Man of Many Minds Page 13

  Chapter 13

  For an hour Superintendent Philander escorted George Hanlon about thediggings, showing him the various buildings and the workers' stockade.("Prison" would be a better word, Hanlon thought, enraged that therewere still men who would enslave others for their own personal gain.)

  The young Earthman got a real shock of surprise at his first sight ofthe native. They were so entirely different from anything he had eversuspected might exist. They were tall and slender, and theirgreenish-brown skin was rough and irregular. They seemed possessed ofconsiderable wiry strength, however.

  Hanlon had the peculiar feeling that they were somehow familiar, asthough related to something he already knew, even though they were soalien. But, strain as he might, he could not at first bring that elusivethought into recognition.

  He examined more particularly each item of the natives' appearance. Theyhad small triangular eyes, wide-spaced on their narrow faces, almostlike a bird's yet not set quite as far back. They could see forward andsomewhat to either side, he guessed, with a much wider range of visionthan humans have. They also had triangular-shaped mouths which workedsomewhat on the sphincter method. Even though their faces were sort ofsilly-looking, there was somehow a strange beauty to them.

  He noticed that when two or more faced each other they often workedtheir mouths, and guessed they were conversing, although not a soundcould be heard coming from them, other than a peculiar, faint rustlingas they moved.

  It was the latter that gave him the clue. _Animated trees!_ That'swhat they reminded him of. That skin of theirs was like new bark; theirlimbs were irregular, suggesting the branches of a tree, rather than thegraceful roundness of human and Terran animal's limbs.

  He turned excitedly to Philander. "Hey, those natives are partlyvegetable, aren't they? Like trees that can move and think?"

  "That's what they say," Philander said shortly, "though I don't knowabout the 'think' part. No one's ever been able to figure 'em out. Theydon't talk, and can't seem to hear us, no matter how loud we yell. Wehave to show 'em everything we want 'em to do, and give 'em orders bysigns. Whips don't do any good when they loaf--they don't seem to feel'em. So we use electric shock-rods, like you see that guard therecarrying."

  Hanlon was silent for several moments, but his mind was attempting toprobe into that of the native nearest him. Nor was he surprised todiscover that this native had a really respectable mind--alert and keen.

  Hanlon could read quite easily pictures of various things--but he couldnot interpret them. Yet he could feel their sense of shame anddegradation at such an enslaved condition, and the dull anger they feltfor the humans who had made them so.

  This promised to be a fertile field for study, and the young SS man felta thrill that he could do a lot of prowling and studying without seemingto break the rules Philander had laid down for his conduct. "Thiscertainly is my field," he thought. "I'm sure glad I decided to take thechance of coming here--the Corps must learn of this situation."

  The superintendent broke in on his thoughts. "I've got to go back to theoffice before dinner. Go to the commissary store, there, and get yourchronom exchanged for one that runs on Algonian time. Yours will bestored for safekeeping and changed back if or when you leave here."

  As he walked away Hanlon thrilled to the knowledge that he had gainedtwo valuable pieces of information.

  First, and most important, the name of this planet--Algon. Second, butthis one a bit dismaying, that there might be some doubt as to whetheror not he would ever leave here. Was there some danger here of which hehad not been told ... or was it that the leader's promise of fourmonths' work and then a vacation back to Simonides perhaps meant nothingat all--was merely a "come on"?

  It was more than the perspiration from the terrible heat that dampenedHanlon's skin as he walked thoughtfully over to the store. Yet hetingled with the knowledge that at least he knew where he was. Now, hisonly worry was getting that knowledge to the Corps.

  At dinner a little later he had his first chance to meet all the menwith whom he would be working. The superintendent introduced them, allaround when they sat down at the long table.

  There were eleven other guards, all older, all bigger men than he. Theywere alike in that all appeared to be swaggering bullies, and he couldwell imagine how ready they were with the use of those shock-rods, orother forms of brutality, to torture the Algonians at the leastprovocation or no provocation whatever. Without exception these guardshad heavy faces, most of them unshaven, and most with thick, shaggyeyebrows. Even in that air-cooled room their generally unwashedcondition was noticeable.

  Hanlon knew instinctively he would make no friends among them. "I onlyhope I make no enemies. Why was I, so drastically different from them,chosen as a guard? What's that leader got in his devious mind, anyway?"

  There were four mining engineers, and these men were keen, alertfellows. One seemed about forty-five, another in his late thirties, andthe two others young men evidently not long out of school. They wereclean-shaven, and friendly where the guards were surly and sneering atHanlon's youth and slimness.

  There was an accountant, the store clerk, two checkers who tallied orebrought up each shift. A half dozen others, who apparently were truckmenand hoistmen, completed, with Philander, the cook and the bunkhousecleaner, the human crew at this mine.

  Hanlon had been seated between one of the guards, a huge man by the nameof Groton, and one of the young engineers. The latter made him welcome,and asked where he came from.

  "I'd just moved to Simonides when I got the chance to come here," Hanlonexplained. "I was born and raised on Terra."

  "Terra!" the young man's voice was interested, and several others aboutthe table raised their heads at that name. "I've always wanted to seethe Mother World."

  When all had finished eating, several of the other men who had neverseen Terra moved closer to Hanlon, asking many questions.

  "I understand Terra has the best technicians in the universe," one ofthe hoistmen said.

  "That used to be the case," Hanlon answered honestly, "but now Iunderstand Simonides has, just as she is the wealthiest planet. Ofcourse, Terra being the original world, was bound to have the best therace could breed in all lines of endeavor. But when so many peoplemigrated to other planets, she gradually lost many of her finest brains.Later, those other planets offered such fabulous wages to men and womenwith skills and trainings her first inhabitants lacked, that Terra wasfurther drained."

  "That's the pity of colonization," the elder engineer sighed. "It buildsnew lands at the expense of the old, taking all their strongest, mostadventurous and most imaginative. Soon the original country or continentor planet is peopled only by the dregs."

  "I don't like to think Terra has only dregs left. After all, I came fromthere, you know," Hanlon grinned and they smiled back companionably."But I know you're right in part--at least, that will probably be thecase in time. Just as it will with the other planets as their best andyounger top-notchers go out to open up still more worlds."

  In the middle of that first night on Algon something, perhaps hissub-conscious, brought George Hanlon wide awake, his every mentalfaculty clear and alert.

  Click! Click! Click! ... like pieces of a jig-saw puzzle falling intoplace, many of the odds and ends of apparently unrelated information andexperience fell into place in this enigma.

  He remembered clearly now, an incident that had merely brought amomentary wonder at the time. Those last minutes before the ship tookoff. The leader had stared long and piercingly into his eyes and Hanlon,wondering and puzzled as to what the man was seeking, merely stared backdumbly. Now he remembered the flashing thought--quickly dismissed asridiculous--that even if he did find out where he was going, he mustnever tell anyone; must forget it entirely and instantly on pain ofsevere torture.

  Why, that leader must have been trying to implant a hypnotic compulsionin his mind ... and must have thought he succeeded, else Hanlon wouldnever have reached here alive. That was why he could
never read thatknowledge from the mind of any of the people he had contacted who werein on this game--not even that ship's officer, who certainly should haveknown.

  But wait a minute. What about Philander? He knew. Hadn't the hypnosisworked on him? Or was that name "Algon" merely one the super used inplace of the real one he didn't know he knew? Or, again, could it bethat he was so well trusted that the knowledge had not been sealed offfrom him?

  Of the three, Hanlon argued the latter was probably the truth.

  Another point. That vague reference to "if or when you leave here" wasundoubtedly a slip of the tongue. Philander had probably guessed--orperhaps it was so with all first-time men--that Hanlon was here onprobation. "If so," the thought was insistent, "I sure will have towatch my step every minute, and not let slip what I'm trying to dohere." But further moments of thought brought the reasonable conclusionthat he could lull their suspicion by buckling down and making a realrecord for efficiency.

  Or ... and this gave him the cold shivers for a moment, so that heinstinctively burrowed a bit further down beneath the sheet, as thoughit could protect and warm him ... did they know all about him already,and had sent him here to get rid of him? Was he to become another victimof one of the leader's "little accidents"?

  Yes, if they still disbelieved his story about his dismissal, they mightwell be determined to get rid of him in a way that would not incriminatethem. They would know that if Hanlon was still a Corpsman his deathwould be most thoroughly investigated.

  Perhaps ... but if that was the case, why let him get here at all? His"accident"--fatal, of course (so sorry!)--could just as well haveoccurred on the way. No, more likely he was still on probation. Theywere not quite sure of him, but were giving him the benefit of thedoubt. The leader seemed to like him, in a curious way.

  Well, he was now warned, and would watch himself more carefully thanever ... and he had learned a lot, and would learn more. He smiledcontentedly and went back to sleep.

  * * * * *

  The next day he had his first taste of guarding the natives as theyworked. The superintendent himself inducted him into the task.

  Shortly before shift time, Philander appeared at Hanlon's room just asthe young man was putting on the special clothing he had been told towear on duty in the mine.

  "Ready?" Philander was strangely courteous and co-operative. "Let's gocollect your crew."

  They went over to the stockade, the superintendent giving Hanlon a keyas they unlocked the gates. Hanlon saw that the corral was divided intotwelve sections.

  "One guard has charge of all the natives in one section, and they allwork each shift," Philander explained.

  "What if one of them is sick?"

  "They don't get sick," the man's voice was gruff, and Hanlon's firstthought was that what he really meant was that the natives were workedno matter how they felt. But he quickly became ashamed of thethought--he didn't know anything about them yet, and perhaps theyactually never did get sick. He would have to quit jumping toconclusions that way--it would seriously retard his ability to makecorrect deductions.

  At the rearmost section, Philander opened another gate with the samekey, and flashed his portable glo-light inside the large hut thatcovered most of the space of the section. Hanlon, close behind, couldsee about twenty of the "Greenies," as he had learned they were usuallycalled, standing or lying about. There was no furniture inside, nochairs nor stools, tables or beds.

  "They eat and sleep standing up--that's why the huts don't need anyfurnishings," Philander explained.

  At sight of the men and the light, most of the natives began movingtoward the door. A few at the back didn't move fast enough to satisfyPhilander, and with a curse he ran back and touched them with thatshock-rod he carried.

  Hanlon could see an expression of agony on the faces of those touched,and as they writhed away from the rod he realized it must be verypainful, indeed, if not exquisite torture to them. They now jumpedforward, and huddled pathetically near the door.

  Philander took a long, light but very tough line from his pocket. It hada series of running nooses in it, and he slipped one of these about thewrist of each native, drawing it tight. Then he half-led, half-draggedthem out of the stockade, to the mine entrance, and down the drift tothe rise they had to climb to get to the stope Hanlon's crew was towork.

  Once there, and released from the rope, the natives seemed to know whatthey were supposed to do, and sullenly started doing it.

  "You usually use three pickmen, four shovellers, four for your timberingcrew, three sorters, and six on the wheel-barrows," Philander explained."Sometimes, if the vein widens out enough, you get extra hands to workthe wider face, but this size crew generally works out best. You'll soonget used to it so you'll know how many you need. If more, just yell andyou'll get 'em. If it happens the vein narrows so you can't use allthese to best advantage, someone working a wider vein can use yourextras temporarily."

  "I get it," Hanlon was very attentive. He was determined to learn thiswork quickly and thoroughly, and to make a good record.

  Philander showed Hanlon the difference between the ore and thesurrounding rock, and explained very carefully how he was to watchespecially for any side veins branching off from the main one. "Makesure the Greenies clean out all the ore as they go along, before it'stimbered up."

  "I understand everything so far."

  "Keep the lazy beggars going full speed," Philander was very emphatic."Don't let 'em lag, or they'll wear you down. Don't ever let 'em get outof control, or put anything over on you, especially in sorting ore fromrock. They're tricky. Use your shock-rod at every least sign of mutinyor loafing. Make 'em respect you. They know better'n to try to get away,'cause they hate the rod."

  "What does it do to them?"

  "We don't know exactly, except they can feel it, and will do anything toget away from it."

  "Maybe it hurts them terribly."

  "Look, punk!" Philander lost his friendliness, and snarled at Hanlonwith twisted face. "We don't care whether they like it or not. They knowtheir jobs and they don't have to get shocked if they keep working. Soit's strictly up to them. Don't go getting any soft notions about theselousy Greenies. They're only dumb brutes fit for working--so work 'em!"

  "I'll work 'em," Hanlon said.