After a considerable wait the door was opened. By the light from inside George Hanlon saw a fairly tall native, his hair and beard sleek and burnished from much brushing, and trimmed with unusual care. He was wearing a sort of slip-on gown of heavy cloth, probably a lounging robe. Perhaps the man had already gone to bed—in which case he would undoubtedly be quite provoked at their untimely call, Hanlon thought. Indeed, the man's face showed surprise and petulance at this interruption.
But Hanlon could see shrewdness and a crafty trickiness inherent in the black eyes, that caused an inward tremor. "I'd sure better be on my toes with this fellow," he thought.
Yandor scanned the two for a long moment, without a word, then beckoned them inside. But as soon as the door was shut—and locked—he turned angrily on Auldin.
"Well now, what's the big idea, you stupid idiot, of coming here, and at night, and bringing someone with you. Are you trying to cross me, Ran? You know that isn't healthy."
Ran Auldin cringed somewhat and made his voice apologetic. "It's because it was night, nyer, and we wouldn't be noticed, that I came now. Besides, I think this is important. I want you to meet Gor Anlo, who's just come from Lura, looking for a chance, he says, to get into our businesses."
Auldin slightly emphasized that last word, and Yandor's eyes snapped wide. He swung about and faced Hanlon, studying him carefully. The young man bore the scrutiny without flinching, a smile of greeting on his face, but without a sign of boldness or brashness.
After a moment Yandor motioned them into an adjoining room, and himself went to sit behind a large, ornate, wooden table-desk. "Sit," he waved a delicate hand at the two chairs facing him in such a manner that the desk-lamp's light was strong in the faces of the two, while leaving his own more or less in the shadows. Hanlon could barely repress a grin at this—it smacked so intimately of the old Terran police-questioning technique.
During the short moments they had been in the hallway, however, Hanlon had noticed a small roch standing there, apparently one that Yandor must have partially tamed and kept as a pet. Quickly the S S man had transferred a part of his mind into that of the beast. Now, while his own body and nine-tenths of his mind were in that office room for the interview with Ino Yandor, the other tenth, inside the brain of the roch, was making the animal roam the house, seeking whatever secrets it might find there.
The impresario looked at Hanlon searchingly. "Well now, so you think you'd like to get into the entertainment business, eh?" he said with an attempt at joviality.
"Yes, nyer, that ... and other things," Hanlon answered calmly. "Back in Lura where I come from, sir, the people seem to be against the idea of a young fellow getting ahead in the world. So," shrugging, "I came here where I thought there was a better chance of doing myself some good. Me, I'm out after a basketful of gold pentas ... and not too particular how I get 'em," he added levelly, but in his eyes was an unmistakable message the Estrellan could not help reading correctly.
"But there are entertainment procurers on the Eastern Continent," Yandor was sparring for time to evaluate this situation better. "If you have a good way of pleasing the people, they would be glad to take you in hand."
"Anlo isn't stupid, Yandor," Auldin interrupted ... and Hanlon was glad he did at just that moment. For the roch had just peered through the half-open doorway of a room upstairs, and found a man, probably a servant, lying there on the bed, apparently reading from a scroll.
Hanlon did not especially like this spying on anyone, but hehadto learn all he could about what was going on here, no matter how he gained the information.
So he reached out and studied the man's mind. The fellow was not reading at the moment, he found, but was thinking of the "payback" he owed someone named Ovil Esbor, who had obtained this position for him. This Esbor was much like a Terran "ward boss"—a minor politician, but connected with many shady dealings. Hanlon had not previously heard that name, but made a mental note to investigate the man further. He might be another lead.
The S S man withdrew his mind after a bit, and sent the roch searching the other rooms. He noticed quite a few animal pets about the house, but thought nothing special of it at the moment. Meanwhile he, in his own person, began paying more attention to what Auldin and Yandor were saying.
"... been in town several days, he says, looking over the situation. How he found out I don't know, but he knowsallour businesses."
Yandor barely repressed a start of surprise, and his crafty black eyes narrowed. "Why are you spying on ... no,whoare you spying on usfor?" he demanded in cold tones that again sent a shiver down Hanlon's spine. For there was no mercy or lack of ruthlessness in that tone. Nor in the man's attitude. Yet, at the same time, the young man realized stunningly that Yandor, too, was as much afraid ofhissuperior as Auldin was of Yandor ... and Hanlon knew after a fleet scanning of the gangster's mind that he now felt relief that Yandor had not been investigating him through Hanlon.
But the young S S man had been reading the impresario's thoughts as best he could, as well as hearing what he was saying. He felt that he knew now how to handle this agent.
"As Auldin said, I'm not stupid, and I am on the make for my fortune. I knew the only way was to check first and talk later. So I asked seemingly innocuous questions here and there—and I'm wise enough never to ask more than one from any one person. That way I found out a lot. I do know something about the entertainment business and can hold up my end of the performance. But I also know the really big money is in the other things you control."
Yandor did gasp at that. His face grew black and he half-rose and opened his mouth to say something—but Hanlon beat him to it.
"Incidentally," he lowered his voice but still kept it penetrant as he leaned forward confidentially, "there's someone in the next room, listening through that door there, to what we're saying."
At Hanlon's quiet words, Ino Yandor's eyes opened wide, while Ran Auldin barely repressed an exclamation. Neither guessed, of course, that the stranger was looking through the eyes of Yandor's pet roch which, in the course of its investigation of the house for Hanlon's benefit, had come to the open doorway of that adjoining room, and had seen the man kneeling there, his ear pressed against the door-panels, listening intently.
Now Yandor reached into a sort of pigeon-hole in his table-desk and quietly took out a flamegun. Tensing himself, he suddenly swung his chair about and leaped to the door. Flinging it open he found, indeed, another man there, before that other could rise and run.
Grabbing the spy's collar with one surprisingly strong hand, Yandor yanked him to his feet and into the light.
"Ondo!" he exclaimed. "Well now, what in the name of Zappa were you doing?"
The small man cringed. "Pardon, nyer, I was ... was only trying to make sure that no one was attempting to harm you ... and ... and standing by to help you if they were."
"I think he's lying," Hanlon said, knowing from his quick probe into the other's mind that he was. "I'll bet he's a spy for someone."
This last, he knew however, was not correct. Ondo was regularly employed by Yandor as a houseman. But he was one of those intensely curious and inquisitive people who always try to find out everything that goes on in any house they happen to be working in.
"By Zappa, you'll never spy again," Yandor's face grew livid. "You know better'n to cross me. You know it isn't healthy."
And before anyone could guess what he was about to do, the raging impresario chopped down with the butt of his flamer, and Ondo fell unconscious to the floor, blood welling from a gash in his forehead. The furious entrepreneur was swinging the weapon into firing position to kill the fallen man when Hanlon leaped forward and grasped his arm, holding him back.
"Wait, nyer. Don't cinder him," he said almost in a tone of command. "It wouldn't look well for a man of your public position, if word of it ever leaked out."
"I say kill the snake," Ran Auldin spat. "There's no sense taking chances with a man we know is a spy."
"No!" Hanlon was still quietly determined to save Ondo's life. He spoke as impressively as he could. "Such a killing, with a body to dispose of, would most certainly be traced back to you in time, nyer, and you would lose much of the respect the public holds for you. Your success in your ... other ... endeavors is largely due to the fact that everyone knows you for such a high-principled, public-spirited citizen, that no one suspects you of being anything else. Don't take chances on spoiling that reputation."
Yandor was swayed by this impassioned appeal, it was plain to be seen. His respect for Hanlon's quick good sense and sound judgment mounted, and he looked at the young man with new interest.
"Anlo's right, Ran," he told his lieutenant. "We mustn't have a killing on our hands that can be so easily traced to us."
He turned back to Hanlon, who was grinning inwardly at Yandor's almost-panic that made him forget for the moment that there were no real police detectives on this world who could so easily trace back a killing, especially if only ordinary precautions were used to dispose of the body.
"Well now, I thank you for saving me from the risk my temper might have caused. What would you suggest we do with this ... this ...", he pushed at the body with his foot.
"It's easy to see that Ondo is only a scared rat, and when he wakes up he'll know he'd better keep away from you or he'll really be killed," Hanlon spoke carelessly. "Just have Auldin take him out and dump him on the next street. Ondo will never bother you again, I'm positive."
Auldin seemed about to protest, but Yandor forestalled him. "That's good advice. Take care of it, Auldin."
And after the gangster had left the house with his burden, Yandor resumed his seat and motioned Hanlon to take the one he had formerly occupied. But while they were doing this, the young S S man had sent his mind outdoors, found a sleeping bird and taken over its mind. He made it follow Auldin, so he would know where Ondo's body was taken. He would try to save the fellow's life if he could—he had got him into this predicament, it was up to him to get the chap safely out of it.
"Well now," Yandor was saying, "I'm beginning to believe you will be a valuable man in our group. I'll think about it some more, and see you sometime tomorrow and we'll talk further about it. But I'm only promising to talk," he added hurriedly, "I'm not saying what my decision will be."
"That's all I could ask for now, for I know I can prove my worth." He rose and bowed courteously. "So I'll see you at your place of business in the morning."
"You know where it is?" surprisedly.
"But of course."
As soon as he was out of the house, Hanlon went carefully to the weed-infested vacant lot where Auldin had dumped Ondo's body. When he saw the gangster returning, Hanlon quickly hid behind a great flowertree.
Hanlon had brought the bird back to Yandor's house, and now made it perch where it could look through a window. Through the bird's eyes he saw the two inside, talking together for some minutes, Yandor apparently very angry, Auldin on the defensive. Then the slender mobster slunk from the house, and started back toward the downtown section. Hanlon made the bird follow him, to make sure Auldin was really going home, and was not circling about to try to find out what Hanlon was doing or where he was going.
Then the SS man went to the vacant lot to find Ondo sitting up, holding his aching head. Almost roughly he jerked him to his feet.
"Look, you phidi," Hanlon made his voice deadly menacing, "I don't like people who go around trying to find out about me and my business. Yandor merely insisted that I see to it that you left town immediately, but I'm not that soft-hearted. I'm going to kill you, then I'll know you've done your last snooping."
He reached toward his pocket, as though for a knife or flamegun.
The man was a small, terror-stricken rat. But he was not entirely lacking in the universal will to live. Suddenly he half-stooped, then jumped forward, his shoulder crashing into Hanlon's body. The young Corpsman could have maintained his balance, but he let himself fall, as though he had been knocked down by the blow.
Ondo took off like a scared dara, and in brief seconds was out of sight. Hanlon waited several minutes, then went down the street toward his rooming house, grinning to himself. He was happy that it could be worked out this way.
He was sure this Ondo would leave Stearra without delay. Hanlon's hint about that was enough, he was sure—especially since he knew Ondo was convinced that he would be killed out of hand if he ever allowed himself to be seen hereabouts again.
As he walked swiftly along, Hanlon released the bird from its mental spell, for it was now apparent Auldin was really going downtown, or home. But before releasing the bird, Hanlon guided it back to a comfortable perch in a tree, and put it to sleep.
He could not help feeling gratitude—yet still with an awed sense of wonder—about his ability to control animal minds. He remembered so vividly that day on the great spacelinerHellene, when he had discovered this tremendous ability with the little puppy ... what was its name...? oh, yes, Gypsy. And the still greater thrill when he was experimenting later with the dogs on the kennel deck, and had found that he could not only read their complete minds and control their nerves and muscles to make them follow his bidding, but that he could alsodissociatea portion of his mind, put it in their brains and leave it there, connected with the balance of his own mind merely by a slender thread of consciousness, yet able to think and act independently.
But it certainly came in mighty handy in his work as a secret serviceman, and he was thankful to whatever powers may be that had given him this ability to do these amazing things. Now if he could only learn how to read and control the whole mind and body of a human, instead of being able to read only their surface thoughts!
But he was trying to learn to be content with what he had, and to use it thankfully.
Yet he never ceased trying to learn more—to be able to do more along these lines.
Finally back in his room Hanlon grinned again to himself as he began undressing. He felt good. He had put it over again. He was sure he was "in".
He sat down on a chair and removed the special shoes he was wearing. These native Estrellans were very man-like in shape as well as mentality, but there were enough structural differences so it had taken the expert cosmetician many hours to fix him up to look like one of them. These shoes, for instance, because Estrellans had unusually large feet, were really shoes-within-shoes, to fit his feet correctly inside and yet appear large enough on the outside not to attract attention.
In the spaceship high above, intent thoughts had been coursing through the mind of the being. Finally, certain commands were impressed upon the mind of the Estrellan native the being controlled, that would set in motion a new train of events.
The native cringed as those thoughts came into his mind. They were not the kind of things he would ever consider, of himself. They outraged his every sense of right and justice. It made him actually, physically sick even to contemplate them, and he wondered briefly how he had ever come to get such ideas.
Yet something, he could not guess what, forced him to do them, despite his every struggling, heartsick effort not to obey the commands he did not even know were commands.
As SSM George Hanlon continued undressing, he recalled his parting with his father on Simonides.
"How soon do I start?" he had asked, boyishly eager, at the close of their interview. "Right away?"
"Whoa, son, not so fast," the admiral laughed. "You'll have to have a series of inoculation-shots against the Estrellan diseases. Then you'll have to learn a lot, and especially, you'll have to be disguised to look like a native, which isn't easy. Here are reels of the language, customs and geography. Get a room in the hotel here and sleep-learn them. I think you'll find the language not too hard—it's a simple, uncomplicated one, outside of their habit of putting the verbs ahead of the nouns, and then the adjectives or adverbs. As to their way of thought—well, that's far different. Even with your ability to read their minds, I'll bet you have trouble in really understanding them for some time. I'm not always sure I do, even yet."
"Tough, eh?"
"That they are. You can't work them like you do humans—their concepts seem not at all like ours in so many things. We can get in serious trouble through misunderstanding their apparently straight-forward words. So go slow and easy."
"I'll watch for that, dad, and bone up on the rest as fast as I can. Meanwhile, how's about going out and wrapping ourselves around a couple of thick steaks—or some of that goodpoykaat the Golden Web? I'd like to see Hooper again."
"The grub I'll buy. But Curt isn't here—he's one of the boys working Estrella with me."
The lessons learned in time, Hanlon visiphoned Admiral Hawarden at Base, who sent the cosmetician to him at the hotel. The shoes had been only part of the job. There was the smock-coat, which Hanlon was now removing in his room in Stearra. Estrellans had narrow, sloping shoulders, so a tailor had made special clothes—the coat almost like a knee-length, slipover sweater only of a heavy cloth like homespun, with shoulders whose cut and padding gave them the proper sloping look. There was also the divided-skirt sort of pantaloons, that gathered at the ankle.
As he undressed Hanlon looked at himself in the mirror, and grinned. Trevor had dyed his skin all over—not the dark red of Terran Indians, not yet the black of negroes nor the brown of Malayans, but a sort of deep pink. Hanlon had been warned not to take either tub or shower baths, but had been supplied with a bottle of a special chemical.
Naked at last, he scratched luxuriously and stretched hugely. He poured a bowlful of water, added seven drops of the chemical, then gave himself a sponge bath.
As he was washing his face he noticed with amusement the way his ears had been built up with plastic to almost twice their natural size, and the way his nose had been made so much broader—like a giant ape's it spread over half the width of his face.
He was careful not to pull off any of the hair that had been so painstakingly glued to his body to simulate the general hairiness of the Estrellans. And, of course, he had neither shaved nor had a haircut since being assigned this job, and his beard was growing nicely. But it, and the body hair, was the most uncomfortable part of his imposture—the darned stuff itched, but bad. He scratched.
Anyway, he thought thankfully, Trevor had really done a job on him. No one yet met here had seemed to notice anything out of the way with him, as far as his looks went. He had easily passed everywhere as a real native.
A two-man speedster had brought him to this planet, and had landed him just outside this city they called Stearra, in the dead of night. His father, he knew, had preceded him by nearly two weeks, was here somewhere, as were Manning and Hooper, the two other S S men assigned here. A sneak boat came every two weeks, and stayed at a designated spot near the principal city on each continent from midnight until three in the morning, in case any of the men wanted to send messages or needed assistance of any kind.
Undressed—and scratched—and washed—and scratched—Hanlon lay down on his bed and gave himself up to thoughts of the coming interview at Ino Yandor's office. He tried to analyze what he had learned and its possible connection with whatever it was that was keeping Estrella from joining the Federation of Planets; from becoming the fifty-eighth member of that far-flung union of self-governing worlds.
It seemed to him he had made a good start—although he was slightly dissatisfied with the speed at which he wasnotgetting ahead. Yet he had felt all along—and still so thought—that with his way of working his best course lay through the criminal gangs of Stearra—that by working up through them he would eventually come to the ones who were behind all this. And he was sure this Ino Yandor was his best lead to date, even though it seemed strange that an entertainment agent would be the top man in the criminal world.
His father had not been too certain that this was a logical channel of investigation, but was quite willing to let Hanlon try it—the Corpshadto have that information, and each man of the secret service should work the way that seemed best to him. Nor could the admiral argue against Hanlon's insistence that this sudden rise of hitherto-unknown criminal activity just at this time was not purely coincidental.
But the whole thing was such a seemingly insoluble puzzle. From his own investigation since he had arrived—from the "feel" of the city and its inhabitants to his sensitive perceptions—Hanlon knew the people on the whole were such swell folks; the kind that would make wonderful Federation citizens, even if they did look so peculiar and animal-like to Terrans. Any race with a religion and a code of living based on such common decencies and high-principled honesties as theirs, was bound to be a good one.
From all he had been able to learn, Hanlon thought the Ruler, Elus Amir, a decent fellow and extremely capable. Amir certainly had shown by his actions all during his tenure of office that while their system of government was a sort of limited autocracy, that he, at least, was trying to make it a benevolent one. Unless all the information Hanlon and the S S had gathered was haywire, this Amir was certainly not behind all this sudden opposition. He had seemed—especially at first—to be very much in favor of joining.
Then who in the name of Snyder was?
Suddenly a new idea brought Hanlon upright on the bed.
Was Amir merely a tool—like the emperor of Sime had been under Bohr? Was there someone here who was comparable to that devilish Highness? Somebody with Bohr's brains and driving lust for power and ever more power?
Hanlon sucked in his breath in sudden wonder—and worry. Was this unknown another alien from the same, or some other advanced and far-away planet as yet unknown to the Corps, working to take over Estrella and possibly—or finally—the rest of the Federated Planets and the whole galaxy?
It took Hanlon a long time to go to sleep... nor had he found the answers to his puzzle when he finally did drop off.
When George Hanlon appeared in Ino Yandor's office just before midday, the dapper impresario ushered his visitor into an inner room and closed the door.
"I think Ondo has left town—or died. For I have heard nothing more of him, nor have any of my men. You were right about a killing that could be traced to me being bad for my carefully-built reputation. Well now, about your working for me. You said you knew something about the entertainment business. What can you do?"
"Well, I can't sing or posture, and I'm not much good at acrobatics. I can whistle a little, and...."
"'Blow'? What is that?" Yandor used his definition of the word Hanlon had translated as meaning "whistle."
Oh, oh. Hanlon knew he had blundered. In an effort to cover up he said, "This," and puckered up his lips and whistled a few discordant notes, concealing the fact that he was an excellent whistler, and could do perfectly dozens of bird-call imitations.
"No, I'm afraid that is nothing our people would care for."
"Then how about an animal act?"
This was the crucial point. Hanlon had given a lot of thought to this, and had worked out the idea he thought might apply here. It certainly would go big back on Terra, he knew, but he was not yet conversant enough with Estrellan theatrical acts—even though he had gone to the theatre several times to study them—to know if these strange people would like it or not. But he had to get in the good graces of Yandor.
"What sort of an animal act do you have in mind?" the impresario asked doubtfully. "Our audiences are very particular. It has to be good, very good, and unusual."
"I think they'll like mine," confidently. "I have eight pet roches, and as...."
"Roches!" Yandor looked incredulous. "You mean you've actually trained some roches?"
"That's right. I've trained them as a hobby. I drill 'em just like our Ruler's residence guards do—and other things as well. I'm sure the people will like the act. I'll bring 'em down and show you what they can do."
"Well now," still hesitantly, "that may be all right. It sounds most unusual, to say the least. I'll look at them, say, the day after tomorrow—yes, I think I'll have time then."
"Thank you, nyer. Then, after I've shown you what I can do about that, we can talk about ... other things."
There was a flash of anger in the snapping, black eyes. "Don't press me, Anlo. I go slow about things like this, and I'll want to know all about you first."
"Sure, I know that. I didn't mean to hurry you—I just wanted to remind you I was still thinking about the main thing, not merely about a little matter like being an animal trainer."
He left the offices then, and started toward home. But on the way he began thinking about that man, Ovil Esbor, he had heard mentioned. He took a couple of hours out, then, to investigate many minds to see what he could learn about the fellow.
He found that his initial information was correct—Esbor was a small-time, local politician, but was also connected with many other businesses about the city. He ran a sort of employment agency as his business "front", but there were rumors that he was also a "fence" for stolen goods, a panderer and narcotics agent, and many other illegal things.
These latter, however, Hanlon registered in his mind as merely rumors, not facts, for he could get no direct evidence of them, even though he "read" about such things in many minds. But he was convinced that the man was one about whom he should learn a lot more, as he had time for such investigation. He felt sure that Esbor fitted in somewhere in the chain of criminals Hanlon was so sure was tied in with the group who were trying to keep Estrella out of the Federation.
He went back to his apartment then, and to the training of his roches. He was well satisfied with them—he liked them as pets, and they had learned to like him. When he first came in they swarmed all over him, and all of them had a good romp before he got them down to serious business.
He was also quite happy about the way things were going. He was putting it over again, for he felt certain that through Yandor he could get the dope he needed on the higher-ups. Yandor had never even so much as denied that he had other irons in the fire than his theatrical business. And from vague ideas Hanlon had seen in the man's mind from time to time, he felt surer than ever that he was on the right track.
That evening he again went out for some fresh air. As he was strolling aimlessly down the street he saw an elderly Estrellan native approaching. The fellow seemed very friendly, wanting to stop and chat—and Hanlon found himself grinning inwardly at the old man's garrulous good nature, so like that of Terran elders, something he had not before found here.
The young S S man touched the other's mind almost as a matter of course at the outset, and discovered that the man had lived in Stearra all his life, but was now a lonesome old widower, all his family and friends gone on before him or moved away. Here was a good chance, Hanlon thought, both to be nice to an oldster and to get some more general and perhaps specific information.
"Will you do me the honor to have a drink with me, nyer?" he asked courteously the first time the old chap gave him an opening. "There is a very nice place where men drink close by."
"That's mighty kind of you, yunner, mighty kind. Don't many people act that way to me any more. But there was a time ..." his voice trailed off, but Hanlon read in his thoughts of the days when the fellow was an important and popular man in this city.
As they walked along the street to the drinking place, Hanlon listened with half an ear to the old fellow's chatter, while he was thinking swiftly. It had not taken him long to learn that in this secret service business he had to take information wherever, and from whomever, it was to be gained. And this old geezer ought to be quite a mine of gossip. Hanlon hoped he could steer it into channels of real information.
Once seated at a small table, and their glasses of mykkyl before them, Hanlon broke into the monologue to say engagingly, "I've been in Stearra such a short time, nyer, that I don't know much about it. And since I intend to make it my home from now on, I want to know all I can about things and people here."
"Heh, heh, you came to the right place for that, yunner. Where you from?"
"I was born in Lura, over on the Eastern Continent. But I found there was not much chance for a young fellow to make his fortune over there—everything is owned by a few rich people who keep all the businesses in their own families. So I came here."
"Yes, you did right. There are plenty of chances for bright young fellows to make fortunes here in Stearra. Hey ah, I remember well ..." and the old fellow started in on what Hanlon knew would be a long, uninteresting resume of his past life. So he interrupted with a question, or rather, a request.
"Please tell me who are the most important people here, and what you know about them."
For nearly an hour he kept the old fellow on this topic, in spite of the innumerable lapses when the man started wandering in his reminiscences.
Once, when Hanlon had ventured to ask directly about Yandor, he learned a very interesting fact that he gave considerable thought to when he was back in his own room. This was the fact that the impresario was crazy about animal pets.
"He has what almost amounts to a menagerie at his home," the old fellow cackled. "Always on the lookout for new and unusual types and kinds. Why, they say he even has cages outdoors, containing lots of wild animals—even has them brought to him from the East Continent and the polar regions."
Hanlon remembered now, that when he first went to Yandor's house he had seemed to sense many animal minds near him, but had not taken the time to investigate. Also, that the roch had shown him quite an unusual number of pets about the house.
So, after Hanlon had bid the old man good night, the young S S man settled himself in his most comfortable seat to consider this angle, as well as the other things he had learned that night.
Actually, while great in quantity they had been meager in quality, telling him little that he desired to know. The oldster had not known anything about any organized opposition to Estrella's joining the Federation nor, more particularly, who was behind it. Oh, he could repeat glibly much of the propaganda that was making the rounds, and which Hanlon already knew. How, if Estrella joined the Terran planets it would lose its own planetary sovereignty, and become merely a minor cog in the great schemes of the people led by Terra, who were out to grab the whole galaxy for their own ends of power and greed. That Estrella's people would have to conform to human standards rather than their own, and that their splendid Estrellan culture would soon be entirely lost. That they would end up by being little more than slaves.
"Why," he cried with genuine dismay and anger at one point, "it is those Terrans who are doing all the criminal things that have been making life here so dangerous recently—all those robberies, fires, murders, and so on, that our people would never even dream of doing."
"Where'd you hear that?" Hanlon queried sharply, aghast that his surmise should thus quickly prove correct.
"Why, everyone knows that; everyone's talking about it," there was surprise at his question. "You mean you didn't know it?
"But it's true. That's the sort Terrans are. They don't even consider us real people," he added indignantly, almost crying in his drink. "They actually think we are inferior to them—that we are just semi-intelligent animals. Hey ah, how stupid can they get? They should know we Estrellans are the highest form of life in the whole universe!"
Hanlon knew this vicious propaganda was false, of course. He wanted to tell the oldster about how they actually worked with the primitive but intelligent races of other planets—what he, himself, had helped plan for the Guddus. But, of course, he could not.
He could have told this old man that while the Corps and the Federation statesmen recognized that the Estrellans were not as far advanced in some sciences and technologies as were the Terrans and their colonists on other worlds, they did respect these people as possessors of excellent minds and abilities. That they readily acknowledged that the Estrellans were far ahead of them in ethics and in ways of living together peacefully.
He could have added that these statesmen knew, and stated, that if the Estrellans wanted to learn the sciences and techniques the Federationists possessed, they could assimilate that knowledge in a very short time. But, also, that the Federation would never try toforcetheir knowledge or culture on the Estrellans or any other peoples. That they never tried to make any of the less-educated or less-advanced beings of other worlds conform to any mold those people, themselves, did not desire and specifically request be taught them.
But at the moment this other thought interested Hanlon more than a political review. So Yandor liked pets, did he? Well, how better get in his good graces than give him one never seen on Estrella before? Hanlon would get him a brand new animal, one far different from those on this planet, where all the native animals were tailless.
Yes, and it would be one with a brain that could give Hanlon a real chance to see and hear what was going on in the man's private life when Hanlon could not be near him.
"Let's see now, when's that sneakboat due ... hey, it's tomorrow night. That's great. I'll be there to meet it."
It was nearing dawn on the eastern Continent of Estrella, and high above in the stratosphere, in its spaceship, the strange being that had been studying this planet so carefully, suddenly stiffened to closer attention. Its mind had just contacted a group of beings below whose minds were of a far different texture—finer, somehow—than those of the natives of this world. The language was different, too, which did not make so much difference. But the thought-processes of these newcomers, in many cases, were almost incomprehensible to the alien.
What were they? Was there more than one race here on this planet, after all? The being activated its multiphased scanners, and studied and pondered.
SSM George Hanlon was waiting in the shadows of the great forest enclosing the hidden clearing when the spacer came in. When it had landed, the lock-door opened. Hanlon ran over and, after giving the correct password, was helped inside the ship.
"Hi, fellows," he greeted the two secret servicemen who were assigned as crew of this ship, and went with them into the control room. "How's everything in the great big universe outside of this dump?"
"Not bad," they grinned. "Nothing special going on. Mars just won the interplanet baseball championship...."
"... and there's a new singer on stereo that's a doll, boy, a doll...."
"... We saw Hoop and Manny at our stop on the other side, and they said the admiral was coming here. We got some letters for him, but you'd better take 'em in case he doesn't show before we have to leave."
"Oke, will do. Hey, you fellows got any candy bars? Can't get sweets here, and I'm sugar starved."
"Sure, plenty." And while one of the men went to the storeroom, the other asked Hanlon if he would like a cup of coffee.
"Gee, I sure would. That's another thing these folks don't have. That herb tea of theirs ... ugh!"
The first returned with a dozen candy bars that Hanlon stuffed in his pocket, and continued drinking his coffee.
"Oh, yes, better give me some Estrellan money. I've had to spend quite a bit recently. About five hundred credit's worth should be enough." They gave him that from a supply in a drawer.
"Now for the most important thing," Hanlon said. "Next trip I want you to bring me a cat—a nice black...."
"A cat?" It was a duet of surprise.
"Yeh, a nice, tame, house-broken Earth cat. All black, or maybe with a white star in its forehead. About a year old, and quite large. Be sure it has nice, sleek fur."
"Can do, all right," doubtfully, "but for John's sake, why?"
"One of the men I'm working on here loves pets and collects all the different kinds he can get. So I want to give him something he doesn't have. All the animals here are tailless, so get me one with a really nice, long, well-furred tail. A thorough-bred, not an alley-cat. I figure it will help me get in good with him."
"Right." One of them made a note. "Anything else?"
"Not a thing, thanks. 'Specially for the coffee and candy. Wonder when da ... the admiral will get here?" He hoped they had not noticed that near-slip, for it had been decided the relationship should not be generally told, and so far only a few S S men and high officials knew of it.
"Haven't the faintest."
"Then I guess I'll stick around awhile and see, if you don't mind."
"Glad to have you aboard, mister. We have to stay here several hours anyway, and we like company. Getting sick of old Tom's ugly face anyway," one of them quipped.
"Yeh, I 'spose you think you're a beauty queen."
"You play poker?"
"Lead me to it."
Though Hanlon carefully avoided using his special mental abilities, when Admiral Newton came aboard an hour or so later, the young Corpsman was a few credits ahead. The cards had just fallen right for him.
After the two secret servicemen had left the cruiser and it had blasted off, they started back toward town. Hanlon had very much wanted to see his father, for he had been vaguely disturbed and dissatisfied with his rate of progress. True, he was making a good start at getting where he wanted to go, but it seemed to him he was taking far too much time for what little he had accomplished. He said as much to his father.
"Well, I don't know," the admiral said thoughtfully, as they rode along the flowertree-shaded but dusty road. "These things take time, and it seems to me you haven't done so badly, considering the short time you've been here."
"Thanks for being generous, but I seem to be taking so long for next to nothing."
"What do you plan to do now?" Newton asked, and Hanlon explained more in detail what he was after.
"What makes you so sure this fellow Yandor leads to the higher ups?" the admiral asked slowly at last.
"All the clues I've managed to pick up so far point to him as a key figure," Hanlon said earnestly. "I've read in a number of minds facts—or snatches—that point to him as one of the leaders, despite his reputable position as the leading theatrical entrepreneur...."
"Or because of it," his father interjected.
"Yes, perhaps because of it. When Auldin introduced us and I hinted at my knowledge of his 'other activities'—and when I've mentioned them since—Yandor didn't react as I'm sure he would if he wasn't engaged in something off-color."
"Hmmm, it all sounds reasonable. And as far as the time it is taking you is concerned, you needn't worry yet. It always takes time to open up a line of investigation. You took three months or more off to go to Algon, remember, but you got the answers finally."
They had arrived at the house where Hanlon lived so they parked their trikes in the back yard, and went up to his room.
"Yes, what you say is true," Hanlon seemed more relieved now. "What have you and the others found out?"
His father's short laugh was not a pleased one. "Hardly a thing worth mentioning. We don't even have any leads that may be successful, as you have. Manning has been working as a clerk in a government office, but can't find a thing. Hooper is in Lumina, the secondary capital where the study and suggestion body holds forth...."
Hanlon's mind remembered from the reels that this body was not exactly a legislature or congress, since it had no power to make laws. It studied all questions and problems that came up, and reported or made suggestions to the Ruler, who had the final say. It was something fairly recent, introduced by Elus Amir.
"... and managed to get a job on an Estrellan equivalent of a newspaper there. But he hasn't found a thing, either, except that he's been in a position to learn where the propaganda is strongest, and is keeping charts and graphs, with dates and percentages, of its spread. But so far they haven't shown anything conclusive, except that the rumors are spreading rapidly, and that lately they have included the whispers that Terrans are back of the crime wave."
"Yeh, I've heard that. Obviously a 'whisper campaign' started by the real conspirators. But what're you doing, dad?"
"Mostly I'm just traveling here and there, keeping as quiet and undercover as possible, trying to find out what people all over the planet are really thinking. The percentage who believe the propaganda seems very small, but is growing. About the only thing I've found out at all curious or extraordinary is that Adwal Irad, the Second-In-Line seems to have a much greater than ordinary place in the counsel and affections of Amir, the Ruler."
Hanlon laughed. "That 'Second-In-Line' business is screwy, isn't it?"
The admiral sat back in his chair, lighted a cigarro, and grew thoughtful. "Yes, from our standpoint it is most peculiar, and one of the things that make it so hard for us to understand the Estrellans at all well. How it is done I haven't been able to find out, but the men of the ruling class are specially bred—reminds me of the way queen bees are developed. They are larger physically, less hairy, and far more brainy than the average males here. However, it seems to sap their strength to handle the job, for while the new ruler takes over at the age of thirty, at the end of his fifteen-year term of office he is an old man—yet the average Estrellan life-expectancy is ninety." He shook his head.
"Sure is alien all right," the younger S S man furrowed his brow in concentration. "Never heard of anything like it before." He was silent a moment, then looked up. "But what about Irad that's different—I should think the rulers would want their successors to learn as much as possible about the job before they took over."
"I gather they do, but usually in a perfunctory sort of way. However, ever since he came back to Estrella—Irad was one of the natives who went on that personally-conducted tour of the Federation—he has been with the ruler almost every day. It is said the old man treats him more like a son than a successor; they seem, from reports, to be closer even than Amir and his own son."
"Aren't the two related?"
"Not that closely. I believe Irad is a sort of second-cousin's son. There's an examination among each generation of ruler-possibilities, and the high man is designated 'Second-In-Line', and so on down."
"What d'you 'spose it all means?"
"Have no data yet. It could be something—or nothing."
"I'll keep Irad in mind, then, and watch for a place to fit him in. Oh, by the way, how long before he takes over?"
"About two years, I think. Why?"
"Just thought that might be important. I'll hunt around and find out." Hanlon paused a moment, then continued slowly, "but the more you tell me of what you and the boys havenotfound out, the more certain I am that my way is best—for me, at least—and that I can get some dope through the gangs here."
"I'm willing to buy that now. I'll grant that whoever is back of all this opposition may be, and probably is, using the criminals, and you may get the first leads, at that. In fact, you already have more than we have. But I think we'll find—if we ever learn—that someone far above their level is the prime operator."
"You think there's a possibility it might be some alien—like Bohr was on Simonides?"
His father sat upright and looked at him penetratingly. "I hadn't thought of that." Then he slumped down again. "But I wouldn't say so. It would really be stretching coincidence 'way out of shape for it to be the same sort of set-up you found there. You haven't found anything to make you think that, have you?"
"No, I don't really suspect anything of the sort—just can't forget how surprised we were back there when we found out about Bohr."
"Well, we'll just have to keep on plugging. The campaign is so obvious—so open with all its use of pamphlets, spreaders of rumor, and the same arguments everywhere ... it seems we certainly ought to find some leads somewhere. But ..." he shrugged helplessly.
"There's certainly a clever propagandist in the background somewhere. And he sure keeps well hidden."
The elder made a pained grimace. "You can say that again."
"Say, I've got an idea. How about having Hooper or Manning, or bring in still another SS man, to come here and let me brief him on what I've found out about two or three other natives who seem to be up in the gang world? I've got leads on some others who are apparently lesser gang bosses, but I haven't time to follow them up and keep on with my other lines of investigation, even though I think they're important enough to study. Having someone else here to work on them would get rid of a lot of the criminal activity, I'm sure, and would leave me more free to work on Yandor and his superiors. This Yandor is fond of pets, and the sneakboat's bringing me a cat next trip, and through its mind and eyes and ears I can watch him when he's at home, and so on."
His father stared at him in surprise. "A cat...?" Then he shook his head with a helpless movement, but grinned feebly. "You continually amaze me, Spence. I hope it works out."
"Oh, I'm sure it will. Yandor makes a hobby of animals, and anything as strange and wonderful—to Estrellans—as a tailed cat he'll undoubtedly keep with him most of the time. Especially after I impress on tabby's mind that it is to love Yandor wholeheartedly, and be very distressed when away from him." He grinned wolfishly.
"Sounds good if you can work it, and I am sureyoucan. As to the other...." He thought in silence for several minutes, then, "I'll have Manning come here and go to work with you. Being a government clerk, he could pretend he wants to get into local politics, and it'll all seem natural to the natives."
"Fine. One of the locals I suspect is a sort of political boss. I'll brief Morrie on all I know, and suggest some things he can look into to start with."
"And Hooper and I will check more closely into the gangs over on the Eastern Continent," the admiral said. Then he leaned forward earnestly. "We've got to solve this. At first it was merely asking a new world with a high civilization to join us for mutual benefits. But now that this opposition has grown so strong, if we fail here we'll have that much more trouble with other non-Terran worlds we discover. You know Colonial has dozens of survey ships out all the time, and since they cracked that new-type drive of Bohr's, and increased our speed nearly 300%, those exploring trips go both farther and faster."
"We'll get 'em, dad," and Hanlon got up as his father rose.
Admiral Newton was still not too optimistic. "I certainly hope so. Well, keep trying, son, and don't get into any more trouble than's necessary."
"I won't, dad. Safe flights," and the admiral left.
After his father had gone, Hanlon sat thinking seriously, and trying to make plans. The roches, which he had kept asleep while he and his father were talking, he awakened and fed, then romped with them for a time.
But Hanlon was not really in the mood for play, even though he had come to feel a great affection for these fine animals, and they for him. He had too much on his mind for such recreation just now.
One thing, he suddenly realized—the roches had brought it to his mind—he had been forgetting. That was the series of burnings and wreckings that Auldin and his men were continuing nightly. Despite his notes to the local peace-keepers, Hanlon knew they had done nothing to stop these depredations, and it made him angry.
"What sort of dopes are those peacers, anyway?" he growled to himself. "Are they in on all this, too? They must be. And yet, I must remember they've never run up against anything like this before and probably haven't sense enough to figure out what to do. So, it's time I did something about it. But how? Should I try the same thing, or something else?"
He slept most of the day, making up for his wakefulness of the previous night. When he awoke he considered his problem. Due to the fact that he would probably be working his roches in public in a few days, and in a way he believed Estrellans had never seen them drilled or trained before, he was afraid that if he sent another note by means of a roch, as he had done before, someone in authority might be clever enough to put two and two together and not get five. So he decided to use an ordinary messenger.
After dinner Hanlon went again to the little cafe that Auldin and his men patronized, but this time he did not go in. Having been in touch with Auldin's mind so many times, he now knew its texture and individual characteristics well. So when the mobster and his men went into the cafe, Hanlon not only knew it but had no trouble "hearing" Auldin give his crew their assignments for that night's dirty work.
He had again prepared a note for the peace officers, and now he added the new addresses to it. Then he went down the street until he found an Estrellan boy, to whom he gave the note, directions and a coin. The boy ran to the peace station and gave the paper to the official there.
"We are giving you one last chance to serve the taxpayers and citizens who support you," the note said. "You paid no attention to the previous warnings, but we are giving you the benefit of the doubt. We believe you simply did not know how to handle such a situation. It is simple—send a number of men to each of the places listed below, and have them hide and watch. Then, when they see the criminals come to start their nefarious work, have them run out and arrest the men, and bring them back to your station. There they can be held for trial, by the Ruler or someone he appoints. Now get busy, or else...."
"Where did you get this?" the official asked the boy after reading the note.
"Some man gave it to me on the street, and gave me a silver penta to bring it to you," the youth answered, then ran out before he could be questioned further.
Three of the gangsters were arrested that night, but somehow—either through his own shrewdness or through someone's blundering—Auldin escaped.
In the spaceship the strange being knew a feeling of profound disquiet. It had followed the two of those strange minds that flew the space-cruiser to its second landing place on this world. It had known when these beings met one and then another additional one of these unknowns who were not like the natives of this world. From the fact that the first two came in a spaceship—which these natives did not possess—the deduction was simple that they were all from some other and unknown—to it—planetary system.
But one of these newest minds could not be touched at all! The scanning intellect knew only that such a mentality was there because the first two (and later, a third) were so evidently holding a long conversation with someone ... and in its multiphased scanner the being could see that that someone was apparently an Estrellan native.
Why, then, could not its mind be touched?
In its scanner the two were followed as they returned to the city and to a dwelling place, and one side of their conversation was "listened to." They were clearly, the mind was forced to conclude, a menace to its carefully-laid plans.
But why could that one mind not be read?
In the morning, although still fuming about Auldin's escape, Hanlon had to put it out of his mind as he prepared for the try-out of his act before Yandor.
The new and gaudy uniforms had been delivered and the roches had grown used to wearing them. Now Hanlon dressed himself and the animals and left the house. They marched down the street toward the downtown section where Yandor's office was located.
Naturally, the procession attracted considerable attention, for Hanlon made the roches follow him sometimes in single file, then close up to double file. They always kept evenly spaced, all in perfectly cadenced step. He, himself, strutted in a sort of drum-major's fashion, for he considered all this excellent advertising.
"Wish I had a brass band," he grinned to himself. "Then these folks would really wake up."
By the time he reached the more densely-peopled business section, a large crowd was watching him and his unusually-trained and dressed dogs, and comments were lively and pleasantly surprised. As on Terra—or any other planet, for that matter—this parade attracted an ever-growing crowd of excited children, who tagged along with laughter and shouts of joy.
Into Yandor's office Hanlon and his roches marched, and at his brisk command they lined up before the startled entrepreneur's table-desk in a double rank of four. "Salute," Hanlon said, and the dogs stood on their hind legs simultaneously, and raised their right forepaws in salute.
"Well now," Yandor gasped, "what have we here?"
But Hanlon, without answering, turned to his roches. "Attention." The roches dropped to all fours, and aligned themselves. In rapid order Hanlon made them do columns right and left, right and left turns, left and right by twos and fours, right and left obliques, and finally right into company front. Then, "Company, halt. Parade, rest."
The roches, who had obeyed every order with precision and unanimity, sank to their haunches and crossed their front feet.
The impresario had stood watching with open mouth and bugging eyes during this miracle of training. Now he rushed up and seized both Hanlon's hands.
"Well now, that's wonderful. Perfect. I've never seen anything like it. Marvelous. Can they do anything else, too?"
"Certainly," and Hanlon explained rapidly the various other things he had trained his roches, individually and as a group, to do.
"Well now, we certainly can use this. The people have never seen anything like it. They'll be enraptured. Let's talk terms."
Hanlon faced the roches, who had not moved. "At rest." They relaxed and lay down, although still keeping their places. Most of them hung out their tongues and panted in the manner of dog-like animals everywhere. Nor did they move from their places during the half hour or so Hanlon and Yandor were talking business.
All during that discussion Hanlon carefully watched the mind of the man before him, paying more attention to any stray and extraneous thoughts than he did to their talk about bookings—which actually did not especially interest him. For he had begun to find that in those side thoughts of the natives during a conversation usually lay his greatest mine of information.
Hanlon was becoming more and more certain that this man Yandor had much on his mind besides the entertainment business that was his front. He was not able—yet—to get any direct clues as to who Yandor's superior or superiors might be, but he did glean enough to make him certain there were such higher-ups.
Just as they were closing their interview Hanlon said, "I understand, nyer, that you have quite a collection of rare animals."
"Well now, that's right. I do have quite a number, and am always looking for new and unusual ones."
"Do you happen to have a Terrancatamong them?"
"A cat? What is that? I never heard of such an animal."
"Oh, but you must have one of those. They are not only the finest pets anyone could possibly have, but they have long, furry tails."
A gleam of interested desire came into Yandor's eyes. "I've heard of animals with tails, on other planets, but I've never even seen one. Well now, such a thing would be most wonderful—a magnificent addition to my collection. But how can I get one?"
"If you'll permit me the pleasure, nyer, I can get one for you. I know a certain man on the Eastern Continent who obtained a pair when he was on that trip to the Terran planets. Lately they have had a litter of kittens, as the young are called. I am sure I can buy one or ... or ... well, I'll get you one," he grinned.
"Oh, I would so like to have one—though I hesitate to let you take such risks. But from you, my friend, I'll accept it. Well, yes, I'll gladly accept it from you. When can I have it?"
"It may take some days, but have it you shall. I'll bring it as soon as I can. Meanwhile, where and when do you want me to perform first?"
"Well now, let me think. The National Theatre would be best, I think. Yes, it is the finest and largest here in the capital, and I'll make a special presentation of your opening. I'll invite all the finest people, including our glorious Ruler and his staff. Yes, three days should be sufficient to arrange it all, if the Ruler is free that evening. Where do you live? I'll send you word."
The next three days were extremely busy ones for Hanlon—and he had little time for spying on the mind of Yandor, save when he saw him briefly. Feeling in a way that he was being derelict in his duty, Hanlon nevertheless decided that to gain the best results later he would have to concentrate for the time being on getting ready for his debut. So much depended on that being a success.
He had attended the so-called theatrical performances—more like variety acts or what he had read that the old-time vaudeville shows were like—since he had decided to make his bid for contact with Yandor by this means. Now he went to the "place of performances" to study the layout more carefully and minutely.
It was nothing like the various types of theatres he had known so well on Terra. For one thing, it was not in a building at all, but merely a specially-prepared plot of ground, surrounded by a high stone wall. Naturally, being Estrellan, it was five-sided.
Inside the wall the hard-packed and smoothed ground sloped gently downward from all sides toward a level, tile-floored, foot-high place in the center that was the stage. The customers stood during the performance, although Hanlon had never been able to understand why.
"Sure seems as though it would be easy, and not too expensive, to at least give them benches of some sort to sit on," he thought.
Near one corner of the stage was the entrance to a flight of stone steps that led downward into the dressing rooms and property-storage for the theatre. When it was their turn, the actors had to come up these steps and so onto the stage to begin their turn, without benefit of curtain. Also, because of the peculiar construction it was impossible to use "backdrops" or "sets" as Hanlon knew them.
The morning Hanlon went to investigate the place there was no one around, so he was not stopped nor disturbed while he made a complete tour of the underground rooms, and stepped off the measurements of the stage. One great lack amused him.
"What?" he chuckled, "no popcorn or soft drink dispenser robots?"
He had noticed when attending previous performances, that they used no type of footlights or other illumination whatever, and that it was hard for those in the back of the enclosure to see what was going on down in the center. By judicious inquiry he found that on the nights when it stormed or was cloudy, or when Estrella's two moons were not in the sky, there was no performance.
Following his inspection of the theatre, Hanlon went to the market place again. He hunted out a stall where lamps were sold, and after the usual considerable haggling and dickering, bought twenty of the most powerful of the peculiar carbide lamps at a fairly reasonable price. Then he hunted up a metal-worker, and had reflectors made to his order and specifications, and fitted to one side of the lamps.
"I'll introduce 'em to something new," he grinned, then was suddenly worried. "Or are such new customs and innovations taboo on this screwy world?"
Another thought occurred to him the second day, and he hunted around for some time until he found a place where masks were made. The customer, who specialized in things for actors, did not have what Hanlon wanted, but after it had been described, the merchant said it would not be hard to make, and that it could be delivered the next afternoon. So Hanlon ordered a face-mask for himself, that would look like the head of a roch.
Meantime, he continued working with the animals whenever he had time. He was now well satisfied with his ability to control them under all circumstances. He felt sure he would have no trouble in "putting on a good act", and his only worry was whether or not he could please these strange people. For so much depended upon his making good—if he did, he would be more solidly in the good graces of the impresario, Yandor. And that was the main thing he was after right now.
The night of Hanlon's first performance finally arrived—and so did a nice large attack of stage-fright. There were "butterflies in his stomach", and he was by turns wet with sweat and almost petrified. Peeking out from the top of the stairs leading to the dressing rooms, the sight gave Hanlon a prime case of the jitters. For it seemed all the high officials, business and professional men, and the "social group" of Stearra, with their wives and families, were there. Even the Ruler was seated at stage-side in a large, ornate throne-chair, having been persuaded by Yandor that he would see something most exceptional.
Hanlon went slowly down into the cubicle assigned him and the roches, and there fought for calmness. And it was a measure of his innate strength of character that he succeeded. The jitters passed, the butterflies went into hibernation, and his nerves calmed down.
The first acts were the usual type seen on Estrellan stages—singers, posturers (they did not seem to have any dancers in the sense that Terran theatres do), and acrobats. Hanlon had always been interested in these, for almost none of the things they did were like what he was used to seeing or hearing.
The music, however, he could not get used to. Estrellan music was based on a five-toned scale, of course, and was—to his ears—more of a cacophony than Chinese music. Yet the Estrellan singers had clear, beautiful, flutelike voices.
The footlights that Hanlon had finally persuaded Yandor to have set in place around the edge of the stage, and lighted, occasioned great comment at first. But once the performance started, and the people found how much better they could see, were acclaimed as a great achievement.
"How did you ever happen to think of them?" Yandor had asked when Hanlon first spoke of them and showed the impresario what he had made.
Hanlon shrugged. "I always feel cheated because I can't see better when I go to a performance," he said. "When I got to thinking of my act, I knew it wouldn't show up well if people couldn't see clearly exactly what my roches were doing. So I figured out these lights. Don't you like the idea?"
"Well now, yes, I like them. But I don't know. People are peculiar about change. They may do something about it if they don't approve of them."
"Well," Hanlon made a nonchalant gesture, "we can always turn 'em off if they yell."
But after the first few moments, when the customers had seen how much better they could watch the posturer who came on first, the value of the footlights was clearly seen, and they gave their whole-hearted approval. A new custom was born on Estrella.
Hanlon had been below in the cubicle assigned him and his roches, so had not seen nor heard the crowd's reactions to the acts that preceded him. When it came his turn to go on, he was glad to find that his nervousness was gone, and that he was perfectly calm.
Yandor stopped him near the head of the stairway leading up from underground, while the native who was manager and a sort of master or announcer of acts, made a brief speech.
"Nyers and nyas and you, most gracious k'nyer," he addressed the throng and the Ruler, "tonight you are to see something most unusual in trained animals. I have been connected with performances for many, many years, but never have I seen anything to equal this. I will not attempt to tell you what is coming—you must see and marvel and judge for yourselves. Next on our program is Gor Anlo and his Friends."
Hanlon came up the stairway and onto the stage, followed in single line by his eight roches. There was a titter of laughter at first sight of Hanlon in the roch-mask and the dogs in their gaudy uniforms, but this soon quieted in amazed surprise at the exhibition they were witnessing.
Across the entire stage-place the roches marched, while Hanlon took his place in the center. He did not utter aloud a single word of command as the eight roches marched about the platform and stopped in a circle facing the audience on all sides, all the dogs equidistant from the others. As one they rose on their hind legs, and their forepaws bent to their heads in a salute.
A moment they held this, then still without a spoken word of command, dropped to all fours and in rapid succession formed and marched in company front and lines of two and four, made left and right turns, marched across the stage in oblique lines, did about face and to the rear, and all the complicated maneuvers the Ruler's residence guards did on the parade ground.
Then they added some things Hanlon had never seen Estrellan guards do, but which were more or less common to Terran drill teams. They did full wheels in lines of eight and four, formed wheeling stars and circles.
Never once did Hanlon utter a word of command that anyone could hear; never once did the roches falter or break that perfectly-cadenced step; never once was one of them out of line. There was never any hesitation, never any breaking of ranks even when, about half-way through their drill they changed to quick time—almost double the cadence in which they had first drilled.
How could any of that great, stunned audience guess that the trainer was actually controlling each animal mind, that his own mind was divided and parts of it superimposed on each animal brain, so that it was impossible for them to act counter to his central—yet individual—command?
All the audience could see was the most perfect, the most incredibly flawless precision of training they had ever witnessed. Led by the Ruler they began a rhythmic chant of "Yi, yi, yi, yi," in cadence with the roch's marching tempo. The chant grew louder by the moment until it was a deafening roar.
At their first sounds Hanlon almost lost his poise—for he did not know that this was their method of giving highest applause—and that very few acts ever received it at all. He had never heard it when he had attended their performances before. To him, now, it sounded more like they were giving him earthly "boos", and he was afraid he had somehow offended them.
He withdrew part of his mind from each of the roches, even as they were marching across the stage, and sent it out to contact the mind of the Ruler and several others. He was pleasantly surprised at what he read there, for it was not dissatisfaction, but a combined wonder and delight at what they were seeing.
Quickly he again sent full measure of his mind into each of his roches to continue the drill—nor had anyone noticed any break in their routine during the second or so of this mind-searching.
Finally, after a full five minutes of this, Hanlon silently commanded each one, in unison, "Company, halt. Right, dress. Parade, rest. Salute."
He himself came to a stiff salute, his directed at the Ruler. Higher and still louder grew the chanted roar. Even the Ruler sprang to his feet, his sounds of approval nearly as loud and unrestrained as the rest.