"Mule…"

Summary: My AU version of the Asimov tale from his collection of Foundation and Second Foundation tales.

Even as civil war threatens the mighty but flawed Foundation, the Galaxy's greatest power since the Fall of the great Galactic Empire, its road to eventual triumph as the reuniting force in the Galaxy yet (supposedly) guaranteed by the quasi-mystical Seldon Plan, a mysterious warlord of a new and rapidly rising power is maneuvering to seize domination of the Galaxy in defiance of Seldon.

Part XV…

"You and your friend seen some action?" a bearded man of husky build and bushy eyebrows eyed Pritcher and Goldan as they sat with their drinks at a table in what passed for one of the ritzier establishments, Charmed Life, a reasonably well-famed den where, drinks, food, and various entertainments, including sex…At of course exorbitant prices…Could be obtained. The owner, Cal (short for Callia) Lacy…Long famed as truly the pirate's pirate, a lady who'd sell her own (even if reasonably beloved) mother if to profit and kill said (even if reasonably beloved) mother if a problem, who'd long ago decided a stable business exploiting pirates was better than the risks of being one.

"He looks a little banged up…" chuckle.

"We've seen action." Pritcher nodded. "Is this enough for you?" Goldan, what was clearly a blaster, trained from a wheelchair arm, aimed at the man.

"No weapons in here…" a waitress, thin and tall, had come over. "Give it here or leave."

"Fine…" Goldan nodded…Taking the blaster with his right hand from its mount and handing it over.

"As for you, Tusker…" the waitress eyed the husky man. "One and only warning…"

"Fine, Lyd." The man shrugged. "I wasn't looking for trouble."

"Neither are we." Pritcher noted. "Just not running from it."

The man shrugged again and headed off…

"Anything else, fellas?" the waitress, eyed them.

"In a bit…But maybe you can connect us, we're looking for a berth." Goldan noted.

"Both of you?" she eyed him and the unit he sat in.

"Don't need legs to fly a ship, sweets." Goldan noted.

"Well, sorry…" she shrugged. "Not my business. Drinks, food, girls or guys…"

"Place to sleep…?" Pritcher suggested.

"That I can arrange…Two thousand standard credits a night for a two bed. Here or within a half-year distance, up to you."

"Here." Pritcher nodded. "Good for you?" he eyed Goldan.

"Overpriced but fine for me." Goldan nodded.

"Here's the contract…How many nights?" the waitress offered a large pad.

"Two nights should be plenty." Pritcher nodded, pressing his pay card into the pad's insert. "And we'll take another drink each."

"Ok…" nod, brush of single long braided hair.

"But if you can spread the word we're interested, we'll be grateful." Pritcher added.

"You don't give up. Ok, I'll…Spread the word." Grin. "Bring you your drinks in a min." The waitress shrugged and headed off.

A holoshow to the front, oddly enough a rather romantic story featuring a hero soldier and a princess, rather than a stripper, or sexual display, attracting surprising attention from the rather rough looking patrons…But, as Goldan noted, you could find a stripper or prostitute anywhere in the rooms here.

"Looking to sign on…?" a swarthy, rather small man had come by.

"We might, if the pay's good." Pritcher noted.

"And you too, friend? What can you offer?" stern look to Goldan.

"Best pilot in the room, handy with a blaster…And always worth my fee."

"Good enough. The Roxia, a converted merchanter. Dock H. Be there by 9 in the morning, we shove off for Halia. Sign you on as ordinaries,, you show us what you can do."

"The job?" Pritcher eyed him.

"Whatever the captain says it is. That a problem?"

"Long as we're clear of the war, no." Pritcher noted. "We had enough of that on our last run, for Kalgan."

"Really? For Kalgan? You in the military line there?" the man eyed them.

"No, they just needed scouts and the captain took the job. Not good." Pritcher shook head. "Too little pay for too much risk."

The waitress returned with two drinks and set them down. Pritcher motioned for her to take an order from their guest, who smiled.

"I hear ya." Nod. "What ship? And make it a double Kelt, girlie."

"The Scoll…Out of Horus."

"I know that ship. Hanson was the captain last I heard, but she's not been back in this sector for months."

"Hanson was captain, till I decided to take it." Pritcher, quietly. "But I made a bad decision when we were running short on supplies near the war zone and took a scouts job. Trev here is the only man besides me the Foundation didn't capture."

Well, not too far off, Pritcher thought. Only the Scoll wasn't on a scouting mission so far as we knew when we took her. And nobody escaped capture.

The waitress dropped off the man's drink which he took in hand, nodding to Pritcher, then Goldan, as he drank…Raising glass… "May your families see many fine dawns."

"A captain, eh? And took it from Hanson?" the man eyed Pritcher as he set down his glass.

"Hanson got himself cut up in a fight, I took over. If you askin' will I do the same to your captain, only if he gets cut up and the ship needs a good man." Pritcher noted. "Janis Gilese." He offered a hand.

"Fair enough." The man took the proffered hand. "You can berth on board tonight if you want to drop the cost of a room…" the man noted.

"Already contracted one…But if we can let it go, sounds good." Pritcher nodded.

"Any time after 8, but remember we shove off at 9, no excuses."

"Sounds fine." Goldan, firmly.

"Good. See you both aboard." The man went off.

Goldan eyeing Pritcher…

"Lets go have a gander at the Roxia…Not sure we'll pass on the room tonight at least, but can't hurt." Pritcher noted casually. Goldan nodding as he finished his drink with a long gulp.

"Lets go."

As they left the chamber and headed to the dock area, a figure came from one of the shadowed supporting pillars to the side…Tusker, the blustering man they'd first met.

"Don't be foolish…" Tusker noted hastily as Goldan eyed him. "I'm here to warn you. Don't get on that ship."

"Oh…" Pritcher eyed him, "Why not?"

"You know why. It's Kalganian. Monitoring for anyone that might be interesting."

"Really? And we're…Interesting?" Pritcher asked.

"You're new, you're interesting. And I'd guess, Foundation intel." Tusker, shrewdly. "I knew the Foundation would send agents here sooner or later. And if I know…"

"Foundation or no…Why would you care?" Goldan eyed him.

"My name's not Tusker, nor is this my old appearance. I used to serve with the old warlord, Keffin, on Kalgan. Rough bird but fair and clever. I was one of his independents, a mercenary, as you like." Tusker sighed. "He sent me off to carry some communiques to the Traders, about a deal with them. When I started back…No Keffin, the Mule was in charge. I didn't care for joining that service and came back here."

"Warlords change like seasons…" Goldan noted.

"Not Keffin…But it was the way they ordered me back I didn't care for. And the way they tried to get me in. And I've seen things, even out here."

"Not getting the meaning, friend." Pritcher eyed him.

"Ole pals who'd never go over to the Mule signed up as officers…One told me it was for the good of the Galaxy I come to Kalgan when I called in for orders and they told me Keffin was out. And when I got here, even here…" Tusker shook head. "Look, I can't be sure you're on the up and up, but you seemed ok and you didn't recognize me. I'm guessing you're Foundation, but it doesn't matter. You go to Kalgan, you'll change. The Mule's got some kind of mind power, maybe a machine. I don't know."

"Seriously…" Goldan eyed him.

"Caty, my girl, born here…From one of the dwarf planetoids here. A great girl, tough and fun, a mercenary like me, with Keffin. When I came into port, in the Kalgan system, after saying I wasn't interested in signing up, just to fuel up, she came out to meet me, all smiles, and in a Union suit. Then when I started to disembark, I heard her calling on compad for Union types to grab me. I just barely broke port and ran here. After two months, I spotted her here, working in a bar. Followed her…She's Kalganian intel now, a captain, spotting good material among the folks here, for the Mule, getting them hauled off to Kalgan, and constantly bringing intel personnel in, a few at a time to take over. She's a Mule's woman." Tusker sighed. "And I'd guess a lot of the folks about are now, including Caly, the owner of this place. I saw her once, it's not the Caly I knew. Lost fifty pounds and talks like she never saw the inside of a brothel, babbling to people about a united Galaxy under the Mule. Mule's woman."

"A Mule's woman?" Pritcher eyed him.

"I don't mean his girl or mistress or whatever. I mean he's got her soul, man. She and my girl belong to him and so do most on Kalgan including most or near all of my old buds. You can believe me or no, but my advice is to stay off that ship and run, far as you can. Farther than the Foundation, if you can. I'm going to."

Goldan eyed Pritcher…Well?

"We need to get the goods on the Mule. I don't say who we are." Pritcher noted. "Give us a name and we'll do what we can for your girl."

"You can't do a thing for her." Tusker said, shaking head. "I darted her one night, managed to get her to a place I know here. Best Psych Probe guy out of the Foundation. He said it was hopeless, her mind's been fully reset and a block's in place. We kept her under and left her in a hallway, she assumed she'd just been robbed. There's nothing you can do, it's permanent."

"A name, Tusker or whoever you are. For her sake." Pritcher noted sternly. "Come on, man."

"Fine…For the good it'll do." Sigh. "Try a guy on Trevlon, the medical facility there…Vargos. He knew the Mule personally, gave him his fleet for his start. I ran into one of his men, here, he told me Vargos was there before I killed him."

"And the Mule…Vargos escaped him?" Pritcher stared.

"Are you kidding? Vargos worships him. He got too sick to run his men anymore and the Mule sent him there as thanks for a job well done. Peaceful retirement."

…

Ebling Mis said, "All right, girl, you said you could pound on one of those gadgets, and there's your chance. You'd better tune it, though. It's out of a museum."

Then, in an aside to Bayta, "Near as I can make it, no one on the Foundation can make it talk right." He leaned closer and said quickly, "The girl won't talk without you. Will you help?" She nodded.

"Good." he nodded. "Mylin?" he called over to the young woman at her desk pad. "Could you give Bayta and me a moment with Magnifica and work in the master bedroom? I'll fill you in later."

"If you need me to, sure." Mylin rose. Mis nodding his thanks, Mylin offering a quick wave to Bayta.

"Her state of fear is fixed, as I told you, almost certainly implanted, and I doubt that her mental strength would stand a deeper Psychic probe. If I'm to get anything out of her, she's got to feel absolutely at ease, which is why I want to keep it just you and me. You understand, Bay?" She nodded again.

"This Visi-Sonor is the first step in the process. She says she can play it; and her reaction now makes it pretty certain that it's one of the great joys of her life. So, whether the playing is good or bad, be interested and appreciative. Then exhibit friendliness and confidence in me. Above all, follow my lead in everything." There was a swift glance at Magnifica, huddled in a corner of the sofa, making rapid adjustments in the interior of the instrument. She was completely absorbed.

Mis said in a conversational tone to Bayta, "Ever hear a Visi-Sonor?" "Once," said Bayta, equally casually, "at a concert of rare instruments. I wasn't impressed." "Well, I doubt that you came across good playing. There are very few really good players. It's not so much that it requires physical co-ordination—a multibank piano requires more, for instance, as it does a certain type of free-wheeling mentality." In a lower voice, "That's why our living skeleton there might be better than we think. More often than not, good players are idiots otherwise. It's one of those queer setups that makes psychology interesting." He added, in a patent effort to manufacture light conversation, "You know how the beblistered thing works? I looked it up for this purpose, and all I've made out so far is that its radiations stimulate the optic center of the brain directly, without ever touching the optic nerve. It's actually the utilization of a sense never met with in ordinary nature. Remarkable, when you come to think of it. What you hear is all right. That's ordinary. Eardrum, cochlea, all that. But —Shh! She's ready. Will you kick that switch. It works better in the dark."

In the darkness, Magnifica was a mere curled blob about the Visi-Sonor, Ebling Mis a heavy-breathing mass. Bayta found herself straining her eyes anxiously, and at first with no effect. There was a thin, reedy quaver in the air, that wavered raggedly up the scale. It hovered, dropped and caught itself, gained in body, and swooped into a booming crash that had the effect of a thunderous split in a veiling curtain. A little globe of pulsing color grew in rhythmic spurts and burst in midair into formless gouts that swirled high and came down as curving streamers in interlacing patterns. They coalesced into little spheres, no two alike in color, and Bayta began discovering things. She noticed that closing her eyes made the color pattern all the clearer; that each little movement of color had its own little pattern of sound; that she could not identify the colors; and, lastly, that the globes were no longer globes but little figures. Little figures, little shifting flames, that danced and flickered in their myriads, figures that dropped out of sight and returned from nowhere; that whipped about one another and coalesced then into a new color. Incongruously, Bayta thought of the little blobs of color that come at night when you close your eyelids till they hurt, and stared patiently. There was the old familiar effect of the marching polka dots of shifting color, of the contracting concentric circles, of the shapeless masses that quiver momentarily. All that, larger, multivaried—and each little dot of color a tiny figure. They darted at her in pairs, and she lifted her hands with a sudden gasp, but they tumbled and for an instant she was the center of a brilliant snowstorm, while cold light slipped off her shoulders and down her arms in a luminous skislide, shooting off her stiff fingers and meeting slowly in a shining midair focus. Beneath it all, the sound of a hundred instruments flowed in liquid streams until she could not tell it from the light. She wondered if Ebling Mis were seeing the same thing, and if not, what he did see. The wonder passed, and then, she was watching again. The little figures, were they little figures? Little tiny women with burning hair that turned and bent too quickly for the mind to focus, seized one another in star-shaped groups that turned, and then the music was faint laughter, girls' laughter that began inside the ear. The stars drew together, sparked toward one another, grew slowly into structure, and from below, a palace shot upward in rapid evolution. Each brick a tiny color, each color a tiny spark, each spark a stabbing light that shifted patterns and led the eye skyward to twenty jeweled minarets. A glittering carpet shot out and about, whirling, spinning an insubstantial web that engulfed all space, and from it luminous shoots stabbed upward and branched into trees that sang with a music all their own. Bayta sat enclosed in it. The music welled about her in rapid, lyrical flights. She reached out to touch a fragile tree and blossoming spicules floated downwards and faded, each with its clear, tiny tinkle. The music crashed in twenty cymbals, and before her an area flamed up in a spout and cascaded down invisible steps into Bayta's lap, where it spilled over and flowed in rapid current, raising the fiery sparkle to her waist, while across her lap was a rainbow bridge and upon it the little figures-A palace, and a garden, and tiny men and women on a bridge, stretching out as far as she could see, swimming through the stately swells of stringed music converging in upon her. And then, there seemed a frightened pause, a hesitant, indrawn motion, a swift collapse. The colors fled, spun into a globe that shrank, and rose, and disappeared. And it was merely dark again.

And then the light flooded in, before the happy light of Terminus' sun…Now merely flat light of a dull quality, nothing like the lights before.

Bayta blinked until the tears came, as though for the longing of what was gone. Ebling Mis was a podgy inertness with his eyes still round and his mouth still open. Only Magnifica herself was alive, and she fondled his Visi-Sonor in a crooning ecstasy.

"My lady," she gasped, "it is indeed of an effect the most magical. It is of balance and response almost beyond hope in its delicacy and stability. On this, it would seem I could work wonders. How liked you my composition, my lady?" she nervously regarded Bayta.

"Was it yours?" breathed Bayta. "Your own?"

At her awe, Magnifica's thin face glowed to the tip of her rather mighty nose. "My very own, my lady. The Mule liked it not, but often and often I have played it for my own amusement. It was once, in my youth, that I saw the palace, a gigantic place of jeweled riches that I saw from a distance at a time of high carnival. There were people of a splendor undreamed of, magnificence more than ever I saw afterwards, even in the Mule's service. It is but a poor makeshift I have created, but my mind's poverty precludes more. I call it 'The Memory of Heaven.' " She beamed.

Now through the midst of the chatter, Mis shook himself to active life. "Here," he said, "here, Magnifica, girl, would you like to do that same thing for others?" For a moment, the clown drew back. "For others?" she quavered. "I…This one could not…For others? Tis but a simple piece for my amusement and that of friends."

"For thousands," cried Mis, "in the great Halls of the Foundation. Would you like to be your own mistress, and honored by all, wealthy, and . . . and…" his imagination failed him. "And all that? Eh? What do you say?"

"But how may I be all that, mighty sir, for indeed I am but a poor one, ungiven to the great things of the world?" She gasped, looking to Bayta.

The psychologist puffed out his lips, and passed the back of his hand across his brow. He said, "But your playing, girl. The world is yours if you would play so for the mayor and his Trading trusts. Wouldn't you like that?"

Magnifica glanced briefly at Bayta, "Would she…My friends…Would they stay with me?" Bayta laughed, "Of course, silly. Would it be likely that we'd leave you now that you're on the point of becoming rich and famous?"

"It would all be yours," she replied earnestly, "and surely the wealth of Galaxy itself would be yours and Lord Toran's before I could repay my debt to your kindnesses."

"But," said Mis, casually, "if you would first help me…"

"I would do all can, great Lord." She nodded earnestly. "I have tried."

"Yes, but I just wish to ask a few questions…With a very light probe attached to gauge your reactions."

"Another…Probe…?" she trembled.

"Not like the others." Mis insisted. "This will be very light, just to gauge your responses and see if we can come up with anything you might not realize you know."

The girl cringed a bit, but Bayta came to take her hand. "It won't be like the Probe, Magnifica. And I'll be here, with you."

Mis sighing impatiently…

"If you will still hold my hand, milady?" Magnifica, anxiously.

…