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

was too much. The girl rushed over, waving her hands. "Shoo!" she scolded. "Get off my desk, you crazy creature!"

But Admiral Hawarden was no fool. This was far beyond any experience he had ever had, but there was such a purposefulness in the bird's actions, strange and unusual though they were, that he felt this little drama should be played out without interruption.

"Leave it alone!" he commanded sharply in a tone that startled her, so different was it from his usual polite manner.

Looking at him in astonishment, she stepped back, and watched with him this unprecedented action.

With its foot Hanlon made the bird throw the little switch that activated the writing mechanism, and then with its beak began pecking at the keys. Luckily there was paper in the machine, a letter she had not finished. The admiral stepped up to where he could see, but waved the girl back when she started to follow. It seemed impossible that the bird could write anything sensible ... but the admiral was beginning to be not too sure of that.

His eyes opened wide with surprise as he saw the letters appear one by one on the paper:

a n d r m a 7

No longer did he doubt. How it was possible, the future might tell. But he did know the significance and the urgency of that message. He ripped the paper from the machine and pocketed it, then jumped to his desk and flipped the intercom switch.

"Captain Jessup! A company of marines, in full armor and all weapons, at the main gate in trucks in two minutes. Hipe!"

He ran to a cabinet in one corner of the room and threw open the door. "Come and help me!" he commanded the astonished girl, dragging his own long-unused space armor out and starting to climb into it. With her help he was completely encased in the minute, and was strapping on his weapons. "You can go home now," he told her.

He turned to the desk where the bird was watching with its beady eyes, and held out his arm curved at the elbow. With a quick swish of wings the pigeon launched itself toward the suited figure and rested on the out-stretched wrist.

The admiral plunged through the door and into the hall, where his private elevator waited. "Ground!" he yelled, and the bird was lifted from his wrist by the sudden plunging descent, but fluttered back and rode that wrist as the admiral dashed out of the elevator, through the halls and out the front door to the waiting, marine-filled trucks. Willing hands hauled him aboard the lead truck, and he threw the pigeon into the air.

"Follow that bird!" he commanded, and the incredulous driver did so, wondering secretly if the Old Man had suddenly gone bats.

When he saw beyond doubt the bird's destination, Admiral Hawarden gasped, but he was too old a campaigner to be stopped now. There was something here that needed himself and his men, and he would go through with it, no matter where it led.

He knew the calibre of the men of the Secret Service, and while he could not know how it was possible for one of them to train a bird in such a manner, he knew his job was to back up whatever that high-powered individual was doing.

As the trucks skidded to a halt at the entrance of the Prime Minister's ornate palace, he issued swift commands. His men, disregarding the indignant cries of the palace guards, who swarmed out to stop this unbelievable invasion of their rights, deployed to their designated positions, weapons at the ready.

To the officer of the guard who tried to bar his way, the admiral snapped, "I'll apologize later. Now get out of my way!" Then, with a squad of husky marines at his heels, he followed the fluttering pigeon through the opened door, along a hall, and down some stairs.

But here the bird seemed at a loss, fluttering from door to door, seeking that certain room.

As Hanlon had so shrewdly guessed, Admiral Hawarden was no fool, but quick on the up-take. "Open all these doors!" his voice rang out commandingly.

As fast as doors were opened—whether locked or not made no difference to the marines—the pigeon darted forward and glanced into each one before flying on the next. Then it disappeared through one of the doorways, and the admiral, who had kept as close to it as possible, yelled "Here!" and ran into the room, his men streaming after him.

"Welcome to out cozy nest, Mister," a voice from the depths of a big chair called, and the officer ran forward to where he could see. "You certainly made time, and am I happy to see you soldiers. Get me out of these things," and Hanlon rattled his chains.

At the admiral's gesture the marines made short work of the manacles, and Hanlon stood up, tottered a moment and would have fallen but for the quickly extended friendly arm of the admiral. He was still groggy, even though the serum was wearing off. But he was almost in complete control of his mind.

"We got here in time, then?" anxiously.

"Yes, thanks to my little friend here." Hanlon took the bird, and handed it to one of the marines, meanwhile impressing on its mind that it was safe among friends. "Look after her." And withdrew his mind.

"She gets good care the rest of her life," the admiral ordered the wondering marines. "Wait outside."

Hawarden looked about the room. "Who are these men ... and what in Snyder's name happened to them?"

"They were stung to death by bees," Hanlon said, and there was a trace of vindictiveness in his voice. "One of 'em's the Prime Minister; the others his gunmen."

"Great John!" the admiral breathed. "This'll raise a stink!"

"There'll be a bigger one before I get through," Hanlon was grim. "Get me back to your office, and get a doctor. They gave me truth serum, and it hasn't all worn off yet. And I'm hungry," he added so plaintively that Hawarden, accustomed enough to sight of death so it didn't affect him too much, laughed.

"What'll we do with the bodies?"

"Guard the Prime Minister's closely. Merely notify the people here where to find the others."

Hawarden called back two of the marines. "Bring that body with us," and they left.

At the entrance the admiral recalled his men. To the palace officer he partially explained. "The Prime Minister was killed, and we're taking his body with us. There are three of his men, also dead, in Room 37-B down there. I'll notify the Emperor, and assume full responsibility."

He jumped into the truck's front seat beside Hanlon and the driver.

"Back to base!"

Chapter 21

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

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

"Full coverage?" Hanlon asked meaningly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hanlon knit his forehead in concentration. "I ... don't ... know," he said slowly. "No one ever spoke of anyone as his superior. He's the man they were all afraid of...." He paused a moment, then said, even more slowly, "I've a peculiar hunch. I wish you'd