Something about the man brought a sense of distrust to Hanlon—perhaps his looks, for that terrible scar made him look like a blood-thirsty pirate.
Hanlon discreetly let none of these things show in his voice or demeanor as he stepped forward, a smile on his face and his credentials in his hand. "Mr. Philander, sir? I'm George Hanlon, a new guard."
The other nodded without a word, and snatched at the papers, glaring at Hanlon in a squinting, suspicious manner.
Hanlon probed toward the mind behind that frown, and could sense a feeling of fear, suspicion and unrest. He caught a fragment of thought—"another one after my job?"—and in a flash of inspiration guessed what was wrong. This superintendent must have a terrible inferiority complex, which that disfiguring scar certainly didn't help. He was undoubtedly competent, or he would not be here, but felt every new man was a possible challenge or replacement.
Knowing that his papers made no mention of his having been a cadet, Hanlon took a chance on a course of action. "Gee, Mr. Philander, sir, I envy you," he said the moment the man looked up. "Knowing all about metals and ores and mining and stuff like that. I sure wish I'd had the chance to learn something valuable like that. But me, I guess I'm just a 'strong back; weak mind' sort of guy."
The superintendent looked at him piercingly for a long moment, as though trying to decide whether this was genuine or subtle sarcasm. He must have decided it was the former, for he relaxed a bit. "Yeah," he growled in a deep bass that seemed meant to be pleasant now. "It takes a lot of study and a good mind to learn what I know. Very few men can make the grade."
And Hanlon, who was by necessity swiftly becoming a good judge of character, knew he had this man pegged, and that while he would be dangerous if crossed, could be handled adroitly.
"Just what will my duties be, sir? Or have you delegated the handling of us guards to some lesser man?"
"No, I handle 'em myself. 'If you want a job well done, do it yourself', you know. I'll take you out and show you around. Are you all settled and comfortable?"
"Oh, yes, sir. I have a very nice room, number 17, and am all unpacked. Hunting your office I ran into the messhall, and Cookie told me about meal hours. I'm sure I'll get along fine here—as much as this awful heat'll let me. They sure weren't kidding when they said it was hot here. And I want to assure you, sir, that I'll work hard and tend strictly to business—nothing else."