Man of Many Minds/Chapter 25

Chapter 25
“We've got a problem here,” Admiral Newton said as they followed the marines who were taking the mine operatives to the cruiser to be taken back to Simonides for their trials.

“I know it,” Hanlon said thoughtfully. “The Guddus are too high in the scale for the planet to be colonized, and too low at present to be admitted to the Federation as true members. Yet they have immense wealth and resources the Federation can use, and something will have to be done to protect them from thieves and others who might again try to enslave them.”

“That will never be allowed again. We'll have to make some sort of a treaty with them, probably establish a small base here, and perhaps make some arrangements to mine their ores—if we have anything we can give them in repayment. I imagine you'd better hold yourself in readiness to head the commission that comes to handle that treaty.”

“Gee, thanks for that, Dad. They're such swell people when you get to know them. Ordinarily they live like ‘children of nature,’ in the forests, without need of homes or tools or anything. They feed from the elements in the soil, so there's no food problem. We did give them nitrates here, but that was because they had exhausted the elements in the dirt floors of their prison huts. In the woods that won't be needed. Oh, well, when we get technies here, with transformers, we can find out what to do with them.”

“I'm going back to the fleet now,” the elder SS man said. “I suppose you want to go back to Simonides to handle the details of the trials of these men. Incidentally, what about this … Philander, did you say his name was? Why don't you think he'll need punishment?”

Hanlon explained rapidly, finishing, “So you see, with some psychiatric treatments, I'm sure that inferiority can be cleaned up and then he'll be a real asset to us or whoever hires him.” A sudden gleam came into his eyes. “Say, if we make that treaty with the Guddus, he'd be just the man to take charge here, under Corps direction.”

“Well, run along and see to it, then. And Spence, did I remember to tell you how proud I am of you?”

Hanlon hugged his father. “Thanks, Dad. I hope you always will be. I suppose the cruiser Commander will let me ride with him?”

Newton smiled fondly. “Not ‘let you,’ Son. You merely tell him you're going to go along. Admiral Ferguson assigned that ship to you on special duty.”

Hanlon's smile was embarrassed. “I still think I'm too much of a kid for so much responsibility.”

“Quit looking for sympathy.” It was an affectionate growl.

“Okay, then. Safe flights, Dad—see you on Sime soon.”

“Yes, I'll probably be there a day or so after you. Safe flights.”

Once the cruiser was in space, and the pressure of acceleration abated, Hanlon sent word to the guards to bring Philander to his cabin. When they had done so, he excused them, saying he would be responsible for the safety of their prisoner.

“Sit down, sir,” Hanlon said kindly to the wondering man.

“What's this all about, Hanlon?” Philander puzzled. “Who are you, anyway?”

“I was assigned to find out what it was centering on Simonides that seemed inimical to the peace of the Federation. The trail led me to Algon.”

“Where you used me to further your schemes, eh?” the tone was bitter.

“Please, Mr. Philander, don't misjudge me until you know all about it. First, let me ask you, did you know who ‘His Highness’ really was?”

The mining engineer shrugged. “You probably know already, so why ask me? Prime Minister of Simonides, of course … but you said ‘was’?”

“He's dead now. Did you also know he wasn't human—that he was an alien from some …”

“Not human? You're crazy. He was as human as any of us.”

“When we get back I'll show you a full-length X-ray of him if you wish. He was planning the conquest of our entire Federation and Galaxy. The Corps experts are still working to find out just what the details of his scheme were, but that much we do know. Did you know about all the warships he was building on Algon?”

“Ships? On Algon?” The surprises were coming too fast for Philander to adjust to them.

“Yes. Did you think your mine was all there was there? We know of nine mines of one kind or another, a number of factories, smelters, and three great shipyards. Incidentally, everything is now in the hands of the Corps.”

Philander shook his head in stupefaction. “I'm not calling you a liar, sir, but it's hard to believe you. I knew there were several mines, but not that many, nor about the rest.”

“It's all true enough. And I'm still ‘George’ to you, my good friend, not ‘sir’.”

That was a little too much for the older man. “What a mess I've made of my life,” he groaned.

Hanlon was intensely sorry and sympathetic, but in a way he was glad to see this present mood. It would undoubtedly make easier what he wanted to do. He went over, sat on the arm of Philander's chair and put his arm about the other's shoulder. He gently touched that terrible scar. “When and how did you get this?”

Philander shrank away from him, but the story raced across the surface of his mind, and Hanlon read it.

When he (Philander) was about eight, a gang of boys were playing about an old, tumbled-down building, and somehow knocked out the prop holding up its remains. Three others were hurt, Philander got that cut-scar, and his brother was killed.

“And you've felt all these years you were to blame for his death!” Hanlon exclaimed. “When we get back I'm going to have the best plastic surgeon remove that scar, so it will no longer be a constant reminder. Then a top psychiatrist will give you some therapy, and help you get your mind at rest. After that you'll be ready to take your place in society as a very valuable citizen.”

“You forget what's going to happen to me because of my part in this plot,” Philander was still bitter and unconvinced.

“Nothing's going to happen to you—you weren't guilty of anything except having been hypnotized by an alien supermentality,” Hanlon said convincingly. “I'll see to that, myself.”

Philander looked up in surprise. “You mean you … a young fellow like you … can tell the …”

“Not exactly,” Hanlon interrupted with a grin. “But this was my assignment, and my recommendations will govern. The main thing is, will you consent to the plan I've suggested?”

Philander sat for long, thoughtful minutes, then looked up piteously. “If you only can do it!”

When the cruiser reached Simonides and Hanlon had seen the other mine workers safely in the Corps prison at Base, and Philander installed in a room next to his at the hotel, he called Admiral Hawarden.

“Congratulations on the mop-up, which I understand was one hundred point oh oh oh percent,” the officer said.

“Yes, the other end's under control. How about Bohr's notes?”

“They finished last night. We've got a complete list of all the underlings who knew any of the main parts of the conspiracy, and the SS agents have jugged them all.”

“Good work.”

“You did a grand job, sir. Again, my congratulations.”

“Thanks, Admiral Hawarden. I've got to get busy now, on my report to the Council.”

“Call on me for any help I can give. I'd offer you my confidential secretary to dictate them to, if it wasn't so secret.”

“Thanks. She would be a big help, but we'd better not.”

“How'd you know it was a ‘she’?”

“Even a pigeon can admire a shapely shape,” Hanlon quipped as he disconnected.

The young SS man was just finishing his report the next day when Admiral Newton walked into his hotel room.

“Gosh, Dad, am I especially glad to see you this time!” his son enthused. “I need you to check this report.”

“Let's see what you've got.” Newton settled down in a big chair to study the report, while Hanlon fidgetted about the room, anxiously.

“A very clear, concise and complete report, Spence,” Newton applauded when he finished reading.

“Where do I send it, and to whom?”

His father looked at him quizzically. “Have you forgotten about the special mail box for SS men?”

The younger man looked astounded. “You mean, even a thing like this merely goes in there?”

Newton nodded. “However, in this case, since I would have been the one to pick it up, I'll take it to Base and transmit it to the Council. Incidentally, future reports should be marked on the envelope ‘Report to Federated Council’.”

A couple of hours later Admiral Hawarden called Hanlon at the hotel, where he had just finished making arrangements for Philander's operation and treatments.

“Your father and I want you to come to Base at once, sir.”

When he arrived in Hawarden's private office, the admiral handed him a pair of silver bars. “These are yours now, Captain Hanlon.”

The young man looked up in surprise.

“You were told promotions were swift in the SS—for those who produce,” his father chuckled. “The Council was very gratified with your report, and ordered the promotion.”

Hanlon looked at the two insignia, and his fingers stroked them almost tenderly.

“You miss the uniform, don't you, Spence?” sympathetically.

Hanlon gulped and nodded silently, very close to tears.

“Are you sorry you made the choice you did—to give all that up?”

A long, poignant moment of silence, then Hanlon threw back his head in a gesture of pride. “No, Dad. I'm honestly glad I did it. To be able to free those fine Guddus from slavery, and to save the Federation from that horrible plot—it was well worth the little suffering it'll cost me. But,” and his smile was pathetic, “I do miss the uniform. I was so proud, wearing it.”

A moment, then Hawarden spoke. “Here are the transcripts of the Bohr notes,” and soon the two SS men were deep in the study of them. When they had finished some time later, they agreed it was a very comprehensive plan.

“But did you notice,” Hanlon's eyes were cloudy, “he doesn't say a thing anywhere about the part his planet or system were to play in the conquest?”

“Yes, I'd noticed that.” It was a duet from the two others, and Newton added, “For all there is here, you'd almost feel sure he was playing a lone hand.”

“If that's true,” Hawarden said thankfully, “none of the other men we've picked up matter—we might as well let them go.”

“I'd say so,” Newton agreed, “if we can prove Bohr was in this for himself, and was controlling them.”

“From what I saw of him,” Hanlon said seriously after a long moment of thought, “I'd say he was capable of trying it. He certainly had ‘the will to power.’ And he was no dummy—he had a really powerful mind. But he was cold beneath that suave, soft-seeming exterior. He was utterly without compassion, mercy, or any feeling of justice. He wouldn't care who or what was damaged as long as he could get what he wanted. I doubt if there was anyone he could really call a friend, or to whom he could talk in full confidence.”

“Except possibly that bird you told …” his father began, absently, when Hanlon interrupted with a whoop.

“Hey, that's it!” He jumped up and ran to the visiphone, and dialed the zoo. “Bring that toogan of Bohr's back to Base!”

“What, again?” the indignant curator asked.

“I'm sorry, sir, but this is probably the last time we'll need it. Please get it here immediately.”

“What's the excitement?” Newton asked curiously.

“Your remark reminded me of something I noticed only dimly in its mind, and didn't pursue at the time.”

While they were waiting for the bird, Hanlon asked, “What about the new ships? Have the experts got 'em figured out yet?”

“Not entirely. The hulls are about the same as the Snyder ships, only larger. But that new power system is so radically different they're going rapidly nuts trying to understand it. And they do have tractor-beams.”

No sooner had the messenger left after delivering the toogan than Hanlon had it out of the cage, and perched on the arm of his chair. Then for nearly an hour he sat there, deaf, dumb and blind to all else while he explored every nook and cranny of that avian mind.

“Got it!” he yelled at last, and the bird, freed from control, sprang into the air and flew wildly about, seeking escape.

“What did you learn?” the admirals were as excited as he.

“We've nothing to fear. Bohr was entirely on his own. The people of his planetary system—Canopus—are so far advanced they live on a completely co-operative basis, every one instinctively working for the common good of all. Bohr was an atavism—they caught him trying to ‘take over’ there, and banished him. He came here, for his restless mind and savage urge to dominate others would not let him rest until he was absolute ruler of some world or system—the bigger the better from his viewpoint.”

“And you got all that from a bird?” incredulously.

“Yes. You were right when you said Bohr didn't have a friend except the toogan. I think that's why he sort of liked me—perhaps he felt I would be one. All men have the need to talk to someone, some times, so Bohr chose this toogan, who is really quite intelligent, and who could talk back with him. The bird doesn't ‘remember’ it all, of course, but it's all engraved on his brain.”

“That means, then,” Newton said thankfully, “that we won't have to worry about a war with another system or galaxy.”

“Yes, and that's a real help,” Hawarden added. “Even one man, or entity, like Bohr, could have given us a bad enough time, and perhaps even wrecked the Federation.”

“Well, I guess that winds it up except for a lot of detail work,” Newton rose. “I've got to get back to my own job on Estrella. Hawarden, call the port and have them ready my ship, please. And it's been good seeing you again. Thanks for everything.”

“Safe flights, Newton,” and the admiral started calling the spaceport.

“You'll get your orders in a day or two about going back to Algon with the commission,” Newton told Hanlon. “Might as well stay here until then.”

After affectionate farewells he started out, then stopped, bursting into a laugh.

“What's the gag, Dad?”

“It just came to me that this was once where the son told the father all about ‘the birds and the bees’.”

“Well,” Hanlon quipped, but kept his face straight. “I figured you were old enough now to know.”

The End