George Hanlon withdrew from the puppy's mind, and thought seriously.
Yes, this matter of controlling the minds of animals was one that would
require a lot of thought and study, and a tremendous amount of practice.
But it seemed important enough to justify those expenditures.
He hunted up his steward. "Where do the passengers keep their pets?"
"Some keep them in their staterooms, sir, but others in the kennels down
on 'H' deck."
"Thanks. Any rules against my going down there and looking at 'em? I
like animals, especially dogs."
"Oh, no, sir. Anyone can go down there. It's on the right hand side,
about halfway aft."
Arrived at the kennels, Hanlon found the cages contained about a dozen
dogs of various breeds, ages and sizes. Here were plenty of animal minds
for his experimentation and study.
After walking around and looking at them for some minutes, he sat down
on a bench at one side of the cages, and concentrated on the dog nearest
him. It was a large white bull, and he guessed its age to be about five
or six years. That was just what he wanted--an adult mind to study, not
that of an immature puppy.
He had no trouble getting into the dog's mind, and for over an hour he
sat there, studying it line by line, channel by channel, connector by
connector, while the dog lay as if asleep. Gradually Hanlon began to
feel he was beginning to know something about a dog's mind-and-body
correlation, and how it operated.
Then, and only then, he woke the dog and began experiment with control.
He found it easy to make the dog do anything he wished that was within
the animal's previous knowledge and experience. What he wanted was to
see if he could make it perform motions and actions that were outside
its previous conditioning and training. After some fumbling, he thrilled
to find that now even some of the simpler of those things were not too
difficult, although others his present knowledge was not up to handling.
His study taught him to some extent how to activate the brain centers
which controlled the nerves that sent messages to the proper muscles
that allowed the dog to do his bidding. But it still needed a lot of
study. He knew he had only made a bare start at learning what had to be
known to do it swiftly and easily.
The kennel steward must have noticed the strange antics of the bull and
then, seeing Hanlon's intent concentration, figured there might be some
connection between the two. For he came up to the bench and looked down
somewhat hostilely at the man sitting there. But his voice, when he
spoke, was very polite.
"Anything I can do for you, sir?"
Hanlon had been concentrating so deeply he had not heard anyone come up,
and the voice, speaking so suddenly right before him, startled and
befuddled him. He looked up, and his mind felt sluggish and weak, almost
as though he had been doped.
"Huh?" he asked stupidly.
"I asked," the man's tone was a little sharper, "if there was anything I
could do for you?"
"Oh, no. No thanks." Hanlon forced himself to pay attention. "I just
like dogs and came down here to watch them. Must have dozed off."
"Do you have a dog of your own here?"
"No, I have no dog at present."
"What were you doing to that white bull. He's been acting very peculiar
since you've been here."
"Me?" Hanlon made himself look surprised. "Why, nothing. I've just been
sitting here; haven't said a word to any of them."
"Well, I'm not too sure it's proper for you to be here as long as you
have no dog kennelled here."
"Sorry. If it bothers you, I'll leave."
Hanlon started away ... then stopped short. He had wondered at that
curiously sluggish feeling in his mind. Now, with a start he had trouble
concealing, he suddenly realized a mind-numbing fact!
He had seen and heard that exchange of conversation from two separate
and distinct points! And now he was watching himself leave!
_He had heard and seen both from his own ... and from the dog's mind!_
Yes, he suddenly comprehended that the dog had heard and _understood_
every word of that brief conversation--not as a dog might, _but as a man
would_!
Suddenly drenched with a cold sweat, Hanlon knew he had not merely been
inside the dog's mind, observing and controlling, but that he had
actually _transferred_ a portion of his own mind into the dog's brain!
No wonder his own mind--what was left in his own brain--had felt
somewhat inadequate and lacking for the moment. It was not his complete
mind. When the steward startled him, he had forgotten to withdraw from
the bull's brain.
Now he carefully did so, and with senses reeling, almost ran back to his
stateroom.
Hanlon threw himself onto the bed and lay there, trembling with awe at
realization of the immensity of what he had done.
How in the name of Snyder was such a thing possible? Reading a mind's
impressions, even the surface thoughts, was well within the realms of
possibility he knew, for he had done it himself. Even hundreds of years
before, such things had been believed possible, and had been studied
extensively and scientifically. Many people throughout the centuries had
claimed the ability to read minds, though only a few had ever proven
their powers satisfactorily under carefully controlled laboratory
conditions.
He himself, until the past day or so, had not been able to read a mind
directly, nor could he do it perfectly even yet, with humans.
Also, he conceded, it was a reasonable concept that if he had any mental
ability at all with humans, it should be greater and more efficient with
animals. For they had less actual brain-power; their minds were far less
complex than human minds.
_But to be able to transfer part of his mind ... to separate
it--dissociate it--and have it outside of his body and in some other
body's mind!_
"Ain't that sumpin'?" he whistled in awed amazement.
Pulling himself together with an effort of will, he set his mind to
reviewing carefully the entire episode, and to figuring out where all
this might fit in with the business at hand.
"I thought, when I first got into that pup's mind, that it would be a
big help, and it will. But this will be even more so, if I can really
control animals, and see and hear with their eyes and ears. And if I can
send them where I want them to go, and send my mind, or part of it,
along with them, and still know what it and they are doing, that will be
tremendous!"
He remembered how he had been able to get into the puppy's mind after it
had gone out of sight, so now he sent his mind down to the kennels.
Again, without any trouble, without any delay or hesitation, he found
himself inside the bull's mind, and could look out through the cage
wires and see the rest of the kennel deck.
He withdrew and lay there, almost dumbfounded.
"How did I ever get such ability?" he wondered. "No one else in our
family has it. Am I some sort of a mutant? But if so, how or why? I
never heard Dad or Mother mention it."
He had lots of questions, but no answers.
But thinking about this new ability and his job with the Secret Service
suddenly reminded him of that potential murderer he had been watching.
He realized with dismay that in his excitement over this latest
development he had entirely forgotten that angle. He had better get back
on the ball, but fast!
He got up, splashed cold water on his face, dried it, ran a comb through
his hair, and went back to the lounge.
* * * * *
The man Panek was not in the Observation lounge, so Hanlon went seeking
him. Just as he neared the game rooms on his rounds, he saw his man
leaving them. Allowing the stranger to get some distance ahead, Hanlon
trailed him as carefully as he could, all the time trying to read what
the killer had in mind.
Not entirely to his surprise, Hanlon found he could now read the surface
thoughts even more easily than formerly. Thus he soon knew,
emphatically, that the man was definitely bent on that contemplated
killing right now--that the victim was in his stateroom but was going to
leave it shortly in response to a faked video-call.
Hanlon also learned that the murderer had a knife concealed in his
sleeve--and was adept in its use.
The SS man's mind rocketed swiftly. What was he to do? He didn't want a
murder done, but neither did he want this man killed nor jailed--at
least not until he had learned a great deal more concerning him and his
part in or knowledge of that "plot" on Simonides that Hanlon and the
Corps were trying so desperately to solve.
"I've got to learn to consider mighty carefully all the angles about
even the most apparently-insignificant things," he thought carefully. "I
can't take chances of gumming things up, but on the other hand, I want
to get an 'in' with that gang if I can."
A possibility occurred to the young agent--and he quailed a bit, then
grinned wolfishly at the thought. It was plenty dangerous, but if he
could put it over maybe it would give him that "in" he needed.
He hurried his steps and caught up with the big man just as the latter
was stopping momentarily to peer cautiously around the corner and down a
corridor which, Hanlon could read in his mind, led to the victim's
stateroom.
Hanlon tapped the man on the shoulder, and as the fellow whirled, a
snarl on his face, Hanlon stepped backward a pace and held up his hands
in the "I'm not armed" gesture. Then, before Panek could speak, he
stepped closer to whisper.
But the thug was both angry and frustrated at the spoiling of his
carefully-worked-out plan, and in no mood for conversation. That lethal
knife seemed to jump out of his sleeve and toward Hanlon, in the strong,
swift, practiced hand of the killer.
The SS man jumped backward, then his own hands darted out and grabbed
for the other's wrists in the manner he had been taught. He caught the
right, or knife hand, but the big fellow was as dextrous as he, even if
he didn't look capable of such fast action. His other hand eluded
Hanlon's grasp, and with it Panek struck and jabbed--heavy blows to
Hanlon's face and body.
Hanlon parried the blows as best he could, at the same time trying to
make his low-voiced words penetrate.
"Cut it out, you fool! I'm trying to help you, not hinder you! Stop it,
blast you, and listen!"
But he might as well have been talking to the metal walls. One eye was
swelling rapidly, and he had a nick in his arm that he could feel was
soaking his jacket sleeve. Seeing he couldn't make the fellow listen,
Hanlon threw him with a super-judo trick, then sat on him.
"Shut up and listen to me, Panek!" he hissed urgently, using all his
fighting technique meanwhile to keep the other's threshing form
immobile. "I'm trying to warn you that the bozo you're after carries one
of those new needle-guns, and the needles are poison-tipped. Also, he's
the fastest man on the draw I've ever seen--I watched him practice. Just
one of those needles and you'd be kaput before you could yell."
* * * * *
"Why ... how ... what d'you mean, huh, what d'you mean?"
The man stopped his struggles for the moment, while his face showed
plainly how aghast he was at this interfering stranger's apparent
knowledge of his intentions.
"Who are you, huh, and what's your game, what's your game?"
Hanlon made his voice seem both friendly and calculating, and hurried on
with his specious explanation before the fellow should start fighting
again.
"I'd been tipped off there was something up, on Simonides, where a good
hustler could make himself plenty of credits. And credits in quantity is
what I'm after ..."
"What's that got to do with me, huh, what has it?"
"... and I'm on my way there to see what my chances are of getting in on
the game. So naturally I tried to learn all I could about it ahead of
time. I was told this bird you're after was an important man there, so I
studied him. One of the first things I found out about him was that he
carried one of those needlers. If he's in your way, together we oughta
be able to get rid of him ... but let's play it safe, eh?"
The stranger gave him a cold, calculating going-over with those hard,
suspicious eyes. "Let me up, Bub, let me up. I'll be good while we
talk."
Hanlon rose, but stood warily as the other slowly climbed to his feet.
But he wasn't sharp enough--Panek's hand flashed out even before he
seemed to be standing erect, and slickly grabbed the wallet from the
inside pocket of Hanlon's jacket.
But the SS man, seeing what the other was after, stood there without
making any resistance.
"Take your time looking at 'em, Pal," he said easily. "I'm clean.
Strictly on my own in this. Just got kicked out of that snake's nest of
a Corps school on Terra ..."
The killer's head snapped up at mention of the Corps, and he stared
harder and more suspiciously than ever into Hanlon's eyes.
"... They said I cheated at exams, and wouldn't give me a chance to
defend myself," Hanlon continued quickly, but with heat. "That soured me
on 'em, but good! So I says to myself, blast John Law! From now on I'm
on the other side. Anything he's after must be worth plenty to any guy
who can outsmart him. Knowing his side of it and how he works, I figure
I'm just that good!"
He said all this with such a deadly serious voice, that although it was
bravado Panek could see it was also confidence. Hanlon had figured this
straight-forwardness was his best bet. Tell his side of it first, for if
he got in with them--or any gang--they would be sure to check, and would
find out he had been a cadet, anyway. "Beat 'em to the punch before they
form any contrariwise conclusions," was his judgment.
His plan seemed to be working, for as his explanation continued and was
completed the killer looked at him with some measure of respect,
although his eyes and manner were still filled with suspicion.
"Can't blame you for feeling sore, can't blame you, if they really did
kick you out. But I don't trust nobody that's ever had any connection at
all with the cops, don't trust 'em!"
"Look, Pal, use your head! If I was a John Law would I merely have
stopped you? I'd be arresting you--or killing you for pulling that knife
on me. I tell you I'm clean--and that I want an 'in' on Simonides."
"I heard, too, there was good pickings on Sime," the man said slowly.
"'Course, I'm not in on anything special, myself, not in on it. This
here's a purely personal grudge deal. But you prob'ly did me a good
turn, a good turn, and if you want to look me up after we land, I maybe
could introduce you to a man or two. I didn't know old Abrams carried
one of them needlers, didn't know that."
The thanks in his gruff voice showed his respect for those silent,
deadly little guns.
That name--Abrams--rang a bell in Hanlon's mind, though he quickly
decided he'd better let it lie for the moment--file it away for future
investigation.
He smiled in comradely fashion. "The way you were walking into it made
me sure you didn't know. And thanks. Maybe I will look you up. I don't
know anyone on Simonides, and it doesn't hurt to have a friend or three.
Where do I find you there?"
"Evenings I'm often at the Bacchus Tavern. And," with a sinister
grimace, "if you come, you'd better pray that '_he_' likes you, you'd
sure better!"