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The leader sank back into his chair and was silent for long minutes, thinking deeply, while Hanlon waited patiently, still trying to get some glimmering of thought from that unreadable mind, still frustrated almost to the point of despair that he couldn't. Finally the man spoke, but not to Hanlon. "Panek, you and the others go find Rellos and bring him here."
And that, thought Hanlon, was just about as low and slimy a trick as he had ever heard, and the thought came and would not be denied, that if it was this leader he was to kill he could do it cheerfully and with a clear conscience. He rose, though, and smiled as he held out his hand. "Glad to know you, Rellos. It'll be fun comparing your amusements with those of Terra."
I am assigning you the pleasant little task of seeing that some sort of an ... uh ... accident happens to Rellos. And as I think about it, it might as well be a ... uh ... permanent one." Hanlon's stomach curled up so tightly it hurt, but he strove manfully not to let his feelings show in his face.
He wasn't the killer type he believed in the sacredness of human life. Yet he knew he would have to steel himself to go through with it. The job was more important than one man's life. But to kill in cold blood a deliberate, planned-out murder! Just then Panek returned with a slender, middle-aged man. "Ah, Rellos," the leader greeted him.
So I figured the Greenies would need fertilizer to make up for the depleted soil in their huts. It seemed simple to me." "Ummm. You were right, apparently. It was a great contribution to our work, and we are grateful." He looked at Hanlon a long moment, then asked sharply, "How did Rellos die?" "A dog tore out his throat." "We know that but you said you killed him."
He found it, the mother dog, and was instantly inside that mind, controlling it. With a leap the huge shepherd was over the hedge, straight at Rellos. The dog's weight bore the man backward, fighting for his life, trying to hold back those gleaming fangs straining for his throat.
Hanlon threw himself into the melee, but while ostensibly trying to drag the dog away, delayed the few seconds it took for those slashing fangs to rip out Rellos' throat. People came running up, and as the first reached the spot they saw Hanlon struggling to hold back the snarling, blood-flecked dog, while Rellos lay dead in a pool of blood.
And if he dropped out, but gave the tip to some other SS man, that one would eventually face the same sort of a task. So, much as it sickened him even to contemplate it, it now became a must! He would have to think of himself as a soldier in war, and Rellos an enemy. Outwardly calm, he shrugged indifferently. "Any guy that can't produce isn't worth keeping," he said.
"Who d'you suppose sicced the dog on him? We were walking down the street, and I kicked the dog's pup to death. When she charged, I pushed Rellos in her path, and it was him the dog killed." "Ah! Good! Very unusual! Most ... uh ... ingenious!" The Leader seemed pleased, but slowly his smile died and he frowned again.
The nakedness of the girls at the Phobos, the coarse jokes of the so-called comedians, the raucous, ribald laughter of the drunken patrons disgusted Hanlon, and he was glad when they left. "Let's walk a bit and see the sights," he suggested, and Rellos agreed after some argument he wanted to visit more night clubs.
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