As Hanlon entered his dormitory room, his roommate looked up from his
studies.
"What'd the Big Brass Bull want, Han?"
"Huh?" Hanlon snapped out of his abstraction and grinned. "Nothing
important. You'll be up soon. Just about our first assignments after
graduation." He was thinking swiftly. "... Uh, I get some extra
instruction in piloting, and a chance at the controls."
"Gee, I hope they let me work on codes."
Hanlon shrugged. "They probably will, Dick. They try to fit us where we
can do the most good, Rogers said." He picked up a book and sat down,
apparently studying intently, and young Trowbridge resumed his own
lessons.
Hanlon began practicing his mind-reading at every opportunity. At first
he felt sure he would be caught at it, but quickly remembered that, as a
child, his victims never suspected they were being mentally invaded
unless he told them or acted carelessly upon information so gleaned.
Yet it had been his naive, boyish pride then, that had made him boast to
his playmates of his ability, and prove it by telling them things he had
learned about them. All that, naturally, got him into much trouble and
not a few fights, and caused the loss of all his early boyhood friends.
That was why he had quit using his wild talent and had been so
determined never to do so again, as he had first told Admiral Rogers.
But now he realized he must use it with all the ability and skill he
could acquire. For this mind-reading, whatever of it he could do, was
decidedly his dish. The SS would be sure to hand him all the jobs where
it might best get them what they needed--if he showed he could produce.
Yet with his present equipment Hanlon knew he could do little. As he had
also told the commandant, he couldn't actually read anyone's mind to the
extent of getting definite wording or specific information. But he could
get quite clear sensory impressions that helped him deduce what the
other person was thinking.
He had partially learned--and now practiced with all his abilities and
gained knowledge and intellect to improve and perfect the technique--to
gauge the other's looks, glances, facial expressions, muscle movements,
sudden tensenesses, and so on. For those, together with the
mood-impressions and bits of fleeting thoughts, enabled him to know
almost to a certainty what the other was actually thinking at the
observed time.
In the barracks, later that first evening, he got into a card game and
concentrated on trying to win by this method. Nor was it consciously
that he chose a game being played for low stakes--he just wouldn't have
thought of trying to win large sums by such "cheating".
For some time he won consistently and easily. He couldn't know what
cards his opponents held, by suit or number, but he could tell without
any difficulty whether each of the other players felt he had a poor,
medium or good hand. By playing his own accordingly, his wins were far
greater than his losses. After an hour or so of play had proved he could
do it, and had given him considerable practice, Hanlon closed his mind
to their impressions. He now played his cards so recklessly he soon lost
his winnings. Then he got out of the game on a plea of having to study.
The next morning during first class, the door opened and Admiral Rogers
entered the classroom.
"'Ten-shun!" the teacher called, springing to his feet.
"As you were. I want to borrow one of your young gentlemen for the day,
Major. A VIP is in town, and we want to give him an aide." He looked
about the room, as though to pick out a likely-looking candidate. "How
about Cadet Hanlon? Does he especially need today's lesson?"
"Oh, no, sir, he's one of our top students."
Admiral Rogers looked directly at Hanlon, who had risen to attention
when his name was mentioned. "In my office, in full dress uniform, on
the double."
"Dismiss, Hanlon," the instructor said, and the cadet ran out.
In Admiral Rogers' office ten minutes later, Hanlon received his
instructions. "Report to the Simonidean Embassy and put yourself at the
disposal of Hector Abrams, First Secretary to the Simonidean Prime
Minister. But first, hang this stuff on you. This dress sword is a
little unusual--the scabbard is rounder than yours, but not noticeably
so. It's really a blaster; the trigger is here on the handle as you
grasp it. Put on these aide's aguillettes--the metal tips are police
whistles. No," seeing Hanlon's questioning look, "we don't expect any
trouble today--these are just routine, for we like to be ready for
emergencies."
Hanlon fastened the braided cords to his shoulder tabs, and belted on
the twenty-inch-long blaster-sword. The admiral touched a switch on his
desk and spoke into a microphone. "My personal car to take Cadet Hanlon
to the Simonidean Embassy, then return."
At the Embassy, Hanlon reported to the receptionist, and was shown with
due deference into one of the private offices, where he was introduced
to several men, among them the Secretary he was to accompany.
"I have a number of errands to do today, but the first and most
important is laying the cornerstone of our new Embassy building--this
one is merely rented, you may know."
"I am entirely at your disposal, sir," Hanlon saluted crisply, and fell
into step just behind the portly statesman as he left the building.
They rode in an open car with a uniformed chauffeur, the others
following in other cars. As they rode Hanlon probed the statesman's
mind, but found only worry-tension, that he shrewdly guessed had to do
with the coming speech, rather than with any thought of intrigue or
illegal machination.
As they came into the Greek section of the city, their ride took on more
and more the aspects of a parade, as the Simonidean was recognized.
Hanlon opened his mind wide and attempted to analyze the
thought-sensations he received from the crowds. It was one of gaiety and
good nature, and reminded him of the way his boyish mind interpreted the
thoughts of holiday crowds at the circus, Fourth of July celebrations,
picnics, and so on.
From the moment he first entered the Embassy, Hanlon had been probing
with every iota of his ability, hoping he could find some lead to
whatever it was that was bothering the Corps about Simonides, but had
found nothing sinister or menacing, nor could he get any such sensations
from the crowd.
But now he concentrated more on watching the increasingly denser throng
of people, for the car was nearing their destination. The buildings
along here were all bedecked with Simonidean and Greek-Terran flags, and
there was now a continuous cheering from the populace. Abrams was
standing in the back of the car now, smilingly acknowledging their
plaudits by bowing to one side and the other.
Hanlon, sitting stiffly at attention, nevertheless kept his eyes darting
here and there, watching as carefully as he could for any possible
hostile demonstrations or menacing figures.
Arrived at the building site, Abrams was greeted by numerous
dignitaries, and escorted with much pomp to the flag-bedecked stand,
amid greater cheering from the assembled crowd.
The chairman of the occasion stepped to the public-address microphone,
and raised his hands for silence. The band broke off in the middle of a
number, the cheering from the huge throng gradually died down, and the
ceremony got under way.
Hanlon, who had taken his post at one corner of the platform, paid scant
attention to what was happening on it, as it neither interested him nor
could he understand too much of it, even though he knew quite a bit of
Greek. Again his eyes were busy continually looking all about the great
crowd and the surroundings.
Nothing of note occurred until the chairman began introducing Abrams,
and then hecklers in the crowd began shouting:
"Freedom for the Greeks of Simonides!"
"Empires are out of date; let the people rule!"
"Demos forever!"
These calls were few at first, but the men yelling them were
leather-lunged. The chairman's face turned reddish, and he wavered a bit
in his speech, then raised his own voice in an attempt to drown out the
interruptions.
Others were now crying out, though still only a few, but in spite of
their shouts the ceremonies continued, and Abrams, properly introduced,
rose and began his prepared speech.
Hanlon, more alert than ever, could see local police shoving through the
crowd, trying to apprehend and silence the hecklers. But from his
vantage point Hanlon saw the latter shifting rapidly from place to
place, partly to escape detection, he swiftly deduced, and partly to
make it seem as though more and more people were joining in the
demonstration.
In a side glance Hanlon saw that the Secretary was nettled at the
disturbance, and his color was high although he bravely continued
speaking. The great audience was largely paying attention to him, and
must have found him interesting, from their frequent cheers.
Suddenly, at one side, there seemed to be a more determined
demonstration, and Hanlon tore his gaze from it, remembering his
instructor's words:
"Disregard specific diversions in one spot! Let the police handle
those--you must watch most carefully then for assassins!"
Instantly he was more alert, more carefully scanning the whole scene
before him, his eyes travelling forth and back.
A glint of reflected sunlight from a nearby roof jerked his eyes upward,
and at what he saw, with one swift, smooth motion he drew his
blaster-sword, sighted carefully, and pressed the trigger.
There was a crack of flame, and a gunman half-hidden behind a chimney
screamed, half-rose, then, his body charred by the force of that blast,
toppled from the roof into the street below, his rifle falling near him.
Hanlon swivelled. "Cover Abrams!" his voice rang out commandingly, and
he himself jumped in front of the Secretary while others on the platform
sprang up to completely surround the Simonidean, and hide him from
possible further danger.
Hanlon raised one of the tassel-whistles and blew a piercing blast. Now
he could see several local policemen running toward the platform, and in
moments Abrams, surrounded by an armed and alert escort, was hustled
into a waiting police car, which sped back to the Embassy.
The Simonidean was white and shaking, upset by the episode.
"Why?" he kept asking, but no one had any answers. "I'm not important
enough for anyone to want to kill," Abrams shook his head. "The people
of Simonides like the empire status--why should anyone here on Terra
object?"
"There's always crackpots in every crowd," a police captain said. "We
get riots like this one almost every time there's a public ceremony.
Most of 'em're plain nuts--once in a while only is there one who feels
he's got a real grievance, personal."
"But with so many participating, this one looked planned," Hanlon
objected. "I was higher and watching, and I could see at least a dozen
men shouting at the beginning, starting all at the same time, although a
lot more took it up. It must have been a plot of some kind."
His mind was racing. Was this part of what he was being sent to
Simonides to investigate? He had tried to probe the crowd minds, but
there were so many conflicting thought-emanations, such a welter of
sensations he wasn't able to isolate any single, individual moods or
thoughts.
Safely back inside the Embassy, Abrams seemed to relax a bit. He turned
now to Hanlon.
"My very sincere thanks, young man, for your quickness and alertness in
saving my life. I shall be eternally grateful."
Hanlon waved his hand deprecatingly. "It was my job, sir. I'm sorry your
day was spoiled that way."
"I still can't make out why?" The Simonidean said slowly, and Hanlon,
probing, could sense that his mind was full of question marks. "I'm not
that important. If it had been the emperor"--Hanlon caught an impression
of loyalty and love for that dignitary--"or even the Minister"--here he
caught a feeling of doubt and some dislike--"it might make sense. Just
as I cannot figure out why I should have been sent here for this
purpose. It's almost ..." he was silent, and Hanlon's probes found only
puzzlement.
"Nuts!" the young Corpsman felt frustrated. "If only I could really read
minds! I think this guy knows something I want to learn, but I can't get
the least idea of what it is."
But he kept trying, and not only with the mind of this one man he had
been sent here to guard. He reached out to all other minds in the room,
but none of them seemed to have any thoughts about the why of this
unexpected happenstance. There were mostly feelings of anger that their
beautiful new Embassy building had not been properly dedicated, and
their ceremony ruined.
Abrams had sunk into a chair, and it soon became apparent to Hanlon that
he wasn't planning on handling any of his other outside errands that
day.
"Will you want me any more, sir?" he finally asked after a considerable
period of uneasy fidgetting. The Simonidean broke out of his
abstraction, and rose to his feet.
"No, I shall stay here for the balance of the day at least. You may as
well return to your other duties. Again, thank you, personally, for
saving my life, and please express my thanks to the Corps for sending
you. But I still can't understand ..." He turned away, muttering.
Hanlon saluted the other members of the Embassy staff, and rode the
slideways back to Base, reporting to Admiral Rogers, to whom he gave a
full and concise account of all that had happened.
"Whatever Mr. Abrams and the police may think, I still believe it was
all carefully planned," he concluded thoughtfully. "It wasn't just one
man, for I could see at least a dozen. Though, of course," he added
quickly, "one man may have been behind it."
"Undoubtedly," the admiral said. "There was the chance of something like
this, which is why I picked you for the job, hoping you could get some
leads from it."
"I told you I couldn't read specific thoughts or information," Hanlon
said. "If you and the top brass picked me for the SS because you thought
I could, you'd better release me from it. I can't work in a crowd at
all, for there's such a jumble of thought-emanations I can't separate
them. Even working with an individual I can only sense something of his
feelings. Just as now," he grinned mirthlessly, "you're disappointed
because I didn't get any data, and thinking my so-called mind-reading is
all a fake."
The admiral almost jumped. "Why, I am not ...," then he looked
surprised, and laughed. "By Snyder, I was, too!" He sobered. "But if you
can do that, even if you can't actually read the words of the thought,
you'll still be able to help, I'm sure. No, you keep on studying. I'll
bet you'll be able to do a lot more before long."
"I sure hope so," Hanlon slowly unfastened the aiguellettes and removed
the sword and belt, laying them on the corner of the big desk. At touch
of that weapon he suddenly realized what he had done with it, and
shuddered, while his face grew white and strained.
"What's the matter?" the admiral asked anxiously.
"I ... killed ... a ... man," Hanlon trembled.
"No! You killed a snake!" Admiral Rogers laid his arm comfortingly about
the younger man's shoulders. "It isn't the same at all. Don't let it
bother you."
Hanlon tried manfully to rise from his dark mood. "You're right, in a
way, sir, and I'll try to look at it that way. As to the mind-reading,
I'll keep on trying, and I hope I can prove of some use."
The admiral patted his shoulder encouragingly. "You will. Dismiss."