Chapter 21

The doctor, notified by the truck’s short-wave, was waiting in the admiral’s office to give Hanlon the shots of antidote and attend to his wounds. He had barely finished when a waiter brought food.

These two gone, Hawarden felt free to demand of Hanlon, “Open up, please. What’s this all about?”

“Full coverage?” Hanlon asked meaningly.

The admiral flipped a couple of toggle switches on his desk. “There is now.”

“I’ll tell you the story in a bit, but there are several more things to be done, fast.”

He described the location of the hidden spacefield. “Get some scouts out there quick, but if the freighter’s not ready to leave, have ‘em keep hidden and merely watch it. I don’t want anything done until just before take-off--it’s important we arrest all of its crew and passengers.”

“Right!” Admiral Hawarden turned to his communicators, and orders rapped out.

“You’ll have to tell me procedure here, sir, for I don’t know how to get what I need. I want to recommend that the entire Corps fleet rendezvous near here immediately so we can go to a planet called Algon, and take it over. But first we’ll have to find out exactly where in space Algon is. May I talk with your planetographers, please?”

The admiral looked at him quizzically. “You haven’t been in the SS very long, have you, Hanlon?”

“No,” the young man looked up in surprise. “This is my first assignment. Why do you ask?”

“Because in emergencies such as this you give orders, not ask for permission. Every resource of the entire Corps is yours to command when you feel it necessary.”

“Why ... why, I didn’t realize that,” Hanlon shrank back in astonishment. “You ... you mean they’d let a pup like me issue commands to the whole Corps?”

“They certainly would, sir. I don’t know if you realize it yet or not, but no one gets into the Secret Service unless the High Command is pretty sure they are exceedingly high-powered individuals. So whatever you want, just yell. I am entirely at your service.”

There was a moment of incredulity in the young man’s eyes, then he straightened, and that depth of character which the men in command had foreseen came to the surface, and he issued crisp orders. “Very well, sir, I’ll take you at your word. Please connect me with the planetographers, then get me the High Admiral.”

Hawarden activated the intercom, and when a face appeared on the screen ordered, “Give this young man any information he wants.”

“Do you know a planet named ‘Algon’ or ‘Guddu’?” Hanlon asked. “It’s about twelve and a quarter light years distant, right ascension about eighteen hours, declination around plus fifteen degrees. Here’s a rough chart of what I could see from there.” He held up to his screen a sheet on which he had been busily, marking such super-giant suns and nebulae as he remembered. “ ... You don’t know it? Then find it immediately. Rush it through. I must have its closest approximation inside of two hours!”

He closed that switch and looked up as Admiral Hawarden handed him a microphone. “Grand Fleet High Admiral Ferguson is awaiting your orders, sir.”

George Hanlon’s young hand was shaking as he took the mike, but his voice was steady and crisp. “Admiral Ferguson, sir, this is George Hanlon of the Secret Service. I was detailed to the Simonidean affair. I’ve just returned from a planet I know both as ‘Algon’ and as ‘Guddu.’ The planetographers are checking now for its exact location.

“The enemy--and I don’t yet know entirely who they are, although the Prime Minister of Simonides was one of the top men, if not the actual head--are building a great fleet there. They already have at least thirty-two capital ships in building, and each one of them is about twice the size of our largest battleship. Yes, that’s right--twice the size. However, as near as I could find out, none of them are yet far enough completed to fly, and perhaps not even to fight. They also have nearly a hundred medium and light cruisers, and over two hundred smaller ships--scouts, destroyers and so on. Many of those latter two classifications are fully completed and at least partially manned.

“That fleet must be captured or destroyed before they can get it finished. I know you realize that better than I, sir, but it must be taken care of immediately ... Oh, no, sir, you can’t just blast the planet. There are natives there that are high enough in the cultural scale so the planet cannot be colonized, but they must be freed from the slavery under which they are now held. They are fine, friendly people ... You’ll rendezvous the fleet immediately? That’s fine, sir. Oh, one more thing, please notify SSM Regional Admiral Newton to send all available SS men here at once. There’s a lot of cleaning up to do here on Simonides ... Thank you, sir, I hope I was in time with this information.”

Hanlon broke the connection, then sank back into his chair for minutes, thinking seriously, and the admiral respected his silence. But after a time the smell of that delicious food made Hanlon’s hunger and weakness reassert itself. Feeling he had done all he could at the moment, he sat up again, pulled his chair closer to the desk, and lifted the napkin from the tray.

“I’ll talk while I eat, if you’ll pardon the discourtesy, sir,” he began, picking up knife and fork. And as he ate he gave Hawarden as full an account of the situation as he could, except for references to his mental abilities and the part they had played.

The admiral listened attentively, and when Hanlon paused at what seemed the end of his narrative, the officer straightened with determination.

“Then the thing to do now is to find out who all is in back of this. That’s why you asked for all available SS men, I understand that. But about His Highness--was he top man?”

Hanlon knit his forehead in concentration. “I ... don’t ... know,” he said slowly. “No one ever spoke of anyone as his superior. He’s the man they were all afraid of...” He paused a moment, then said, even more slowly, “I’ve a peculiar hunch. I wish you’d have your best physicians examine that body. Have ‘em use X-rays and fluoroscopes, rather than an autopsy. I’m not entirely convinced he was a human being.”

“What?” There was incredulity in that question. “What gives you that idea?”

“Sorry, sir, I can’t give you my reasons just now,” Hanlon’s face flushed, and his eyes were appealing. “It isn’t that I don’t trust you, sir, but there’s one secret I feel shouldn’t be told now. Maybe later--and if I do tell it to anyone outside of SS men, you will be the first--you deserve that.”

“Right, sir. I didn’t mean to prowl,” the admiral showed no resentment, much to Hanlon’s relief. “Your orders go, as I said.”

He touched a stud on his desk and when the doctor’s face appeared on the screen, gave the necessary orders. “Look carefully to see if the internal arrangement of bones and organs is human--but do not cut without specific orders.”

“What about the emperor, sir?” Hanlon asked. “You’ve undoubtedly formed some sort of opinion about him.”

“He was a wonderful soldier and executive as a young and as a middle-aged man,” Hawarden said thoughtfully and, Hanlon sensed, sadly. “It was his grandfather who pulled the original coup that made this planet into an empire with himself as first emperor. His son, the second emperor, was also a very good co-ordinator, and solidified the empire status. The present emperor went into the army at sixteen, and rose rapidly through sheer merit rather than because his father was emperor. All historians agree on that. Just before he reached thirty he was in full command. He was thirty-six when his father died, and he became the third emperor.”