Second Foundation. Айзек Азимов

food of the Elders – disparaging Rossemian weather, referring with an attempt at casualness to the intricacies of space travel.

      Channis talked little, Pritcher not at all.

      Then it was over. The small, stewed fruits were finished; the napkins used and discarded, and the governor leaned back.

      His small eyes sparkled.

      ‘I have inquired as to your ship. Naturally, I would like to see that it receives due care and overhaul. I am told its whereabouts are unknown.’

      ‘True,’ Channis replied lightly. ‘We have left it in space. It is a large ship, suitable for long journeys in sometimes hostile regions, and we felt that landing it here might give rise to doubts as to our peaceful intentions. We preferred to land alone, unarmed.’

      ‘A friendly act,’ commented the governor, without conviction. ‘A large ship, you say?’

      ‘Not a vessel of war, excellency.’

      ‘Ha, hum. Where is it you come from?’

      ‘A small world of the Santanni sector, your excellency. It may be you are not aware of its existence for it lacks importance. We are interested in establishing trade relationships.’

      ‘Trade, eh? And what have you to sell?’

      ‘Machines of all sorts, excellency. In return, food, wood, ores—’

      ‘Ha, hum.’ The governor seemed doubtful. ‘I know little of these matters. Perhaps mutual profit may be arranged. Perhaps, after I have examined your credentials at length – for much information will be required by my government before matters may proceed, you understand – and after I have looked over your ship, it would be advisable for you to proceed to Tazenda.’

      There was no answer to that, and the governor’s attitude iced perceptibly.

      ‘It is necessary that I see your ship, however.’

      Channis said distantly: ‘The ship, unfortunately, is undergoing repairs at the moment. If your excellency would not object to giving us forty-eight hours, it will be at your service.’

      ‘I am not accustomed to waiting.’

      For the first time, Pritcher met the glare of the other, eye to eye, and his breath exploded softly inside him. For a moment, he had the sensation of drowning, but then his eyes tore away.

      Channis did not waver. He said: ‘The ship cannot be landed for forty-eight hours, excellency. We are here and unarmed. Can you doubt our honest intentions?’

      There was a long silence, and then the governor said gruffly: ‘Tell me of the world from which you come.’

      That was all. It passed with that. There was no more unpleasantness. The governor, having fulfilled his official duty, apparently lost interest and the audience died a full death.

      And when it was all over, Pritcher found himself back in their quarters and took stock of himself.

      Carefully – holding his breath – he ‘felt’ his emotions. Certainly he seemed no different to himself, but would he feel any difference? Had he felt different after the Mule’s conversion? Had not everything seemed natural? As it should have been.

      He experimented.

      With cold purpose, he shouted inside the silent caverns of his mind, and the shout was, ‘The Second Foundation must be discovered and destroyed.’

      And the emotion that accompanied it was honest hate. There was not as much as a hesitation involved in it.

      And then it was in his mind to substitute the word ‘Mule’ for the phrase ‘Second Foundation’ and his breath caught at the mere emotion and his tongue clogged.

      So far, good.

      But had he been handled otherwise – more subtly? Had tiny changes been made? Changes that he couldn’t detect because their very existence warped his judgement.

      There was no way to tell.

      But he still felt absolute loyalty to the Mule! If that were unchanged, nothing else really mattered.

      He turned his mind to action again. Channis was busy at his end of the room. Pritcher’s thumbnail idled at his wrist communicator.

      And then at the response that came he felt a wave of relief surge over him and leave him weak.

      The quiet muscles of his face did not betray him, but inside he was shouting with joy – and when Channis turned to face him, he knew that the farce was about over.

      FOURTH INTERLUDE

      The two Speakers passed each other on the road and one stopped the other.

      ‘I have word from the First Speaker.’

      There was a half-apprehensive flicker in the other’s eyes. ‘Intersection point?’

      ‘Yes! May we live to see the dawn!’

       5

       One Man And The Mule

      There was no sign in any of Channis’ actions that he was aware of any subtle change in the attitude of Pritcher and in their relations to each other. He leaned back on the hard wooden bench and spread-eagled his feet out in front of him.

      ‘What did you make of the governor?’

      Pritcher shrugged: ‘Nothing at all. He certainly seemed no mental genius to me. A very poor specimen of the Second Foundation, if that’s what he was supposed to be.’

      ‘I don’t think he was, you know. I’m not sure what to make of it. Suppose you were a Second Foundationer,’ Channis grew thoughtful, ‘what would you do? Suppose you had an idea of our purpose here. How would you handle us?’

      ‘Conversion, of course.’

      ‘Like the Mule?’ Channis looked up, sharply. ‘Would we know if they had converted us? I wonder— And what if they were simply psychologists, but very clever ones.’

      ‘In that case, I’d have us killed rather quickly.’