Man of Many Minds by E. Everett Evans (black books to read .TXT) 📕

Hanlon had come to realize that the big man was determined to provoke him to another fight. He knew that tempers were edgy and explosive in this enervating heat, and usually tried to bear Gorton's insults and petty meannesses in silence. He wouldn't demean himself by descending to the big guard's low level ... although occasionally, when the heat was too much even for him, as tonight, he couldn't resist making some answer.

Gorton, he had long since decided, was one of those men who, having nothing of worth to offer the world, did their utmost to tear down and humiliate anyone who had. And his smallness of soul and intellect were shown by the sort of tricks he was continually pulling, thinking them smart.

Such as scrawling with chalk on Hanlon's room door, "Super's pet"; continually upsetting Hanlon's beverage cup, or "accidentally" dropping things in Hanlon's plate of food.

The young SS man could have moved to another place at the table, but he wouldn't give the big guard that satisfaction.

But one of Gorton's tricks backfired to such an extent that it had disastrous results for Gorton himself. That was the night he, knowing that Hanlon had been the last at the compound, sneaked out and unlocked all the gates. He figured, of course, that it would be apparent to everyone that it was Hanlon's rank carelessness that had allowed all the Greenies to escape.

But to the surprise of everyone—except Hanlon—not a single one had left; all were inside their huts the next morning.

Philander came running when he heard about it. "Who did it?" he demanded angrily.

"Th' punk there, o' course!" Gorton sneered.

Philander swivelled about, surprise on his face. "You, George? Did you forget to lock the gates?"

"No, sir, I locked them all when I went in to dinner."

"He's lyin'. He was th' last one t' bring up his gang."

"That's true, I was. But I know I locked all the gates very carefully, as always."

One of the engineers spoke up. "I saw him doing it, Pete. I also saw one of the other guards leave the messhall for a few minutes just before we sat down to eat. When he came back I saw him grinning mysteriously as though very self-satisfied about something."

"Who was that?"

"Sorry, I name no names."

"I tell," big Jenssen spoke up. "It was Gort. He's got it in for George. He's one big fool!"

Philander wheeled in rage. "I told you, you brainless slob, to leave Hanlon alone, and by Jupiter, I mean it! Cut it out! One more stunt, and you go into irons, then back to Sime for an interview with His Highness. You go back next trip anyway. I'm done with you."

The rest of the men stood by in hostile silence, and it was clear from their attitudes that this time Gorton had gone too far. How it happened none of the natives had run away, puzzled them all.

But Hanlon guessed, and when he had taken his crew down to work he called Geck to him, and by means of the transformer asked about it.

"Was one Guddu in hut by main gate who first see gate were open. Him mind-tell all we to run far into forest. This crew us stop all they. Tell other Guddu how kind are you. How you get we 'oigm'-food. Tell how you's work to make all we free; make free all Guddu everywhere. Us say maybe so we's all get free now small time. But say come humans with shock-rod, hunt we, hurt we, make we work more hard, be more cruel to we. Say then plan of you never get chance to make all we free all time."

Hanlon bowed his head in silent thanks for the tremendous compliment. "I only hope I can justify your faith in me, Geck," he said humbly. "It will be a miracle if I can bring it about, but I certainly intend to keep on trying. It will take some time, you know that. I can't possibly do anything until after I leave here. But if it's humanly possible, I'll bring the fleet here to free you."

"Us know will be hard, that maybeso it never come we be free," the Guddu said. "But us know you are only hope. So us help you all us can. Guddu in mines try get more rock out as you say. But Guddu who help humans build big egg you call 'ships' do most. Each day some of they find way break something, do wrong thing. Two Guddu spoil much metal when jump in vat where metal be melt."

"Oh, no!" Hanlon cried in shocked anguish. "That was wonderfully brave of them, but none of the others must ever do things like that! Tell them not to sacrifice their lives that way! I feel sure from all the reports it isn't needed. I'll be going back in another few weeks, and the humans won't have any of those biggest ships ready by then. Those are the only ones we need to fear—the little ships don't count."

It was too bad Hanlon did not know what else the humans were building, besides ships, at the shipyards.

Hanlon's campaign to "get in good" with Philander was bearing tasty fruit, for the two were becoming fast friends. They spent many evenings over a hotly-contested chess board. It was plain now that the nervous, worried superintendent felt he could relax in the company of this young, naive guard, for the latter was so patently no challenge to his position. Besides, it was also very evident that he liked Hanlon as a man. Day by day his attitude grew more fatherly.

Hanlon, on his part, came to realize more the true, innate measure of Philander's inherent worth as a man, a gentleman, and an engineer. He had a fine mind, was well read, and thought deeply on many subjects outside his own technical line.

"All he needs are some psychiatric treatments to reduce that awful inferiority complex of his," Hanlon mused one night as he walked back slowly to his room. "Then he'll really be the big, fine man he's capable of being, and will forget all this conspiracy nonsense."

Thus Hanlon felt he was taking no special chance one night when the two were standing on the little porch of the office, their game ended, and Hanlon about to leave. He glanced up at the brilliant night sky.

"Sure looks different here than it does back on Terra," he said conversationally. "Naturally it would, seeing we're so far away from there. But I never get tired of looking at it, and trying to see if I can figure out some of the brighter suns." He pointed to one bright star directly overhead. "That's Sirius, I know. It's always directly above you."

Philander laughed heartily. "No, Sirius is almost exactly opposite. Don't forget we're about a hundred light years out from Sol."

Hanlon made himself look crestfallen. "And there I was sure I knew one of 'em, at least." He yawned pretentiously. "Well, guess I'll hit the hay. Reckon the stars'll stay put, whether I can pick 'em out or not."

Philander laughed again, and clapped him on the back in comradely fashion. "I wouldn't wonder. Goodnight, George."

"'Night, Mr. Philander." And as Hanlon walked back to his own room his heart was light. He'd learned another important fact about their location in space—the approximate distance from Sol.

A few nights later one of the junior engineers came running into the office where Hanlon and Philander were playing chess.

"Trouble down in Stope Four," he gasped.

Philander jumped up, upsetting the board. He grabbed his glo-light and started out.

"Want me along, sir?" Hanlon asked.

"Might as well," and Hanlon ran with them.

Down in the mine they found, after examination, that it was not as bad as it at first seemed. Some timbers had rotted away—or had not been good wood in the first place—and a rock fall had occurred. But once they started working at it, they found it not too big. Hanlon was sent running for the rest of the men, and in a few hours everything was all tight again.

Back in the office Hanlon picked up the fallen chess pieces while Philander and the engineers talked for some time. When they left Hanlon asked, "Want to finish the game—or rather, since the board was upset, want to play another?"

"Better make it a rain-check. I've got some paper work I should do. Make it tomorrow."

"That's okay with me. I'll go hit the hay."

"Thanks for your help tonight, George. You pitched in so gladly, while the others were surly and grumbling. It was very noticeable, and I appreciate it. You're a good kid. Wish I had one just like you."

Hanlon flushed a bit, and couldn't meet his friend eye to eye. "I was glad to do it," he said lamely. "'Night," and he ran out. Blast it, he thought, I hate using Pete that way, 'cause he's really a swell egg underneath. But the job's more important.

A few nights later they had finished the second game, and the elder had won both. He was consequently in very good humor, for the two were so evenly matched it was seldom either ever won two games in the same evening.

Philander leaned back in his chair and smiled at the younger man. "Well, George, the freighter'll be here in three days, and I'm sending you back for your vacation."

"Gee, thanks, Chief. That's swell of you. I'm going to miss you, but I'll admit I'll be glad to get away from this awful climate for a while. This place sure gets my goat—I can't seem to get used to it all."

"Then you won't want to come back?" There was disappointment in the question.

"Oh, no, I didn't mean that. I sure will be back if I can make it. Maybe this job isn't exactly what I'd dreamed about," he had to hedge that statement a bit, and tried to make a sincere-sounding explanation, "but that thousand credits a month is!"

"That reminds me—I want to be sure to recommend you for a good bonus. You deserve it more'n any guard we've ever had here. Then, too, your ideas of rotating your crew, and especially that fertilizer deal, have raised the effective work-life and speed of the natives almost thirty percent. I figured it out, and they'll be getting off cheap if they give you what I'm recommending—two months pay as a bonus."

"Yowie!" Hanlon yelled, making his face show excitement, and that curious avarice he had so carefully built up in these suspicious men's minds. "That'll make me six thou in four months. I'll be rich yet!"

"You and your urge for money," Philander laughed, yet there was a curious undertone of almost-contempt in his voice. "Why're you so hipped on that subject?"

Hanlon grinned and misquoted, "Life is real, life is earnest, and the gravy is my goal." Then he sobered and said, "'Cause with money you can do anything. When I've made a big pile, then I can go where I want to go, be what I want to be, and make people know I'm somebody."

Philander shrugged. "Maybe you're right, but I'd say there were better ways, George."

Hanlon looked doubtful. "I have the utmost respect for your ideas and greater experience, sir, but what's better than a big wad of credits."

Philander looked more seriously thoughtful than Hanlon had ever seen him before. He was silent a moment, then answered slowly, "This may sound 'old-mannish,' but I believe steady advancement in whatever work you choose; growing knowledge of many things; creative imagination put to constructive use; the growing respect and consequent advance in responsibility from your employers if you're working for someone, or from your neighbors if you're in business for yourself—those things are, in my opinion, of much greater value than the mere accumulation of money. And the best part of it is, that if you grow in those ways, that extra money will come to you, but merely as a corollary addition to the greater achievements."

"I see your point," Hanlon was greatly impressed by Philander's earnestness. "Maybe you're right. I'm still just a kid, I guess, with a kid's immature outlook. That's why I appreciate your friendship and advice so much, sir. You've been almost like a second father to me." This was honest—he liked Philander now more than ever.

The look on the elder's face, too, defied description, but that he was secretly pleased was evident.

"Well, run along then, and I'll get at that letter. Meanwhile get your things packed, so you'll be ready to leave when the ship comes. And George, my boy, I do hope you come back. It'll be mighty lonely here without you."

"I'll certainly do my best to get back, sir. Goodnight, and thanks again ... for everything."

Hanlon hated that seeming lie, and as he walked slowly back to his