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 roch’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.

Hour after hour he worked with them, giving them fifteen minutes of rest out of each half-hour--and thus giving his own brain rest at the same time. For this was tiring work for him, as well as for them.

When dusk fell he stopped the training, saw to it that the roches were well-fed and watered, then put them all to sleep. He dressed for the street, went out and found an eating place, where he did full justice to a good meal.

“One thing you’ve got to hand these folks,” he thought thankfully, “they certainly can cook, even though some of their dishes have a most unusual taste.”

It had taken him several days to discover which native dishes he liked and could digest, for some of them almost made him ill, others had a taste he could not stomach, but most of them were delicious--and Hanlon was ordinarily a good trencherman.

His meal finished, Hanlon paid and went back to the drinking place where he sat, toying with a glass of mykkyl while waiting for Auldin and the others to appear.

They came in shortly, one by one, and Hanlon “listened in” on Auldin’s mind as the chief mobster gave his fellows directions as to the places they were to burn or wreck. Hanlon had already prepared a note, addressed to the head of the local peace-keepers. To this he now added the addresses Auldin was giving. When he was sure he had them all, he slipped out of the little cafe.

He went swiftly along the streets toward the Stearra police headquarters, which he had previously located, keeping watch until he saw a dog-like roch running along. Quickly reaching out and taking control of its mind, Hanlon made the animal follow him until he could duck into a deserted doorway.

Hanlon made his messenger take the prepared note carefully in its mouth, then trot down the street and into the “police station.” There it ran up to the man in charge, and raised itself up with its front paws on the man’s knees.

“What in the name of... ?” the official looked down, eyes bugging and mouth slack at the beast’s unexpected action. For several moments he seemed not even to notice the paper in the roch’s mouth. When he did, he took it gingerly, opened and read it.

“An attempt will be made just before half-night,” Hanlon had written, “to set fire to or wreck the following places of business. If you watch carefully, you can catch the criminals in the act, and save these pieces of property from damage or destruction.” Then followed the five addresses.

The man read the note twice, a puzzled, anxious frown on his face. He did not quite know what to make of it--or so his attitude seemed to indicate. There had been no “crime” on this planet that he had ever had occasion to try to stop. For he was not a police officer in the ordinary sense. The Estrellan “peace keepers” merely watched to see that crowds or individuals did not get too boisterous, aided in handling crowds at large gatherings, or assisted home those who may have imbibed too freely.

The fellow scratched the back of his head while he considered the matter at length. “Some phidi trying to make a fool of me,” he finally said aloud, as Hanlon heard through his roch’s ears, as he had been watching through its eyes. “But how in the name of Zappa did whoever it was train this roch to bring me the note like this?”

This latter problem seemed to have greater interest for him than the warning. For his eyes were still watching the roch with puzzled inquiry ... but he did nothing about acting upon Hanlon’s suggestion.

As the S S man watched the roch leave the peace keeper’s headquarters, he fumed because it was apparent that the official was going to take no action on his warning. Were they in on this criminal activity, he wondered? Was it that wide-spread, that even the supposed law-keepers were party to it?

No, he finally decided, probably this fellow was just a dumb, unimaginative sort of dope.

He watched miserably as the fires were set and the business buildings wrecked. There was nothing else he could do to stop it, for he knew it would only put himself in useless danger to try--would jeopardize what he and the other secret servicemen were trying to accomplish here. But as soon as the damage had been done he found another roch, and sent it back to headquarters with another scathing note.

“You paid no attention to my previous warning, and as a result two of the buildings I told you about have been set on fire, the windows smashed on another, and two others have been wrecked by explosions. Why don’t you use what small brains you possess, and stop this wave of crime? Or are you being paid to ignore it?”

Through the eyes of the roch Hanlon watched the official read the note, and saw him fly into a rage and pace the floor ... but what the man was thinking Hanlon was too far away to read.

“One thing sure, I’ll have to get busy and make contact with these gangsters,” Hanlon thought bitterly as he went back to his room and to bed. “Guess I’m near enough ready to tackle Yandor now. Let’s see, shall I do it directly, or... ?”

He undressed and climbed into the low, foot-high, five-sided bed these Estrellans used. There was no mattress or springs, but fortunately his rooms had several extra blankets, and these he had folded beneath him to make his sleeping more comfortable.

He was still wrestling with his problem when he finally dropped off to sleep.

But the next day he figured it out to his satisfaction. He worked with his roches until evening, then went out and got himself a meal. Later he went, purposefully late, into the drinking place. Seeing Auldin and his men already at their table, he went directly up to them.

“Greetings, Ran Auldin,” he said boldly. “I’ve been looking for you, for I want to join your group. I’m fast and clever with knife or flamegun, and I’ve got plenty of ideas. I can do us both a lot of good.”

The other three half-rose, staring at him with hostile eyes. But their chief made a gesture that said “Wait”, and himself looked Hanlon up and down coolly. “You are mistaken, my friend,” he said at last. “We are not engaged in such activities as might require the use of ... of knife or gun. We are lawful businessmen.”

Hanlon fitted his face to a crooked smile and his voice was almost sarcastic as he replied, “Sure, sure, I know. But listen, friend. A fellow out to make a big pile of pentas doesn’t do it by being asleep. I’ve done a lot of scouting ‘round and asking questions in a discreet way. I know who I’m talking to.”

His mind, always in touch with that of the others, read in their surface thoughts the surprised, “Oh, so that’s why we’ve had the feeling the past few days we were being watched.” He could tell that this conclusion made them jittery, and more cautious and ready for instant action.

But Hanlon had to keep on the path he had taken.

Aloud, Auldin merely said again, in a voice he kept mild and low, “I’m sorry, my friend, but you are still mistaken. We work for another man, helping him hunt out talented people and make entertainers out of them.”

“During the day, yes,” Hanlon gave him a wise smile, “and I can help him a lot in that, too.”

He knew the three other men had been growing more and more angry at his interruption. He could interpret their thoughts well enough so he was tensed for quick-action, determined not to be caught off guard.

“But what I’m really interested in,” Hanlon continued, “is your evening activities. By the way, I hope none of you got hurt or burned last...” He wheeled swiftly, for one of the natives had suddenly leaped up and toward him, a dagger in his hand, slashing at him.

Hanlon met him with a light, contemptuous laugh. He ducked beneath the other’s knife-slash, then stepped in close. His left fist traveled only a few inches, but all the strength of his powerful shoulder and arm muscles was in the blow. His fist sank to the wrist in the man’s solar plexus.

Wind whooshing out, the gangster doubled up in pain. Hanlon chopped down with the edge of his hand on the other’s wrist, and the knife clattered to the floor. The Corpsman swung viciously with a right uppercut that lifted his attacker and drove him backward. He crashed into a chair with such force that as man and stool fell to the floor, the wooden seat was splintered.

The other two leaped to their feet and started forward. As though he had eyes in the back of his head and had seen them coming, Hanlon swivelled toward them, his lips thinned in a fighting grin, while several of the cafe attendants were running up.

“Leave him alone,” Ran Auldin commanded sharply, and his men looked back at him in astonishment. “The stranger was only defending himself against an unprovoked attack by Ugen,” Auldin explained to the cafe’s men. He turned to his fellows. “You two take Ugen home and put him to bed. I want to talk to this stranger.”

As the surly guards picked up the limp body of their fallen companion and bore him out, the drink-servers returned to their posts. Evidently Ran Auldin was known and respected here. He now faced Hanlon and motioned toward one of the stools.