THE NEXT DAY HANLON ALSO SPENT IN THE cat's mind, when he was not playing with or attending to his roches, or eating. It happened that he had transferred part of his mind to each of the eight, and was giving them a short workout, when there was a sudden noise at his door, and it was roughly flung open—he had not locked it while at home.
Nine parts of his mind saw through nine pairs of eyes the man who stormed in. Nine pairs of ears heard him snarl, "What's the big idea of having my men arrested?"
As quickly as he could Hanlon started bringing the portions of his mind from the roches into his own brain. He sat up on the bed, and made his face look blank—but inside he was thunderstruck. How had Ran Auldin found out he was behind those arrests?
"Why . . . why," he pretended to stammer. "I don't know what you're talking about, Ran. What arrests? What's happened?"
The usually fastidious gang-boss was now dirty and his clothing soiled and rumpled. His eyes were red, apparently from sleeplessness, or worry, or both. His voice was still accusing as he answered, "My men were surprised al their work the other night, and I only escaped by luck. Beer hiding ever since."
"But what's it all about? Why were they arrested?
I don't know anything about what you were doing—Yandor didn't tell . . ."
"It must have been you. Nobody else knew."
"And I tell you I was not told, either, so how could I know? I've been too busy getting my act ready and putting it on, and Yandor hasn't even mentioned you to me."
Auldin stepped close to the side of the bed as Hanlon struggled to get up, and pushed him down again. Now Hanlon could see that the mobster was carrying in each hand a piece of large rope, approximately half an inch in diameter and about two feet long. The far end of each was tied into a knot, in which pieces of wires had been woven to add weight.
"Maybe you didn't have anything to do with the arrests," Auldin admitted, "but I still think you did. Anyway, you used me to get in good with Yandor, then turned him against me. I don't like that."
Oh, so that was what had really touched him off. Hanlon saw that the slim man was spoiling for a fight—and that he was using almost any excuse to try to take it out of a fellow who was making good where he had failed.
Hanlon thought, "I don't want to hurt the guy, now that he's down, but I sure don't want to get hurt, either." He had never seen exactly such weapons as Auldin was carrying, but he had a good idea the native was adept in their handling. They looked old and well-used.
Hanlon rolled suddenly across the bed and jumped to his feet on the other side. But Auldin ran swiftly around the foot of the bed, and Hanlon was more or less cornered in a narrow space. First one of those strange weapons flicked out, then the other, and Hanlon quickly found out how effective they were. The way Auldin snapped and whipped them, made them almost impossible to dodge, and Hanlon felt their burnings across his shoulders—although he was able to protect his face from those first quick flicks.
Hanlon had to get out of that corner, so the next time both ropes flashed out toward him he ducked beneath, down and forward, under Auldin's arms—and was in the center of the room.
The SS man reached out and took over the minds of two of his roches, and made them run between Auldin's legs. Then, as the ropes with those terrible knots at the ends flashed out, Hanlon grabbed them and yanked. The combination of that pull and the roches entangled between his legs was enough to upset the gangster, and he stumbled forward. Hanlon quickly swarmed onto him and got a judo hold on Auldin the man could not break. Holding him thus, Hanlon took the two ropes from his powerless hands, and threw them into a far corner.
"Now get this, and get it straight," Hanlon panted, but as impressively as he could. "I still don't know what this is all about, but I don't like your barging into my room and attacking me like this. Now get out and stay away from me. You try anything like this again, and so help me I'll kill you. And just so you'll remember . . . ," Hanlon put all his pent-up wrath into his fist and threw it at the now-deflated Auldin's jaw. This, he knew, was the only way really to impress a man of that type.
He then forced the half-groggy gangster out of the room and loosed him in the hallway, then shut and locked his door. He listened intently, and finally heard the fellow's mumblings and footsteps going down the stairs. From the window Hanlon watched the thoroughly- frightened native scuttle off down the street, looking furtively all about to see that he was not being followed or observed. Hanlon felt satisfied that he would have no further trouble from him.
As he went back to bed, Hanlon tried to figure this one out. Evidently Auldin did not really know Hanlon had caused those arrests, but was merely using that as an excuse to provoke a fight with one whom he hated for making a success at the same time he, Auldin, was a failure in hiding.
Had Auldin reported this to Yandor? Hanlon had not seen the two together—either through his own or Ebony's eyes—nor had he found anything of the sort in Yandor's mind. But he would have to try to find out that answer, also, among the many others.
He sent his mind back into that of the cat, and took up his spying of the theatrical agent.
About an hour later Yandor had a caller, and Hanlon "listened in" with interest and growing delight. For it was Ovil Esbor, the politician. From the talk between the two, in Yandor's inner, closed office—into which Ebony had also gone—Hanlon got further confirmation of his suspicions. He was more sure than ever now that Yandor was the "top boss" here in Stearra, at least, while Esbor was boss of many other local gangs, including thieves, dope peddlers and panderers.
Hanlon, in his room, made copious notes. "There," he exclaimed after the two men had parted. "That ought to give Morrie enough info to hang 'em. I'll take these notes to him right away."
But Manning was not in his room when Hanlon got there, and since his door was padlocked, Hanlon could not get in. He took a chance and slid his notes under the door.
All this time, however, Hanlon had been watching Yandor through Ebony's mind. He had just barely got back to his apartment when the impresario had another visitor .. . a masked man. (Hanlon doubted the man had gone through the streets masked—probably had put it on just before entering Yandor's office.)
"Ha! This should be good," and the young SS man paid even closer attention, even as he was putting his motortrike away, and running up to his room. He heard the two distant men discussing many matters of policy, closeted in that inner room of Yandor's. Hanlon found that the criminal activities were, as he and the other secret servicemen had deduced, planet-wide and under one general control. He knew positively, when this conversation ended, that Yandor was in charge of the activities of this half of the world—the largest continent—and that the masked man was above him in authority.
Was this other king-pin of the whole thing? Or was he, perhaps, what might be termed the "executive director" of the planetary criminal ring? Whatever he was, he was the man Hanlon must get next to and unmask. The Corpsman thrilled. He was gradually but surely climbing that ladder, tediously and maddeningly slow though it seemed sometimes.
"One thing looks sure," Hanlon thought to himself. Whether or not this bunch is the one that is opposing Estrella's joining the Federation, if we can eliminate them it will mean curbing, if not entirely stopping, this planet-wide crime wave. That'll be worthwhile, even if it's not really our job."
He tried to figure some way to get rid of these two men. If he could lop off the head, the body would die—unless it was a Hydra, with self-regenerating heads.
But after an hour or so of further study and thought, it was borne in upon his consciousness that this was not his job at all. He must quit trying to be the big cheese. If he got any leads, the information must be turned over to his father and the secret service general staff, and let them—not him—worry about how to get rid of these men, or punish them in whatever way Estrellan law provided.
When Hanlon went to the theatre that night, he found Yandor there, with Ebony on its leash—as he had known he wo
uld from watching the man through the cat's senses. There was another man with the agent, whom Hanlon had been studying, puzzled by the curious . . . blocking? . . . in the man's mind. Yandor now introduced him as "my good friend, Egon," and the three chatted together until it was time for Hanlon to go and prepare. Egon complimented him highly on his act, which he said he had seen twice already, and upon the perfect training of his animals.
"How in the name of Zappa do you do it?" he asked. "It's hard enough even to tame roches, to say nothing of training them as you've done."
Hanlon grinned. "Professional secret, nyer." Then he sobered and added, "Actually, it's mainly a matter of hours and days and months of hard work with them, until they know me and like me well enough to do what I tell them, and I know what they are able to do."
He broke away, then, before they could question him further. In his dressing room, while he was putting the uniforms on his dogs and himself, and donning his roch-mask, he pondered seriously a thing that had struck him a stunning blow. For Ebony's mind and delicate senses seemed to detect a distinct similarity between the tones of Egon's voice and those of the masked man—as well as a sameness of effluvia—even though the two spoke in different keys and timbre of voice.
Profoundly stirred, Hanlon studied this seeming fact with intense concentration. How could he make certain?
But his call came just then, and he had to let this new matter rest while he devoted his entire mind to the work of controlling his roches for their act.
Later, in his room, as he again watched Yandor through the cat's eyes, he saw him in his home with Egon and two other men, playing cards, but merely as a group of friends. Nothing whatever was said, during the hours, about any special activities of a criminal nature. No sedition nor revolution was talked; neither Terra nor the matter of Estrella's joining the Federation was so much as mentioned.
Still Hanlon was not sure—and he must become so. Perhaps, he reasoned, the other two men were not in on any of these activities, and for that reason Yandor and Egon could not discuss these matters in their presence. Or perhaps Egon, himself, was not part of Yandor's criminal group after all.
There must be some way of getting proof, Hanlon thought anxiously. How could he positively connect the two, and make sure whether or not the cat's feelings were correct—that Egon was the masked man?
The opportunity came just before the party broke up for the night, many hours later. Egon had picked up the cat and was petting it, as the men were preparing to leave Yandor's house. Not being used to cats, and not knowing the manner in which they like to be petted—rubbing the fur the way it naturally lies down—Egon was ruffling it and rubbing his hands forth and back across Ebony's body.
The cat did not like it. It was only Hanlon's firm control that kept it from . . . "Hey, that's it!"
He released control of the cat's actions, while still watching through its eyes and ears. Egon's hand again rubbed heavily upward across the cat's fur. Almost light-swift was the slash of a clawed paw . . . and Egon yelped as he dropped Ebony to clap his hand to his chin, on which blood began seeping from several deep and painful scratches.
Egon aimed a hard kick in its direction, but Ebony dodged safely away and ran under a large piece of furniture.
"What happened?" Yandor sprang forward, a cloth in his hand to wipe away the blood from Egon's chin. "Wait a minute. I'll get medicine to put on that."
"Get rid of that cursed animal or I'll kill it," Egon blazed.
"Well now, you must have hurt it some way," Yandor said placatingly as he daubed medicine on his friend's chin, stopping the bleeding and relieving the pain. "Ebony is so friendly and quiet, I can't understand it. He never acted that way before."
"Well, keep the vicious thing caged after this, then, and Egon stomped out of the house, the other two me silently following.
Nor could Hanlon detect anything in Yandor's mind, which he invaded as quickly as possible, that this was anything more than the grumbling of a friend who had been accidentally injured. Yet there was a bit of fear of that other man there, and a resolution to keep the cat out of sight when Egon was around.
Did Yandor, himself, know that Egon and the masked man were the same—or were Hanlon and Ebony wrong? If not, why was Yandor afraid? There were many questions, but no answers—and Hanlon fumed.
He must get facts. He was getting a lot of suspicions and possible clues, and certainly more information all the time. But none of them tied in together as yet; none of them were provable facts.
Slowly, as he thought this out, it became more and more apparent to Hanlon that he must no longer be tied down to his work at the theatre. It—and taking care of the roches daytimes—was demanding entirely too much of his time. Besides, it had only been undertaken to give him a chance to get acquainted with Ino Yandor and, later, to give Hanlon a reason for presenting the cat to this pet-collector.
So, when he went to the theatre that night, Hanlon was, to all intents and purposes, roaring drunk. He was surly and insolent to everyone he met, and his performance was terrible. The roches did not stay in straight lines, they were out of step often, and fumbled and stumbled in one way or another much of the time. The master of ceremonies finally came out, forced Hanlon off the stage, then apologized to the stunned audience.
"What made you think you could get away with anything like this?" the manager demanded hotly, down in Hanlon's dressing room. "You're through here—the act is cancelled. And I'll make sure no other theatre hires you."
"Well now, that's right," another angry voice broke in, and Hanlon turned to see Yandor, his face black. "Your entire contract is broken as of now. I'll not tolerate such a disgraceful performance from anyone under me."
Hanlon blustered and cursed, and yanked off his costume to get into his street clothes. He apparently was not concerned with the roches—did not even take off their costumes—but actually he was seeing to it that none of this anger touched their minds or affected them in any way.
Back in his room he considered the matter for some time, and decided he had put it across all right—that these touchy men would not connect him with any reverses they might suffer later in their outside criminal work.
He considered the problem of his roches. He had always loved dogs, and having become so intimate with these Estrellan pooches, he hated to part with them. They were such lovable pets, so gentle and affectionate and loyal. Knowing their minds so intimately, Hanlon knew they had often wondered at the way they were being handled and made to do things beyond their ordinary ability—yet not one of them had ever had the least rebellious thought of ill-feeling toward this master who made them do such unusual things.
But Hanlon knew he could no longer take care of them as they deserved, that they would only be in his way from now on. His first act the next morning after they had been fed, was to see to it that they were taken out and good homes found for them. There were many children living in his own and neighboring houses, who were glad to receive gifts of such fine pets.
That worry solved, Hanlon went back to his room and spent most of the day there, a great deal of it lying down on his bed or sprawled out in his easy chair, his mind in that of Ebony, the cat, or roaming the city watching the minds of the people he knew and suspected.
During the afternoon the masked man called on Yandor again. Through Ebony's sharp eyes Hanlon carefully scrutinized and studied the lower part of the visitor's face, which luckily the mask did not cover.
"Hah!" he exclaimed gleefully. For those scratches were quite plainly visible to one who knew exactly where they were, and who was specifically looking for them, even though it was apparent there had been a careful attempt to conceal them with cosmetics.
Egon and the masked man, then, were one and the same! But who was he, really? That was Hanlon's next important problem.
The following night, through the cat's eyes, Hanlon again saw Egon and the other two men coming into Yandor's house for one of their usual card games. Now, perhaps, was h
is chance to find out who the man was, and where he lived.
Ebony had been banished to the next room, but through its ears Hanlon was listening carefully, to know that the four were still in the house. Meanwhile, he dressed and rode his motor-tricycle to the vicinity of Yandor's home. There he hid himself in a dense shadow, always in possession of Ebony's mind, waiting for signs that the men were getting ready to leave.
Unexpectedly, however, as they were going out, a large, ornate, motorized-tricycle with double seats drove up to the house. Egon entered it and was driven rapidly away, far faster than Hanlon's smaller machine could possibly go.
The young SS man was caught flat-footed. Or wait, was he? There was a way, after all . . . for him.
Swiftly his mind sought about and quickly found a sleeping bird in a nearby tree. Taking control of its mind, he sent it winging after the speeding car, and by this method was able to follow it as it drove swiftly out into the country.
In the spaceship above, a decision was made. By means of the multiphased scanner, certain entities on the planet below, whose general position was already known, were hunted out. For the alien now definitely concluded that they were highly inimical to its plans.
By certain means those beings were captured and taken forcibly to a place that had been prepared.
CHAPTER 10
IMMEDIATELY AFTER SSM GEORGE HANLON had sent part of his mind into that of a bird and had made it follow Egon's car, the young man followed on his own trike, driven at its top speed out along the road the faster machine had taken.
He cussed the slowness of this clumsy vehicle, wishing be had a fast Terran jet-cycle or car. But he had to make do with what he had, and finally calmed himself with the knowledge that he could see where the other went, through the bird's eyes, even if he himself could not close up the distance separating them.
"You oughtta be ashamed of yourself," he scolded himself. "Who else could turn this into success? Be thankful for your great luck in having such a wonderful talent—and quit this eternal griping the minute something goes the tiniest bit haywire."
Alien Minds Page 9
