Chapter 8

The Mule felt it. He couldn't help but feel it. A new psychic presence had entered the system, and it was exceedingly powerful – almost physically so. What most struck the Mule was the hatred attached to the presence. Hatred and rage permeated the presence, and it struck him like one of the q-beams for capital ships that had only recently been rediscovered by Foundation scientists.

Not that the psychic presence was unexpected; the Mule had sensed this particular presence, and yet another, when he had first entered the system laced with the turbulent black holes in close proximity with each other. He had even sensed its anger, though at great distance.

But this presence was focused entirely upon him, and it was deadly in that focus. Tentatively reaching out, the Mule could sense a strangled history behind the rage, but the – man? Yes, he was certain the psychic presence belonged to a man; this man had somehow been deceived, long ago.

But then the Mule physically recoiled as … something … repelled his probing effort, and he flinched as though in pain, waving his misshaped and elongated right arm across his face as though to shoo away a flying insect. A few of the men, both from his own empire and this galaxy's empire glanced nervously in his direction.

Worse, the Mule could sense that the effect of that repulsion had affected his adjustments, though only to a very minor degree. A quick glance at the Imperial captain he had recently adjusted revealed strange facial tics that belied a quiet, but raging internal battle. The Mule had always been able to adjust the minds of his targets without effort, mostly by altering their emotional states. In his own mind's eye, it was as though he reached into those minds and flipped physical switches. And for him, it had always been effortless.

But whatever that incredibly powerful psychic push had been had somehow inexplicably scrambled his careful adjustments. Again, in his mind's eye he reached out to that same Imperial captain. Now he could see some of the toggles stuck half-way, and others flipped in the wrong direction. It was an easy enough matter for him to reach back into the captain's mind and readjust him, and it took only microseconds. As a result, the man's facial tic vanished.

However, that was not the Mule's primary concern. The captain was but one of many adjusted individuals throughout this ship, and throughout the other ships in the Maw. A quick psychic scan confirmed what the Mule feared: The psychic blast had subtly altered the adjustments of dozens of men, even the ones from his native galaxy. Many of them were warring within their own minds, teetering on the edge of remembering what they once were, and some were even so scrambled that they almost remembered to hate the Mule.

All of this had transpired in the span of only a few seconds. While the man who had just entered the system was powerful, the Mule still doubted he was any real match for himself. Nevertheless, he would not underestimate this new threat, and the Mule knew what he had to do. He immediately strengthened the psychic blanket of dread and defeat throughout the system. The Mule knew that his efforts would not affect his new opponent to any significant degree, but it should prove sufficient to keep those men whose adjustments had been adversely affected from remembering … to much.

The Mule spared a quick glance at those men sharing the space with him, long enough to note dread and defeat wash troublesome thoughts and emotions away like a tide. He then poised himself. The man who had entered the system and swatted away his psychic probe was coming. He had little time left to prepare for the upcoming meeting.

…

The ship was an older model. The analyst tasked with scanning ships entering the system could see that plainly. Instruments didn't lie. Even old pockmarks from weapons blasts decorated the hull of the older craft. His checklist was clear in regard to how he was to deal with this spacecraft and its occupants. Clearly, they intended to enter the anomaly, on the other side of which was the First Citizen.

The analyst took his job very seriously. He had served in the Foundation Navy for years, and he was very dedicated. To him, the Foundation and the First Citizen's new empire were one and the same – besides, the First Citizen had confirmed without a doubt that he was simply the culmination of the legendary Hari Seldon's vision of the culmination of the Foundation's efforts – a new and powerful galaxy-spanning empire.

And now the First Citizen was accomplishing even more than that wonderful vision; he was spreading the great empire to yet another galaxy in need of his benevolent leadership.

The analyst's thoughts returned to the old trader ship and its occupants. His long years of service as an analyst had equipped him to quickly read the intent of those with whom he came in contact. He possessed an innate sense that allowed him to sense deception on the part of others. When speaking to the occupants of this old derelict, he sensed no deception at all. Instead, he felt a strange sense of calm wash over him.

…

The young man occupying the console did not speak. Speaking wasn't necessary. The small crew with him did not speak either, since the speed of their communication between each other was instantaneous. Even the ship itself shared their consciousness, since it had been grown on Gaia. It was as alive as the passengers it contained. All together the entities, human and otherwise, shared consciousness with each other, thoughts flowing freely, and no secrets withheld. Indeed, no secrets existed, as the mere concept of them was absent in all of them, the collective.

For they were Gaia, or rather an extension of Gaia itself. They were far from the living and psychic planet, but even at this distance a thread of contact remained. But the ship and its occupants knew that once they traversed the anomaly to the strange and distant galaxy, even that thread of contact would vanish.

They would be alone.

Even so, they knew what must be done. The wayward son of Gaia was there, waiting … and plotting. They would have to break their tie with Gaia proper, and they would become their own Gaia minor - a smaller collective of the whole. None of them faced the concept without slight unease. Such separation was alien to them, even to the point that none of them thought of themselves as separate – they were a whole. They were he, she, it, all together – inseparable.

The young man occupying the console understood he was receiving a hail. The console did not have audio emitters like so many other spacecraft. Oh, the visual presence of the emitter was present, but it could just as easily melt away and take on the characteristics of a window, a shrub, or anything else it desired. But its current understanding, which was rudimentary, but still tied in with the collective of Gaia minor, was that it was a console. Similarly, the ship itself currently held the characteristics of an old trading ship, but it could effortlessly transform its appearance into nearly anything at will.

The young man heard the voice of the man hailing him in his mind. With a conscious effort, he cleared his throat. Even doing so much was strange to him, but he had practiced during the trip, which had been short – for the ship was fast; indeed it was faster than anything in the galaxy by far.

"Say again your destination and cargo, trader vessel," sounded the foreign voice within the minds of the ship and all aboard. Just as the ship part of the collective knew how to do its job and what was expected of it, so the young man as part of the collective knew his task. He prepared to speak.

"Sir, we are authorized by the Imperial Ministry of Trade to enter the anomaly in order to gain contact with the alien traders on the other side and begin negotiations," said the young man confidently and smoothly into the air. He did not know how the ship knew to convey his words to the foreigner transmitting from the huge ring encircling the anomaly, but he knew without doubt his voice would be conveyed. Moreover, he knew that his voice would be augmented psychically to funnel feelings of confidence and honesty to the intended recipient.

"Understood," returned the foreign reply, adding, "We have no record of your mission, but … uh, well … I can see that you are clearly authorized. You will not deviate from your current course. Reports indicate you will feel a brief sense of vertigo when entering the anomaly, but it should quickly pass. Broadcast your identification prior to entering, and do not cease until you are acknowledged by imperial authorities in the alien galaxy."

The ship entity acknowledged the transmission without the young man having to speak. Like everyone else in the collective, the ship too knew that spoken language was hard for him, and so it spared him the effort. Nor was it difficult for the ship entity to emulate the young man's voice perfectly.

With the verbal acknowledgement, the ship maneuvered toward the anomaly, the only regret of any in the collective being that their thread of contact with Gaia proper would be severed.

…

R. Robert Flynn felt the psychic shockwave from the new visitor. Even his most effective psychic shield had barely protected the integrity of the neural matrix of his positronic brain. A rudimentary diagnostic scan revealed no errors, and for that he was immensely relieved. For he was wearing the uniform of an Imperial officer, and he could not afford to compromise his disguise even for an instant. The Mule was a deadly opponent, and Flynn had little doubt that he would quickly have uncovered his disguise had the psychic shock adversely affected him.

But there was more.

That psychic shock held a physical quality that Flynn was certain he had never felt in his native galaxy. A physical "push" had accompanied that psychic shockwave – Flynn was certain of it. Even with his own limited and artificial psychic abilities, he had sensed surprise from the Mule. He had sensed even an overtone of … panic.

The Mule was clearly concerned. Perhaps he had finally bitten off more than he could chew, to borrow the ancient Earth idiom. Flynn could clearly sense the Mule increase his presence of dread and defeat, though he could not figure out why. Then he saw something interesting: The Mule was glancing around. Flynn was a robot, so he could process data at incredible speed. The Imperial captain. Yes, he saw that too. He noticed the facial tic, and then he saw it vanish. The Mule was quick. Ah, but this was fascinating.

For a while now, the robots understood adjustment, and they could even accomplish minor psychic adjustments on their own … though not nearly to the level of which the Mule was capable. Never before had a robot witnessed an adjustment by the Mule in real time, but now Flynn was the first. The Imperial captain lost his facial tic, and it was now replaced with passivity, laced with a light dread. But Flynn could sense that the focus of the dread was not the Mule, nor was it the psychic sense of dread and defeat emanating from him.

It was the powerful stranger who had just entered the system and sent out a psychic shockwave.

He was coming.

…

First Speaker Chavez' face was frozen in horror. Like the other member of the Second Foundation on the trader ship, he had thrown up his psychic shield. But much of the psychic blast had breached the barrier of his shield, but that in and of itself is not what had so stunned Chavez. No, it was what had accompanied that blast.

Rage.

The psychic blast was laced with unfathomable rage, fueled by … Chavez had no clue. But he was certain that rage was in turn fueled by unspeakable pain, and something else. Laced on the edge of that rage was a sense of … betrayal. The psychic blast was accompanied by a hatred more pure and intense than anything Chavez had ever before experienced.

And that was why his face was frozen in horror. Such hate and rage was beyond his experience, and it was beyond his comprehension. Despite his experience as First Speaker, having dealt with the effects of the Mule's own hate, this was different. It had been accompanied with an unknown force.

"Sir?"

It wasn't the first time Chavez heard the voice. Of that he was certain. It was concerned, for him. Unlike Chavez and the other members of the Second Foundation, most of the men on the ship shared no psychic abilities of their own, and they were unaware of the concept at all. So they had sensed nothing – felt nothing. But their sense of sight was undiminished, and crew members scattered throughout the vessel witnessed members of the Second Foundation frozen in place. This was dangerous. They stood out. That wasn't good.

Slowly – too slowly – Chavez' mind unlocked itself, peeling back the horror and replacing it with calm through years of training and discipline. Indeed, survival itself demanded it. The grimace of horror melted from his face, passivity taking its place. It required a tremendous effort on his part, but there was more to do, and he had to act quickly.

Chavez transmitted his thoughts to his cohorts throughout the vessel, and then he reached out. First he adjusted the man who had spoken to him out of concern. The crewman's concern vanished, and he returned his attention to the ship's instruments. Within moments, Chavez was convinced the crew was no longer concerned, or suspicious.

Then Chavez tentatively reached out toward the Mule, ever so lightly … very, very lightly. And he was surprised to sense that the Mule's attention was on the source that had transmitted the psychic shockwave. The Mule was dealing with problems of his own, so Chavez was reasonably certain his own activities were not detected.

The new entity that had entered the system and nearly incapacitated Chavez was powerful, immensely so. Beyond that, Chavez could ascertain nothing more. He, she, or it was also very dangerous. While Chavez could not be certain, he believed that whatever it was had a bead on the Mule. He could do nothing more for now but wait.

…

He had felt it. Someone had pried into his mind using the Force. It was a simple matter to use the Dark Side of the Force to swat it aside. Anger coursed through Vader, and he quickly isolated the source of the Force. It … no, he … was aboard the Imperial Star Destroyer Ash. Vader knew where he had to go.

"Prepare a shuttle, captain," grated Vader. He glanced at Captain Piett long enough to see his face was ashen with dread. Vader knew the reason. The man he would soon confront was using the Force to conduct the ancient art of Battle Meditation. Despite his rage, Vader was impressed. Up until now, only the Emperor himself had demonstrated an ability to engage the Force in such a manner. This man would be a formidable opponent. Vader had no choice but to destroy him quickly.

"Captain Piett," prompted Vader.

"Uh … yes my lord," replied Piett after some hesitation. The man then wheeled around to issue orders to his subordinates. A quick scan confirmed to Vader that his enemy's battle meditation affected everyone on the bridge, and likely everyone in the system. Growling in spite of himself, Vader realized he would have to quickly dispatch this enemy. The few crewmen who heard Vader cast furtive and nervous glances in his direction before quickly returning attention to their instruments.

Vader knew the risk he faced. It was possible that his own shuttle would be blasted into slag before it reached the target ship. However, somehow Vader suspected his enemy desired to meet him face-to-face. The reason behind his suspicion eluded him, but Vader was still strangely certain. Nevertheless, his shuttle would be flanked by multiple TIE fighters and bombers. His shuttle would also contain a platoon of his own heavily armed and hand-picked stormtroopers, each fanatically loyal to Vader.

Minutes later, Vader's three Star Destroyers were well within optimal heavy turbolaser range, and his shuttle with contingent of TIE spacecraft belched from the hangar, racing toward the ISD Ash.

Vader stepped off of the ramp of his personal shuttle, flanked by his personal stormtroopers. His target was not present, but he did not find that surprising. He knew where to go, and his destiny was clear.