Finally the man spoke, but not to Hanlon. "Panek, you and the others go find Rellos and bring him here."

When they were alone, the leader leaned forward and spoke earnestly to Hanlon, yet watching him carefully as he did so. "I like you, Hanlon, and I'm going to test you out. I am not too sure of you, yet, but if I become so, you can go far--very, very far with me. This Rellos I sent for is the man who was shadowing you today. I cannot--I _will not_!" he spat venomously, "abide failure or incompetence. I am a.s.signing 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'd had an instant's inkling of what the proposal was going to be, and it was a measure of his stability that he succeeded in keeping his mask up.

He knew starkly that this time he would have to go through with a killing, or else give up this line of research. For he knew that if he did not kill this man, this way was closed to him. 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. "Any special way you want it done?"

"No ... I think I would like to see how you work. Plan it yourself. But if it isn't done, you had better not let me or my men see you again."

"Fair enough. If I can't do a simple job like that I sure can't be of enough value to you to do myself any real good."

They were silent again, but Hanlon's mind was bleak with what was to come. 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. "I want you to meet a new member of our group, George Hanlon. He has just come from Terra, and has never been on Simonides before. I would like you to take him out and show him New Athens and what it contains in the way of pleasures. You can turn in an account of your expenses tomorrow."

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 amus.e.m.e.nts with those of Terra."

The man was somewhat sullen, although it was plain he did not dare show it too much before their boss. Hanlon could read enough from the new man's mind to know how deathly afraid he was of the leader, and how he hated him.

"Wonder why he's in this, feeling that way?" Hanlon thought swiftly, and during the evening tried to find out, but without success--the man steered clear of any such thoughts.

As the two went outside, the Simonidean asked curtly, "Wine, women or song?"

"Why not some of all three?" Hanlon laughed lightly. "Anything you think would be a lively evening, and that you'd enjoy."

The other unbent a little. "We'll go to the Phobos first, then. They have good liquor and a nice floor show. Good looking wenches who don't wear too much."

He hailed a ground-cab, which the two entered.

Hanlon couldn't enjoy that evening. In the first place, he couldn't ditch all his drinks--and he hated alcohol--yet had to remain as sober as possible. Second, and most disturbing, was that horrible thing he had to do, and he knew it must be carefully planned. A gun, knife or poison couldn't be used now--it must look so much like an accident that no possible blame could be attached to him; so that the police could not hold him even for a short time.

He thought of and discarded one plan after another, then remembered something seen during his wanderings--a pedestrian bridge crossing a high-speed truckway where the inter-city freighters were so numerous they ran almost b.u.mper to b.u.mper. "I'll lead him up there, then throw him over and down. He's sure to be run over and killed."

The nakedness of the girls at the Phobos, the coa.r.s.e 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.

They had walked a couple of blocks along a residential street when a little, roly-poly puppy waddled out onto the sidewalk to greet them.

"What a cute ..." Hanlon began, but with an oath, Rellos savagely and viciously kicked the little mite, sending it howling with pain across the low hedge.

A growl of anguish broke out, and Hanlon sent his mind searching for that deeper note. 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.

The dog's owner rushed up and snapped a leash on the dog.

"I'm terribly sorry, sir," Hanlon said. "My companion was drunk and kicked her puppy. She merely avenged it."

"I wondered," the man was shaken. "Kaiserina never was vicious before."

"I don't think she will be again," Hanlon said soothingly. "Is the puppy all right?" he asked the small boy who came up with the little animal cradled in his arms.

"No," the boy sobbed, "Fluffy's dead."

"What's going on here?" an authoritative voice said, and two policemen pushed their way through the quickly-gathered crowd.

The dog's owner explained in swift words, and completely exonerated Hanlon. "This man tried to stop my dog; he was holding her back when I got here," and others corroborated his statement.

"You'd better have the dog killed," the policeman said, but Hanlon intervened.

"No, she was just striking back at the man who killed her puppy. She wasn't to blame, and I'm sure she isn't vicious."

The police were finally satisfied, and while they were calling the dead-wagon Hanlon walked slowly back to his hotel, his heart still sick but consoled a bit.

"He had it coming to him," his thought was bitter. "The rotten beast--kicking a little puppy like that!"

Chapter 12

The next evening Hanlon went back to the Bacchus. Instead of stopping at the bar he went directly to the back room and knocked on the door.

When the peephole opened he asked, "The Boss in?"

"Nope."

"I've got a report to make."

"Wait at the bar. I'll get in touch."

A quarter hour later the man summoned him, and upon entering that now-familiar room Hanlon saw a closet door was standing open, disclosing a visiphone screen, on which the leader's face was visible.

"Well?"