Man of Many Minds, page 6
The SS man fumed inwardly because he could not get a clear picture of that "Boss." This murderer did not have a visual type of mind, darn it. He didn't see clearly in pictorial terms any of the people or scenes about which he thought.
Hanlon had been gradually impressed, though, with the realization that this man was very much afraid of his boss. There was a mental shiver every time thought of his employer entered his mind. There was something about a previous failure, and what would undoubtedly happen unless it was done now, but Hanlon couldn't get enough of that to make any sense to him.
Again Panek began thinking, though very sketchily, about "Sime", as he called Simonides, and the "plot" that was being hatched there. Hanlon felt the man's sneering contempt for "those beasts"—but could gain no idea whatever about what that reference meant.
In so many ways this puzzle seemed to be growing worse instead of better, and Hanlon knew a moment of frustration. But his sense of humor came to his rescue. "You want the whole thing written out for you in black and white?" he jeered at himself. "Snap out of it! Quit being a defeatist."
Harder and more intently he tried to probe into the man's mind. Oh, if he could only learn to read below those passing surface thoughts; to follow them down and back along the memory-chains into the total mind! Revealing though the thoughts he could catch were, for complete and swift results he must find the technique of reading a mind completely. If such a thing were possible.
But probe as he might, the way to those deeper, buried memories and thoughts continued to remain locked from him.
And then Panek got up and left the observation deck.
* * *
A light touch on his knee some time later snapped George Hanlon's eyes wide open, and he looked down to see a small, wriggly dog looking up into his face, its tail frantically wig-wagging signals of proffered friendship, the little tongue making licking motions toward the hand the puppy could not quite reach.
"Well, hi, fellow," Hanlon reached down and lifted the little dog onto his lap, where the latter wriggled and contorted in an ecstasy of joy, climbing all over the young man, licking at his hands and trying to reach his face. The puppy was so extremely happy and anxious to make friends that Hanlon was soon laughing almost convulsively while trying to avoid those well-meant but very moist kisses.
"Wait now, boy. Take it easy. I like you and all that, but let's not get carried away with ourselves."
Hanlon scratched the puppy behind one of its floppy ears, and pressed it firmly but gently down so it was lying on his lap.
"That's better. Just lie there and take it easy."
A sudden thought brought a grin onto the young man's lips. He tried to get into the puppy's mind ... and got a real surprise. For after a few anxious moments of testing and trying, he did it—actually got the dog's thoughts of pleasure at finding such a wonderful new friend with such a nose-appealing effluvium. Hanlon then tried to see if he could get into the deeper parts of the dog's mind, and using what knowledge of the technique he had deduced in his previous though unsuccessful attempts with humans, found after many more anxious minutes he could follow the thought-and-memory tracks back and back until the dog's whole mind was open to him.
The puppy had far more of a mentality than Hanlon had ever guessed dogs had—and he knew they were far from stupid. This one's mind, he could now see, was immature but latently capable.
Say, this was great! Hanlon probed some more, and found many sketchy facts—sketchy because the thoughts were incomplete to the puppy, beyond its experience, and not because the man couldn't read perfectly what was there. The dog apparently knew a woman—Hanlon got the impression of skirts—and answered when that goddess called the word "Gypsy."
"Gypsy, eh?" Hanlon said aloud, and immediately the dog wriggled from beneath his restraining hand, and again tried to climb up and lick Hanlon's face in a frenzy of adoration.
"Lie down, sir, and be quiet!" Hanlon said sternly, and the puppy did so instantly, without question or hesitation.
Hanlon thrilled, realizing at once that it was not what he had said that did the trick—but the fact that he was still inside the dog's mind, and that it had obeyed his will rather than his words.
"Hey, this needs looking into!"
Without saying the words aloud this time, Hanlon commanded the dog—or rather, he impressed the command directly onto the puppy's mind with his own—to get down off his lap onto the deck.
Instantly it leaped down.
"Lie down." The dog did so.
"Roll over." Again silently. But now the puppy merely looked up at him, imploringly, quivering in an apparent emotion of indecision. Hanlon realized the puppy didn't know how to "roll over."
"Guess I need to learn how to do it before I can teach, or rather, command, him to do it," Hanlon grinned wryly to himself. For he realized that to do so he would have to learn how to control each of the dog's muscles, and that before he could do that he would have to know what part of the brain controlled the nerves that made those muscles obey his commands.
And that, if possible at all, would take one galaxy of a lot of study and practice.
For the next several minutes, then, he concentrated in making the puppy do a number of simple tricks, all the time watching carefully to see, if possible, the connecting links between brain, nerves and muscles.
He was beginning to make a little headway in understanding this triple co-relation, when he heard a sudden gasp. He looked up to see a young matron standing before him, her mouth and eyes wide with surprise.
"Why ... why, Gypsy never did any tricks before. What are you, an animal trainer?"
Hanlon leaped to his feet. "The best in the Universe, Madam," he grinned. "That's a mighty fine puppy you have. He came over and introduced himself, and we've been having some fun together."
"Yes, he ran off, and I've been hunting all over for him. But how on earth did you ever teach him so quickly?"
"It's a gift," Hanlon mocked, then grew serious. "Honestly, Madam, I don't know," he said quietly. "I just seem to have a way with dogs, is all. By the way, would you sell me the puppy?"
"Sell Gypsy? No, thanks," and she started away, calling to the dog to follow. But it stood in indecision, looking from one to the other, not seeming to know whether to follow its beloved mistress or to stay and play with this nice new friend.
Hanlon quickly reached out to the dog's mind and impressed on it that it must follow the woman, and always do whatever she told it. The puppy then trotted away, content.
George Hanlon sank into his deck chair. This required a good think—a mighty serious think—he told himself. He would have to work on this as much as on human minds. For if he could control animals—would it work on birds, or insects? Maybe even fish?—then he could get into places he, as a man, could not go.
The lady and dog had disappeared when Hanlon got the inspiration to see if his mind could find them; if he could again contact the dog when it was not in sight, and he did not know exactly where it was.
Instantly, effortlessly, it seemed, as though it happened merely because he wished it to, he found himself again inside the puppy's mind. Was it because he already knew that mind's pattern, he wondered?
Anyway, there he was, and now he tried to see if he could look out through Gypsy's eyes ... and after much study, he did so. But the vision was so distorted he wondered if his control was at fault, then remembered having heard, or read somewhere, that a dog's eyes do not work exactly the same as a man's.
Finally he accustomed himself to them enough so he could see that they were going down a narrow corridor, and then they stopped before a door, which opened after a moment. The dog, without a command, leaped through the doorway into the stateroom and ran to its basket, where it lay, panting, looking up at its mistress.
* * *
Chapter 8
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!"
