He should, Hanlon supposed, warn the Ruler. On the other hand, he knew Amir was no fool, and that as a result of his near-death the past few hours, he would certainly be taking greater care of himself than ever? Incidentally, Hanlon wondered, how badly was Amir hurt?
Was there anything further he (Hanlon) could do about it?
He thought and thought, but could not see just how, without giving everything away. Perhaps he could get word to young Inver, to keep a more careful watch over his father. But trying that, too, would be a give-away. Was it time for that? Time for him to come out into the open and appear as a Terran and a member of its Inter-Stellar Corps?
SSM George Hanlon had matured tremendously under all the experiences he had undergone since joining the secret service, but he was still only a very young man. Such problems as these were really far above him, he felt—were things he simply did not have sense enough to figure out correctly. Not enough experience; not enough brains, he told himself with what he thought was an honest evaluation.
Nevertheless, he knew he was alone, that it was up to him, and that he had to make a decision one way or another.
But part of that decision was not left up to him. He was interrupted in the midst of his cogitations by the sudden opening of his room's door. He looked up in annoyance—and it was Endar.
"Pack your things and get out," the head groom said harshly. "I've seen the Ruler, told him about your disgraceful act of being drunk on duty, and have his permission to discharge you. He was very disappointed in you, he said."
Beneath his harshness Hanlon could easily detect the man's fierce satisfaction at having thus rid himself of a potential (as he thought) competitor. From his reading of the other's mind, Hanlon knew that Endar had not talked this over with the Ruler, and was doing it on his own. But the young S S man did not dare reveal his knowledge of that fact at this moment.
So he made himself say plaintively, "But I wasn't drunk. I felt one of my fainting spells coming on, and ran into the tackroom to lie down while it was on me."
"A trumped-up excuse, which doesn't help," Endar sneered. "Even if it was true, which I know it isn't, we don't want such people working here. So get out—and fast." He threw some money on the bed, as wages, and left.