The ship in which the First Citizen sat was the fastest ship in the galaxy. Foundation technicians spared no expense in designing her. She was a relatively small ship, only three hundred meters in length, but her state-of-the-art gravitic engines, highly-complex computers systems, shields, and weapon systems coalesced into a wonderful symphony of separate parts into one whole. To the outsider, the ship would appear little different from a medium-sized passenger ship, because the systems crammed into the vessel were carefully streamlined and molded.
None of that concerned the Mule. He sat alone within his quarters with his eyes closed. They had recently reached out to him again, probing ever so softly. For many years, the Mule had considered sending a fleet of remote control ships to finally devour his former home planet, but it too knew of his desires and designs. So he knew deep within that such a maneuver would have proved futile. Somehow, he/she/they would have prevented it and once again made him look like a fool, if only to himself. He frowned in frustration. They were but a minor nuisance, but his utter inability to deal with them on his own terms left him coldly furious. Enough, he thought to himself. He would dwell on them no more.
Through his mind, he reached deep into the core. The emotions emanating from there told him nothing new, and so he knew that nothing but his own probe had yet returned from the heavily-guarded wormhole. It would be insufficient though, and he knew it. Only the amount of damage the aliens would inflict was in question. He had seen the weapon systems on that strange ship. Certainly, they overwhelmed only a lightly-armed civilian trader fleet, but he knew well the capabilities and limitations of his warships waiting on the other side. They would not long repel firepower of that magnitude, and he had no idea of how his own forces' firepower would fare against the alien ship.
Worse, he was now blind. It had been a calculated risk, but he still felt it a worthwhile one. Once his own probe had returned, he dared send nothing further through the wormhole. The Mule stretched out his lanky limbs and conducted a relaxing breathing exercise. He could affect nothing further until he arrived. The next move was theirs.
…
"What is your operating number?" demanded the man in the dark grey uniform. He wore a series of blue and red plastic-looking rectangles in rows on the left side of his tunic, and he swiveled his head to what appeared to be a gold-plated robot to his right. The man appeared to have no emotional reaction to the robot's presence, but his facial expression betrayed that the robot was clearly in a subservient role. To either side of the man in uniform and the gold robot were two beings clad in all-white armor, including helmets that reminded him somewhat of skulls. Both beings held what appeared to be blasters, leveled at him. The gold robot swiveled its head toward R. Robert Flynn.
"You manufacture designation is what?" it said in barely-passable Galactic Standard. It was clear that these aliens had no grasp of his own galaxy's native language. Robert was indeed far from home.
"I am terribly sorry friend, but I have no idea what you mean," replied Robert.
He watched as the robot turned and spouted gibberish to the man in uniform. Well, it wasn't exactly gibberish anymore. Robert was a robot himself, and his positronic brain had collected everything said around him in the strange new tongue, since he had been brought aboard the large alien vessel. He was a highly-complex machine, and his positronic brain busily worked at deciphering the alien tongue. He was beginning to make sense of the sentence construct being used between the other robot – no – it was called a "droid" instead of a robot, and the man in uniform. Words now coalesced within Robert's positronic mind, as he carefully studied the movement of the uniformed man's mouth. He also now gathered that the man was an officer, though that epiphany came not so much from the language being spoken as from the behavior Robert observed. And so even before the "droid" turned its head again to address Robert, he had a pretty good idea of what it would say.
"Our devices for scan showed plain you are man mechanical. No human. Why untruth maintain you?"
Robert smiled inwardly, while he maintained a carefully passive countenance. Part of his programming urged him to break for it and get away from these men, for self-preservation was indeed one of the main laws by which he was governed. He quickly shoved down those urges, understanding the underlying futility. This man knew he was a robot, and he didn't seem to care. Well, he did care, but for an entirely different reason. Robert was beginning to suspect why. He wanted to address the man directly, but he still did not yet comprehend him sufficiently to make that possible. So he addressed the droid instead, while keeping his eyes fixed upon the officer.
"Ah, I misunderstood friend. Yes, I am a robot, or a droid if you prefer, but as to manufacturer, I have none. You see, none of the men in my crew are aware that I'm a droid."
The metal-plated droid turned its photoreceptors to the officer and translated, Robert understanding a bit more of what was being relayed in the alien tongue. The officer looked unconvinced, and he queried further.
"All men mechanical are manufacture designated by organization, so from what organization manufacture were you?"
Robert winced at the horrible translation, and he gauged it the correct time to attempt direct communication, so he addressed the officer directly in Basic.
"Me is droid yes, but me not made by organization/company because droids in galaxy home is very little in numbers and not known to beings from galaxy. We is to them mystery." He gave himself a mental wink, pleased with his first attempt at direct communication. The officer appeared taken aback, but only for a short while. He motioned his own interpreter droid to the side.
"Well somebody manufactured you, but we'll get to that later! What I want to know is what you are doing here, since you're obviously an assassin droid." Part of what the man had said made no sense to Robert, so he motioned the metal droid to translate it. He then laughed.
"Assassination droid? Me? No, because the laws for under which we droids fall refuse it."
Seeing the look of confusion on the man's face, he continued, "Three laws are we droids under which allow us no to hurt humans."
The man held up his hand and then picked up what appeared to be a communication device. He spoke in a lowered voice, but Robert had no difficulty picking up every word with his own enhanced audio reception capabilities. The officer was asking for guidance from someone on the other end of the communication device and describing what he thought he had learned. The officer became especially animated when he discussed the laws of robotics. He then nodded his head after receiving guidance, which Robert had seen humans from his own galaxy do when responding to others who could not see them. He returned his attention to Robert.
"You say you can't hurt humans?"
"Me? No, personally I cannot," replied Robert. That wasn't strictly true, because the Zeroth Law overrode the original three, which would allow him to hurt individual humans, if it served to protect humanity as a whole. But he was not required to reveal that law, and he had no intention of doing so.
"From where do you come?"
"I come from the same galaxy as the fleet of merchant ships outside your window," Replied Robert. Part of the words made no sense to the officer, so Robert rephrased them so that they did. The officer nodded.
"But you said you cannot hurt humans. Does that go for aliens too?"
Robert frowned. The word, "alien" made no sense to him, outside of the fact that the officer himself was to Robert an alien.
"I don't understand, unless you mean yourself or the two man guards behind you. No, hurt them I could not."
"Yes, but we're human, and you've already stated you cannot hurt humans."
"Right."
"But what about aliens? What about non-humans?"
"You mean other droids?"
"No, you idiot machine! I mean non-human sentient beings."
It was Robert's turn to be shocked. Non-human sentient beings? What did the officer mean? The galaxy was comprised entirely of a human population. Sure, there had been old myths and legends about non-human alien races, but those were tall tales for children. Was this new galaxy different? Did aliens exist here? What would that mean for the Laws of Robotics? Did those apply to non-humans? Well, no, Robert couldn't see how they would. The Laws of Robotics were written specifically for human beings – not aliens. Robert decided he had revealed too much too soon, and he would have to more carefully guard what he said.
…
Has he arrived yet?
No, but he is close.
The two men sat closely together in the dark compartment. They did not speak to each other, but each understood the other clearly. The First Speaker of the Second Foundation stared intently at the floor, and he returned his gaze to the other man. The other man's name was Jon Sulvin, and he was one of the agents tasked with tracking the Mule's movements throughout the galaxy. Both men were aboard a trading freighter, or at least it looked like a trading freighter to anyone else. In reality, the ship possessed one of the earlier forms of gravitic drive, though it also possessed nuclear drives conventional of such ships. The gravitic drive was masked, so as not to reveal itself to scans. But now it was engaged, and the freighter was in the midst of one of many hyperspace jumps toward the galactic core.
To be sure, the Mule was in a much faster ship, and he would arrive long before the Second Foundation's agents. That was not a great concern though, for they could do little more than observe once they arrived. It was still far too soon to do anything else.
What of our agents at the wormhole?
They know nothing new.
The Second Foundation's agents were all carefully placed within cellular structures that if compromised could reveal very little. It had happened twice before, when the Mule's own agents had uncovered Second Foundation cells. The Mule himself turned those agents, and now they were his ardent servants. Contingency plans had already been in place though, so collateral damage was minimal. Still, the loss of just two Second Foundation agents was a serious blow in an organization that numbered so few. Recruiting their replacements had taken many months.
The First Speaker was certain of one thing: He was uncomfortable with what was allegedly on the other side of that wormhole. If the reports he had received were to be believed, an incredibly powerful civilization lay on the other side, poised to strike his home galaxy.
…
"Sir, the probe is away," announced the deck officer aboard the Imperial Star Destroyer Ash. Captain Poltz watched the probe fly toward the wormhole, past the small fleet of civilian merchant ships all of which now had Imperial storm troopers aboard. The probe then reached the point where they believed the anomaly to be. He couldn't see it with the naked eye, but the ship's sensors had a lock on it. The probe then vanished.
"Sir, the Punishment, Vengeance, and Iron Fist have entered the system and are moving into over-watch positions," announced the deck officer from the starboard command trench. Captain Poltz nodded in acknowledgement. That made three more Star Destroyers from the sector fleet, along with their associated escorts and tenders. It seemed that High Command was taking this seriously. Poltz nodded.
"Maintain a firing solution relative to the anomaly."
"Yes sir."
"Bring the captured assassin droid here."
Poltz kept his gaze locked on to the colorful display put forth by the terrific energies churning within the maw, and he heard the storm troopers approach from behind. He did not turn before addressing the droid.
"I'm given to understand that you can now decipher and speak Galactic Basic."
"Yes. Speak your language I can to part way," replied the human-looking droid from behind him with heavily-accented Basic. Poltz turned to face the droid, taking in his unassuming visage. The droid was actually rather dumpy-looking, his brown hair was receding, and age lines on his face made him appear to be in his 50s. The droid gazed back at Poltz with light-green eyes, and Poltz could see no sign of fear within them. That meant that this was indeed an impressive and deadly assassin droid. A squad of storm troopers stood at various locations on the bridge, ready to cut it down if it made a wrong move, and of course it was flanked by two others holding their carbines at port-arms.
"Your designation is R. Robert Flynn, and you were manufactured in the galaxy on the other side of that anomaly from which your merchant fleet emerged. Is that correct?"
"Yes it is as you say."
"How do I know if you are lying or not?"
"You cannot know, but a reason for lying I am short … er, I do not have."
"And yet you said your crew did not know that you were a droid," replied Poltz skeptically, "How is that not lying?"
"It was protection."
"From what?"
"Themselves."
"Why would they need…"
"Sir!" shouted the deck officer. Poltz turned to regard the officer, who was positioned next to one of the scopes in the starboard trench.
"Report."
"Sir, the anomaly is reacting. Something may be preparing to emerge."
Poltz turned to gaze out of the giant transparencies. Of course he could see nothing with the naked eye from this distance.
"Prepare to engage whatever comes through, but use ion canons only. I want whatever it is disabled, not destroyed."
"Yes sir."
Shortly thereafter, from the star destroyer lanced giant blue bolts that raced toward the anomaly. Poltz could see nothing more, but the ship's gun tubes grew silent.
"Sir, the object is dead in space," announced the deck officer, "A recovery team is prepared for launch."
"Launch them," said Polz, "but I want a wing of TIE fighters in over-watch."
From beneath the belly of the star destroyer, a recovery shuttle with fighter escort raced to meet the disabled object floating just in front of the anomaly.
…
"Sir, it's away," announced General Prichard.
The Mule nodded slowly, his fingers steepled before him. The probe they sent forward would almost certainly be destroyed, but he hoped whoever was on the other side would instead disable it. He knew the ships could fire blue bolts just for that purpose, so he had ensured that a smaller probe was sent through. Anything larger would almost certainly be perceived as a threat and destroyed.
No, the aliens on the other side would most likely disable and capture the probe. Within the probe, a video message awaited that told of a terrific galaxy-spanning war and refugees desperately seeking shelter anywhere they could find it. Those who had constructed the video used footage from the Mule's own conquest of the galaxy, including the overthrow of the last vestiges of the old Galactic Empire and the much more modern and deadly forces of the Foundation. It painted a convincing picture, and it was designed for one purpose: Draw the invaders into his galaxy.
As of now, they had the trader fleet, and their own stories would differ. That was okay. Confusion could only aid him.
"How much longer?"
"Sir, we should arrive within an hour," replied the Prichard. The Mule smiled. All was proceeding according to plan.
…
He has nearly arrived.
The men stared at instruments within their small compartment, and mere glances at each other embodied what would be minutes-long conversations between those outside the Second Foundation. They continued their own hyperspace jumps toward the galactic core, but their ship was no match for the computational speed and gravitic drive of the Mule's ship. Indeed, the First Speaker found himself astonished at the speed at which the Mule's ship was capable. Still, they steadfastly continued their trek, refining their plan upon arrival.
They sent something else through, replied the Speaker known as Greg Chen.
Then the others will send through their large ships to conduct a reconnaissance in force, replied the First Speaker.
That seems likely.
Reports suggested that the alien ships were large and powerful, likely more so that the ships of the Mule himself. The Mule's vessels were arrayed in such a way to be prepared to repel an attack through the wormhole. And of course, the Mule's force stationed at the wormhole was enormous. He knew that yet other sector fleets remained within quick hyperspace jumps in case those stationed at the wormhole were quickly overwhelmed.
Can we take control of the flagship?
We can, but if the Mule is present, he will detect it.
The First Speaker nodded slowly. It was too risky to move this early. They would watch and wait, for now.
…
Through the wormhole glided the narrow bow of the Imperial Star Destroyer Ash. Immediately, blue bolts belched forth from her giant gun tubes, slamming into multiple oblong capital ships being simultaneously targeted. In reply, powerful q-beams found their marks on the side of the star destroyer. From beneath the behemoth wedge-shaped ship poured a cloud of TIE fighters, spreading out in search-and-destroy patterns. Within minutes, stationary gun emplacements were smoldering ruins, none of them able to track the tiny and quick-maneuvering fighters as they laced them with laser canon fire.
"Sir, two enemy ships have been neutralized, and approximately thirteen capital ships remain on our scopes."
"Very good," replied Polz, "Damage report?"
"Sir, our shields are holding, but we have lost seventeen fighters."
"Still no sign of enemy fighters?"
"No sir."
Poltz stared out of the transparency, watching the strange alien ships close in and fire on the Ash. The beams were stressing the shields, and his ship could not take this pounding continuously. He sighed.
"Send a message back through the anomaly. We could use reinforcements. Once the stationary emplacements are neutralized, recall the TIE fighters. I see no reason for them to continue presenting themselves as targets."
"Yes sir. Our forward port shields are in danger of collapsing."
"Destroy the ships firing from that direction."
Now, instead of just blue bolts, bright green bolts mixed with the blue and slammed into the strange oblong ships harrying his ship from the port side. In short order, two of the nearly kilometer-long ships were belching atmosphere and bodies into space, and their guns fell silent. Within just fifteen minutes of battle, more seven enemy ships lay dormant, and two were destroyed. This was too easy. Nothing was ever this easy.
"Broadcast the message," ordered Poltz. The captured droid had assisted in composing the message, adding that it was in his programming parameters to preserve human life, and a quick cessation of hostilities was optimal for achieving those ends. Despite the message now being broadcast, the enemy ships showed no signs of abating fire.
"Sir, the Punishment has come through."
"Instruct them to use ion canons only, if possible. Transmit our target list."
Poltz watched blue bolts race through space through the starboard transparencies, and he knew the Punishment had joined the fight. Suddenly, Polz felt within himself a strange sense of dread and hopelessness creeping up on him. Why was he fighting? This fleet had not fired upon him first. More alien oblong ships jumped into the system and added their guns to the maelstrom. The intensity of enemy fire rose considerably.
"Sir, we've lost the forward starboard shields!" shouted an officer from the port-side trench, and an edge of panic laced his voice.
"Intensify firepower to neutralize that threat," replied a now unnerved Poltz, as he watched five more enemy capital ships jump into the system. The sense of dread and defeat was now overwhelming, and he shook his head as if to clear it. Through the transparencies, he saw two more enemy ships detonate in the silent vacuum of space.
"Sir, a message from the Punishment! They're standing down and preparing to be boarded!"
"What!"
"Yes sir. All enemy ships are now firing on the Ash. Our shields won't hold long under this assault."
"Turn us around!" shrieked Poltz, "and make for the anomaly."
"Sir, three ships are now directly behind us and in front of the anomaly. Sir, we've lost our starboard mid shields! There are breaches on multiple decks!"
Poltz felt numb, as he felt his mighty vessel rock under repeated assaults. Alarms indicators lit multiple consoles, and the ship's alarms wailed a sad and continuous tune. He felt completely hopeless now and confused.
"Send a message of surrender," said Poltz blankly.
"We are beaten."