Alien Minds (23 page)

"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 got 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.

"Pack your things and get out," the head groom said harshly. "I've seen the Ruler, told him about your disgraceful act of being drunk on duty, and have his permission to discharge you. He was very disappointed in you, he said."

Beneath his harshness Hanlon could easily detect the man's fierce satisfaction at having thus rid himself of a potential (as he thought) competitor. From his reading of the other's mind, Hanlon knew that Endar had
not
talked this over with the Ruler, and was doing it on his own. But the young SS man did not dare reveal his knowledge of that fact at this moment.

So he made himself say plaintively, "But I wasn't drunk. I felt one of my fainting spells coming on, and ran into the tackroom to lie down while it was on me."

"A trumped-up excuse, which doesn't help," Endar sneered. "Even if it was true, which I know it isn't, we don't want such people working here. So get out—and fast." He threw some money on the bed, as wages, and left.

In a way Hanlon was rather glad. It did help solve some of his problems, in that it left him freer to go and come where and when he wished. So he made no further protests, but silently packed his things, pocketed the money Endar had left, and went out and got his trike and rode back to Stearra. He wondered if his old rooms had yet been taken by someone else.

When he reached the building where he had been living, he parked his tricycle in the shed in the back yard, and went up to his old apartment.

The padlock and hasp had been forced, and the door was closed but unlocked. He opened it and went in just the same, for there were still some of his things there. He was determined to get them, even if someone else was living here now.

But the moment he got inside he sensed something changed. He stood quietly, letting his mind
sniff
at the feeling, trying to figure out what it was. He thought he heard a slight noise in the next room, and tiptoed softly across to the door. It was, he now saw, slightly ajar, and he peered through the crack. Someone was lying on his bed—an older Estrellan male, he judged by the longer, heavier beard.

Something about that face seemed familiar.

The being in the spaceship high above the surface of this planet had been growing more and more puzzled and unsure of itself during the past several days. Its plans seemed to be going all awry—and it was not quite sure why.

That native it had been controlling had not acted as he was supposed to act. Or rather, things had happened that had made it impossible for him to act always as directed. Even to the being the strange behavior of those four-legged beasts for riding, that had ruined its carefully prepared plan, was completely unexplainable.

And there was still the problem of that one unreadable mind on this world. Various things the being had done or caused to be done had enabled it, through its high-powered, multiphased scanner, to SEE the entity and keep track of its various goings and comings, but all its most intense efforts had not yet been able to touch that mind.

That this entity was working with those others who had such a different mind-texture from the usual run of Estrellans, it had long since proved to its satisfaction. The being now knew what these others were, and what they were trying to do on this planet. But who or what that unreadable entity was, what it was doing, and why—all this had so far defied the being's utmost powers.

So it was puzzled and as nearly worried as it was possible for one of its race to be. Also, for the first time during its very long life, the being was beginning to lose a little of its supreme faith in its own abilities. It was almost beginning to wonder if it was possible for itself to fail in its mission? But that was unthinkable.

And yet, it almost wailed mentally, that entity MUST be working toward the same ends as those others. Was it their master?

For nearly two Estrellan days and nights it had been considering carefully and minutely all the data so far acquired, and what its next actions should be. One thing it had early decided—there was no further use for confining or controlling those other two strange-minded creatures from that other system. It therefore released the "flee" compulsion from the one, and caused the "jailer" to open the doors and allow the other to leave its prison.

As George Hanlon stared at that figure on the bed, he reached out mentally and touched its mind. Instantly he let out a yell of delight, flung wider the door, and ran to the bedside.

"Dad, you're free!"