"Mule…"
Summary: My AU version of the Asimov tale from his collection of Foundation and Second Foundation tales. The Foundation has fallen to the mysterious Galactic conqueror, the Mule but the small band lead by the brilliant Ebling Mis seek to find Seldon's mythical Second Foundation and ally with them to destroy the Mule.
Book II: "The Search…"
Part III…
Haven was under what both the moderately triumphant sounding, though surprisingly straight-forward Union of Worlds holobroadcasts and the increasingly grim Haven global nightly and now heavily censored communiqués reported as a "tight siege". But in the vast volume of space no navy ever in existence could cover every possible hyperroute about even a single planet, let alone a star system, so that a single ship, with skilled pilot, and a degree of luck couldn't find a hole to successfully run a blockade. And Toran Dartell was an excellent pilot, whose recent war experience had only honed his skills. He calmly drove the Bayta from the dangerous vicinity of one star to another, for if the concentration of mass of such stars would make interstellar jumps erratic and difficult, it made the enemy detection of their jumps impossible or nearly so.
Once through that blockade, they'd passed the blockade of subspace which had allowed only the transmission in of Union propanganda, duly celebrating the war, growing control over the Foundation, or, for the first time earnestly speaking of the reunification of the Galaxy. Now, at last, for the first time in over three months Toran, listening to outer Galactic broadcasts from beyond Union space felt unisolated. For the first time in months, there was something other than news of the war and the defeat, even triviality, light holoshows, celebrity gossip...After a steady diet of grim calls for desperate resistance or calm recitings of victory, such were not only a relief, but real proof there was yet a Galaxy beyond the Mule's control.
A week passed. It was a week in which Toran's armored trading ship fled inward toward the greater Galaxy from the Periphery in hasty jumps. But that morning, a week from the day they'd escaped the last of the Union space, Ebling Mis called out to the pilot room and Toran rose blink-eyed from his charts.
"What's the matter?"
He stepped down into the small central chamber which Bayta had inevitably devised into a living room.
Mis shook his head, "Bescuppered if I know. The Mule's newsmen are announcing a special bulletin. Thought you might want to get in on it."
"Might as well. Where's Bayta?"
"Setting the table in the diner and picking out a menu…or some such frippery."
Toran sat down upon the cot that served as Magnifica's bed…She having insisted on turning her own room previous into little Torie's nursery, and waited. The propaganda routine of the Mule's "special bulletins" were monotonously similar. First the martial music, and then the buttery slickness of the announcer. Minor news items would come, following one another in patient lockstep. Production increases, population figures, a report or two on the increasing pacification of conquered systems, occasionally on a quiet day, an interview with some citizen or former (often still current) official or a former officer of the conquered state's forces agreeing that the reunification of the Galaxy was a noble goal or at the very least that they were finding the rule of the Union quite less oppressive than expected. And that it was true many were allowed to return to more or less normal lives in peace. Then the pause. Then the trumpets and the rising excitement and the climax. Toran endured it. Mis muttered to himself. The newscaster spilled out, in conventional war-correspondent phraseology, the unctuous words that translated into sound the molten metal and blasted flesh of a battle in space. "Rapid cruiser squadrons under Lieutenant General Sammin hit back hard today at a task force striking out from Iss…"
The carefully expressionless face of the speaker upon the screen faded into the blackness of a space cut through by the quick swaths of ships reeling across emptiness in deadly battle. The voice continued through the soundless lightening and quiet explosions in space… "The most striking action of the battle was the subsidiary combat of the heavy cruiser Cluster against three enemy ships of the 'Nova' class…"
The screen's view veered and closed in. A great ship sparked and one of the frantic attackers glowed angrily, twisted out of focus, swung back and rammed. The Cluster bowed wildly and survived the glancing blow that drove the attacker off in twisting reflection. The newsman's smooth unimpassioned delivery continued to the last blow and the last hulk. Then a pause, and a large similar voice-and-holoimage of the fight off the Mnemon atmosphere, to which the novelty was added of a lengthy description of a hit-and-run landing …The picture of a blasted city…Huddled and weary prisoners..And ships blasting off again. Mnemon had not long to live.
The pause again…And this time the raucous sound of the expected brasses. The screen faded into the long, impressively soldier-lined corridor up which the government spokesman in councilor's uniform strode quickly to reach a podium. The silence was oppressive. The voice that came at last was solemn, slow and hard: "By order of our sovereign, First Citizen of our Union, it is announced that the planet Haven, hitherto in warlike opposition, has submitted to the acceptance of defeat and accepted surrender terms. At this moment, the forces of our sovereign are occupying the planet. Opposition was scattered, unco-ordinated, and speedily crushed." The scene faded out, the original newsman returned to state importantly that other developments would be transmitted as they occurred. Then there was dance music, and Ebling Mis threw the shield that cut the power. Toran rose and walked unsteadily away, without a word. The psychologist made no move to stop him.
When Bayta stepped out of the kitchen to question, Mis motioned silence. He said, "They've taken Haven." And Bayta said, "Already?" Her eyes were round, and sick with disbelief.
"Without a fight. Without an unprin…" He stopped and swallowed. "You'd better leave Toran alone. It's not pleasant for him. Suppose we eat without him this once."
Bayta looked once toward the pilot room, then turned hopelessly. "Very well!" Magnifica, cooing to Torie in her strange, stick-figure arms, sat unnoticed at the table. On hearing Mis' grim words, she neither spoke nor ate but stared ahead with a concentrated fear that seemed to drain all the vitality out of her thread of a body.
"Eat up, sweetheart." Bayta absently urged as she set down plates of steaming food.
Ebling Mis pushed absently at his iced-fruit dessert and said, harshly, "Two Trading worlds fight. They fight, and bleed, and die and don't surrender. Only at Haven…Just as at the Foundation…"
"But why? Why?" The psychologist shook his head. "It's of a piece with all the problem. Every queer facet is a hint at the nature of the Mule. First, the problem of how he could conquer the Foundation, thousands of systems with little blood, and at a single blow essentially…While the Independent Trading Worlds held out. The blanket on nuclear reactions was a puny weapon…We've discussed that back and forth till I'm sick of it…And it did not work on any but the Foundation after the first attacks."
"Randu suggested," and Ebling's grizzly eyebrows pulled together, "it might have been a device, a radiant Will-Depresser. It's what might have done the work on Haven. But then why wasn't it used on Mnemon and Iss…Which even now fight with such demonic intensity that it is taking half the Foundation fleet in addition to the Mule's forces to beat them down. Yes, I recognized Foundation ships in the attack."
Bayta whispered, "The Foundation, then Haven. Disaster seems to follow us, without touching. We always seem to get out by a hair. Will it last forever?"
Ebling Mis was not listening. To himself, he was making a point. "But there's another problem…Another problem. Bayta, you remember the news item that the Mule's clown was not found on Terminus; that it was suspected he had fled to Haven, or been carried there by his original kidnapers. There is yet an importance attached to him, Bayta, that doesn't fade, and we have not located it yet. Magnifica must know something that is fatal to the Mule. I'm sure of it."
Magnifica, anxious and stuttering, protested, "Sir….Noble lord doctor …Indeed, I swear it is past my poor reckoning to penetrate your wants. I have told what I know to the utter limits, and with your probe, you have drawn out of my meager wit that which I knew, but knew not that I knew."
"I know …I know. It is something small. A hint so small that neither you nor I recognize it for what it is, my girl. Yet I must find it…For Mnemon and Iss will go soon, and when they do, we are the last remnants, the last droplets of the independent Foundation."
…
Han Pritcher had to admit, he been treated with far more consideration, in the last two weeks, then during all his weeks of captivity under Indbur's government. His room was in fact a room in Viceroy Keffin's, formerly Indbur's palace and quite comfortable. He was allowed, under guard of course, a chance to stroll about. Harla and when matters allowed, the Viceroy were pleasant dinner companions, neither pressing him on the virtues of galactic reunification, gloating in victory, nor trying to fully ignore the war. Their talk was wide-ranging, pleasant, and avoided all mention of the Mule, except a very rare need of the Viceroy to mention matters of import to Harla, now Head of Security for the Foundation provinces in which he sparingly referred to "the First Citizen" and his wishes. But Pritcher could feel the blow was coming…Though he did his best to keep his speculations to simple analysis.
Clearly something was delaying the conversion. That meant there was no device that could be transported from place to place involved. No, the Mule himself had to be there. And the Mule, for whatever reason, was not free to join them.
What a pity the fellow couldn't relish his conquest, though who knew, as he tentatively put it jokingly to Harla one evening as they ate alone…Perhaps the fellow was on vacation, touring his new conquests.
"Not exactly. I'm sorry if it's worrying you, Han. We've no wish to cause you anxiety. It won't be much longer."
"I know you've tried to be as kind about things as you can, Harla." He nodded.
"Thanks. I regret losing Herve Lida and Herve Goldan, Han. You ought to know Goldan died bravely, and I attended services for them both, on Kalgan. We gave them full military honors." She eyed him.
"Thank you. They deserved it. I don't suppose there's the slightest chance I could opt for the same?"
"Han…" she sighed. "It's not death. It's a chance to do great things for the Galaxy."
"Would you honestly feel that way, if you were free of the Mule?" he eyed her.
"Probably not. But I wouldn't understand." She noted.
"Thanks for being honest with me."
…
And two days later, she came to him in his room…
"I'm afraid it's time to say good-bye, Han."
"For me…Or you."
"You…You'll be meeting the Mule. He's arranged it."
Try, Pritcher thought. There's always a little hope, a chance. To kill the fellow or die trying.
"You'll be under guard at all times." She eyed him, sensing his thoughts. "You'll try something foolish I know but we'll be prepared for it, believe me." Two calm but quite effective looking guards at her side regarded him.
"Before you go…The Viceroy wants to tell you he salutes you as a brave man and welcomes you as a colleague. I do too, Han." She nodded.
"And perhaps, if after your conversion, you might care to one day meet again…" she smiled. "We're free in our personal relationships as you'll see."
"The Mule sounds like a generous boss…" Pritcher sighed. "I can't say right now but who knows, maybe I'll consider it, so long as it really is voluntary, Harla."
"It is." She beamed. "And to prove to you that the First is not a ruthless monster…" she waved to the rear of the hallway behind her and a door opened, two more guards leading a figure in, to Harla and Pritcher. The figure in civilian clothes, subdued.
"Pritcher…" the ghostly figure eyed him.
Pritcher stared, an involuntary gasp. "Mayor Indbur…"
"They've executed Colonel Mora. Major Ota was sentenced to life in the mines." Indbur shook head slowly. "They were only following my orders, Pritcher. It's my fault."
"Mr. Mayor…" Major Mallow, gently cutting in. "I've explained it to you. It was simple justice. Ota and Mora were corrupt, and he and Mora used their Security positions during their time to deliberately frame two of their superiors and Mora persuaded you to execute them, via lies, to rise in rank. Both abused their positions, framed and abused innocent men and women, took and demanded bribes. I was one of those Mora abused sexually. I kept quiet and stayed on in my post only for the sake of the Opposition." She eyed Pritcher. "You needed me."
"I didn't know." Pritcher eyed her. "I'm sorry, Harla." He sighed.
"They keep me alive to tell the people…" Indbur began. "Pritcher? I had to surrender. The fleet was defeated. We had no defenses. To save trillions of lives, you know that. I had to." Pleading look on the desperate face.
"Yes, Excellency. I know. And you did." Pritcher replied. Indbur, a grateful look.
"Mr. Mayor? I have to speak to Captain Pritcher." Mallow told him.
"May I be dismissed, sir?" Pritcher came to attention. Indbur staring…
"Uh, yes…Dismissed, Captain Pritcher." He nodded. The guards leading him away.
"That was kind, Han." Major Mallow eyed him. "You always were. I admired that you could be so good an operative, so tough, yet so kind."
"I'm sorry for what the Mule did to you, Harla. And what Mora did. But can't you fight it?" Pritcher eyed her.
"No. And I don't think I'd want to, all-in-all, Han. I've got what I wanted. What we all wanted. The Indburs are over, the Foundation is part of a new and better Galactic Empire. The First Citizen intends to rule democratically, you know?"
"With all the representatives firmly under his mind control, naturally." Pritcher noted.
"For as long as the First lives, Han. Would you prefer they be under an Indbur? Another Cleon clone? The Second Foundation's mind control? Forever?" she asked, calmly. "Yes, the Mule knows about the Second Foundation and knows they have power similar. But not equal or they'd've stopped us."
"Maybe they are working to stop him now…Or they're using him, for the Plan."
"Han. The Seldon Plan is broken, for good. And we both always suspected it might be better to break the Plan. It's true the Mule controls via mentalics but once…" Catch in her throat…Eyes misting. "Well, once the First Citizen cannot control us anymore, the Galaxy will be free to choose, not rigidly controlled by Seldon and his plan and the elites he meant to leave in charge, forever. Perhaps we'll choose the Union and continue as a united, free Galaxy, perhaps not. But the heavy hand of Seldon will be lifted."
"For good or evil, Harla?" Pritcher sighed.
"In a short time…As Viceroy Keffin told you…You'll believe, quite firmly, for good, Han." Harla eyed him. "Please don't struggle, it's pointless. And a man like you would prefer to be conscious through the process, I'm sure."
"When?" Pritcher eyed her.
"Very soon. Bring him along." She ordered the two guards holding him. "You two follow." She waved two more forward. "If he resists, stun him."
"I'll try to believe you regret this, somewhere within you, Harla." Pritcher told her quietly.
"Thank you." She nodded.
…