Part 13 (1/2)

The moment he got off the s.h.i.+p and went into the city of New Athens he could feel it. There was an air of mystery, of secretiveness, of intrigue, that could not help but be noticed by one as sensitive to emotion-impressions as SS Man George Hanlon.

He got out of his ground-cab at the entrance of a great park in the center of the city, but directed the driver to take his luggage on to the hotel. Then Hanlon went in to sit on a bench beneath a beautiful, flowering ba'amba tree.

Once there, he opened his mind to its fullest extent, and let all the impressions and sensations of this new world soak in. He could not, of course, get any factual details in this way, nor did he expect to. What he wanted, and began to get, was the ”feel” of the city. And the longer he sat the less he liked it.

For he could sense so clearly that there most certainly was ”a Mercutian in the fuel pit” here somewhere. But what it was; what this strange feeling portended, he could not quite make out.

He noticed, casually, that there were the usual idlers in this park, and hundreds of children with their nurses or parents. But there were none of the derelicts one sees in so many large-city parks. Most of the people seemed well-dressed and not too poor. He could catch occasional bits of thought about big business deals.

After a time Hanlon noticed that here, as in most parks, hundreds of native, pigeon-like birds were flying and hopping about, seeking what crumbs they could scrounge from picnickers' lunches, or nuts fed them by interested idlers.

He wondered if he could get into a bird's mind, and sent his out to contact one. His ability was, he found, much the same as it had been with the dogs--he could not only ”read” what mind the pigeon had, but could control it ... could actually project part of his mind into the bird's brain.

The brain-texture, was different, but as he sat there for another hour, he learned the difference. For now he knew what to look for, and it did not take long until he knew it well. Finally he got so he could see and understand what the people around him were doing--not through his own direct observation, but through the pigeon's senses. He sent several winging high into the air, and got a good perspective of the entire city.

At last he brought his mind back into his own brain, and gave a mental shrug, then rose from the bench.

”You're just stalling, you know,” he scolded himself. ”Get to the hotel, check in, then go look in the bank vault. You've got a job to do, so get doing it!”

From the hotel he went to the bank and signed up for a box. There was nothing yet for him in box 1044, so he left a note addressed ”To Any SS Man,” stating he was here and ready to begin his work.

Back at the hotel he unpacked, took a shower, and then a short nap.

There was no telling what the night might bring forth, and he wanted all his strength and powers.

New Athens was a beautiful city, as befitted the capitol of the richest planet in the Federation. For Simonides Four had become just that, even outstripping Terra in the wealth from her manufacturers and exports. Her s.h.i.+pments of ores, jewels, unusual furs, manufactured goods, precision tools and art products, as well as foodstuffs raw and processed, ran into trillions of credits every year.

The great square showed plainly that some architect or city planner with a love of cla.s.sic lines had been in charge here. The buildings were all modern representations of the great temples and public buildings of the Golden Age of Greece on Terra. They were widely s.p.a.ced, with magnificent lawns and gardens surrounding each.

Thousands of lights artfully concealed accentuated the beauty of those wonderful buildings, and Hanlon caught his breath in pleasure at his first sight of the marvelous square by night. He had thought it wonderful by day--now he admitted without reservation that it was the most magnificent sight he had ever seen.

He finally signalled a ground-cab--New Athens had no slideways--to go to the Bacchus. It was several blocks from the square, but each of the streets he travelled were almost as beautiful.

The tavern was housed in a large though one-storied building with a pillared facade. The main room was level with a gardened terrace five steps above the street.

Inside, the tavern was tastefully decorated in subdued colors. It was dimly lighted by representations of flambeaus, stuck at angles in the walls. The center of the room was occupied by dozens of tables of varying sizes, while along one side and part of the back were curtained booths. Along the other side ran an ornate bar.

Hanlon made his way to the latter, and sat on one of the upholstered stools. The bar girls, he noted with interest, were revealingly costumed in pseudo-peplos of a purplish, cob-webby, silkish material. They wore no blouses, but long sashes that pa.s.sed behind the neck, crossed the b.r.e.a.s.t.s and tied about the waist to hold up the short skirt. One of the girls came up to get his order.

”I'm new on the planet,” he smiled. ”Let me have your best native light wine.”

She brought him a gla.s.s filled with a sparkling, golden liquid, and waited while he took his first appreciative sip. ”We call it 'Golden Nectar',” she smiled.

He smacked his lips. ”Wonderful!” Then, as she started away he called her back. ”Do you know a Mr. Panek? I was to meet him here, but I don't see him.”

Her eyes widened a bit at that name. ”I'll see if I can locate him for you, sir,” and she moved away.

Some minutes later, while he was still pretending to sip his drink, Hanlon felt a hearty clap on the shoulder.

”Well, well, it's my pal from the s.h.i.+p. Welcome to Sime, Pal, welcome to Sime.”

”Hi, Panek! Hope you meant that about looking you up, 'cause here I am.”