Man of Many Minds, E. Everett Evans [online e reader txt] 📗

little cyanide in his coffee—something like that."

Panek was impressed. Hanlon read the swift thoughts racing across the other's mind. He hadn't liked the idea of using his knife, here on this ship. But neither did he dare report back to that feared "boss" that he hadn't succeeded in killing Abrams.

Panek spoke doubtfully. "Yeah, that may be all right, but not when the guy knows you, then you can't get away with a thing like that, not when he knows you."

"Exactly what I'm getting at," Hanlon said eagerly. "Me, I'm the Unknown Quantity. Nobody knows me. I can get to old Abrams and make it all seem natural."

"He ain't easy to fool, no, he ain't."

"I'm sure he isn't. But since I've got to make a start somewhere if I want to get into things on Simonides, I figure giving you an assist is worth the trial."

"Well," Panek hesitated and his cold eyes bored into those of this enigmatic young man. "I still don't quite trust you, can't be sure I trust you. I still figure you're some kind of a cop ..."

Hanlon half-rose, his face dark with intense anger. "Don't ever call me a cop!" he blazed, though still in a whisper. "I hate 'em. As a kid I thought they were tops, and did everything I could to get into their school. But I mighty quick found out how wrong I was. I was good and sick of 'em, and about ready to quit when they threw me out on that lie about cheating ... say, I knew more'n their knuckle-headed instructors, so why'd I need to cheat?"

"Easy, Pal, take it easy."

"They just want to use their high and mighty authority," Hanlon ignored Panek's shushing. "They just like to push people around 'cause they got on a pretty uniform."

His voice had risen in pitch until Panek had to grab his arm and shake him to make him keep still. People at the nearer table were beginning to look at them. But Panek was impressed now with Hanlon's sincerity—the SS man could read that in his mind.

"All right, Pal, all right. Don't bust a gut. You bump off old Abrams without getting caught, and I'll get you in with a gang on Sime where you can really do yourself some good, really some good."

Hanlon nodded shortly and rose. "I'll keep in touch. And your man's as good as dead right now."

His heart was singing—his plan was working smoothly. Now if that government man had any brains, and would play along ...

Hanlon found Abrams in the library, and slipped into the seat next to him. Opening a magazine and holding it fairly high before his face while apparently reading it, Hanlon started talking in low but penetrant tones.

"Don't look up, Mr. Abrams, but listen to me. You may or may not know it, but there's a plot against your life. I managed to delay it yesterday, but they intended getting you before we reach port. Now I have a plan. I earnestly beg you to listen and work with me."

The Simonidean had given a slight start when he heard Hanlon's first words, but he had been well-trained in a hard school, and in no other way had even shown that he heard. Now, however, he spoke as guardedly as Hanlon. "Who is trying to kill me?"

"A man named Panek, but someone's behind him that I don't know. But the question is: will you work with me?"

"Yes, if I can."

Abandoning his attempts at secrecy, Hanlon started laughing out loud, as though at something he was reading. As Abrams looked up in surprise, Hanlon leaned over and held out his magazine in front of the Simonidean, pointing at it.

"Play up now," he said softly, and the diplomat, quick on the up-take, pretended to look at what Hanlon was showing him, then began laughing in turn. Thereafter, the ice broken as far as any on-lookers might know, the two talked naturally as shipboard acquaintances might do.

"Why," Abrams really looked at Hanlon for the first time, "you're the young man who saved my life on Terra, aren't you?"

"Yes, but keep it quiet. I want us to stick together more or less the rest of the day, as though we'd just met and liked each other. Then have dinner together. Do you have your own servant?"

"My valet, yes, and he is absolutely trustworthy. Why?"

"While we're eating I'll appear to put something into your drink while you're not looking. A few moments later you'll act as though you were suddenly taken ill, and go to your room. Have your valet later let the word out that you're very ill, and send word by space-video for an ambulance to meet the ship. Just before landing, let him say you've died. The ambulance can take you wherever it's natural your body would be taken, and you keep under cover for some time, until I notify you. Can do?"

"Hmmm." The other thought rapidly but cogently for some minutes. "With a few minor variations, yes. But why? ... oh, I see. You want to get in with the gang, is that it?" When Hanlon nodded Abrams continued, "you're playing a dangerous game, but that's what we've learned to expect of your Corpsmen. A wonderful group!"

"Thanks." Hanlon did not want to explain anything, so let it go at that, and the two talked companionably of many things as they moved naturally about the ship. They listened for a while to a concert in the music room, then played a few games of cards. Each time the diplomat tried to ask questions, Hanlon side-stepped.

The SS man had seen Panek cautiously spying on them from time to time, and when the two went in to dinner the thug took a seat nearby, but where Abrams could not see him.

Hanlon had been probing Abrams' mind all this time, but had been unable to get any clue as to a plot that might upset the peace of his world, or the Federation. Hanlon realized the man was an intense patriot, and he came to the conclusion that Abrams did not particularly like the Prime Minister. But the "why" of that dislike eluded him.

The two were about finished with dinner and their coffee had been served. Hanlon called his companion's attention to something behind him. As the latter turned to look, Hanlon's hand flashed out and hovered an instant over the other's cup.

A few moments later the Simonidean played his part to perfection. He took a drink, then another, and almost before he had set his cup down, gave a groan, and clutched at his stomach and throat.

He rose shakily, and tottered away heavily on the arm of an anxious steward who had come running up.

Hanlon, although he rose quickly and made his face seem concerned and sympathetic, resumed his seat and finished his coffee. When the steward returned, he called him over, and seemed reassured when the latter reported that Mr. Abrams had said it was apparently only an attack of indigestion, to which he was prone, and that his man could take care of him.

But the next day word ran about the ship that Abrams was very ill, and not expected to live the day out.

Panek sauntered past where Hanlon was sitting, reading, and stopped to ask for a light.

"Nice work, Pal, nice work," he whispered as he was lighting his cigaro. "See me at the Bacchus."

But his thoughts, as Hanlon scanned them, were muttering viciously, "I'll cut out his guts if he's planning to louse up 'his' plans, I'll sure carve him!"

And a bit later, as Hanlon reviewed the entire episode, he thanked his stars that Panek was a lot less than an intellectual giant. A brighter man would have wondered about the source of Hanlon's knowledge of his homicidal plans; and how it happened that Hanlon carried a supply of poison. There had been no indication that either question had occurred to Panek.

Chapter 10

The moment he got off the ship and went into the city of New Athens he could feel it. There was an air of mystery, of secretiveness, of intrigue, that could not help but be noticed by one as sensitive to emotion-impressions as SS Man George Hanlon.

He got out of his ground-cab at the entrance of a great park in the center of the city, but directed the driver to take his luggage on to the hotel. Then Hanlon went in to sit on a bench beneath a beautiful, flowering ba'amba tree.

Once there, he opened his mind to its fullest extent, and let all the impressions and sensations of this new world soak in. He could not, of course, get any factual details in this way, nor did he expect to. What he wanted, and began to get, was the "feel" of the city. And the longer he sat the less he liked it.

For he could sense so clearly that there most certainly was "a Mercutian in the fuel pit" here somewhere. But what it was; what this strange feeling portended, he could not quite make out.

He noticed, casually, that there were the usual idlers in this park, and hundreds of children with their nurses or parents. But there were none of the derelicts one sees in so many large-city parks. Most of the people seemed well-dressed and not too poor. He could catch occasional bits of thought about big business deals.

After a time Hanlon noticed that here, as in most parks, hundreds of native, pigeon-like birds were flying and hopping about, seeking what crumbs they could scrounge from picnickers' lunches, or nuts fed them by interested idlers.

He wondered if he could get into a bird's mind, and sent his out to contact one. His ability was, he found, much the same as it had been with the dogs—he could not only "read" what mind the pigeon had, but could control it ... could actually project part of his mind into the bird's brain.

The brain-texture, was different, but as he sat there for another hour, he learned the difference. For now he knew what to look for, and it did not take long until he knew it well. Finally he got so he could see and understand what the people around him were doing—not through his own direct observation, but through the pigeon's senses. He sent several winging high into the air, and got a good perspective of the entire city.

At last he brought his mind back into his own brain, and gave a mental shrug, then rose from the bench.

"You're just stalling, you know," he scolded himself. "Get to the hotel, check in, then go look in the bank vault. You've got a job to do, so get doing it!"

From the hotel he went to the bank and signed up for a box. There was nothing yet for him in box 1044, so he left a note addressed "To Any SS Man," stating he was here and ready to begin his work.

Back at the hotel he unpacked, took a shower, and then a short nap. There was no telling what the night might bring forth, and he wanted all his strength and powers.

New Athens was a beautiful city, as befitted the capitol of the richest planet in the Federation. For Simonides Four had become just that, even outstripping Terra in the wealth from her manufacturers and exports. Her shipments of ores, jewels, unusual furs, manufactured goods, precision tools and art products, as well as foodstuffs raw and processed, ran into trillions of credits every year.

The great square showed plainly that some architect or city planner with a love of classic lines had been in charge here. The buildings were all modern representations of the great temples and public buildings of the Golden Age of Greece on Terra. They were widely spaced, with magnificent lawns and gardens surrounding each.

Thousands of lights artfully concealed accentuated the beauty of those wonderful buildings, and Hanlon caught his breath in pleasure at his first sight of the marvelous square by night. He had thought it wonderful by day—now he admitted without reservation that it was the most magnificent sight he had ever seen.

He finally signalled a ground-cab—New Athens had no slideways—to go to the Bacchus. It was several blocks from the square, but each of the streets he travelled were almost as beautiful.

The tavern was housed in a large though one-storied building with a pillared facade. The main room was level with a gardened terrace five steps above the street.

Inside, the tavern was tastefully decorated in subdued colors. It was dimly lighted by representations of flambeaus, stuck at angles in the walls. The center of the room was occupied by dozens of tables of varying sizes, while along one side and part of the back were curtained booths. Along the other side ran an ornate bar.

Hanlon made his way to the latter, and sat on