Alien Minds by E. Everett Evans

serious trouble through misunderstanding their apparently straight-forward words. So go slow and easy."
    "I'll watch for that, dad, and bone up on the rest as fast as I can. Meanwhile, how's about going out and wrapping ourselves around a couple of thick steaks—or some of that good poyka at the Golden Web? I'd like to see Hooper again."
    "The grub I'll buy. But Curt isn't here—he's one of the boys working Estrella with me."
    The lessons learned in time, Hanlon visiphoned Admiral Hawarden at Base, who sent the cosmetician to him at the hotel. The shoes had been only part of the job. There was the smock-coat, which Hanlon was now removing in his room in Stearra. Estrellans had narrow, sloping shoulders, so a tailor had made special clothes—the coat almost like a knee-length, slipover sweater only of a heavy cloth like homespun, with shoulders whose cut and padding gave them the proper sloping look. There was also the divided-skirt sort of pantaloons, that gathered at the ankle.
    As he undressed Hanlon looked at himself in the mirror, and grinned. Trevor had dyed his skin all over—not the dark red of Terran Indians, not yet the black of negroes nor the brown of Malayans, but a sort of deep pink. Hanlon had been warned not to take either tub or shower baths, but had been supplied with a bottle of a special chemical.
    Naked at last, he scratched luxuriously and stretched hugely. He poured a bowlful of water, added seven drops of the chemical, then gave himself a sponge bath.
    As he was washing his face he noticed with amusement the way his ears had been built up with plastic to almost twice their natural size, and the way his nose had been made so much broader—like a giant ape's it spread over half the width of his face.
    He was careful not to pull off any of the hair that had been so painstakingly glued to his body to simulate the general hairiness of the Estrellans. And, of course, he had neither shaved nor had a haircut since being assigned this job, and his beard was growing nicely. But it, and the body hair, was the most uncomfortable part of his imposture — the darned stuff itched, but bad. He scratched.
    Anyway, he thought thankfully, Trevor had really done a job on him. No one yet met here had seemed to notice anything out of the way with him, as far as his looks went. He had easily passed everywhere as a real native.
    A two-man speedster had brought him to this planet, and had landed him just outside this city they called Stearra, in the dead of night. His father, he knew, had preceded him by nearly two weeks, was here somewhere, as were Manning and Hooper, the two other SS men assigned here. A sneak boat came every two weeks, and stayed at a desig nated spot near the principal city on each continent from midnight until three in the morning, in case any of the men wanted to send messages or needed assistance of any kind.
    Undressed—and scratched—and washed—and scratched —Hanlon lay down on his bed and gave himself up to thoughts of the coming interview at Ino Yandor's office. He tried to analyze what he had learned and its possible connection with whatever it was that was keeping Estrella from joining the Federation of Planets; from becoming the fifty-eighth mem ber of that far-flung union of self-governing worlds.
    It seemed to him he had made a good start—although he was slightly dissatisfied with the speed at which he was not getting ahead. Yet he had felt all along—and still so thought—that with his way of working his best course lay through the criminal gangs of Stearra—that by working up through them he would eventually come to the ones who were behind all this. And he was sure this Ino Yandor was his best lead to date, even though it seemed strange that an entertainment agent would be the top man in the criminal world.
    His father had not been too certain that this was a logical channel of investigation, but was quite willing to let Hanlon try it—the Corps had to have that information,