Man of Many Minds by E. Everett Evans (ebook reader with android os TXT) 📖

inkling of what the proposal was going to be, and it was a measure of his stability that he succeeded in keeping his mask up.

He knew starkly that this time he would have to go through with a killing, or else give up this line of research. For he knew that if he did not kill this man, this way was closed to him. And if he dropped out, but gave the tip to some other SS man, that one would eventually face the same sort of a task. So, much as it sickened him even to contemplate it, it now became a must! He would have to think of himself as a soldier in war, and Rellos an enemy.

Outwardly calm, he shrugged indifferently. "Any guy that can't produce isn't worth keeping," he said. "Any special way you want it done?"

"No ... I think I would like to see how you work. Plan it yourself. But if it isn't done, you had better not let me or my men see you again."

"Fair enough. If I can't do a simple job like that I sure can't be of enough value to you to do myself any real good."

They were silent again, but Hanlon's mind was bleak with what was to come. He wasn't the killer type—he believed in the sacredness of human life. Yet he knew he would have to steel himself to go through with it. The job was more important than one man's life. But to kill in cold blood—a deliberate, planned-out murder!

Just then Panek returned with a slender, middle-aged man.

"Ah, Rellos," the leader greeted him. "I want you to meet a new member of our group, George Hanlon. He has just come from Terra, and has never been on Simonides before. I would like you to take him out and show him New Athens and what it contains in the way of pleasures. You can turn in an account of your expenses tomorrow."

And that, thought Hanlon, was just about as low and slimy a trick as he had ever heard, and the thought came and would not be denied, that if it was this leader he was to kill he could do it cheerfully and with a clear conscience.

He rose, though, and smiled as he held out his hand. "Glad to know you, Rellos. It'll be fun comparing your amusements with those of Terra."

The man was somewhat sullen, although it was plain he did not dare show it too much before their boss. Hanlon could read enough from the new man's mind to know how deathly afraid he was of the leader, and how he hated him.

"Wonder why he's in this, feeling that way?" Hanlon thought swiftly, and during the evening tried to find out, but without success—the man steered clear of any such thoughts.

As the two went outside, the Simonidean asked curtly, "Wine, women or song?"

"Why not some of all three?" Hanlon laughed lightly. "Anything you think would be a lively evening, and that you'd enjoy."

The other unbent a little. "We'll go to the Phobos first, then. They have good liquor and a nice floor show. Good looking wenches who don't wear too much."

He hailed a ground-cab, which the two entered.

Hanlon couldn't enjoy that evening. In the first place, he couldn't ditch all his drinks—and he hated alcohol—yet had to remain as sober as possible. Second, and most disturbing, was that horrible thing he had to do, and he knew it must be carefully planned. A gun, knife or poison couldn't be used now—it must look so much like an accident that no possible blame could be attached to him; so that the police could not hold him even for a short time.

He thought of and discarded one plan after another, then remembered something seen during his wanderings—a pedestrian bridge crossing a high-speed truckway where the inter-city freighters were so numerous they ran almost bumper to bumper. "I'll lead him up there, then throw him over and down. He's sure to be run over and killed."

The nakedness of the girls at the Phobos, the coarse jokes of the so-called comedians, the raucous, ribald laughter of the drunken patrons disgusted Hanlon, and he was glad when they left.

"Let's walk a bit and see the sights," he suggested, and Rellos agreed after some argument—he wanted to visit more night clubs.

They had walked a couple of blocks along a residential street when a little, roly-poly puppy waddled out onto the sidewalk to greet them.

"What a cute ..." Hanlon began, but with an oath, Rellos savagely and viciously kicked the little mite, sending it howling with pain across the low hedge.

A growl of anguish broke out, and Hanlon sent his mind searching for that deeper note. He found it, the mother dog, and was instantly inside that mind, controlling it.

With a leap the huge shepherd was over the hedge, straight at Rellos. The dog's weight bore the man backward, fighting for his life, trying to hold back those gleaming fangs straining for his throat.

Hanlon threw himself into the melee, but while ostensibly trying to drag the dog away, delayed the few seconds it took for those slashing fangs to rip out Rellos' throat.

People came running up, and as the first reached the spot they saw Hanlon struggling to hold back the snarling, blood-flecked dog, while Rellos lay dead in a pool of blood.

The dog's owner rushed up and snapped a leash on the dog.

"I'm terribly sorry, sir," Hanlon said. "My companion was drunk and kicked her puppy. She merely avenged it."

"I wondered," the man was shaken. "Kaiserina never was vicious before."

"I don't think she will be again," Hanlon said soothingly. "Is the puppy all right?" he asked the small boy who came up with the little animal cradled in his arms.

"No," the boy sobbed, "Fluffy's dead."

"What's going on here?" an authoritative voice said, and two policemen pushed their way through the quickly-gathered crowd.

The dog's owner explained in swift words, and completely exonerated Hanlon. "This man tried to stop my dog; he was holding her back when I got here," and others corroborated his statement.

"You'd better have the dog killed," the policeman said, but Hanlon intervened.

"No, she was just striking back at the man who killed her puppy. She wasn't to blame, and I'm sure she isn't vicious."

The police were finally satisfied, and while they were calling the dead-wagon Hanlon walked slowly back to his hotel, his heart still sick but consoled a bit.

"He had it coming to him," his thought was bitter. "The rotten beast—kicking a little puppy like that!"

Chapter 12

The next evening Hanlon went back to the Bacchus. Instead of stopping at the bar he went directly to the back room and knocked on the door.

When the peephole opened he asked, "The Boss in?"

"Nope."

"I've got a report to make."

"Wait at the bar. I'll get in touch."

A quarter hour later the man summoned him, and upon entering that now-familiar room Hanlon saw a closet door was standing open, disclosing a visiphone screen, on which the leader's face was visible.

"Well?"

"Yep."

"Ah!" There was a quick intake of breath, and a feral gleam in those greenish eyes. A moment's silence, then "Do you still want that overseer's job?"

"For a thousand a month and keep? Definitely!"

"Very well, we'll try you. Zeller will give you a list of things you'll need there—special clothing and such. Uh ... got any money to buy those you don't have?"

"I will have when you pay me Rellos' expense money for last night."

The leader's eyes narrowed in sudden anger. "Don't try my patience too far, Hanlon."

"Okay," Hanlon shrugged indifferently. "But I never figured you for a cheapskate."

There was a gasp, as though the leader was amazed at Hanlon's temerity. But he quickly gained control of himself, and an instant later began smiling, then grinning and finally laughing aloud ... at himself.

"By Zeus, Hanlon, I like you! Nobody else ever dared talk up to me like that. You win. Tell Zeller ... no, put him on, I'll tell him ... Zeller, give Hanlon the list of things needed for the mine-guard job, and pay him a hundred credits, charged to the 'accident fund'. Tell him to be here, all packed to go, at thirteen o'clock." He started to turn the set off, then, as he heard Hanlon ask "Anything else now?" faced the screen again.

"Not unless you want to make rounds with the boys again. It will be some time before you can have any night-life."

Hanlon made a sign of distaste and shook his head. "Unh-uh, thanks. Two big-heads in a row will last me for plenty time. I'll go get some shut-eye."

The leader smiled companionably. "The rest might be best, for you'll have a rather rough trip. You'll ride a freighter, not a luxury liner."

"Do I ask where I'm going?"

"Does it matter?"

Hanlon shrugged. "Not especially. Just curiosity."

"Then it won't particularly bother you if we ... uh ... keep your destination a secret for a while?"

"Not in the least, if you want it that way," he yawned indifferently. But his mind was so anxious he had trouble not letting it show in his face or eyes. How was he to get that location? He thought swiftly, and conceived a possibility.

"Your bar here serve Cola?"

"What is that?"

"A soft drink very popular on Terra and many other planets. I'd like to take a case with me, if it's allowed."

"I see no reason against it. I never heard of it, but you might ask the bargirls."

"I can get it at the Golden Web if you don't have it here. I had some there the other night."

He watched carefully but there was no sign of suspicion; the leader did not even seem interested.

Hanlon blanked the screen, got the list and money from Zeller, and walked out. The Bacchus did not stock Cola, so he took a ground-cab to the Golden Web.

Pretending half-drunkenness, he walked in and ordered the case of drink from his colleague. While drinking a glass of it, he talked in more or less garrulous tones. In between unimportant words he informed the SS man bartender that he was leaving the next noon for another planet whose name and location he hadn't yet been able to learn.

"Got a good boss, though," he mumbled thickly. "Very good boss—sure he knows a lot. Headquarters at the Bacchus."

Hooper, quick of understanding as all SS men have to be, merely said aloud the conventional "Safe Flights," but Hanlon knew he would do everything he could to get that planetary information.

And Hanlon was well content as he went to the hotel and to bed. What could be done, had been done.

As soon as he had breakfasted the next morning, Hanlon checked out of his hotel, then went out and purchased the special clothing and other items on his list. With everything packed in traveling cases, he presented himself at the Bacchus just before thirteen o'clock.

As he got out of the cab, and gave orders to the doorman about keeping his luggage until he was ready to leave, Hanlon was heartened to see Hooper, apparently reading a newsheet, leaning against the terrace-facade nearby.

In the back room the leader and three others, including the ubiquitous Panek, were waiting for him. He was handed an envelope.

"When you arrive, give these credentials to Peter Philander, the superintendent. He will be your boss there. Just do as he says, don't get nosey about what is going on, and you will do all right."

"Don't worry about my keeping my nose clean. I'm taking along a dozen extra hankies."

His last doubts about leaving Simonides to go to the unknown planet were now at rest. He was sure that there he would find the leads he so desperately needed—and probably only there could he get them.

They picked up his luggage, then all got into a large, black ground-car, and as it started the men lowered curtains over the windows. And while Hanlon was wondering about that, one of them pinned his arms suddenly to his side while another slapped a piece of adhesive across his eyes, smoothing it tightly into place.

Hanlon gasped, but did not struggle.

"That's right, don't fight it," the leader's voice was almost kind. "We just don't want you knowing where we are going ... yet."

The car travelled some miles, then stopped and they all got out. The men helped Hanlon down, led him a few dozen steps, then helped him climb into another machine. In a moment he realized they were now in an aircar that had taken off, and he frowned. Assuming that Hooper had followed, he'd be out of it now. He was on his own.

For several moments Hanlon tried in vain to read from the others' minds where they were going. He had almost given up hope when he heard the unmistakable