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Updated: May 5, 2025
I managed to delay it yesterday, but they intended getting you before we reach port. Now I have a plan. I earnestly beg you to listen and work with me." The Simonidean had given a slight start when he heard Hanlon's first words, but he had been well-trained in a hard school, and in no other way had even shown that he heard. Now, however, he spoke as guardedly as Hanlon. "Who is trying to kill me?"
Suddenly one of them uttered a cry that drew the rest to it on swift pinions, to see attached to one of the trees a huge swarm of Simonidean bees. "Will the queen do?" the one mind-portion asked anxiously. There was a convulsive shudder in all the minds, for the birds knew and Hanlon had heard how deadly poisonous these native bees were; how they were hunted down and exterminated when found.
Now he could see several local policemen running toward the platform, and in moments Abrams, surrounded by an armed and alert escort, was hustled into a waiting police car, which sped back to the Embassy. The Simonidean was white and shaking, upset by the episode. "Why?" he kept asking, but no one had any answers. "I'm not important enough for anyone to want to kill," Abrams shook his head.
"Hey, Boss!" it called out in a clear but whistling sort of voice, "I'm home again." Hanlon had no trouble understanding its words, spoken in Simonidean, of course, but was busy examining its mind. He walked over to the messenger and held out his hand. "I'll take the bird." The zoo attendant looked at him doubtfully. "It's a vicious thing, sir," he said. "Be careful it's already injured one man.
Hanlon waved his hand deprecatingly. "It was my job, sir. I'm sorry your day was spoiled that way." "I still can't make out why?" The Simonidean said slowly, and Hanlon, probing, could sense that his mind was full of question marks. "I'm not that important.
"Report to the Simonidean Embassy and put yourself at the disposal of Hector Abrams, First Secretary to the Simonidean Prime Minister. But first, hang this stuff on you. This dress sword is a little unusual the scabbard is rounder than yours, but not noticeably so. It's really a blaster; the trigger is here on the handle as you grasp it.
The Simonidean broke out of his abstraction, and rose to his feet. "No, I shall stay here for the balance of the day at least. You may as well return to your other duties. Again, thank you, personally, for saving my life, and please express my thanks to the Corps for sending you. But I still can't understand ..." He turned away, muttering.
As they rode Hanlon probed the statesman's mind, but found only worry-tension, that he shrewdly guessed had to do with the coming speech, rather than with any thought of intrigue or illegal machination. As they came into the Greek section of the city, their ride took on more and more the aspects of a parade, as the Simonidean was recognized.
Hanlon signalled, and his new-found acquaintance came to his table. Their orders given and the waiter on his way, Hanlon opened up. "Look, Pard, I don't want to butt into your business, but if you want this Abrams out of your way, I'll be glad to take a crack at it for you." The Simonidean looked at him scornfully. "Think you're that good, eh? Better'n me at bumping off a man, huh? Better'n me?"
Half-rebelliously, he nevertheless got up and did so ... and that little act broke his mood. He dropped asleep almost immediately after returning to bed. At the end of the two weeks Hanlon felt he knew both the Simonidean language and its customs well enough to start working. He went to the bank and, deviously, to box 1044.
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