"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 V…
Neotrantor was the name! New Trantor! And when you have said the name you have exhausted at a stroke all the resemblances of the new Trantor to the great original. Two parsecs away, the sun of Old Trantor still shone and the Galaxy's Imperial Capital of the previous century still cut through space in the silent and eternal repetition of its orbit. Men even inhabited Old Trantor. Not many…A hundred million, perhaps, where fifty years before, forty billions had swarmed. The huge, metal world was in jagged splinters. The towering thrusts of the multitowers from the single world-girdling base were torn and empty….Still bearing the original blast-holes and firegut…Shards of the Great Sack of forty years earlier. It was strange that a world which had been the center of a Galaxy for thousands of years…That had ruled limitless space and been home to legislators and rulers whose whims spanned the parsecs…Could die in a month of blood and siege. It was strange that a world which had been untouched through the vast conquering sweeps and retreats of a millennia, and equally untouched by the civil wars and palace revolutions of other millennia, should lie dead at last. It was strange that the Glory of the Galaxy should be a rotting corpse. And pathetic! For centuries would yet pass before the mighty works of fifty generations of humans would decay past use. Only the declining powers of men, themselves, rendered them useless now. The millions left after the billions had died tore up the gleaming metal base of the planet and exposed soil that had not felt the touch of sun in a thousand years. Surrounded by the mechanical perfections of human efforts, encircled by the industrial marvels of mankind freed of the tyranny of environment…They returned to the land. In the huge traffic clearings, wheat and corn grew. In the shadow of the towers, sheep grazed. But Neotrantor existed…An obscure village of a planet drowned in the shadow of mighty Trantor, until a heart-throttled royal family, racing before the fire and flame of the Great Sack sped to it as its last refuge…And held out there, barely, until the roaring wave of rebellion subsided. There it ruled in ghostly splendor over a cadaverous remnant of Imperium. Twenty agricultural worlds were a Galactic Empire!
Dagobert IX, ruler of twenty worlds of refractory squires and sullen peasants, was Emperor of the Galaxy, Lord of the Universe. Dagobert IX had been twenty-five on the bloody day he arrived with his father upon Neotrantor. His eyes and mind were still alive with the glory and the power of the Empire that was. But his son, who might one day be Dagobert X, was born on Neotrantor. Twenty worlds were all he knew.
Yet for all this, the decay, the collapse…The edict of the Emperor was still required to visit old Trantor, at least the few Imperial facilities still personned by those who desperately struggled to maintain the thin, rotted fabric of Empire among its ruins. So that it was necessary for Toran to bring his ship to the NeoTrantor system and for Ebling Mis, whose name was known, if vaguely, even in this backwater, to request audience with His Majesty.
Jord Commason's open air car was the first vehicle of its type on all Neotrantor…And, after all, justly so. It did not end with the fact that Commason was the largest landowner on Neotrantor. It began there. For in earlier days he had been the companion and evil genius of a young crown prince, restive in the dominating grip of a middle-aged emperor. And now he was the companion and still the evil genius of a middle-aged crown prince who hated and dominated an older and increasingly emperor. So Jord Commason, in his air car, which in mother-of-pearl finish and gold-and-lumetron ornamentation needed no coat of arms as owner's identification, surveyed the lands that were his, and the miles of rolling wheat that were his, and the huge threshers and harvesters that were his, and the tenant-farmers and machine-tenders that were his…And considered his problems cautiously. Beside him, his bent and withered chauffeur guided the ship gently through the upper winds and smiled.
Jord Commason spoke to the wind, the air, and the sky, "You remember what I told you, Inchney?"
Inchney's thin gray hair wisped lightly in the wind. His gap-toothed smile widened in its thin-lipped fashion and the vertical wrinkles of his cheeks deepened as though he were keeping an eternal secret from himself. The whisper of his voice whistled between his teeth. "I remember, sire, and I have thought."
"And what have you thought, Inchney?" There was an impatience about the question. Inchney remembered that he had been young and handsome, and a lord on Old Trantor. Inchney remembered that he was a disfigured ancient on Neotrantor, who lived by grace of Squire Jord Commason, and paid for the grace by lending his subtlety on request. He sighed very softly. He whispered again, "Visitors from the Foundation, sire, are a convenient thing to have. Especially, sire, when they come with but a single ship, and but a single fighting man. How welcome they might be."
"Welcome?" said Commason, gloomily. "Perhaps so. But those men are magicians and may be powerful."
"Pugh," muttered Inchney, "The mistiness of distance hides the truth. The other came, the woman, claiming to hold a fine title."
"That is no matter for you to speak on. She is guest of the Crown Prince. You need to know no more."
"I seek to know no more, sire." Inchey noted. "I speak of her merely to note that The Foundation is but worlds. Its citizens are but men. If you blast them, they die."
Inchney held the air car on its course. A river was a winding sparkle below. He whispered, "And is there not a man they speak of now who stirs the worlds of the Periphery?"
Commason was suddenly suspicious. "What do you know of this?" There was no smile on his chauffeur's face.
"Nothing, sire. It was but an idle question."
The squire's hesitation was short. He said, with brutal directness, "Nothing you ask is idle, and your method of acquiring knowledge will have your scrawny neck in a vise yet. But…I have it! This man is called the Mule, and a subject of his had been here some months ago on a…Matter of business. I await another …Now …For its conclusion."
"And these newcomers? They are not the ones you want, perhaps?"
"They lack the identification they should have."
"It has been reported that the Foundation has fallen, its worlds have been captured."
"I did not tell you that."
"It has been so reported," continued Inchney, coolly, "And if that is correct, then these may be refugees from the destruction, and may be held for the Mule's man out of honest friendship."
"Yes?" Commason was uncertain.
"And, sire, since it is well known that the friend of a conqueror is but the last victim, it would be but a measure of honest self-defense. For there are such things as Psychic Probes, and here we have four Foundation brains. There is much about the Foundation it would be useful to know, much even about the Mule. And then the Mule's friendship would be a trifle the less overpowering."
Commason, in the quiet of the upper air, returned with a shiver to his first thought. "But if the Foundation has not fallen. If the reports are lies. It is said that it has been foretold it cannot fall."
"We are past the age of soothsayers, sire."
"And yet if it did not fall, Inchney. Think! If it did not fall. The Mule made me promises, indeed….!" He had gone too far, and backtracked. "That is, he made boasts. But boasts are wind and deeds are hard."
Inchney laughed noiselessly. "Deeds are hard indeed, until begun. One could scarcely find a further fear than a Galaxy-end Foundation."
"There is still the prince," murmured Commason, almost to himself.
"He deals with the Mule also, then, sire?"
Commason could not quite choke down the complacent shift of features. "Not entirely. Not as I do. But he grows wilder, more uncontrollable. A demon is upon him. If I seize these people and he takes them away for his own use…For he does not lack a certain shrewdness…I am not yet ready to quarrel with him." He frowned and his heavy cheeks bent downwards with dislike.
"As he did the Foundation woman, if she is of the Foundation." Inchney noted. "I saw those strangers for a few moments yesterday," said the gray chauffeur, irrelevantly, "and it is a strange woman, that dark one. She walks with the freedom of a man and she is of a startling paleness against the dark luster of hair." There was almost a warmth in the husky whisper of the withered voice, so that Commason turned toward him in sudden surprise.
Inchney continued, "The prince, I think, would not find his shrewdness proof against a reasonable compromise. You could have the rest, if you left him the girl…" Smile on the leathery, ancient face that Commason could see, peering .
A light broke upon Commason, "A thought! Indeed a thought! Inchney, turn back! And, Inchney, if all turns well, we will discuss further this matter of your freedom."
"Thank ye, dear sire." Slight bow of head.
I who was once Lord Inchney of Trantor, who once one like you would feel joy if I so much as smiled upon you in passing, thank you, Inchney thought to himself, smiling.
…
It was with an almost superstitious sense of symbolism that Commason found a Personal Capsule waiting for him in his private study when he returned. It had arrived by a wavelength known to few, one of the only ones allowed to reach NeoTrantor for a privileged few with money and knowledge to use such. Commason smiled a fat smile. The Mule's man was coming and the Foundation had indeed fallen. And there would be the promised rewards for those who understood and accepted the situation.
…
Bayta's misty visions, when she had them, of an Imperial palace, did not jibe with the reality, and inside her, there was a vague sense of disappointment. The room was small, almost plain, almost ordinary. The palace did not even match the mayor's residence back at the Foundation, and Dagobert IX…Bayta had definite ideas of what an emperor ought to look like. He ought not look like somebody's benevolent grandfather. He ought not be thin and faded, in a uniform which clearly had been repaired once or twice….Or serving cups of tea with his own hand in an expressed anxiety for the comfort of his visitors. But so it was. Dagobert IX, former Lord of much of the Galaxy even in the Decline, chuckled as he poured tea into her stiffly outheld cup. "This is a great pleasure for me, my dear. It is a moment away from ceremony and courtiers. I have not had the opportunity for welcoming visitors from my outer provinces for a time now. My son takes care of these details now that I'm older. You haven't met my son? A fine boy. Headstrong, perhaps. But then he's young. Do you care for a flavor capsule? No? Such a dear baby you have there. How old?"
"Nearly four months, Majesty." She replied.
"So young to be traveling in space. But he looks well and strong…Rather like my son at his age."
"And you, child…" he eyed Magnifica who, to the others' surprise gave a dignified curtesy.
"Your Celestial Majesty." She bowed head.
"My…Have you been at Court before, my little one?" he smiled. "You know the manner well."
"A great Lord…Rox of Vargos…Did teach me, Sire. When I came to his care."
"Rox? Our noble Rox?" Dagobert beamed. "What of him, is he gathering his forces?"
"He be well, Sire." She nodded. "He remains most loyal and eager to come to your service but he is ill."
Glance to Bayta…
"Yes, on Trevon, Sire." She noted.
"Well…Tell him to take care of himself, I will be summoning him soon. But you, dear child?" Dagobert regarded Magnifica. "Have you good care for yourself? I see you are ill."
"My Lady and Lord have got me the greatest care, Sire. And I am well."
Toran attempted an interruption, "Your imperial majesty…"
"Yes?"
"Your imperial majesty, it has not been our intention to intrude upon you…"
"Nonsense, there is no intrusion. Tonight there will be the official reception, but until then, we are free. Let's see, where did you say you were from? It seems a long time since we had an official reception. You said you were from the Province of Anacreon?"
"From the Foundation, your imperial majesty!"
"Yes, the Foundation. I remember now. I had it located. It is in the Province of Anacreon. I have never been there. My doctor forbids extensive traveling. I don't recall any recent reports from my viceroy at Anacreon. How are conditions there?" he concluded anxiously.
"Sire," mumbled Toran, "I bring no complaints."
"That is gratifying. I will commend my viceroy."
Toran looked helplessly at Ebling Mis, whose brusque voice rose.
"Sire, we have been told that it will require your permission for us to visit the Imperial University Library on Trantor. A short time ago, another, a minister…Of your viceroy on Anacreon…Came seeking similar permission but we were told she never managed to attend her audience with your Majesty."
"Indeed? A minister from Anacreon? Turned away, you say. It may have been when I was ill a short time ago. I do not remember such a person. Did she return there safely?
"No word has come to us of her." Mis, carefully. "We have come to complete her mission and determine if she reached Your Presence or perhaps returned to Trantor. If Your Majesty could give us…."|
"Trantor?" questioned the emperor, mildly, "Trantor?"
Then a look of puzzled pain crossed his thin face. "Trantor?" he whispered.
"I remember now. I am making plans now to return there with a flood of ships at my back. You shall come with me. Together we will destroy the rebel, Gelmer. Together, we shall restore the empire!" His bent back had straightened. His dark skin, gleaming. His voice had strengthened. For a moment his eyes were hard. His bearing Imperial.
Then, he blinked and said softly, "But Gelmer is dead. I seem to remember—Yes. Yes! Gelmer is dead! Trantor is dead…For a moment, it seemed …Where was it you said you came from?"
Magnifica whispered to Bayta as they kept to the back , "Is this really an emperor? For somehow I thought emperors were greater and wiser than ordinary men."
Bayta motioned her quiet.
She stepped forward, and said, "If your imperial majesty would but sign an order permitting us to go to Trantor, it would avail greatly the common cause."
"To Trantor?" The emperor was blank and uncomprehending.
She thought fast…
"Sire, the Viceroy of Anacreon, in whose name we speak, sends word that Gelmer is yet alive…"
"Alive?! Alive!" thundered Dagobert.
"Where is the traitor? It will be war!"
"Your imperial majesty, it must not yet be known. His whereabouts are uncertain. The viceroy sends us to acquaint you of the fact, and it is only on Trantor that we may find his hiding place. Once discovered…" Bayta paused.
"Yes, yes…He must be found!" The old emperor doddered to the wall and touched the little photocell with a trembling finger. He muttered, after an ineffectual pause,
"My servants do not come. I cannot wait for them." He was scribbling on a blank sheet, and ended with a flourished "D."
He said, "Gelmer will yet learn the power of his emperor! Where was it you came from? Anacreon? What are the conditions there? Is the name of the emperor powerful?"
Bayta took the paper from his loose fingers, "Your imperial majesty is beloved by the people. Your love for them is widely known."
"I shall have to visit my good people of Anacreon, but my doctor says…I don't remember what he says, but—" He looked up, his old gray eyes sharp, "Were you saying something of Gelmer?"
"No, your imperial majesty."
"He shall not advance further. Go back and tell your people that good news! Trantor shall hold! My father leads the fleet now, Lord Rox is at his side with reinforcements, and the rebel vermin Gelmer shall freeze in space with his regicidal rabble." He staggered into a seat and his eyes were blank once more.
"What was I saying?"
Toran rose and bowed low. "Your imperial majesty has been kind to us, but the time allotted us for an audience is over."
"Yes…Ah…"kindly smile. "And I see the child is tired. Well, it has been a pleasure. I shall have inquiries made…About the minister from Anacreon." He rose, nodding.
"Thank you, Sire." Mis nodded.
For a moment again, Dagobert IX looked like an emperor indeed as he rose and stood stiff-backed while, one by one, his visitors retreated backward through the door…To where twenty armed men intervened and locked a circle about them. A hand-weapon flashed…
To Bayta, consciousness returned sluggishly, but without the "Where am I?" sensation. She remembered clearly the odd old man who called himself emperor, and the other men who waited outside. The arthritic tingle in her finger joints indicated a stun pistol. She kept her eyes closed, and listened with painful attention to the voices. There were two of them. One was slow and cautious, with a slyness beneath the surface obsequity. The other was hoarse and thick, almost sodden, and blurted out in viscous spurts. Bayta liked neither. The thick voice was predominant.
Bayta caught the last words, "He will live forever, that old madman. It wearies me. It annoys me. Commason, I will not have it. I grow older, too."
"Your highness, let us first see of what use these people are. It may be we shall have sources of strength other than your father still provides."
The thick voice was lost in a bubbling whisper.
Bayta caught only the phrase "…The girl..." but the other, fawning voice was a nasty, low, running chuckle followed by a comradely, near-patronizing,
"Dagobert, you do not age. They lie who say you are not a youth of twenty."
They laughed together, and Bayta's blood was an icy trickle.
Dagobert…Your highness…The old emperor had spoken of a headstrong son, and the implication of the whispers now beat dully upon her. But such things didn't happen to people in real life….
Toran's voice broke upon her in a slow, hard current of cursing. She opened her eyes, and Toran's, which were upon her, showed open relief.
He said, fiercely, "This banditry will be answered by the emperor. Release us."
It dawned upon Bayta that her wrists and ankles were fastened to wall and floor by a tight attraction field. Thick Voice approached Toran. He was paunchy, loose skin on flabby jowls, his lower eyelids puffed darkly, and his hair was thinning out. There was a gay feather in his peaked hat, and the edging of his doublet was embroidered with silvery metal-foam. He sneered with a heavy amusement. "The emperor? The poor, mad emperor?"
"I have his pass. No subject may hinder our freedom."
"But I am no subject, space-garbage."Annoyed sneer. " I am the regent and crown prince and am to be addressed as such. As for my poor silly father, it amuses him to see visitors occasionally. And we humor him. It tickles his mock-Imperial fancy. But, of course, it has no other meaning."
And then he was before Bayta, and she looked up at him contemptuously. He leaned close and his breath was overpoweringly minted. He said, "Her eyes suit well, Commason—she is even prettier with them open, not like the other. I think she'll do. It will be an exotic dish for a jaded taste, eh?" She realized Commason held Torie in his fat arms.
"Give me my baby!" she screamed.
"What was that? Smash the brat's head on the wall? Oh, that would be messy." The Crown Prince sneered.
"Do not harm him. Great Prince." Magnifica's voice. "Let me take him, please gracious one."
"Oh, give him to you." The Crown Prince smiled. "Well, I am sorry, creature, but you are not quite one to attract my appreciation. Have your mistress ask me, properly."
There was a futile surge upwards on Toran's part, which the crown prince ignored and Bayta felt the iciness travel outward to the skin. Ebling Mis was still out, head lolling weakly upon his chest, but, with a sensation of surprise, Bayta noted that Magnifica's eyes were open, sharply open, as though awake for many minutes. Those large brown eyes swiveled toward Bayta and stared at her out of a doughy face…But somehow her look gave strength.
"My Lady? Tis' but a simple thing…?" she urged.
"Let me have my child…Your Highness." Bayta asked.
"Why, certainly." He signed for her binding to be released and for Commason to hand Torie to her. She taking the baby with desperate grasp.
"Good, now this is more like an Imperial audience." The Crown Prince smiled. "The creature here is your nurse?" he asked Bayta, indicating Magnifica.
"Please to let me take Master Torie, great Prince." Magnifica urged.
"Yes, that is more appropriate. Release the creature as well." He nodded, signing to the guards who released her. She taking Torie gently from Bayta.
Magnifica whimpered, and nodded with her head towards the crown prince, "That one has my Visi-Sonor."
The crown prince turned sharply toward her , "This is yours, monster?" He swung the instrument from his shoulder where it had hung, suspended by its green strap, unnoticed by Bayta. He fingered it clumsily, tried to sound a chord and got nothing for his pains, "Can you play it, monster?"
Magnifica nodded once. Toran said suddenly, "You've rifled a ship of the Foundation. If the emperor will not avenge, the Foundation will."
It was the other, Commason, who answered slowly, sneering. "What Foundation, you lout? Or is the Mule no longer the Mule?" There was no answer to that. The prince's grin showed large uneven teeth.
Mis came to now in his bindings…Eyeing them, taking in the scene.
"Ah, our last guest, Commason." The crown prince eyed Mis. "I have been told you are a great scientist…Or magician. The Mule will consider you a prize worth paying for."
"Where is Flavia?" Mis demanded. "What did you do with her? The Emperor never met her, but she was here. I heard you speaking, of another woman. She was here. Where is she now?"
"Doctor? Is that the title still? Yes." The Crown Prince eyed him mockingly in his bindings. "You see I believe in good manners and proper address but a peasant like you." He nodded to a guard who stuck the bound Mis in the stomach, Mis groaning. "Seems incapable of such."
"Stop that!" Bayta was more startled to realize Magnifica had cried out the same words.
"The great doctor is the finest of men of science power!" Magnifica cried. "Do not harm him …The one speaks only to warn he would be a great loss to you." She supinely noted as the crown prince turned to her angrily. "Pardon, great Prince."
"Silence, you monster! Be glad it is worth my dignity to have even such a female as you struck and send in chains to work the fields, with this young fool." He eyed Toran. "The 'great doctor', Mis? Isn't it, Commasson?" Turning to Commasson.
"Yes, a great scientist of the pitiful Foundation which is no more." Commasson nodded. "The creature is right, though, he may be of value."
"Where is Flavia?!" Mis repeated, struggling to his feet. "I know she was here! What have you done with her?!"
"Well. Commasson?…Shall we be indulgent to our 'subjects' who have, after all, traveled so far to meet the old and the future emperors of the Galaxy." Mocking tone. "Guards! Release our dear 'subjects'. If you move the slightest, they will stun you again and the effects not better repeated. Come, let me now play the gracious host. Come." He waved them on, the guards surrounding. Magnifica staying by Bayta.
…
"You see…" the Crown Prince noted smugly as lights came on in the hall to which he led them and guards. "I have given your friend a place of honor in my collection."
In a transparent tube, against the wall, next to others…Some animals, some plants, some objects, all in tubes, Flavia, erect and tall, eyes closed, dressed in an Imperial gown, hair plied in antique style.
"Flavia…" Mis gasped.
"Yes, a beautiful rose, perfectly preserved by Our physicians. Perhaps the one skill left to Us here in our exile we excel in." the Crown Prince smiled.
"Gods…" Toran stared.
"You monster!" Bayta cried, Magnifica, desperately holding Torie… "No…"
"Bastard!" Mis cried, twisting in his guard's grasp.
"How dare you!" the Crown Prince fumed. "You peasant! I should have my guard run you though but for my father's being aware of your presence. And Our friend Commasson feeling you may be of value. As it is, the woman sought my assistance to access the Library as my father was ill and unavailable. I asked only the pleasure of her company but the fool deigned to refuse me and tried to leave my presence without permission. Unfortunately, she struggled and tried to attack my person when seized, naturally my guard did its duty. But, I have done her the signal honor of preserving her beauty to add to my collection of treasures. She ought to have been grateful I deigned to take notice of her, ridiculous woman. But now she is quite compliant, quite still, and quite modest, though I do hope, if a suitable positronic brain can be obtained in these benighted times, to one day reactivate her body, as my consort. Perhaps you, if you truly are a scientist…"
Mis, breaking a hand free…Was struck in the belly and went down.
"Don't kill him. We may have use of him later." The Crown Prince ordered the guards standing over him. "Be glad I suspect you are indeed a scientist, and of some potential use to me, peasant!" He eyed the groaning Mis, the guards raising him at a sign from him. "And learn to curb your insolence. Or my guards will show you how we deal with rebels and insolent scum! Hold him!" wave of hand.
"You there, take the brat from the monster!" He ordered a guard.
"Give him to me!" Bayta pleaded.
"In due course…First…We must have a court dance." The Crown Prince smirked.
Magnifica released Torie with anxious glance to Bayta who nodded. And fell at a shove from a guard, then she was nudged ungently to her feet. The Visi-Sonor was thrust into her hand.
"Yes. Play for us, monster," said the prince. "Play us a serenade of love and beauty for our foreign lady here. Tell her that my father's country prison is no palace, but that I can take her to one where she can swim in rose water…And know what a prince's love is. Unless she would also care to grace my collection, with her child forever in her arms. Or, at least till the great doctor…" smug look at Mis, securely held…"Can create new positronic brains or find old ones? Yes… Sing of a prince's love, monster." He placed one thick thigh upon a marble table and swung a leg idly, while his fatuous smiling stare swept Bayta into a silent rage.
Toran's sinews strained against the field, in painful, perspiring effort. Ebling Mis stirred and moaned.
Magnifica gasped, "My fingers are of useless stiffness…Pray a moment's leave, great Prince"
"Play, monster!" roared the prince. The lights dimmed at a gesture to Commason and in the dimness he crossed his arms and waited. Magnifica drew her fingers in rapid, rhythmic jumps from end to end of the multikeyed instrument—and a sharp, gliding rainbow of light jumped across the room. A low, soft tone sounded—throbbing, tearful. It lifted in sad laughter, and underneath it there sounded a dull tolling.
The darkness seemed to intensify and grow thick. Music reached Bayta through the muffled folds of invisible blankets. Gleaming light reached her from the depths as though a single candle glowed at the bottom of a pit. Automatically, her eyes strained. The light brightened, but remained blurred. It moved fuzzily, in confused color, and the music was suddenly brassy, evil— flourishing in high crescendo. The light flickered quickly, in swift motion to the wicked rhythm. Something writhed within the light. Something with poisonous metallic scales writhed and yawned. And the music writhed and yawned with it. Bayta struggled with a strange emotion and then caught herself in a mental gasp. Almost, it reminded her of the time in the Time Vault, of those last days on Haven. It was that horrible, cloying, clinging spiderweb of honor and despair. She shrunk beneath it oppressed. The music dinned upon her, laughing horribly, and the writhing terror at the wrong end of the telescope in the small circle of light was lost as she turned feverishly away. Her forehead was wet and cold. The music died.
It must have lasted fifteen minutes, and a vast pleasure at its absence flooded Bayta. Light glared, and Magnifica's face was close to hers, sweaty, wild-eyed, lugubrious. "My lady Bayta," she gasped, "how fare you?"
Torie yet in her arms, somehow insulated from the music…As if he'd been swathed in a blanket. Bayta trembling as she stood.
"Well enough," she whispered, "but why did you play like that?"
She became aware of the others in the room. Toran and Mis were limp and helpless against the wall, but her eyes skimmed over them. There was the prince, lying strangely still at the foot of the table. There was Commason, moaning wildly through an open, drooling mouth. Commason flinched, and yelled mindlessly, as Magnifica took a step toward him. Magnifica turned, and with a leap, turned the others loose. Toran lunged upwards and with eager, taut fists seized the landowner by the neck, "You come with us. We'll want you…To make sure we get to our ship."
…
A few hours later, in the ship's kitchen, Bayta served a walloping homemade pie, and Magnifica celebrated the return to space by attacking it with a magnificent disregard of table manners.
"Good, Magnifica?"
"Um-m-m-m! " cherry filling on her face. She apologetically wiping.
"Magnifica?"
"Yes, my lady?"
"What was it you played back there?"
The girl writhed, "This one…would rather not say. I learned it once, amongst the pirates, and the VisiSonor is of an effect upon the nervous system most profound. Surely, it was an evil thing, played and sang by violent one, and not for your sweet innocence, my lady."
"Oh, now, come, Magnifica. I'm not as innocent as that. Don't flatter so. Did I see anything like what they saw?"
"I hope not. I played it for them only. If you saw, it was but the rim of it…From afar. And I took pains to see it not touch the little one. I would not have risked it but we seemed in desperate straights, my lady."
Mis' entry broke the silence…He refusing a slice of a second pie.
"It's my fault…My fault…" Mis shook head. "I sent her. I killed her. Both of them...I killed them, both."
"Eb…" Bayta patted him.
"I should have killed that bastard before we left. With my bare hands." he trembled.
"It's enough. Do you know Magnifica knocked the prince out?" smile at the girl.
Magnifica spoke grimly through a large, muffling piece of pie. "I killed him, my lady."
"What?"
She swallowed, painfully. "He was dead when I stopped, or I would have continued. I cared not for Commason. His greatest threat was death or torture. But, my lady, this prince looked upon you wickedly, and…" she choked in a mixture of indignation and embarrassment.
" Magnifica?" Ebling eyed the still figure. "It's all right, child. Thank you. Thank you from the bottom of my old heart."
She bowed head. "She do not delight in such things, Lord Dr. Mis. But the one be grateful if it may have eased your heart. I am sure the Lady Flavia was a fine woman."
"Yes…" Mis nodded. "She was…" he bowed head.
Bayta bemusedly patted him again…
…
Ebling Mis stared out the port. Trantor was near. Its metallic shine fearfully bright. Toran was standing there, too. He said with dull bitterness, "We've come for nothing, Ebling. The Mule's man precedes us."
Ebling Mis rubbed his forehead with a hand that seemed shriveled out of its former plumpness. His voice was an abstracted mutter. Toran was annoyed. "I say those people know the Foundation has fallen. I say …"
"Eh?" Mis looked up, puzzled. Then, he placed a gentle hand upon Toran's wrist, in complete oblivion of any previous conversation, "Toran, I … I've been looking at Trantor. Do you know … I have the queerest feeling …Ever since we arrived on Neotrantor. It's an urge, a driving urge that's pushing and pushing inside. Toran, I can do it, I know I can do it. Things are becoming clear in my mind…They have never been so clear."
Toran stared…And shrugged. The words brought him no confidence. He said, tentatively, "Mis?"
"Yes?"
"You didn't see a ship come down on Neotrantor as we left?" Consideration was brief. "No."
"I did. Imagination, I suppose, but it could have been that Filian ship."
"The one with Captain Han Pritcher on it?"
"The one with space knows who upon it. Magnifico's information…It followed us here, Mis."
Ebling Mis said nothing.
Toran said strenuously, "Is there anything wrong with you? Aren't you well?"
Mis's eyes were thoughtful, luminous, and strange. He did not answer.
…