Alien Minds (3 page)

"Imagine the average Terran doing that," Hanlon had
thought, wonderingly, when he first heard of it.

He had been lucky enough to find a three-room apart
ment fairly close to the downtown section of the city, yet far enough away so the crowd-noise did not bother him. The building in which he lived was of four stories, and he was on the second floor, near the back.

It was the third place he had looked at when he first came to Estrella. He could not at first make himself believe that all the rooms had such bad smells in them. But he soon found it to be true, largely because these natives had nothing that could be called efficient plumbing. When he had finally picked these rooms, he spent a full day airing them out, cleaning them thoroughly, and using what disinfectants and smell-eradicators he was able to find and buy in the stalls here.

The peculiar-looking, five-sided rooms were comfort
ably furnished, by Estrellan standards, and not too bad even from Earthly ones. The walls and ceilings and floors were painted in fairly harmonious colors, and there was a sort of half-matting, half-carpet rug on the floors. What cor
responded to the living room contained two of their low, backless stools, and one quite comfortable lounging chair. There was a large and a small table, and an empty case where one could store any reading scrolls he might possess.

The bedroom had a low, foot-high, five-sided bed, but it was hard and uncomfortable until Hanlon figured how to make it softer, and more to his liking. There were several pegs on the wall from which to hang his clothing, two more of the backless stools, and the open place—a sort of well running from roof to basement—that was the toilet. Hanlon found a large piece of heavy cloth something like canvas, in one of the stalls, and made a hanging to cover this in lieu of a door, which shut out some of the smell-source.

The kitchen had shelves, a stove, and table and back
less stools. In one corner, suspended through the ceiling, was an open water pipe with a sort of concrete drain beneath.

This was both the source of water for cooking or drinking, and the bathing place—a primitive shower.

The reels furnished by Survey had told Hanlon that few of the Estrellan buildings were more than five stories high. "Some, in the business districts, may run to six or seven stories. We have concluded that the main reason for this is that the natives do not have elevators, except a few crude rope-and-pulley freight elevators in some of the stores and office buildings."

Now Hanlon sauntered slowly along the street, enjoy
ing the fresh night air, warmed to about sixty-five degrees Fahrenheit, while he worked the kinks out of his tension-wearied body. This business of controlling the roches de
manded such intense concentration that his mind and body were highly keyed up when he finished, and he had trouble relaxing.

He saw, almost without noticing this time, the primitive street lighting system that made flickering lights and shadows on the tree-shaded walks and roads. These people used natural gas for their nighttime outdoor illuminating—just semi-ornate standards with the flames rising a foot or so above them. Men went around at dusk to light them, and again at dawn to turn them off.

Hanlon had walked slowly for several blocks when he saw a native approaching him. When they came abreast the man stopped him.

"I do not remember seeing you about here before," he said, looking closely at Hanlon in the flickering light. "I am the peace keeper for this district," he added as he saw Han
lon's questioning look.

"No, I just moved in a few days ago," Hanlon answered. "What do you do here? Do you have a job?"

"He thinks I'm a vag," Hanlon grinned to himself, and said aloud, in a courteous voice, "I just came from the Eastern Continent, nyer, and hope to become a public entertainer. I have enough money to support myself until I can earn more."

"That is good. If I can ever be of service in helping you to get acquainted, please look me up. I like to see all the people in my district happy and busy."

"I shall do that, nyer, and thank you for your courtesy." And as the man moved to one side, Hanlon gave him a cheery half-salute, and went on his way. "Darned -nice people, really," he said to himself. "They'll make good Federation citizens."

When Hanlon had started out on this stroll he had had no special destination—was merely out for a breather. But as he ambled along a thought came to him, and he quickened his pace and walked more purposefully toward the down
town section and a certain building he had previously spotted.

It was a small "place where men drank," and his in
vestigations had convinced him that many of this city's crim
inal element went there for relaxation. The cafe occupied the street floor of a small two-storied building that was, as were almost all the Estrellan buildings, a five-sided one.

For
five
was the sacred number of the native religion and philosophy. Hanlon had learned that the number five
was consistently
used wherever possible, even in their architecture, their ornaments, and their coined money.

Their religion was based on five basic Truths taught by He Who Died For Them. These were : Love, Faith, Brotherliness, Honor, and Loyalty. Their philosophy (they called it their "Code of Living") was also composed of five parts : to be religious ; to attain the highest possible men
tality; to live physically clean lives; to be considerate of others always, and to be honest in all dealings.

The Terrans had found that while, of course, there were individuals who did not subscribe either to their religion or their Code of Living, that on the whole the race held a very high standard of ethics.

Now, as he walked inside the drinking place, the young SS man saw that the pentagonal room was brilliantly lighted, rather than kept dim as were most Terran and Simonidean cafes.

"Probably because they can't turn 'em low," he thought. For the lights were lamps burning a carbide compound, that gave out a harsh but very bright light.

As Hanlon took a seat at a small table, he looked about him interestedly. There was a bar across the back or third side, where the drinks were mixed. On the other four sides, except where the windows or doors interfered, were several small booths, with drawn curtains across their entrances for privacy. The balance of the floor was filled with two-, three-and five-place pentagonal tables, and their chairs, or rather, backless stools.

"What is your wish?" an attendant came to Hanlon's table.

"Glass of mykkyl, please."

While the waiter was bringing the barely-intoxicating but very popular drink, and later as Hanlon was slowly sip
ping it, the SS man let his mind roam throughout the small room, touching mind after mind, seeking and hoping to find those he had come here trying to locate.

He had to grit his teeth to keep from showing the frustration he felt on this world when trying to understand what these people were thinking. For he had long since found that, whatever a human might be speaking in words, his thoughts showed his true feelings simultaneously with and despite what he was saying. And Hanlon could usually read those surface thoughts and understand them fully.

But with the Estrellans, he had found this was not always true. There was sometimes an . . . an
obliqueness
. . . that could not be directly translated by one no more used to their thought-patterns than he was so far.

George Hanlon was the only member of the Inter-Stellar Corps' secret service who could read minds at all—one of the very few humans ever to possess this ability to any demonstrable extent. And he was still young enough to feel occasionally that he was being badly treated by his inability to read these native minds at will.

While he was on that Simonidean assignment, and on the planet of Algon, he had even learned to telepath with the natives, the Guddu "Greenies," or plant-men. But here he could not do that at all. He could read and control animal minds, "and these lousy Estrellans are almost animals," he had growled beneath his breath at first, "so why can't I handle their minds?"

But even through this rude shock to his vanity he did not entirely lose his ability to think and reason logically. He had studied the problem intensively for these past days, and had come to certain preliminary conclusions.

"It's not, after all, that they're lower in the evolutionary scale than we Terrans are," he finally concluded. "It's just that they haven't advanced as far in scientific and techno
logical knowledge. They may look like apes, but they sure aren't. Probably, when we get to really know them—if we ever do—we'll find they are 'way ahead of us in many things. They certainly, as a whole, practice their 'Code of Living' far better than most of our people do their professed re
ligion."

This conclusion was another shock to his confident young mind. For he had more than half expected, when he first came here, to have an easy time of it in solving the problem on which he and the other secret servicemen were working.

Yet how quickly he had been disabused.

And now, in this little place where men drank, he was finding it out anew. None of the minds he was scanning with all the ability he possessed, was quite of the calibre he sought, although most of them displayed leanings toward larceny and other criminal tendencies. For this drinking place was not one which the more generally law-abiding and decent people of Stearra cared to patronize.

Maddeningly meager were the thoughts he could in
terpret, but when he finally came to scan the minds of four natives who were seated at a five-place table near the back, close to the bar, he made an almost unconscious exclamation of surprise and delight.

He "listened in" more closely to the four, who were leaning toward each other, talking together in low, earnest tones. Hanlon could read the surface thoughts in each mind, but only occasionally at first could he understand what they were discussing. However, as he became more accustomed to their individual peculiarities of thought, he began to get enough to convince him that these were the ones he was seeking. At least, they were planning some deviltries, and one spoke as though he had received orders as to what they were to do.

Hanlon even finally got their names, although of the latter he soon became interested mainly in that of the slender, blondishly-hairy native with the steely blue eyes. That one, Ran Auldin, was their leader, Hanlon decided.

More intently now, Hanlon studied their minds, paying no further attention to the others in the room. He lingered over his drinks for nearly an hour, "listening in" on the conversation of these mobsters, and learning quite a bit about their criminal activities, and better how to interpret their thoughts.

Suddenly he stiffened in even closer attention.

"The leader," Auldin was saying to his henchmen, but Hanlon knew from his side thoughts that the fellow meant Ino Yandor, "wants us to start a series of fires and wreck
ings about the city. We'll get a list of places tomorrow or next day, and that night we'll do the job."

"In the name of Zappa, why?" one of the men asked. "Why would he want us to do that?"

"Who cares why?" Auldin shrugged. "The leader, he tells us 'do this', and we do it, that's all."

"Sure," another chimed in. "We get paid for our work, and good pay, too. So let the big fellows worry about why they want certain things done."

"That's the way to look at it," Auldin said. "We'll meet here tomorrow evening, and I'll probably have the list. If not tomorrow, then next day. But meet here tomorrow, anyway."

So, Hanlon thought swiftly. Just like small-time crooks everywhere. Somebody with brains does the bossing, and they stupidly follow orders, interested only in the pay they receive, caring nothing about who or what gets hurt.

These fellows were certainly worth watching, he decided. Even if it did not lead him to the larger goal he was seeking—and he felt sure it would—he would spike their plans somehow.

He felt he had heard enough for the time being, so he rose and left the drinking place before they should notice him. He walked slowly back to his apartment, thinking about this new plan, wondering, as the mobster had done, why such orders were given. It made no sense to him, unless it was that the chief criminals were merely intent on spreading a reign of terror and destruction.

"Or are they," he thought suddenly, "planning later to make it seem as though we Terrans are doing it? Perhaps planning to start a whispering campaign of such rumors?"

More than ever now he was determined that such activities must be stopped. "We've got to clean up this planet, and get it into the Federation. If they keep on this way, they can be a real menace. But with this criminal activity wiped out, and Estrella a member of the Federation, we can help them so much—and they have a lot to teach us, too."

CHAPTER 3

THE FOLLOWING DAY HANLON CONTINUED working with his roches. He now "drilled" them as soldiers are drilled. He taught himself how to control their minds in unison, making them march in all the various complicated maneuvers of squads and columns, all in perfect alignment and cadence.

It was tricky, delicate work, requiring as it did placing a portion of his mind in each rock's brain, giving that mind and body individual commands, yet keeping enough central control in his own mind so they all performed exactly together.

So much of his mind was transferred to theirs, that he had to learn how to make his own body "stand at attention" during these maneuvers, with but minimum control over his own functions.