Chapter 8

The night the sneak boat was due to return, Hanlon early sent word to Yandor that he was ill, and could not perform that night. The entrepreneur came, boiling over with anger, to Hanlon’s rooms.

“Well now,” he began, “what’s all this about... ?”

“Ooh, quiet, please,” Hanlon moaned. He had been ready for just some such thing, and was lying in bed, face contorted with pain, and now pressed his hands to his ears as though Yandor’s loud voice was more than he could stand. “Can’t you see I’m sick? Why must you make so much noise?”

The agent was taken aback by this counterthrust. He calmed a bit then, but asked many questions. Hanlon’s partial answers and evident pain finally convinced the impresario that his star performer was, indeed, too ill to appear.

“These attacks come only once or twice a year, and usually last only a day or two,” Hanlon assured him in a weak voice. “I’ll try my best to be on hand tomorrow.”

“Very well, I’ll expect you then. Well now, there is something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about, and now is a good time. I want you to work into your act various things to say against the Terrans; about how such wonderful performances as yours would be impossible if we were to submit to them and accept their so-called invitation to join their Federation. Suggest to the audience that we would all become slaves, and that neither would performers have time to prepare their acts, nor would the others be allowed to come and watch them.”

Hanlon was slightly prepared for this because he had seen it forming in Yandor’s mind, but he did not like it any the better. He was just about to make an angry retort when he took himself in hand, and continued keeping in the character he had assumed. He groaned a bit louder, and twisted more violently on the bed.

“Please, nyer, leave me now. I hate for anyone to see me while I’m like this. As for what you’ve just said, we’ll talk about it later and see what can be worked out.”

And, reluctantly, it seemed, Yandor finally left.

When night at last brought its cloak of darkness, Hanlon put the roches to sleep and slipped quietly from his room. Down in the back, though, he could not seem to get his tricky acetylene-powered engine to start. He fussed and tinkered for nearly two hours before he could finally get it going.

“So help me, I’m never going to cuss out a real ground-car after this because it acts up occasionally,” he said as he rode out of the yard and down the dusty street. He drove as fast as he could out to the clearing where the sneakboat had already landed.

“Sorry to be late, fellows,” he said as soon as he had given the password and been allowed aboard. He accepted gratefully the cup of coffee they gave him, and griped for five solid minutes about those gosh-awful excuses for transportation these so-and-so natives used.

“Here, have a box of candy bars, and quit belly-aching,” one of them said at last. The other held out another gift, a pound can of pulverized instant coffee.

“Hey, these are wonderful,” Hanlon’s spirits rose as if by magic. “You guys are my friends for life.”

“Why, Georgie,” one of them simpered. “I didn’t know you cared.”

“You’ll have to choose between us, though,” the other said owlishly. “I’m not going to be a partner to bigamy.”

Then they both laughed. “Look, he’s blushing.”

“Aw, I am not,” Hanlon spluttered. “It’s just this pink skin-dye,” he added weakly.

“Anyway, here’s your cat,” the S S men got down to business, and fetched the crate containing the beautiful animal. “We happened to remember hearing that these people don’t have milk, so we got you one that’s accustomed to a meat and vegetable diet.”

“Gee, thanks for that. I’d completely forgotten that point.”

Hanlon examined the big, black cat, and his mind reached out and quieted its fright at the strange surroundings and this hairy being who was now handling it.

He talked with the men for some further time, told them he had not yet got any sure clues, but was beginning to get an “in” with some people he felt sure would lead him to some. They told him the other three men had reported about the same, although Hooper said the curve was rising steadily on the belief that Terrans were behind the crime wave here.

“Yeh, I’ve heard that bilge, too. It’s just another of the things we’ll have to stamp out before we can win out here. But we will.”

“Sure you will,” the two agreed. “Anything else you need?”

“No, can’t think of a thing. The cat was the most important for now. It will really get me in more solid with Yandor, the guy I’m working on.”

“Hope so, Han. Well, cheerio.”

“Safe flights, you guys, and thanks again.”

On the ride back he was glad he had a tricycle instead of a two-wheeled bike, for the crate was heavy and rather awkward with the cat in it, shifting its weight about from time to time.

Back in his room once more, Hanlon released the animal, which immediately dived under the bed, where it cowered in fright, having seen and smelled the roches who were sleeping in various places about the rooms.

But again Hanlon reached out and touched its mind, calmed its fear, and soon had it out of hiding and creeping into his arms. It lay there, purring, while he stroked it and impressed on its mind--whose texture he learned while doing this--that it was safe and with friends.

After he had done that, he woke the roches. At first sight of the feline a couple of them started toward it in curiosity. Swiftly Hanlon took over their minds and halted them where they were. He then brought each of them to the realization that this was a new friend and playmate. That was not too hard, for the roches had never seen a cat, and only its strangeness had made them curious.

He had more trouble with the cat, for the ages-old dislike and fear of dogs was strong within it. But he finally calmed it by implanting the knowledge firmly in its mind that these strange beings were not dogs, actually, and that they meant it no harm, and all were to be friends.

Soon he was grinning at his ability, as he saw the nine animals eating, drinking and playing together, as though they had been the best of comrades all their lives.

“I’m really quite an animal trainer,” he chuckled to himself as he watched them.

_High above the strange being lay on its padded bench and frustrated thoughts ran through its mind. It had noticed the two DIFFERENT minds who again had come briefly to this planet in their ship of space, talked with the three other different ones, and then had come to this western continent in its night time. The mind “heard” them conversing with that other but unreadable mind again, but still no sort of contact could be made. Why? it wondered again. What sort of mind was it, that it could not be touched?_

_Through its multiphased scanner the being carefully watched that entity below which appeared so like an Estrellan native--but after it had left on that peculiar conveyance, bearing a container with a strange animal, sight of the entity had been lost among the crowds of the city streets._

_So now the mind above seethed with questions, to which it could find no logical answers, even though it was beginning to understand the thought-concepts of those others it could “read.”_

Late the next day--for Hanlon had quickly adopted the actors’ habit of beginning his day at noon--he fed and watered his animals, then got his own meal and ate it.

Then he impressed on the minds of his roches that they were to behave themselves, and not destroy things about the room in their play, and not to make too much noise.

“Sure is handy to be able to do this,” he smiled. “Boy, what a baby sitter I’d make if I could control humans this way.”

He called the cat to him, snapped on the harness and leash the S S men had brought with it, and took it down to Yandor’s office.

He had worked carefully on the cat’s mind, and knew the characteristics and texture thoroughly. He had practiced seeing through its eyes and hearing through its ears under all conditions--from ordinary daylight to bright carbides, from dusk to the blackness of a closet. He felt certain he could use the animal as planned, under any and all conditions.

“This is ‘Ebony’,” he explained to Yandor as he presented the cat. At the same time he was impressing on the feline’s mind that this was to be its new master, that it must always obey him, and must allow itself to be the man’s constant pet and companion without hesitation or animosity.

“‘Ebony’,” Hanlon went on saying to Yandor, “is the Terran word for ‘black’, and that is probably why its former owner gave it that name.”

The impresario took the big, beautiful animal in his arms and exclaimed over and over at its wonderful appearance, its sleek lines, soft fur and intelligent face. But it was the cat’s long, furry tail that was his greatest delight. He stroked and petted it as though he could not really believe such a thing was true. Hanlon was careful to explain to Yandor how he must stroke with the lay of the fur, and never against it.