“The transmutation of elements,” said Devers, shortly.
The secretary’s eyes narrowed and lost some of their detachment. “I have been told that practical transmutation is impossible by the laws of nucleics.”
“So it is, if nuclear forces are used. But the ancients were smart boys. There are sources of power greater than the nuclei and more fundamental. If the Foundation used those sources as I suggested–“
Devers felt a soft, creeping sensation in his stomach. The bait was dangling; the fish was nosing it.
The secretary said suddenly, “Continue. The general, I am sure, is aware of a this. But what does he intend doing once he finishes this opera-bouffe affair?”
Devers kept his voice rock-steady. “With transmutation he controls the economy of the whole set-up of your Empire. Mineral holdings won’t be worth a sneeze when Riose can make tungsten out of aluminum and iridium out of iron. An entire production system based on the scarcity of certain elements and the abundance of others is thrown completely out of whack. There’ll be the greatest disjointment the Empire has ever seen, and only Riose will be able to stop it. And there is the question of this new power I mentioned, the use of which won’t give Riose religious heebies.
“There’s nothing that can stop him now. He’s got the Foundation by the back of the neck, and once he’s finished with it, he’ll be Emperor in two years.”
“So.” Brodrig laughed lightly. “Iridium out of iron, that’s what you said, isn’t it? Come, I’ll tell you a state secret. Do you know that the Foundation has already been in communication with the general?”
Devers’ back stiffened.
“You look surprised. Why not? It seems logical now. They offered him a hundred tons of iridium a year to make peace. A hundred tons of iron converted to iridium in violation of their religious principles to save their necks. Fair enough, but no wonder our rigidly incorruptible general refused – when he can have the iridium and the Empire as well. And poor Cleon called him his one honest general. My bewhiskered merchant, you have earned your money.”
He tossed it, and Devers scrambled after the flying bills.
Lord Brodrig stopped at the door and turned. “One reminder, trader. My playmates with the guns here have neither middle ears, tongues, education, nor intelligence. They can neither hear, speak, write, nor even make sense to a Psychic Probe. But they are very expert at interesting executions. I have bought you, man, at one hundred thousand credits. You will be good and worthy merchandise. Should you forget that you are bought at any time and attempt to … say … repeat our conversation to Riose, you will be executed. But executed my way.”
And in that delicate face there were sudden hard lines of eager cruelty that changed the studied smile into a red-lipped snarl. For one fleeting second, Devers saw that space fiend who had bought his buyer, look out of his buyer’s eyes.
Silently, he preceded the two thrusting blast-guns of Brodrig’s “playmates” to his quarters.
And to Ducem Barr’s question, he said with brooding satisfaction, “No, that’s the queerest part of it. He bribed me.
Two months of difficult war had left their mark on Bel Riose. There was heavy-handed gravity about him; and he was short-tempered.
It was with impatience that he addressed the worshiping Sergeant Luk. “Wait outside, soldier, and conduct these men back to their quarters when I am through. No one is to enter until I call. No one at all, you understand.”
The sergeant saluted himself stiffly out of the room, and Riose with muttered disgust scooped up the waiting papers on his desk, threw them into the top drawer and slammed it shut.
“Take seats,” he said shortly, to the waiting two. “I haven’t much time. Strictly speaking, I shouldn’t be here at all, but it is necessary to see you.”
He turned to Ducem Barr, whose long fingers were caressing with interest the crystal cube in which was set the simulacrum of the lined, austere face of His Imperial Majesty, Cleon II.
“In the first place, patrician,” said the general, “your Seldon is losing. To be sure, he battles well, for these men of the Foundation swarm like senseless bees and fight like madmen. Every planet is defended viciously, and once taken, every planet heaves so with rebellion it is as much trouble to hold as to conquer. But they are taken, and they are held. Your Seldon is losing.”
“But he has not yet lost,” murmured Barr politely.
“The Foundation itself retains less optimism. They offer me millions in order that I may not put this Seldon to the final test.”
“So rumor goes.”
“Ah, is rumor preceding me? Does it prate also of the latest?”
“What is the latest?”
“Why, that Lord Brodrig, the darling of the Emperor, is now second in command at his own request.”
Devers spoke for the first time. “At his own request, boss? How come? Or are you growing to like the fellow?” He chuckled.
Riose said, calmly, “No, can’t say I do. It’s just that he bought the office at what I considered a fair and adequate price.”
“Such as?”
“Such as a request to the Emperor for reinforcements.”
Devers’ contemptuous smile broadened. “‘He has communicated with the Emperor, huh? And I take it, boss, you’re just waiting for these reinforcements, but they’ll come any day. Right?”
“Wrong! They have already come. Five ships of the line; smooth and strong, with a personal message of congratulations from the Emperor, and more ships on the way. What’s wrong, trader?” he asked, sardonically.
Devers spoke through suddenly frozen lips. “Nothing!”
Riose strode out from behind his desk and faced the trader, hand on the butt of his blast-gun.
“I say, what’s wrong, trader? The news would seem to disturb you. Surely, you have no sudden birth of interest in the Foundation.”
“I haven’t.”
“Yes – there are queer points about you.”
“That so, boss?” Devers smiled tightly, and balled the fists in his pockets. “Just you line them up and I’ll knock them down for you.”
“Here they are. You were caught easily. You surrendered at first blow with a burnt-out shield. You’re quite ready to desert your world, and that without a price. Interesting, all this, isn’t it?”
“I crave to be on the winning side, boss. I’m a sensible man; you called me that yourself.”
Riose said with tight throatiness, “Granted! Yet no trader since has been captured. No trade ship but has had the speed to escape at choice. No trade ship but has had a screen that could take all the beating a light cruiser could give it, should it choose to fight. And no trader but has fought to death when occasion warranted. Traders have been traced as the leaders and instigators of the guerilla warfare on occupied planets and of the flying raids in occupied space.
“Are you the only sensible man then? You neither fight nor flee, but turn traitor without urging. You are unique, amazingly unique – in fact, suspiciously unique.”
Devers said softly, “I take your meaning, but you have nothing on me. I’ve been here now six months, and I’ve been a good boy.”
“So you have, and I have repaid you by good treatment. I have left your ship undisturbed and treated you with every consideration. Yet you fall short. Freely offered information, for instance, on your gadgets might have been helpful. The atomic principles on which they are built would seem to be used in some of the Foundation’s nastiest weapons. Right?”
“I am only a trader,” said Devers, “and not one of these bigwig technicians. I sell the stuff; I don’t make it.”
“Well, that will be seen shortly. It is what I came here for. For instance, your ship will be searched for a personal force-shield. You have never worn one; yet all soldiers of the Foundation do. It will be significant evidence that there is information you do not choose to give me. Right?”
There was no answer. He continued, “And there will be more direct evidence. I have brought with me the Psychic Probe. It failed once before, but contact with the enemy is a liberal education.”
His voice was smoothly threatening and Devers felt the gun thrust hard in his midriff – the general’s gun, hitherto in its holster.
The general said quietly, “You will remove your wristband and any other metal ornament you wear and give them to me. Slowly! Atomic fields can be distorted, you see, and Psychic Probes might probe only into static. That’s right.. I’ll take it.”
The receiver on the general’s desk was glowing and a message capsule clicked into the slot, near which Barr stood and still held the trimensional Imperial bust.
Riose stepped behind his desk, with his blast-gun held ready. He said to Barr, “You too, patrician. Your wristband condemns you. You have been helpful earlier, however, and I am not vindictive, but I shall judge the fate of your behostaged family by the results of the Psychic Probe.”
And as Riose leaned over to take out the message capsule, Barr lifted the crystal-enveloped bust of Cleon and quietly and methodically brought it down upon the general’s head.
It happened too suddenly for Devers to grasp. It was as if a sudden demon had grown into the old man.
“Out!” said Barr, in a tooth-clenched whisper. “Quickly!” He seized Riose’s dropped blaster and buried it in his blouse.
Sergeant Luk turned as they emerged from the narrowest possible crack of the door.
Barr said easily, “Lead on, sergeant!”
Devers closed the door behind him.
Sergeant Luk led in silence to their quarters, and then, with the briefest pause, continued onward, for there was the nudge of a blast-gun muzzle in his ribs, and a hard voice in his ears which said, “To the trade ship.”
Devers stepped forward to open the air lock, and Barr said, “Stand where you are, Luk. You’ve been a decent man, and we’re not going to kill you.”
But the sergeant recognized the monogram on the gun. He cried in choked fury, “You’ve killed the general.”
With a wild, incoherent yell, he charged blindly upon the blasting fury of the gun and collapsed in blasted ruin.
The trade ship was rising above the dead planet before the signal lights began their eerie blink and against the creamy cobweb of the great Lens in the sky which was the Galaxy, other black forms rose.
Devers said grimly, “Hold tight, Barr – and let’s see if they’ve got a ship that can match my speed.”
He knew they hadn’t!
And once in open space, the trader’s voice seemed lost and dead as he said, “The line I fed Brodrig was a little too good. It seems as if he’s thrown in with the general.”
Swiftly they raced into the depths of the star-mass that was the Galaxy.
Devers bent over the little dead globe, watching for a tiny sign of life. The directional control was slowly and thoroughly sieving space with its jabbing tight sheaf of signals.
Barr watched patiently from his seat on the low cot in the comer, He asked, “No more signs of them?”
“The Empire boys? No.” The trader growled the words with evident impatience. “We lost the scuppers long ago. Space! With the blind jumps we took through hyperspace, it’s lucky we didn’t land up in a sun’s belly. They couldn’t have followed us even if they outranged us, which they didn’t.”
He sat back and loosened his collar with a jerk. “I don’t know what those Empire boys have done here. I think some of the gaps are out of alignment.”
“I take it, then, you’re trying to get to the Foundation.”
“I’m calling the Association – or trying to.”
“The Association? Who are they?”
“Association of Independent Traders. Never heard of it, huh? Well, you’re not alone. We haven’t made our splash yet!”
For a while there was a silence that centered about the unresponsive Reception Indicator, and Barr said, “Are you within range?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t but a small notion where we are, going by dead reckoning. That’s why I have to use directional control. It could take years, you know.”
“Might it?”
Barr pointed; and Devers jumped and adjusted his earphones. Within the little murky sphere there was a tiny glowing whiteness.
For half an hour, Devers nursed the fragile, groping thread of communication that reached through hyperspace to connect two points that laggard light would take five hundred years to bind together.
Then he sat back, hopelessly. He looked up, and shoved the earphones back.
“Let’s eat, doc. There’s a needle-shower you can use if you want to, but go easy on the hot water.”
He squatted before one of the cabinets that lined one wall and felt through the contents. “You’re not a vegetarian, I hope?”
Barr said, “I’m omnivorous. But what about the Association. Have you lost them?”
“Looks so. It was extreme range, a little too extreme. Doesn’t matter, though. I got all that counted.”
He straightened, and placed the two metal containers upon the table. “Just give it five minutes, doc, then slit it open by pushing the contact. It’ll be plate, food, and fork – sort of handy for when you’re in a hurry, if you’re not interested in such incidentals as napkins. I suppose you want to know what I got out of the Association.”
“If it isn’t a secret.”
Devers shook his head. “Not to you. What Riose said was true.”
“About the offer of tribute?”
“Uh-huh. They offered it, and had it refused. Things are bad. There’s fighting in the outer suns of Loris.”
“Loris is close to the Foundation?”
“Huh? Oh, you wouldn’t know. It’s one of the original Four Kingdoms. You might call it part of the inner line of defense. That’s not the worst. They’ve been fighting large ships previously never encountered. Which means Riose wasn’t giving us the works. He has received more ships. Brodrig has switched sides, and I have messed things up.”
His eyes were bleak as he joined the food-container contact-points and watched it fall open neatly. The stewlike dish steamed its aroma through the room. Ducem Barr was already eating.
“So much,” said Barr, “for improvisations, then. We can do nothing here; we can not cut through the Imperial lines to return to the Foundation; we can do nothing but that which is most sensible – to wait patiently. However, if Riose has reached the inner line I trust the wait will not be too long.”
And Devers put down his fork. “Wait, is it?” he snarled, glowering. “That’s all right for you. You’ve got nothing at stake.”
“Haven’t I?” Barr smiled thinly.
“No. In fact, I’ll tell you.” Devers’ irritation skimmed the surface. “I’m tired of looking at this whole business as if it were an interesting something-or-other on a microscope slide. I’ve got friends somewhere out there, dying; and a whole world out there, my home, dying also. You’re an outsider. You don’t know.”
“I have seen friends die.” The old man’s hands were limp in his lap and his eyes were closed. “Are you married?”
Devers said, “Traders don’t marry.”
“Well, I have two sons and a nephew. They have been warned, but – for reasons – they could take no action. Our escape means their death. My daughter and my two grandchildren have, I hope, left the planet safety before this, but even excluding them, I have already risked and lost more than you.”
Devers was morosely savage. “I know. But that was a matter of choice. You might have played ball with Riose. I never asked you to–“
Barr shook his head. “It was not a matter of choice, Devers. Make your conscience free, I didn’t risk my sons for you. I co-operated with Riose as long as I dared. But there was the Psychic Probe.”
The Siwennian patrician opened his eyes and they were sharp with pain. “Riose came to me once; it was over a year ago. He spoke of a cult centering about the magicians, but missed the truth. It is not quite a cult. You see, it is forty years now that Siwenna has been gripped in the same unbearable vise that threatens your world. Five revolts have been ground out. Then I discovered the ancient records of Hari Seldon – and now this ‘cult’ waits.
“It waits for the coming of the ‘magicians’ and for that day it is ready. My sons are leaders of those who wait. It is that secret which is in my mind and which the Probe must never touch. And so they must die as hostages; for the alternative is their death as rebels and half of Siwenna with them. You see, I had no choice! And I am no outsider.”
Devers’ eyes fell, and Barr continued softly, “It is on a Foundation victory that Siwenna’s hopes depend. It is for a Foundation victory that my sons are sacrificed. And Hari Seldon does not pre-calculate the inevitable salvation of Siwenna as he does that of the Foundation. I have no certainty for my people – only hope.”
“But you are still satisfied to wait. Even with the Imperial Navy at Loris.”
“I would wait, in perfect confidence,” said Barr, simply, “if they had landed on the planet, Terminus, itself.”
The trader frowned hopelessly. “I don’t know. It can’t really work like that; not just like magic. Psychohistory or not, they’re terribly strong, and we’re weak. What can Setdon do about it?”
“There’s nothing to do. It’s all already done. It’s proceeding now. Because you don’t hear the wheels turning and the gongs beating doesn’t mean it’s any the less certain.”
“Maybe; but I wish you had cracked Riose’s skull for keeps. He’s more the enemy than all his army.”
“Cracked his skull? With Brodrig his second in command?” Barr’s face sharpened with hate. “All Siwenna would have been my hostage. Brodrig has proven his worth long since. There exists a world which five years ago lost one male in every ten – and simply for failure to meet outstanding taxes. This same Brodrig was the tax-collector. No, Riose may live. His punishments are mercy in comparison.”
“But six months, six months, in the enemy Base, with nothing to show for it.” Devers’ strong hands clasped each other tautly, so that his knuckles cracked. “Nothing to show for it!”
“Well, now, wait. You remind me–” Barr fumbled in his pouch. “You might want to count this.” And he tossed the small sphere of metal on the table.
Devers snatched it. “What is it?”
“The message capsule. The one that Riose received just before I jacked him. Does that count as something?”
“I don’t know. Depends on what’s in it!” Devers sat down and turned it over carefully in his hand.
When Barr stepped from his cold shower and, gratefully, into the mild warm current of the air dryer, he found Devers silent and absorbed at the workbench.
The Siwennian slapped his body with a sharp rhythm and spoke above the punctuating sounds. “What are you doing?”
Devers looked up. Droplets of perspiration glittered in his beard. “I’m going to open this capsule.”
“Can
you open it without Riose’s personal characteristic?” There was mild surprise in the Siwennian’s voice.
“If I can’t, I’ll resign from the Association and never skipper a ship for what’s left of my life. I’ve got a three-way electronic analysis of the interior now, and I’ve got little jiggers that the Empire never heard of, especially made for jimmying capsules. I’ve been a burglar before this, y’know. A trader has to be something of everything.”
He bent low over the little sphere, and a small flat instrument probed delicately and sparked redly at each fleeting contact.
He said, “This capsule is a crude job, anyway. These Imperial boys are no shakes at this small work. I can see that. Ever see a Foundation capsule? It’s half the size and impervious to electronic analysis in the first place.”
And then he was rigid, the shoulder muscles beneath his tunic tautening visibly. His tiny probe pressed slowly–
It was noiseless when it came, but Devers; relaxed and sighed. In his hand was the shining sphere with its message unrolled like a parchment tongue.
“It’s from Brodrig,” he said. Then, with contempt, “The message medium is permanent. In a Foundation capsule, the message would be oxidized to gas within the minute.”
But Ducem Barr waved him silent. He read the message quickly.
FROM: AMMEL BRODRIG, ENVOY EXTRAORDINARY OF HIS IMPERIAL MAJESTY, PRIVY SECRETARY OF THE COUNCIL, AND PEER OF THE REALM.
TO: BEL RIOSE, MILITARY GOVERNOR OF SIWENNA. GENERAL OF THE IMPERIAL FORCES, AND PEER OF THE REALM. I GREET YOU.
PLANET #1120 NO LONGER RESISTS. THE PLANS OF OFFENSE AS OUTLINED CONTINUE SMOOTHLY. THE ENEMY WEAKENS VISIBLY AND THE ULTIMATE ENDS IN VIEW WILL SURELY BE GAINED.
Barr raised his head from the almost microscopic print and cried bitterly, “The fool! The forsaken blasted fop! That a message?”
“Huh?” said Devers. He was vaguely disappointed.
“It says nothing,” ground out Barr. “Our lick-spittle courtier is playing at general now. With Riose away, he is the field commander and must sooth his paltry spirit by spewing out his pompous reports concerning military affairs he has nothing to do with. ‘So-and-so planet no longer resists.’ ‘The offensive moves on.’ ‘The enemy weakens.’ The vacuum-headed peacock.”
“Well, now, wait a minute. Hold on–“
“Throw it away.” The old man turned away in mortification. “The Galaxy knows I never expected it to be world-shakingly important, but in wartime it is reasonable to assume that even the most routine order left undelivered might hamper military movements and lead to complications later. It’s why I snatched it. But this! Better to have left it. It would have wasted a minute of Riose’s time that will now be put to more constructive use.”
But Devers had arisen. “Will you hold on and stop throwing your weight around? For Seldon’s sake–“
He held out the sliver of message before Barr’s nose, “Now read that again. What does he mean by ‘ultimate ends in view’?”
“The conquest of the Foundation. Well?”
“Yes? And maybe he means the conquest of the Empire. You know he believes that to be the ultimate end.”
“And if he does?”
“If he does!” Devers’ one-sided smile was lost in his beard. “Why, watch then, and I’ll show you.”
With one finger the lavishly monogrammed sheet of message-parchment was thrust back into its slot. With a soft twang, it disappeared and the globe was a smooth, unbroken whole again. Somewhere inside was the tiny oiled whir of the controls as they lost their setting by random movements.
“Now there is no known way of opening this capsule without knowledge of Riose’s personal characteristic, is there?”
“To the Empire, no,” said Barr.
“Then the evidence it contains is unknown to us and absolutely authentic.”
“To the Empire, yes,” said Barr.
“And the Emperor can open it, can’t he? Personal Characteristics of Government officials must be on file. We keep records of our officials at the Foundation.”
“At the Imperial capital as well,” agreed Barr.
“Then when you, a Siwennian patrician and Peer of the Realm, tell this Cleon, this Emperor, that his favorite tame-parrot and his shiniest general are getting together to knock him over, and hand him the capsule as evidence, what will he think Brodrig’s ‘ultimate ends’ are?”
Barr sat down weakly. “Wait, I don’t follow you.” He stroked one thin cheek, and said, “You’re not really serious, are you?”
“I am.” Devers was angrily excited. “Listen, nine out of the last ten Emperors got their throats cut, or their gizzards blasted out by one or another of their generals with bigtime notions in their heads. You told me that yourself more than once. Old man Emperor would believe us so fast it would make Riose’s head swim.”
Barr muttered feebly, “He is serious, For the Galaxy’s sake, man, you can’t beat a Seldon crisis by a far-fetched, impractical, storybook scheme like that. Suppose you had never got hold of the capsule. Suppose Brodrig hadn’t used the word ‘ultimate.’ Seldon doesn’t depend on wild luck.”
“If wild luck comes our way, there’s no law says Seldon can’t take advantage of it.”
“Certainly. But … but,” Barr stopped, then spoke calmly but with visible restraint. “Look, in the first place, how will you get to the planet Trantor? You don’t know its location in space, and I certainly don’t remember the co-ordinates, to say nothing of the ephemerae. You don’t even know your own position in space.”
“You can’t get lost in space,” grinned Devers. He was at the controls already. “Down we go to the nearest planet, and back we come with complete bearings and the best navigation charts Brodrig’s hundred thousand smackers can buy.”
“And
a blaster in our belly. Our descriptions are probably in every planet in this quarter of the Empire.”
“Doc,” said Devers, patiently, “don’t be a hick tom the sticks. Riose said my ship surrendered too easily and, brother, he wasn’t kidding. This ship has enough fire-power and enough juice in its shield to hold off anything we’re Rely to meet this deep inside the frontier. And we have personal shields, too. The Empire boys never found them, you know, but they weren’t meant to be found.”