"You didn't get it from me, that's for sure," his father grimaced ruefully. "Perhaps through your mother, from her father. He was a peculiar duck. They used to call him psychic, for he'd get some of the craziest hunches—for lack of a better descriptive word. He often seemed to know a lot of things when no one could figure out how he could have learned them. Say, now that I remember back, he used to have quite a way with animals, too, although I doubt if he had anything like your powers."
"You said I'd probably develop other mental abilities," Hanlon grinned nervously, "but I certainly never imagined anything like this."
"Me neither," ungrammatically. "It's weird!"
They had nearly finished eating when their waiter brought a portable visiphone to the table. "A call for you, Mr. Hanlon," and he plugged the set into a wall-socket.
Hanlon flipped the switch and saw Admiral Hawarden's face smiling from the screen. "We got the freighter just a few minutes ago," he reported. "One of our men daringly mingled with the crew as they were boarding, and jammed the airlock so it couldn't be closed. We arrested them all, with only two of our men injured, and five of the enemy. They're bringing them into Base now."
"Fine work, sir. Admiral Newton is here with me—we'll see you in your off ... wait, sir ... Dad says you'd better come here to the hotel. Room 946."
They were barely back in Hanlon's room when Admiral Hawarden knocked. He and Newton were old friends, and greeted each other with genuine warmth.
"That's quite a boy of yours, Newt. He's got the stuff."
"Yeah, I'm sort of proud of him, myself. He's really done a job, especially for first assignment."
"Have either of you any orders for me concerning the mopping up?" Hawarden asked, but looked at Hanlon.