Only a few minutes later, however, he was glad he had the power. The Ruler and Irad were passing a small wood, when suddenly several other cavalmen came racing from it, and surrounded them. Two of the new men—all of whom were masked—caught the bridles of the two animals from the residence, and halted them abruptly.
"What is the meaning of this?" Elus Amir cried imperiously, apparently more angry than frightened.
But Hanlon, so far distant he could not possibly get to the place personally, in time to be of any help, was worried and scared. This attack had all the earmarks of assassination and, knowing what he knew, he was sure it was intended as such.
He must do something, but quick.
Dropping his pitchfork, he raced into the tackroom where he knew there was a cot. Throwing his body down on this, he sent all the remainder of his mind out to contact and control the cavals of the newcomers—working outward from the two he was already controlling that were at the scene.
He did not have mind enough to fully take over all of them at once, for cavals had potentially much mind-power, and four or five could absorb all his.
However, by temporarily dropping control of Amir's animal, he was able to take over enough regulation to overcome the commands of the riders. He made the horses of four of the assassins, those holding flameguns, rear back and begin fighting their riders. They pitched and bucked and shortly started dashing off on a wild runaway gallop across the meadow, in different directions. He impressed on each caval's mind as well as he could that it must keep on running, no matter what was done to stop it.
Then he wrenched control from their minds and sent it into the other four animals. He found he was just in time. One of the men, who had been holding Amir's caval—Hanlon could see through its eyes—was drawing his flame-gun.
Hanlon made this caval rear suddenly, pitching the man off onto the road. The animal swiveled about while in the air and landed its heavy feet on the prone body. It kicked and pawed the helpless gangster until there was nothing left but a battered and bloody mass.
The remaining attacker's caval was, meanwhile, racing off across the meadow in much the same runaway fashion as the ones that had preceded it. When it was well away, Hanlon withdrew control.
Meanwhile, he had been watching carefully through the eyes and ears of the two steeds that bore the Ruler and the Second-In-Line, what they were doing and saying.
Through Irad's mount he could see the look of surprise and fright that had come upon the Ruler's face. Fright, Hanlon rightly guessed, at Amir's near approach to death, surprise that the attack had been made at all, and especially at the unbelievable manner of his deliverance.
"What could possibly have made all those cavals start running away just at the crucial moment?" he asked Irad, whom he did not yet suspect. "And even more amazing, the way that one threw and then so savagely killed its rider, yet is now standing quietly there, munching grass at the roadside?"
But both Amir, and Hanlon—who saw it through the Ruler's caval's eyes—saw the look of hatred and rage that came onto the face of the Second-In-Line, giving it almost the appearance of a completely different person. Amir was so shocked by it that for a moment he could not speak—could only stare in open-mouthed amazement. Hanlon too was startled, momentarily failing to watch the actions of Irad.
And in that instant the conspirator tried to act. From a hidden pocket in his clothing he drew a flamer, and aimed it at the Ruler.
"Maybe this will spoil my plans," he snarled, "but by Zappa, you die anyway."
But even as he was speaking, and while he was pressing the stud in the gun's handle, Hanlon snapped himself into awareness, and made Irad's mount rear back and wheel on its hind legs, while at the same time he forced the Ruler's caval to dodge to one side.
But he was not quick enough. There was a flash of flame, a stench of burning cloth and flesh, and a hastily-suppressed groan, all clearly apparent through the cavals' senses, that told the distant Hanlon that Amir had been hit. He felt the Ruler reel in his saddle, and hoped the blast was not fatal.
But he had no time then save for an incidental inspection, despite the abilities of his divided mind. For he was intent on trying to make Irad's caval unseat its rider, so that he might have the beast trample the conspirator. Even so he could feel Amir—through the senses of the steed the Ruler was riding—clutch the pommel with both hands to hold himself on his mount's back.
But Adwal Irad was an excellent cavalman. He managed to keep his seat, but was too busy with this either to look to see if his shot had killed his Ruler, or to fire another. In a moment he had to drop the gun, anyway, in order to use both hands in trying to quiet the raging animal beneath him.
For the caval was rearing, bucking, sun-fishing—every unusual maneuver Hanlon's agile mind was able to make it perform. It did things no caval, and no Estrellan, had ever heard of before. Through its mind Hanlon could feel the cruel whipping Irad was giving it, and this made both Hanlon and the beast—never more than half-tame at best—viciously angry and more determined than ever to get rid of the burden.
Realizing at last that he could not unseat so skillful a rider, Hanlon changed his tactics. He made the caval start off on a dead run—but into the woods, not across the meadow as the others had done. "Maybe it will run under a low branch and knock Irad off his back," he hoped.
But he was worried about Amir, and turned most of his mind back to seeing how the Ruler was faring. He knew the man was still astride, and with part of his mind he could read pain, but knew Amir was not fatally injured. Hanlon made his mount turn back toward the residence, and at its gentlest speed hasten back until he saw the servants come running out to take care of their master.
Knowing the Ruler was now in safe hands, Hanlon was free to think of his own situation.
He opened his eyes . . . and stared with growing astonishment at totally unfamiliar surroundings.
Jerkily he sat up on the bunk on which his body was now lying. His eyes roved about the small, stone-walled room, trying to figure out where he was . . . and why.
He had gone into the familiar tackroom of the stables, he knew, to lie down on the cot there while he sent all of his mind out of his body to contact and control the cavals of the would-be assassins. He guessed he had been "gone" for about half an hour. What had happened in the meantime?
He got up and went across the small room to a heavy wooden door, which he found to be locked. He had to stand on tiptoes to look through the small, barred window in it. But his only view was of a narrow corridor, on the other side of which was another stone wall containing, in the limited portions he could see to either side, three doors similar to the one behind which he was confined.
"Looks like I'm in the juzgado," he grimaced. "Wonder why, and how?"
He called out, in hopes someone would come and explain. But repeated calls brought no one, nor any response from the other cells. "Must be no one else here," he thought, and went back to lie down on the bunk.
There he used his special talents, sending his mind outside and hunting for some bird or animal through whose eyes he could try to discover where he was.
He finally contacted a bird, and soon discovered he was in a small stone building at one of the farther corners of the residential grounds. There did not seem to be any guards hanging about the outside. Hanlon made the bird fly up and hover near one of the windows, and peer inside. No one there, either, nor any to be seen through either of the other windows that opened to the outer wall.
He sent the bird higher until he could see the entire palace grounds and thus orient himself. Then he flew it to the stables.
Endar was talking to two other grooms, and seemed in high spirits. As the bird found a perch close to the little group he heard Endar saying, “. . . drunk, so I had the guards arrest him.”
"Never knew he drank," one of the stablemen said. "I was surprised, myself, but he was dead to the world, and I couldn't rouse him."
But Hanlon could detect, in the
man's voice and attitude, that Endar felt he had achieved his revenge for all the fancied wrongs Hanlon (as Lona) had done or contemplated doing to him.
Satisfied for the time being, although not too happy at the situation in which he found himself, Hanlon withdrew his mind from the bird, and twisted his body into a more comfortable position on the bunk. There was so much he had to think about, and now that he was undisturbed was a splendid time.
He felt confident that the Ruler, Elus Amir, knew the truth about Adwal Irad and the conspiracy, and would no longer hesitate about joining the Federation.
"He might, though, at that," Hanlon thought seriously. "Especially if he happens to get it into his noggin that we Terrans were back of all that has happened. It's a dirty shame he doesn't understand us better—or that we don't know their ways of thinking better. But then, that's the cause of half the troubles between individuals, nations, races and worlds—they simply don't understand the basic motivations of the other fellow. But about Amir—I wonder if now isn't the time to prod him a bit? If—or as soon as—I get out of here, I'll try someway to get in touch with the Federation, and suggest we have the ambassadors come back and talk to him again. He ought to be ripe now."
It was only after some time that he remembered to wonder if Irad had been hurt or killed by his runaway caval. "I should have stayed in its mind until I knew if he got home or what."
Hanlon again sought out a bird, and when he was in control of its mind, sent it winging across the roofs and the country-side to the home of the Second-In-Line. When it got there, nothing could be seen to indicate that anyone was at home, nor was anyone visible when the bird peered through each of the windows.
Hanlon perched the bird on a tree-limb while he thought seriously for some moments. Then he sent the bird on the Ovil Esbor's house. "Maybe I can pick up a clue there."
But, as soon as the bird started looking through windows, Hanlon knew he had uncovered more than a clue. For Irad was there, talking to three or four men.
Hanlon wanted very much to hear their conversation. But how? The bird hunted in vain, but could find no open door or window by which it could enter. Nor were there open chimneys as are so common on Terran worlds, for the Estrellans covered their smoke-and-fume vents with fine screens.
Hanlon made the bird perch on a tree-limb and go to sleep. Then he sent that portion of his mind from its brain, seeking some small animal, rodent or insect inside the house. He finally found one of their rat-things in its hole beneath the foundation. He took over its mind, wincing as he did so at the vicious, stark ferocity there. But he made it scamper through the walls until it came to the room where the conspirators were talking. The rat had already gnawed an entrance hole through the bottom of the wall there, and Hanlon had it crouch just inside, listening.
It took him only a few seconds to realize that the angry Irad must have told the others about their strange fiasco that morning, and that they were planning how they could finish the thing they had started.
"I don't dare go back to the palace, myself, for some time, at least," Irad scowled blackly. "I lost my head and gave the whole thing away back there, I know. Came right out and told Amir I was going to kill him. Who'd have guessed those fool cavals would act the way they did?"
"There's something mighty funny about that, Adwal," one of the men said in a puzzled tone that almost contained a hint of accusation. "One caval could quite easily have become frightened at something, or taken it into its silly head to bolt. You never can tame or train 'em completely. But you said all of your group did the same thing. That just doesn't sound right to me. What made them do it, just at the wrong time, and spoil your plans?"
Hanlon could hear the Second-In-Line laugh sneeringly. "You suggesting magic of some sort, Ovil?"
"I'm not suggesting anything—I'm just asking," and now the man's voice carried even more of suspicion and accusation. "It all sounds mighty strange and unbelievable to me. We'd like to know more about it."
There was a dangerous sharpness in Adwal Irad's voice. "Are you questioning the truth of my report, Esbor?"
"I'm not doubting you . . . yet. But there's something going on here that looks peculiar, to say the least, and we want to know all about it. That assassination was planned so carefully. And all the men with you were good riders. It just doesn't seem possible that all of them should have lost control of their cavals at exactly the same time. And that business about the animal Yllo was riding—throwing him and then killing him, as you reported."
Hanlon, through the rat's ears, could hear the other men muttering agreement to this.
Irad sprang to his feet, his voice shrill. "You calling me a liar, Esbor?"
"Not exactly, but I do think we deserve a better explanation of your failure than that silly story. We're all in this, too, and our lives are more at stake than yours, since you're Second . . .".
"You won't have to worry about your life any more," Irad screamed, and almost too swiftly to follow he yanked out his flamegun and cindered the politician's body before any of the others could object or stop him. As the man's body—what was left of it—fell to the floor, Irad swung his gun about menacingly, covering the others, who had risen in fright.
"Any of the rest of you phidis want to call me a liar?" he rasped.
"No, of course not, Adwal," one of them spoke in a placating manner. "We've never doubted you."
"Anybody with any sense could figure out that you really tried to kill Amir," another said. "Why, look. You're the one who started all this, and you sure wouldn't have worked so hard, or spent so much on this campaign, if you hadn't intended going through with it."
"That's right. What happened was just some tough luck. And Esbor was getting ideas that were bigger than he was. So let's forget what's passed, and settle down to planning something else, and making sure it's fool-proof this time."
But Hanlon, disgusted as he was at the way they truckled to Irad, afraid of their skins, touched their minds and read the wonder they felt as to what had so changed Irad this past year. He had always been ambitious and, since being designated Second-In-Line, somewhat inclined to be dictatorial and overbearing.
But, their puzzled thoughts said, he had never been vicious, or displayed the killing instinct he was now showing. Too, his looks, his aging, worried them. They shook their heads with anxiety, as they began making new plans.
CHAPTER 18
IT WAS SOME TWO HOURS LATER WHEN Hanlon, in his own body, heard steps outside, and the sound of a key in his prison door. It opened, and one of the palace guard officers stood in the doorway.
"Well, you're awake," he said. "You sober now?"
"I never was drunk," Hanlon snapped, sitting erect to give his thought-out alibi. "I was working there in the stables, and felt myself getting faint. I managed to stagger into the tackroom, where I knew there was a cot—and that's all I remember until I found myself here."
"The head groom said you were drunk, and had us arrest you and bring you here. But you don't look like a man who had been dead drunk a few hours ago."
"Come smell my breath. You'll see I wasn't. In fact, I very seldom take even a drink of mild toxo and I haven't had any of that for many periods. Mykkyl's my drink."
The guard came close, sniffing, and Hanlon continued his prepared but necessary lie. "Ever since I was a boy I've been subject to these fainting spells. I'm getting so I can usually feel one coming on, and go lie down somewhere. In half an hour or so I wake up and am all right again until the next seizure. They usually come only two or three times a year."
The officer scratched his head. "Can't smell no liquor. Guess you must be telling the truth. In that case, there's no sense keeping you here. You can leave if you want to."
"Thanks, friend. I suppose it was a natural reaction, after seeing me unconscious."
Hanlon walked out of the little residence jail, and went back to his room in the groom's quarters. There he sat down to plan what his next moves would be.
"I've g
ot to warn the Ruler some way, and make sure he is really protected," he thought. "But how can I do that? Maybe he likes me well enough to promote me to a place in his guards. Oh, if I could only talk to dad about all this. I need his help and advice. Dare I take the time to start hunting for him again? Or must I keep on working here?"
His heart clamored for him to do so, but he made himself consider every angle and connotation of his situation as coldly and logically as possible, as though the admiral was just that, and not also his beloved father.
He should, Hanlon supposed, warn the Ruler. On the other hand, he knew Amir was no fool, and that as a result of his near-death the past few hours, he would certainly be taking greater care of himself than ever? Incidentally, Hanlon wondered, how badly was Amir hurt?
Was there anything further he (Hanlon) could do about it?
He thought and thought, but could not see just how, without giving everything away. Perhaps he could get word to young Inver, to keep a more careful watch over his father. But trying that, too, would be a give-away. Was it time for that? Time for him to come out into the open and appear as a Terran and a member of its Inter-Stellar Corps?
SSM George Hanlon had matured tremendously under all the experiences he had undergone since joining the secret service, but he was still only a very young man. Such problems as these were really far above him, he felt—were things he simply did not have sense enough to figure out correctly. Not enough experience; not enough brains, he told himself with what he thought was an honest evaluation.
Nevertheless, he knew he was alone, that it was up to him, and that he had to make a decision one way or another.
But part of that decision was not left up to him. He was interrupted in the midst of his cogitations by the sudden opening of his room's door. He looked up in annoyance—and it was Endar.
Alien Minds Page 17
