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Hanlon's first exultant thought had been to run to Philander and tell him of what he had learned concerning the native's speech ability, and how he had made it possible for humans to talk to them. But more sober reflections during that long work-shift brought caution. He decided this was a bit of knowledge he had better keep to himself as long as possible.
That is horribly harsh, we know," he added quickly, compassionately, as he saw the look of dismay that whitened the cadet's face. "But we have found over the years that it is the best way to make members of the SS most valuable to us. Every one of them has gone through the same thing, if that is any encouragement or consolation." Young Hanlon's spirits sank to absolute nadir.
They were barely back in Hanlon's room when Admiral Hawarden knocked. He and Newton were old friends, and greeted each other with genuine warmth. "That's quite a boy of yours, Newt. He's got the stuff." "Yeah, I'm sort of proud of him, myself. He's really done a job, especially for first assignment." "Have either of you any orders for me concerning the mopping up?"
Lights were blazing in almost every room, and Hanlon's mind knew thankfulness that so many of the high officers were still at work. Window after window the bird peered through in furious haste, searching for an admiral's office. If it could get inside, Hanlon had thought of several ways in which it might communicate ... providing the admiral was not an orthodox brass hat.
The only bit of information suggesting a possible clew comes from Walter Hanlon, a trainman who told the authorities yesterday that on an afternoon about a week ago his attention was drawn to a child accompanied by two men leaving his train at Catskill Landing. Hanlon's train was northbound. He reported what he had seen as soon as the public alarm was given.
"Almost us ingest too many last dark," Geck gave what Hanlon knew was a shamefaced laugh. "It such very good eat us become ..." he hesitated. "Drunk, you mean?" Hanlon laughed. "I can see it might do that to you. You'll have to warn the others about that." They chatted away for some minutes, about how much the Guddus appreciated Hanlon's thoughtfulness.
"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.
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.
The examining instructor, a man much larger and heavier than Hanlon's five feet eleven inches and one hundred and seventy-five pounds, rushed down from the platform. He grabbed at the cadet's arms, but Hanlon swivelled away, then stepped back in and struck at the officer. That was mutiny! It was unthinkable for a cadet to strike an officer, under any circumstances or provocation.
If anyone had told him a year ago such a thing was possible, he would have called for the paddy-wagon and rushed that person to the nearest nut-house. The other parts of his mind were flying all about the enclosed park that was a part of the great palace, searching, desperately seeking some other form of life that could be used as a housing for the dying part of Hanlon's mind.
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