don't take chances on spoiling that reputation."
Yandor was swayed by this impassioned appeal, it was plain to be seen. His respect for Hanlon's quick good sense and sound judgment mounted, and he looked at the young man with new interest.
"Anlo's right, Ran," he told his lieutenant. "We mustn't have a killing on our hands that can be so easily traced to us."
He turned back to Hanlon, who was grinning inwardly at Yandor's almost-panic that made him forget for the moment that there were no real police detectives on this world who could so easily trace back a killing, especially if only ordinary precautions were used to dispose of the body.
“Well now, I thank you for saving me from the risk my temper might have caused. What would you suggest we do with this . . . this . . .”, he pushed at the body with his foot.
"It's easy to see that Ondo is only a scared rat, and when he wakes up he'll know he'd better keep away from you or he'll really be killed," Hanlon spoke carelessly. "Just have Auldin take him out and dump him on the next street. Ondo will never bother you again, I'm positive."
Auldin seemed about to protest, but Yandor forestalled him. "That's good advice. Take care of it, Auldin."
And after the gangster had left the house with his burden, Yandor resumed his seat and motioned Hanlon to take the one he had formerly occupied. But while they were doing this, the young SS man had sent his mind outdoors, found a sleeping bird and taken over its mind. He made it follow Auldin, so he would know where Ondo's body was taken. He would try to save the fellow's life if he could—he had got him into this predicament, it was up to him to get the chap safely out of it.
"Well now," Yandor was saying, "I'm beginning to believe you will be a valuable man in our group. I'll think about it some more, and see you sometime tomorrow and we'll talk further about it. But I'm only promising to talk," he added hurriedly, "I'm not saying what my decision will be."
"That's all I could ask for now, for I know I can prove my worth." He rose and bowed courteously. "So I'll see you at your place of business in the morning."
"You know where it is?" surprisedly.
"But of course."
As soon as he was out of the house, Hanlon went carefully to the weed-infested vacant lot where Auldin had dumped Ondo's body. When he saw the gangster returning, Hanlon quickly hid behind a great flowertree.
Hanlon had brought the bird back to Yandor's house, and now made it perch where it could look through a window. Through the bird's eyes he saw the two inside, talking together for some minutes, Yandor apparently very angry, Auldin on the defensive. Then the slender mobster slunk from the house, and started back toward the downtown section. Hanlon made the bird follow him, to make sure Auldin was really going home, and was not circling about to try to find out what Hanlon was doing or where he was going.
Then the SS man went to the vacant lot to find Ondo sitting up, holding his aching head. Almost roughly he jerked him to his feet.
"Look, you phidi," Hanlon made his voice deadly menacing, "I don't like people who go around trying to find out about me and my business. Yandor merely insisted that I see to it that you left town immediately, but I'm not that soft-hearted. I'm going to kill you, then I'll know you've done your last snooping."
He reached toward his pocket, as though for a knife or flamegun.
The man was a small, terror-stricken rat. But he was not entirely lacking in the universal will to live. Suddenly he half-stooped, then jumped forward, his shoulder crashing into Hanlon's body. The young Corpsman could have maintained his balance, but he let himself fall, as though he had been knocked down by the blow.
Ondo took off like a scared dara, and in brief seconds was out of sight. Hanlon waited several minutes, then went down the street toward his rooming house, grinning to himself. He was happy that it could be worked out this way.
He was sure this Ondo would leave Stearra without delay. Hanlon's hint about that was enough, he was sure—especially since he knew Ondo was convinced that he would be killed out of hand if he ever allowed himself to be seen hereabouts again.
As he walked swiftly along, Hanlon released the bird from its mental spell, for it was now apparent Auldin was really going downtown, or home. But before releasing the bird, Hanlon guided it back to a comfortable perch in a tree, and put it to sleep.
He could not help feeling gratitude—yet still with an awed sense of wonder—about his ability to control animal minds. He remembered so vividly that day on the great spaceliner Hellene, when he had discovered this tremendous ability with the little puppy . . . what was its name? . . . oh, yes, Gypsy. And the still greater thrill when he was experimenting later with the dogs on the kennel deck, and had found that he could not only read their complete minds and control their nerves and muscles to make them follow his bidding, but that he could also dissociate a portion of his mind, put it in their brains and leave it
there, connected with t lie balance of his own mind merely by a slender thread of consciousness, yet able to think and act independently.
But it certainly came in mighty handy in his work as a secret serviceman, and he was thankful to whatever powers may be that had given him this ability to do these amazing things. Now if he could only learn how to read and control the whole mind and body of a human, instead of being able to read only their surface thoughts !
But he was trying to learn to be content with what he had, and to use it thankfully.
Yet he never ceased trying to learn more—to be able to do more along these lines.
Finally back in his room Hanlon grinned again to himself as he began undressing. He felt good. He had put it over again. He was sure he was "in".
He sat down on a chair and removed the special shoes he was wearing. These native Estrellans were very manlike in shape as well as mentality, but there were enough structural differences so it had taken the expert cosmetician many hours to fix him up to look like one of them. These shoes, for instance, because Estrellans had unusually large feet, were really shoes-within-shoes, to fit his feet correctly inside and yet appear large enough on the outside not to attract attention.
In the spaceship high above, intent thoughts had been coursing through the mind of the being. Finally, certain commands were impressed upon the mind of the Estrellan native the being controlled, that would set in motion a new train of events.
The native cringed as those thoughts came into his mind. They were not the kind of things he would ever consider, of himself. They outraged his every sense of right and justice. It made him actually, physically sick even to contemplate them, and he wondered briefly how he had ever come to get such ideas.
Yet something, he could not guess what, forced him to do them, despite his every struggling, heartsick effort not to obey the commands he did not even know were commands.
Alien Minds Page 4
