Foundation and Empire. Айзек Азимов

the red and the pink.

      ‘Those blue stars have been taken over by my forces,’ said Riose with quiet satisfaction, ‘and they still advance. No opposition has appeared anywhere. The barbarians are quiet. And particularly, no opposition has come from Foundation forces. They sleep peacefully and well.’

      ‘You spread your force thinly, don’t you?’ asked Barr.

      ‘As a matter of fact,’ said Riose, ‘despite appearances, I don’t. The key points which I garrison and fortify are relatively few, but they are carefully chosen. The result is that the force expended is small, but the strategic result great. There are many advantages, more than would ever appear to anyone who hasn’t made a careful study of spatial tactics, but it is apparent to anyone, for instance, that I can base an attack from any point in an inclosing sphere, and that when I am finished it will be impossible for the Foundation to attack at flank or rear. I shall have no flank or rear with respect to them.

      ‘This strategy of the Previous Inclosure has been tried before, notably in the campaigns of Loris VI, some two thousand years ago, but always imperfectly; always with the knowledge and attempted interference of the enemy. This is different.’

      ‘The ideal textbook case?’ Barr’s voice was languid and indifferent. Riose was impatient, ‘You still think my forces will fail?’

      ‘They must.’

      ‘You understand that there is no case in military history where an inclosure has been completed that the attacking forces have not eventually won, except where an outside Navy exists in sufficient force to break the Inclosure.’

      ‘If you say so.’

      ‘And you still adhere to your faith.’

      ‘Yes.’

      Riose shrugged. ‘Then do so.’

      Barr allowed the angry silence to continue for a moment, then asked quietly, ‘Have you received an answer from the Emperor?’

      Riose removed a cigarette from a wall container behind his head, placed a filter tip between his lips and puffed it aflame carefully. He said, ‘You mean my request for reinforcements? It came, but that’s all. Just the answer.’

      ‘No ships.’

      ‘None. I half-expected that. Frankly, patrician, I should never have allowed myself to be stampeded by your theories into requesting them in the first place. It puts me in a false light.’

      ‘Does it?’

      ‘Definitely. Ships are at a premium. The civil wars of the last two centuries have smashed up more than half of the Grand Fleet and what’s left is in pretty shaky condition. You know it isn’t as if the ships we build these days are worth anything. I don’t think there’s a man in the Galaxy today who can build a first-rate hyperatomic motor.’

      ‘I knew that,’ said the Siwennian. His eyes were thoughtful and introspective. ‘I didn’t know that you knew it. So his Imperial Majesty can spare no ships. Psycho-history could have predicted that; in fact, it probably did. I should say that Hari Seldon’s dead hand wins the opening round.’

      Riose answered sharply, ‘I have enough ships as it is. Your Seldon wins nothing. Should the situation turn more serious, then more ships will be available. As yet, the Emperor does not know all the story.’

      ‘Indeed? What haven’t you told him?’

      ‘Obviously – your theories.’ Riose looked sardonic. ‘The story is, with all respect to you, inherently improbable. If developments warrant; if events supply me with proof, then, but only then, would I make out the case of mortal danger.

      ‘And in addition,’ Riose drove on, casually, ‘the story, unbolstered by fact, has a flavour of lèse-majesté that could scarcely be pleasant to His Imperial Majesty.’

      The old patrician smiled. ‘You mean that telling him his august throne is in danger of subversion by a parcel of ragged barbarians from the ends of the universe is not a warning to be believed or appreciated. Then you expect nothing from him.’

      ‘Unless you count a special envoy as something.’

      ‘And why a special envoy?’

      ‘It’s an old custom. A direct representative of the crown is present on every military campaign which is under government auspices.’

      ‘Really? Why?’

      ‘It’s a method of preserving the symbol of personal Imperial leadership in all campaigns. It’s gained a secondary function of insuring the fidelity of generals. It doesn’t always succeed in that respect.’

      ‘You’ll find that inconvenient, general. Extraneous authority, I mean.’

      ‘I don’t doubt that,’ Riose reddened faintly, ‘but it can’t be helped—’

      The receiver at the general’s hand glowed warmly, and with an unobtrusive jar, the cylindrical communication popped into its slot. Riose unrolled it, ‘Good! This is it!’

      Ducem Barr raised a mildly questioning eyebrow.

      Riose said, ‘You know we’ve captured one of these Trader people. Alive – and with his ship intact.’

      ‘I’ve heard talk of it.’

      ‘Well, they’ve just brought him in, and we’ll have him here in a minute. You keep your seat, patrician. I want you here when I’m questioning him. It’s why I asked you here today in the first place. You may understand him where I might miss important points.’

      The door signal sounded and a touch of the general’s toe swung the door wide. The man who stood on the threshold was tall and bearded, wore a short coat of a soft, leathery plastic, with an attached hood shoved back on his neck. His hands were free, and if he noticed the men about him were armed, he did not trouble to indicate it.

      He stepped in casually, and looked about with calculating eyes. He favoured the general with a rudimentary wave of the hand and a half nod.

      ‘Your name?’ demanded Riose, crisply.

      ‘Lathan Devers.’ The trader hooked his thumbs into his wide and gaudy belt. ‘Are you the boss here?’

      ‘You are a trader of the Foundation?’

      ‘That’s right. Listen, if you’re the boss, you’d better tell your hired men here to lay off my cargo.’

      The general raised his head and regarded the prisoner coldly. ‘Answer questions. Do not volunteer orders.’

      ‘All right. I’m agreeable. But one of your boys blasted a two-foot hole in his chest already, by sticking his fingers where he wasn’t supposed to.’

      Riose shifted his gaze to the lieutenant in charge. ‘Is this man telling the truth? Your report, Vrank, had it that no lives were lost.’

      ‘None were, sir,’ the lieutenant spoke stiffly, apprehensively, ‘at the time. There was later some disposition to search the ship, there having arisen a rumour that a woman was a board. Instead, sir, many instruments of unknown nature were located, instruments which the prisoner claims to be his stock in trade. One of them flashed on handling, and the soldier holding it died.’

      The general turned back to the trader. ‘Does your ship carry atomic explosives?’

      ‘Galaxy, no. What for? That fool grabbed an atomic puncher, wrong end forward and set at maximum dispersion. You’re not supposed to do that. Might as well point a neut-gun at your head. I’d have stopped him, if five men weren’t sitting on my chest.’

      Riose gestured at the waiting guard, ‘You go. The captured ship is to be sealed against all intrusion. Sit down, Devers.’

      The trader did so, in the spot indicated, and withstood stolidly the hard scrutiny of the Imperial general and the curious glance of the Siwennian patrician.

      Riose