At that thought, fear struck at George Hanlon's vitals, almost like a
physical blow. What was planned for _him_?
For certainly if these unknowns were onto what the Terrans--or the
Corps and the secret service--were trying to do here, and had already
captured and tortured three of the four, they would not leave him free
to continue working against them.
Cold sweat starting from all his pores, Hanlon sank into a chair, nails
digging into palms. His bravado, his cockiness, his belief in his own
superiority--all ebbed away like a swift-falling tide.
He had been used to working alone in the service. He had been mostly
by himself on Simonides, and altogether alone on Algon. Yet he had not
felt such an _aloneness_, such an absolute withdrawal of all support,
as he knew in this awful moment.
For at the other places he could contact the S S through the safety
deposit boxes, or by the "Andromeda Seven" password, and get almost
instant response, and the entire resources of the Corps to back him
up. And here on Estrella, while he had been working alone, he met
the others occasionally, and the men with the Corps' sneakboat every
fortnight. He had known they were _there_.
But now they were gone. And Hanlon was to be the next victim ... and
he had no idea who, when, what, where, or why.
For long minutes he sat, shaking with dread, his mind a chaos of
nothingness but a swirling, roiling, panic fear.
This was far, far different from that terrible fear he had known back
on the _Hellene_ when he had first realized he was tangling with
trained, unprincipled and viciously-conscienceless killers. Or the time
he had been chained in the Prime Minister's dungeon on Simonides. For
then he had been facing known problems. This one was totally
unknown ... and man has always felt far more fear of the terrors he
cannot see, than of those he can face.
"Blast back," he thought determinedly, ashamed of his fear and resolved
to conquer it, "I got through those other troubles all right in the
end. How do I know I won't with this? At least, I can be a man, not a
cry-baby, especially before I'm actually in danger."
It was sorry advice, and he knew it, but it was just enough at the
moment to help him pull himself together.
"So maybe they can kill me ... after torturing me. So what? I don't
expect to live forever, and I knew when I got into this service that it
was dangerous. After all, I could get killed any minute just performing
routine Corps duties--or if I'd remained a civilian, at my daily job,
or walking the streets of Terra."
By main force of will and character, Hanlon forced the fear back and
away from the surface of his mind. He concentrated on the problem at
hand:
How to find where his father was held captive.
Hooper had apparently been running for about two hours when Hanlon
first discovered him, his mind had told. All right, where's that map of
Stearra and vicinity he had bought. Ah, there on the table. Let's see
now, a man in Hooper's condition could run maybe ten or twelve miles
in that time, since his mental terror would have overcome physical
fatigue until his muscles could absolutely obey no longer.
All right, circle this point with a ring with a twelve-mile radius ...
so.
But Curt was coming from the south. Concentrate on that direction for
the moment. What lies ten to twelve miles from here to the south?
He examined the map carefully, trying to visualize in his mind what lay
out in that direction. The Ruler's palace was more or less south, but
nearer to fifteen miles. Could Hooper have run that far since dawn?
Hanlon didn't think so, though the man had so evidently been running
until almost exhausted.
The section Hanlon was visualizing was, he remembered now, mostly
filled with the larger homes and estates of the more influential and
wealthy.
Yandor's house? No, that was more to the west, and only about two miles
from here. Of course, Hooper could have been circling and zigzagging
during those hours--oh, but not that much, surely.
Carefully Hanlon pored over the map, trying to figure where his father
could possibly be held.
Suddenly, a bit to the east, and about eleven miles from the street
where Hanlon lived, he noticed a pencilled dot he had previously made
on the map.
_Irad's house!_
Of course, Hanlon gasped. And that enigmatic stone building--Hooper
had thought "stone"--behind the house. Also, all indications up to
the present pointed toward the Second-In-Line as the head man of the
criminal element ... and that probably meant of the opposition, as well.
But Hooper's thoughts had been that the S S men's torture and
inquisition had been mental. Did Irad have that power? Hanlon had asked
himself that before, but now it became increasingly evident that he
did, he must have. Besides, now that Hanlon was concentrating on the
subject, there had been that curious sensation of a mental block or
barrier Hanlon thought he had felt in Egon-Irad's mind. What was behind
that curtain?
"Well," Hanlon shivered, "there's only one way to find out. I'll have
to scout this place more closely, and see if he's _it_."
He rose determinedly to start out. But halted as he realized it was
broad daylight, and that he could not go there and investigate the
house and grounds--and that stone building in the back--without being
seen. He would have to take this slow and easy. Too much depended on
him, and there was very little chance of his making it undiscovered
even under the best of circumstances. He must not take chances that he
knew beforehand were doomed to failure. For he was now the sole and
only possibility of his father being freed. That sneakboat was not due
for another week and a half, and with Manning and Hooper out of the
picture....
Chafing at the delay, his mind a turmoil of tortured thoughts, conflict
between his desire to rush and the logical knowledge that he must wait
until dark, Hanlon passed the most miserable time of his young life.
He had thought he had plumbed the depths of mental agony during those
dreadful seven minutes when he had stood at rigid attention in the
office of Admiral Rogers, commandant of cadets. But that had been a
mere child's game compared to all this fretful waiting.
But those deep, inner and innate characteristics which made George
Hanlon what he was, came to the fore during those hours, as he forced
himself to endure the wait he knew he must accomplish.
And in that period George Hanlon reached closer to full maturity.
He touched, examined and accepted the tremendous concept that man's
highest pinnacle of success, his greatest heights of achievement in
personal integration, lay in working _with_ others for the common
good of all, not in feeling that any one man is indispensable; one
man--himself, of course--better than others, and more capable than
they of achieving all goals.
Sure, he had an ability none of the others had. But that did not
make him any better than, nor above them. They, in turn, had many
capabilities he did not possess, that were actually as valuable as his
mental abilities--if not more so. As an individual, any of them could
fail. As a _team_, each giving of his best, they could win out.
And now someone or some group had broken up the team. Well, it was up
to him to get it back together again.
George Hanlon suddenly awoke. He sprang from his chair, astonished to
see through the window of his room that it was dark outside. He grinned
mirthlessly. He had actually fallen asleep there in his chair, in the
midst of all his worry.
Then suddenly he realized why. He had thought the matter through,
reached definite conclusions and had known, inwardly, that everything
was now as it must be until a certain time. Thus calmed and facing that
fact, however unconsciously, he had fallen asleep to gain strength for
that coming ordeal. Now it was time to go, therefore he had awakened.
He took another half hour to prepare and eat a good meal--he would
need all the strength he could get--then left his room and the house.
Mounting his trike, he sped away at its swiftest pace toward the
neighborhood where Adwal Irad's house lay.
* * * * *
_The alien, watching from above in its scanners, saw that entity with
the unreadable mind leave its home and start away on its mechanical
carrier. Tracing its course, the being was soon able to make a shrewd
guess as to its destination._
_Instantly the alien's mind went into action, and under its compulsion
four armed men hastened to Irad's house, and hid themselves within its
partially-darkened interior, yet kept careful watch of the outside
premises._
Hanlon had long since decided just how to approach the place. Leaving
his machine concealed in the deep shadows of a spreading flowertree, he
slipped quietly through the edge of the grounds next door, dodging from
tree to tree to bush, carefully watching all about to make sure he was
not seen nor followed.
He came to a large tree close to the Irad property, hurdled a low hedge
and dashed across the dividing line, to come to a stop beneath another
tree well into the grounds of the Second-In-Line. From that one he made
his cautious, soundless way, until he was only about ten yards from the
house itself.
There were only a couple of lights showing through the windows, but his
heart sank at the realization that someone was at home.
"I should have had a bird watching to see if Irad left," he scolded
himself. But he continued on, making a final dash across the remaining
yardage until he was right beside the house itself, in a deep shadow.
Carefully he inched his way along toward the nearest window from which
a light showed. Reaching it he very slowly rose and peered through the
lower corner of the pane.
This was apparently a sort of living room or library, as he could see a
number of easy chairs, carbide lamps on standards for reading, a couple
of small tables with art objects or flowers on them. Along one wall
were recesses holding reading scrolls. But there was no one in the room
he could see.
He crept on to another window, and repeated his inspection. This one
was a bedroom, but again no one was there.
"Maybe Irad just leaves a couple of lights on when he's away," Hanlon
considered. He crept on to another window, but there was no light and
he could not see what was within. He rounded a corner of the five-sided
house, going toward the back, but there were no lighted windows in
that side. He ran along it to the back, noting as he did so that he
passed a closed door.
He now was close to that little stone building at the rear which he had
previously noted, and in which he was sure his father was imprisoned.
There was no light showing, and apparently no windows at all. He
ran toward it swiftly, and ducked into its shadow. He circled it
completely, but there was only one door--locked.
George Hanlon probed with his mind toward the interior, and faintly,
just barely on the threshold of his consciousness, he caught a familiar
thought-pattern.
"It is dad," he exulted, but silently. Almost forgetting caution, he
doubled back and was attacking that locked door, when a sound behind
made him whirl about.
A number of men were boiling swiftly out of that door in the main house
he had passed a few moments before. And the light now shining out
reflected on the unmistakable flameguns in their hands. In that first
quick glance he had recognized Yandor as one of the men.
"Yipe!" Hanlon knew a deep disappointment--which did not stop him from
starting away from there on a dead run. He increased his speed as he
heard the pounding of heavy feet behind him.
He dashed toward the nearest yard, trying always to keep in the
shadows. Fortunately, he was fleeter than his pursuers, and gained
considerable yardage on them.
Around that next house he ran, and across the next yard. A couple of
flamegun flashes sprang out at him, but not close. The gangsters were
also flashing the lights from reflector-lanterns, trying to locate and
spotlight him for more accurate shooting.
In the drive of that neighboring house Hanlon saw one of the Estrellan
motor-trikes. It took him but a moment to activate the engine that, for
a wonder, caught almost immediately. He jumped onto the seat and was
picking up speed as he reached the street and swung down it.
Behind he heard an outcry as the owners saw the theft of their machine.
Also, the angry yells of the men chasing him.
These little tricycles were made for local trips only, and were not
powered for speed or distance. The best he was able to coax out of the
acetylene-powered engine was about twenty miles an hour.
He had not gone a mile before he heard behind him the sound of one of
the larger trikes, whose greater-sized motor, he knew, had a top speed
of nearly thirty miles an hour.
Pushing his little machine as fast as it would go, Hanlon looked wildly
all about him for some place of safety. He knew he had only a few
minutes before the bigger trike would catch up with him--or at least be
within shooting distance.
But how had they known he was coming? They must have been lying in
wait, to have taken him so completely off guard. Else why or how could
they have been hiding in semi-darkness, to come rushing out of that
door, their flamers ready to cinder him?
A momentary blackness of fear struck at him, but he threw it off by
an effort of will. They hadn't caught him yet; and by the great John
Snyder, they wouldn't!
Hah! Off there to the left was a little patch of woods. And just ahead
was a corner. He made as though to keep straight on, then swerved at
the last moment toward the left. His tires shrieked at the sudden
braking and swift turn, and the little machine almost overturned--but
he made it.
Glancing back he saw the larger, swifter tricycle hurtle past the
corner he had so unexpectedly turned. That would give him a little
extra leeway, before they could stop, turn around, and come back down
the road he was on.
Soon he reached the beginning of the wood, and was in the shadows its
trees cast across the road. Luckily, he thought, his little machine
had no lights, and it would be that much harder for them to spot him in
the darkness.
He went a little farther, then slowed a bit, swung his right leg over
onto the left side of the trike, and threw himself off, allowing it
to continue on without him. How far it would go, unguided, he did not
know, but hoped it would be some distance.
Glancing backward over his shoulder as he ran, he saw the lights of the
gangster's car pass. For some minutes he continued running, zigzagging
a bit around the trees, hoping to get far enough away so they could not
find him. As he ran he continued thinking what had happened.
"Were those goons actually waiting for me?" It didn't seem possible
anyone could have suspected him, personally, or have had any idea he
was going to be around Irad's house tonight. How could they, possibly.
He hadn't told anyone. That unknown mind-power again?
Memory of that _someone_ with the extraordinary mental powers who had
captured and imprisoned and questioned the other S S men, came to him
and again, involuntarily, he shuddered.
It probably was not that one or ones, he tried to deny the belief.
Undoubtedly those gun-carrying men were merely guarding the house on
general principles, either because Irad was Second-In-Line, or else
because....
"Gosh, I almost forgot. I'm sure dad's there, for those were his
thoughts I was just beginning to catch, I know. His mind-texture is
unmistakable. I'll bet those guys were there as guards for that reason.
I'll have to...."
He stopped short and dodged behind a tree, for his quick ear had
caught a crackling in the underbrush behind him. He tried to peer out
through the dimness, but could not see anyone, although he could see
two or three lances of lights that he knew were the reflectors of the
gangsters.
"I didn't realize they'd get this close this quick," he almost wailed.
"I gotta get out of here, but fast."
He started off as quietly as he could. But there were so many fallen
leaves and dead twigs and branches underfoot that he could not help
making some noise.
Suddenly a lance of flame almost caught him. He dodged quickly again.
There was another shot in his general direction that did not hit
him--but it did touch a dried, dead branch.
Instantly there was a flare of light as the wood caught fire, and in
moments a considerable blaze was started that made further concealment
impossible. Only flight was left.
Hanlon turned and ran toward the farther edge of the wood. Behind him
he could hear footsteps rapidly following, and a voice bellowing, "Here
he is!"