These fellows were certainly worth watching, he decided. Even if it did not lead him to the larger goal he was seeking—and he felt sure it would—he would spike their plans somehow.
He felt he had heard enough for the time being, so he rose and left the drinking place before they should notice him. He walked slowly back to his apartment, thinking about this new plan, wondering, as the mobster had done, why such orders were given. It made no sense to him, unless it was that the chief criminals were merely intent on spreading a reign of terror and destruction.
"Or are they," he thought suddenly, "planning later to make it seem as though we Terrans are doing it? Perhaps planning to start a whispering campaign of such rumors?"
More than ever now he was determined that such activities must be stopped. "We've got to clean up this planet, and get it into the Federation. If they keep on this way, they can be a real menace. But with this criminal activity wiped out, and Estrella a member of the Federation, we can help them so much—and they have a lot to teach us, too."
[CHAPTER 3]
The following day Hanlon continued working with his roches. He now "drilled" them as soldiers are drilled. He taught himself how to control their minds in unison, making them march in all the various complicated maneuvers of squads and columns, all in perfect alignment and cadence.
It was tricky, delicate work, requiring as it did placing a portion of his mind in each roch's brain, giving that mind and body individual commands, yet keeping enough central control in his own mind so they all performed exactly together.
So much of his mind was transferred to theirs, that he had to learn how to make his own body "stand at attention" during these maneuvers, with but minimum control over his own functions.
Hour after hour he worked with them, giving them fifteen minutes of rest out of each half-hour—and thus giving his own brain rest at the same time. For this was tiring work for him, as well as for them.