In the morning, although still fuming about Auldin's escape, Hanlon had to put it out of his mind as he prepared for the try-out of his act before Yandor.

The new and gaudy uniforms had been delivered and the roches had grown used to wearing them. Now Hanlon dressed himself and the animals and left the house. They marched down the street toward the downtown section where Yandor's office was located.

Naturally, the procession attracted considerable attention, for Hanlon made the roches follow him sometimes in single file, then close up to double file. They always kept evenly spaced, all in perfectly cadenced step. He, himself, strutted in a sort of drum-major's fashion, for he considered all this excellent advertising.

"Wish I had a brass band," he grinned to himself. "Then these folks would really wake up."

By the time he reached the more densely-peopled business section, a large crowd was watching him and his unusually-trained and dressed dogs, and comments were lively and pleasantly surprised. As on Terra—or any other planet, for that matter—this parade attracted an ever-growing crowd of excited children, who tagged along with laughter and shouts of joy.

Into Yandor's office Hanlon and his roches marched, and at his brisk command they lined up before the startled entrepreneur's table-desk in a double rank of four. "Salute," Hanlon said, and the dogs stood on their hind legs simultaneously, and raised their right forepaws in salute.

"Well now," Yandor gasped, "what have we here?"

But Hanlon, without answering, turned to his roches. "Attention." The roches dropped to all fours, and aligned themselves. In rapid order Hanlon made them do columns right and left, right and left turns, left and right by twos and fours, right and left obliques, and finally right into company front. Then, "Company, halt. Parade, rest."

The roches, who had obeyed every order with precision and unanimity, sank to their haunches and crossed their front feet.

The impresario had stood watching with open mouth and bugging eyes during this miracle of training. Now he rushed up and seized both Hanlon's hands.

"Well now, that's wonderful. Perfect. I've never seen anything like it. Marvelous. Can they do anything else, too?"

"Certainly," and Hanlon explained rapidly the various other things he had trained his roches, individually and as a group, to do.

"Well now, we certainly can use this. The people have never seen anything like it. They'll be enraptured. Let's talk terms."

Hanlon faced the roches, who had not moved. "At rest." They relaxed and lay down, although still keeping their places. Most of them hung out their tongues and panted in the manner of dog-like animals everywhere. Nor did they move from their places during the half hour or so Hanlon and Yandor were talking business.

All during that discussion Hanlon carefully watched the mind of the man before him, paying more attention to any stray and extraneous thoughts than he did to their talk about bookings—which actually did not especially interest him. For he had begun to find that in those side thoughts of the natives during a conversation usually lay his greatest mine of information.

Hanlon was becoming more and more certain that this man Yandor had much on his mind besides the entertainment business that was his front. He was not able—yet—to get any direct clues as to who Yandor's superior or superiors might be, but he did glean enough to make him certain there were such higher-ups.

Just as they were closing their interview Hanlon said, "I understand, nyer, that you have quite a collection of rare animals."

"Well now, that's right. I do have quite a number, and am always looking for new and unusual ones."

"Do you happen to have a Terran cat among them?"

"A cat? What is that? I never heard of such an animal."

"Oh, but you must have one of those. They are not only the finest pets anyone could possibly have, but they have long, furry tails."

A gleam of interested desire came into Yandor's eyes. "I've heard of animals with tails, on other planets, but I've never even seen one. Well now, such a thing would be most wonderful—a magnificent addition to my collection. But how can I get one?"

"If you'll permit me the pleasure, nyer, I can get one for you. I know a certain man on the Eastern Continent who obtained a pair when he was on that trip to the Terran planets. Lately they have had a litter of kittens, as the young are called. I am sure I can buy one or ... or ... well, I'll get you one," he grinned.

"Oh, I would so like to have one—though I hesitate to let you take such risks. But from you, my friend, I'll accept it. Well, yes, I'll gladly accept it from you. When can I have it?"

"It may take some days, but have it you shall. I'll bring it as soon as I can. Meanwhile, where and when do you want me to perform first?"

"Well now, let me think. The National Theatre would be best, I think. Yes, it is the finest and largest here in the capital, and I'll make a special presentation of your opening. I'll invite all the finest people, including our glorious Ruler and his staff. Yes, three days should be sufficient to arrange it all, if the Ruler is free that evening. Where do you live? I'll send you word."

The next three days were extremely busy ones for Hanlon—and he had little time for spying on the mind of Yandor, save when he saw him briefly. Feeling in a way that he was being derelict in his duty, Hanlon nevertheless decided that to gain the best results later he would have to concentrate for the time being on getting ready for his debut. So much depended on that being a success.

He had attended the so-called theatrical performances—more like variety acts or what he had read that the old-time vaudeville shows were like—since he had decided to make his bid for contact with Yandor by this means. Now he went to the "place of performances" to study the layout more carefully and minutely.

It was nothing like the various types of theatres he had known so well on Terra. For one thing, it was not in a building at all, but merely a specially-prepared plot of ground, surrounded by a high stone wall. Naturally, being Estrellan, it was five-sided.

Inside the wall the hard-packed and smoothed ground sloped gently downward from all sides toward a level, tile-floored, foot-high place in the center that was the stage. The customers stood during the performance, although Hanlon had never been able to understand why.

"Sure seems as though it would be easy, and not too expensive, to at least give them benches of some sort to sit on," he thought.

Near one corner of the stage was the entrance to a flight of stone steps that led downward into the dressing rooms and property-storage for the theatre. When it was their turn, the actors had to come up these steps and so onto the stage to begin their turn, without benefit of curtain. Also, because of the peculiar construction it was impossible to use "backdrops" or "sets" as Hanlon knew them.

The morning Hanlon went to investigate the place there was no one around, so he was not stopped nor disturbed while he made a complete tour of the underground rooms, and stepped off the measurements of the stage. One great lack amused him.

"What?" he chuckled, "no popcorn or soft drink dispenser robots?"

He had noticed when attending previous performances, that they used no type of footlights or other illumination whatever, and that it was hard for those in the back of the enclosure to see what was going on down in the center. By judicious inquiry he found that on the nights when it stormed or was cloudy, or when Estrella's two moons were not in the sky, there was no performance.

Following his inspection of the theatre, Hanlon went to the market place again. He hunted out a stall where lamps were sold, and after the usual considerable haggling and dickering, bought twenty of the most powerful of the peculiar carbide lamps at a fairly reasonable price. Then he hunted up a metal-worker, and had reflectors made to his order and specifications, and fitted to one side of the lamps.

"I'll introduce 'em to something new," he grinned, then was suddenly worried. "Or are such new customs and innovations taboo on this screwy world?"

Another thought occurred to him the second day, and he hunted around for some time until he found a place where masks were made. The customer, who specialized in things for actors, did not have what Hanlon wanted, but after it had been described, the merchant said it would not be hard to make, and that it could be delivered the next afternoon. So Hanlon ordered a face-mask for himself, that would look like the head of a roch.

Meantime, he continued working with the animals whenever he had time. He was now well satisfied with his ability to control them under all circumstances. He felt sure he would have no trouble in "putting on a good act", and his only worry was whether or not he could please these strange people. For so much depended upon his making good—if he did, he would be more solidly in the good graces of the impresario, Yandor. And that was the main thing he was after right now.

The night of Hanlon's first performance finally arrived—and so did a nice large attack of stage-fright. There were "butterflies in his stomach", and he was by turns wet with sweat and almost petrified. Peeking out from the top of the stairs leading to the dressing rooms, the sight gave Hanlon a prime case of the jitters. For it seemed all the high officials, business and professional men, and the "social group" of Stearra, with their wives and families, were there. Even the Ruler was seated at stage-side in a large, ornate throne-chair, having been persuaded by Yandor that he would see something most exceptional.

Hanlon went slowly down into the cubicle assigned him and the roches, and there fought for calmness. And it was a measure of his innate strength of character that he succeeded. The jitters passed, the butterflies went into hibernation, and his nerves calmed down.

The first acts were the usual type seen on Estrellan stages—singers, posturers (they did not seem to have any dancers in the sense that Terran theatres do), and acrobats. Hanlon had always been interested in these, for almost none of the things they did were like what he was used to seeing or hearing.

The music, however, he could not get used to. Estrellan music was based on a five-toned scale, of course, and was—to his ears—more of a cacophony than Chinese music. Yet the Estrellan singers had clear, beautiful, flutelike voices.

The footlights that Hanlon had finally persuaded Yandor to have set in place around the edge of the stage, and lighted, occasioned great comment at first. But once the performance started, and the people found how much better they could see, were acclaimed as a great achievement.

"How did you ever happen to think of them?" Yandor had asked when Hanlon first spoke of them and showed the impresario what he had made.

Hanlon shrugged. "I always feel cheated because I can't see better when I go to a performance," he said. "When I got to thinking of my act, I knew it wouldn't show up well if people couldn't see clearly exactly what my roches were doing. So I figured out these lights. Don't you like the idea?"

"Well now, yes, I like them. But I don't know. People are peculiar about change. They may do something about it if they don't approve of them."

"Well," Hanlon made a nonchalant gesture, "we can always turn 'em off if they yell."

But after the first few moments, when the customers had seen how much better they could watch the posturer who came on first, the value of the footlights was clearly seen, and they gave their whole-hearted approval. A new custom was born on Estrella.

Hanlon had been below in the cubicle assigned him and his roches, so had not seen nor heard the crowd's reactions to the acts that preceded him. When it came his turn to go on, he was glad to find that his nervousness was gone, and that he was perfectly calm.

Yandor stopped him near the head of the stairway leading up from underground, while the native who was manager and a sort of master or announcer of acts, made a brief speech.

"Nyers and nyas and you, most gracious k'nyer," he addressed the throng and the Ruler, "tonight you are to see something most unusual in trained animals. I have been connected with performances for many, many years, but never have I seen anything to equal this. I will not attempt to tell you what is coming—you must see and marvel and judge for yourselves. Next on our program is Gor Anlo and his Friends."

Hanlon came up the stairway and onto the stage, followed in single line by his eight roches. There was a titter of laughter at first sight of Hanlon in the roch-mask and the dogs in their gaudy uniforms, but this soon quieted in amazed surprise at the exhibition they were witnessing.

Across the entire stage-place the roches marched, while Hanlon took his place in the center. He did not utter aloud a single word of command as the eight roches marched about the platform and stopped in a circle facing the audience on all sides, all the dogs equidistant from the others. As one they rose on their hind legs, and their forepaws bent to their heads in a salute.

A moment they held this, then still without a spoken word of command, dropped to all fours and in rapid succession formed and marched in company front and lines of two and four, made left and right turns, marched across the stage in oblique lines, did about face and to the rear, and all the complicated maneuvers the Ruler's residence guards did on the parade ground.

Then they added some things Hanlon had never seen Estrellan guards do, but which were more or less common to Terran drill teams. They did full wheels in lines of eight and four, formed wheeling stars and circles.

Never once did Hanlon utter a word of command that anyone could hear; never once did the roches falter or break that perfectly-cadenced step; never once was one of them out of line. There was never any hesitation, never any breaking of ranks even when, about half-way through their drill they changed to quick time—almost double the cadence in which they had first drilled.

How could any of that great, stunned audience guess that the trainer was actually controlling each animal mind, that his own mind was divided and parts of it superimposed on each animal brain, so that it was impossible for them to act counter to his central—yet individual—command?

All the audience could see was the most perfect, the most incredibly flawless precision of training they had ever witnessed. Led by the Ruler they began a rhythmic chant of "Yi, yi, yi, yi," in cadence with the roch's marching tempo. The chant grew louder by the moment until it was a deafening roar.

At their first sounds Hanlon almost lost his poise—for he did not know that this was their method of giving highest applause—and that very few acts ever received it at all. He had never heard it when he had attended their performances before. To him, now, it sounded more like they were giving him earthly "boos", and he was afraid he had somehow offended them.

He withdrew part of his mind from each of the roches, even as they were marching across the stage, and sent it out to contact the mind of the Ruler and several others. He was pleasantly surprised at what he read there, for it was not dissatisfaction, but a combined wonder and delight at what they were seeing.

Quickly he again sent full measure of his mind into each of his roches to continue the drill—nor had anyone noticed any break in their routine during the second or so of this mind-searching.

Finally, after a full five minutes of this, Hanlon silently commanded each one, in unison, "Company, halt. Right, dress. Parade, rest. Salute."

He himself came to a stiff salute, his directed at the Ruler. Higher and still louder grew the chanted roar. Even the Ruler sprang to his feet, his sounds of approval nearly as loud and unrestrained as the rest.

When the noise subsided a bit, Hanlon gave the roches "At rest," and they relaxed, lay down, and panted ... but each still in his place.

Hanlon stepped forward and facing first one way and then the other said, "Thank you for your kind reception of our poor efforts. Now, with your permission, I would like to show you some of the individual abilities of my little friends."

But while he was speaking four of the animals had gone off to the side near the entrance to the stairway. Hanlon had fixed up a specially prepared chair. To the bottoms of each of the legs he had affixed light wooden rods that extended out several inches. Now the four roches each picked up a rod in its teeth and thus lifted the stool, which they brought out and set before Hanlon. He looked down at them in pretended surprise, then out at his audience, and smiled. "My friends are so thoughtful. They must think I am tired and need a rest. Well, far be it from me to disappoint them." And he sat down, while the roches went back to their places and lay down.

Instantly there was a loud, angry hissing from the audience. There was no mistaking this—it was censure, not praise. Hanlon was dumb-founded. What had he done wrong?

Quickly he scanned a number of minds, and found he had broken one of their most sacred taboos. Nobody—but nobody—ever sat in the presence of their beloved Ruler without his express invitation.

"Oops, tilted!" Hanlon groaned, quickly rising and shoving the offending stool off the edge of the stage. But the audience was not mollified. If anything, their clamor rose louder.

It was the Ruler, himself, who quieted them. He rose and held up his hand in a gesture of silence, smiling forgivingly.

"Boy, what a swell egg he is," Hanlon mentally wiped the sweat from his mind's brow. "I still don't understand these folks. I'll have to watch myself more carefully, all the time."

He bowed his thanks to the Ruler, spreading his hands in a gesture of apology. Then he quickly made the roches begin their other tricks. He had one do some acrobatics, in imitation of the type their native acrobats did. Two of the others "danced" together. Another balanced himself and rolled about the stage on a large plastic ball Hanlon had secured. Three of them did intricate circlings about each other, without ever getting in each other's way or breaking step at any time. Another stood on its hind legs and "sang" in imitation of the singers. Another "walked" on its front legs. These, being more to the liking of his audience, yet something they had never seen animals do, or so well, soon recaptured their interest. After a bit they began again that "Yi, yi" of applause. By the time Hanlon's turn was over the people seemed to have forgotten his one blooper, and were solidly "with him." As he left the stage and went below with his roches, their yells were the loudest yet.

Ino Yandor was wildly enthusiastic, and those who had seen the first night's performance spread the word. In days the fame of Hanlon and his roches had spanned the continent, and other cities were clamoring to see his act, while the National Theatre there in Stearra was packed nightly with capacity crowds.

During those days Hanlon spent as much of his time as he could wandering about the city, the marketplace, the recreation parks, and sitting in various places where people ate or drank. With his mind he was hunting not only for whatever points of specific information he might glean, but also to get a more general and better "feel" of the people and conditions here.

He was confirmed in his early beliefs that as a whole these were wonderful people; that they would make excellent citizens of the Federation. They had such a high sense of social justice; such deep feelings of right and wrong; such splendid habits of co-operative living. More even than the Terrans and the colonists, who had come far along the road of brotherliness in the past centuries, these Estrellans had an innate belief in the brotherhood of man.

What a great gap there was between the great mass of Estrellans and those few criminals with whom he was working? He remembered one time when he had been talking with his father about the way he worked.

"You want to be mighty careful," Admiral Newton warned. "Being around gangsters and criminals so much, you'll have to watch not to begin thinking like they do."

"You never need worry about that, dad," Hanlon had been very earnest. "The more I see of 'em, the less I like 'em, and the more I'm sure the common decencies of life are best. We must have law, government and order, and all decent citizens must always 'live and let live'. I could never be contented otherwise."