"Mule..."

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

As she consolidates her new Empire, the First Citizen, Magnifica Gigantica, i.e. Bobo the Clown/Musician is one step away from Galactic conquest. But that step requires the locating and defeat of Seldon's hidden Second Foundation.

Book III: "Foundation and Union..."

Part III…

Two years later…Kalgan Prime…

Two years after the recoronation of Dagobert IX and the re-establishment of the Galactic Empire as the Union of Worlds, politically, the Union is quiet. Economically, it is prosperous. Few would care to exchange the peace of the Mule's steady grip for the chaos that had preceded. On the worlds that now four years previously had known the Foundation, there might be a nostalgic regret among the Unconverted, but no more. The Foundation's leaders were dead or imprisoned where culpable, "retired" and occasionally displayed as propaganda trophies where useless, and Converted, where useful.

Now having briefly greeted his wife, Production Minister Iriana Pritcher, at his landing port on Kalgan Prime, General Pritcher was returning from yet his fifth major expedition into the boundlessness of the Galaxy outside the Union, and it was with something approaching artless joy that the veteran spaceman and Intelligence agent considered his approaching audience with the First Citizen. His hard face, gouged out of a dark, grainless wood that did not seem to be capable of smiling without cracking, didn't show it but outward indications were unnecessary. The Mule could see the emotions within, down to the smallest, much as an ordinary human could see the twitch of an eyebrow.

Pritcher left his air car at the old Imperial vice-regal hangars and entered the palace grounds on foot as was required. He presented a pass at one gate, and entered the Palace complex…Avoiding the lavishly decorated, elegant main entrance, and the crowd about it, waiting to dance attendance on the Emperor within. for the late afternoon reception, he directed his steps towards the vast rear area beyond reserved for offices of the Ministers of the Union.

His footsteps beat softly in his own ears, as the palace reared its gleaming, incredibly light and incredibly strong metallic walls before him in the daring, overblown, rather hectic arches that characterized the architecture of the Late Empire. It brooded strongly over the contrastingly empty grounds of the rear areas, the relatively small buildings containing the Ministerial offices, over the crowded city on the horizon.

Normally, there would have been a bit of fuss and protocol at the Palace entrance with a brief but still, for a man of practical nature like Pritcher, his impatience only amplified by his Conversion and eager desire to serve the First Citizen, tedious audience with the kindly but often vague Emperor Dagobert IX, officially the ruler of the Union and Galactic Emperor by hereditary right. However, thankfully…Although personally Pritcher liked the aged Emperor as most who knew him personally did…That nonsense was delayed by today's official reception of a delegation of various representatives to the New Imperial Congress, established just within the last year, and he would not be required to tend his respects to the Imperial presence in the main Palace until the weekly reception the next day.

Not that Dagobert wasn't reasonably charming and even, thanks to the First Citizen's mentalic support, rather interested in affairs of the Galaxy, but given he was merely a front for the First's actual rule, it seemed a waste of precious time…Or at least, a delay on truly important matters…To spend an afternoon in the tedium of the Imperial Court. Certainly, such things were necessary to give the proper atmosphere of Empire to the Union and encourage both faith in the Union and willingness to accept its growing dominance over the Galaxy, but there were far better uses of a practical man's time.

Including, when possible, spending a bit of time with his relatively new bride and their first child, Marus. Though Iriana, a Converted ex-Foundation official herself, fully understood his desire and need to put his duty to the First ahead of all other matters. Only the First's insistence that her son needed one parent's attention during Pritcher's absence keeping her from her desk full time in these offices herself. Though of course she was a doting new mother and loved her son dearly.

Ironically, it would be the First herself…Her own inherently kind and even generously romantic/sentimental nature, having grown up with no family, no one indeed, herself and so appreciating family ties in others…That might be distressed by his choice this afternoon to put duty before family as well as protocol. But she was anxious to have his report, that much he knew, even if she might mildly chide his familial neglect. He then walked one mile along the arrowed highway toward the ministrial building of the rear complex, which in contrast to the main Palace where Dagobert resided with his courtiers, attendants, and flunkeys, was empty and silent. Pritcher knew that over the square miles of these grounds, there was not one other guard, not one other soldier, not one armed man at all.

After all the First…Still known to most colloquially as the infamous "Mule", had need of no protection.

Pritcher's footsteps beat softly in his own ears, as the palace reared its gleaming, incredibly light and incredibly strong metallic walls before him in the daring, overblown, near¬hectic arches that characterized the architecture of the Late Empire. It brooded strongly over the empty grounds, over the crowded city on the horizon.

Within a small office lost among the Ministerial offices was that of one woman, currently occupied solely by herself, on whose more than human mental attributes depended the new aristocracy, and the whole structure of the Union.

The huge, smooth door to the building swung massively open at the general's approach, and he entered. He stepped on to the wide, sweeping ramp that moved upward under him. He rose swiftly in the noiseless elevator. He stood before the small plain door of the Mule's own room in the highest glitter of the nearby palace spires.

It opened-

Later, in the early evening twilight…

The same, now Captain, Bail Channis, Pritcher had mildly humiliated two years before, was still young, and Bail Channis was Unconverted. That is, in plainer language, his emotional make-up had been unadjusted by the Mule. It remained exactly as it had been formed by the original shape of its heredity and the subsequent modifications of his environment. And that satisfied him, too.

Yet not quite thirty, he was in marvelously good odor in the capital. He was handsome and quick-witted, therefore successful in society. He was intelligent and self-possessed, therefore successful with the Mule, who could appreciate such qualities even among the Unconverted loyal to her. And he was thoroughly pleased at both successes.

And now, for the first time, the Mule had summoned him to personal audience.

His legs carried him down the long, glittering highway that led past the sponge-aluminum spires that had been once the residence of the viceroy of Kalgan, who ruled under the old emperors; and that had been later the residence of the independent Princes of Kalgan, who ruled in their own name; and that was now the residence of the restored Emperor, to the smaller rear buildings among which sat one who ruled over an empire of her own making.

Channis hummed softly to himself. He did not doubt what this was all about. The Second Foundation, naturally! That all-embracing bogey, the mere consideration of which had thrown the Mule back from her policy of limitless expansion into static caution for nearly four years. The official term was "consolidation" and had been somewhat justified by the need to consolidate her hold on the Foundation Federation, the remnants of the old Empire, the states which had freely joined the Union, and of course the recoronation, now two years in the past. But for a man like Channis, whose career and ambition depended on continual expansion, with its chances for glory and advancement, such stagnation was difficult.

Now there were rumors…Well, you couldn't stop rumors. The Mule was to begin the offensive once more. The Mule had discovered the whereabouts of the Second Foundation, and would attack. The Mule had come to an agreement with the Second Foundation and divided the Galaxy. The Mule had decided the Second Foundation did not exist and would now take over all the Galaxy.

No use listing all the varieties one heard in the anterooms. It was not even the first time such rumors had circulated. But now they seemed to have more body in them, and all the free, expansive Souls Who thrived on war, military adventure, and political chaos and withered intimes of stability and stagnant peace were joyful.

Bail Channis was one of these. He did not fear the mysterious Second Foundation. For that matter, he did not fear the First herself, and boasted of it. Some, perhaps, who disapproved of one at once so young and so well-off, waited darkly for the reckoning with the gay ladies' man who employed his wit openly at times at the expense of the First's physical appearance and sequestered life. None dared join him and few dared laugh, but when nothing happened to him, his reputation rose accordingly.

Channis was improvising words to the tune he was humming. Nonsense words with the recurrent refrain: "Second Foundation threatens the Nation and all of Creation."

He stood, in his turn, at the entrance to the building housing the office of the First Citizen, chief Minister to the Emperor, and the actual ruler of the Union.

The huge, smooth door swung massively open at his approach and he entered. He stepped onto the wide, sweeping ramp that moved upward under him. He rose swiftly in the noiseless elevator. He stood before the small plain door of the Mule's own room in the highest glitter of the palace spires.

It opened-

That afternoon…

The woman whose names had been Bobo, Magnifica, and now no other than the Mule, and no title other than First Citizen looked out through the one-way transparency of the wall to the light and lofty city on the horizon.

In the late afternoon's darkening twilight, the stars were emerging, and not one but owed allegiance to her.

She smiled with fleeting bitterness at the thought. The allegiance they owed was to a personality few had ever seen.

She was not a woman to look at, the Mule - not a woman to look at without derision. Not more than one hundred pounds was stretched out into her five-foot-eight length. Her limbs were bony stalks that jutted out of her scrawniness in graceless angularity. And her thin face was nearly drowned out in the prominence of a fleshy beak that thrust three inches outward.

Only her eyes played false with the general farce that was the Mule. In their softness, a strange softness for the Galaxy's greatest conqueror, sadness was never entirely subdued.

In the city was to be found all the gaiety of a luxurious capital on a luxurious world. She might have established herself and her puppet Emperor's capital on the Foundation, the strongest of his nowconquered enemies, but it was far out on the very rim of the Galaxy. Or on Trantor, the old Imperial capital, but it was far to the center of the Galaxy and even more distant than Terminus from the Union's base. Kalgan, more centrally located, with a long tradition as aristocracy's playground, suited her better, strategically.

But in its traditional gaiety, enhanced by unheard of prosperity, unheard of even in Imperial days, she found no peace.

They feared her, obeyed her, and, perhaps, even respected her, from a goodly distance. But who could look at her without contempt? Love her? Show gratitude for the restoration of peace and prosperity …Even the something of a vague form of representative democracy at least in local and provincial affairs, her actions, her conquest had brought? Only those she had Converted. And of what value was their artificial loyalty? It lacked flavor. She might have adopted titles, and enforced ritual and invented elaborations, but even that would have changed nothing. Better, or at least, no worse, to leave such to the Emperor Dagobert…Who, despite his age and vagueness, looked the measure of a Emperor…Though, she reflected with irony, a measure dependent in part at least on her own abilities. And to be simply the First Citizen and to hide herself.

There was a sudden surge of rebellion within her, a strong and brutal welling. Not a portion of the Galaxy must be denied her. For four years she had remained silent and buried here on Kalgan because of the eternal, misty, space-ridden menace of the unseen, unheard, unknown Second Foundation. She was nearly thirty. Not old, but she felt old. Her body, whatever its mutant mental powers, was physically weak.

Every star! Every star she could see - and every star she couldn't see. It must all be hers!

Revenge on all. On a humanity that had always despised her, of which she wasn't a part. On a Galaxy in which she didn't fit.

But then the feeling changed, cooling to her better nature…She had pulled the Galaxy back together. Restored the Empire her nearest thing to one she could call Father, Lord Habeous Rox, had cherished, had spent his life fighting for and dreamed of restoring to glory. In his name and hers, she was fighting for all those who could not speak. All those the so-called great Hari Seldon had ignored and disdained. They did not realize it, perhaps. Did not offer her gratitude or appreciation…But she fought for them, those who suffered like her, but lacking her one unique gift. The gift Seldon had failed to calculate. Though he himself was a ridiculous contradiction to his own vaunted psychohistory, a single individual changing the course of history. She, the despised freak, was the anti-Seldon who would save countless numbers of unknowning, perhaps uncaring, trillions from the death-in-life hideously rigid structure Seldon had hoped to create. A Galaxy ruled by an elite, even less open than the old Imperial aristocracy by merit, a technocratic one limited to those able mentally and lucky enough educationally to master such…And even that secretly ruled over by those trained over the centuries in mentalic power, the true mental elite of the Second Foundation. Crushing those who opposed Seldon's grand scheme, holding the Galaxy in their rigid vise grip.

Some of the Unconverted might secretly cringe in horror at her own control…But it would end with her death and perhaps that of her Converted followers, hers would not be an eternal control. There'd be no "master race" of mentalic superpersons springing from her sterile womb to establish eternal rule. The Galaxy would be free to choose. Perhaps they would choose the blessings of her Union in a democratic Empire, perhaps not. But it would be a free choice, not Seldon's compelled one. He who feared a barbarism, a chaos that might disturb his work and the work of others like him, and so would recreate a forever stable, forever rigid, comfortable Empire for them, but offered little to the average citizen and nothing all at to the destitute and lost. Yet few but the Converted and a very few true followers could see her dream, so many bound up in their near-religious fervor for Seldon, the genius, the Prophet, their guide and magical guardian who would do their thinking for them.

Not even those she had loved, briefly, in her time as Magnifica the clown, Magnifica the fool, Magnifica the musical sensation…She smiled a bit at the thought…Not even Bayta or Toran, the two she had held dear, despite her deceptions. Even they remained her foes in spirit, sure that their Seldon was the only path to follow…As if Seldon's Plan had offered them anything in their time but the weak dictatorship of Ramos III Indbur and his petty cruelties, in his small mind, all contributions to Seldon's glory. Well…

The cool, overhead warning light flickered. She could follow the progress of the man who had entered the office, and simultaneously, as though her mutant sense had been enhanced and sensitized in the lonely twilight, she felt the wash of emotional content touch the fibers of her brain.

She recognized the identity without an effort. It was Pritcher. Captain Pritcher of the one-time Foundation. The Captain Pritcher who had been ignored and passed over, even abused, by the bureaucrats of that decaying government. The Captain Pritcher whose ability she'd recognized, whose job as petty spy she had wiped out, and whom she had lifted from its slime. The Captain Pritcher whom she had made first colonel and then general; whose scope of activity she had made Galaxywide. Whose life she'd made joyful by uniting him with a woman perfectly suited to him, when he'd likely have spent the rest of his life alone, unregarded, uncared, and eventually, unmourned and forgotten.

A man, frankly…She admired. Enjoyed seeing happy, possibly for the first time in his life, at least since his beloved first wife had died…

Could even have loved herself, if life had made it possible.

The now-General Pritcher who was, iron rebel though he began, completely loyal. And yet with all that, not loyal because of benefits gained, not loyal out of gratitude, not loyal as a fair return…But loyal only through the artifice of Conversion.

The Mule was conscious of that strong unalterable surface layer of loyalty and love that colored every swirl and eddy of the emotionality of Han Pritcher. The layer she had herself implanted five years before. Far underneath there were the original traces of stubborn individuality, impatience of rule, idealism - but even she, herself, could scarcely detect them any longer.

The door behind her opened, and she turned. The transparency of the wall faded to opacity, and the purple evening light gave way to the whitely blazing glow of atomic power.

Han Pritcher took the seat indicated. There was neither bowing, nor kneeling nor the use of honorifics in private audiences with the Mule. The Mule was merely "First Citizen", Chief Minister to Dagobert IX.

And to Han Pritcher this was all evidence of the sure and confident power of the woman. He was warmly satified with it.

The Mule, seated, placed head on one cocked hand on arm on desk and said, "Your final report reached me yesterday. I can't deny that I find it somewhat depressing, Pritcher."

The general's eyebrows closed upon each other: "Yes, I imagine so. I'm sorry, First Citizen. There simply is no evidence to be found."

And the Mule considered and then slowly shook her head, as she had done many a time before: "There's the evidence of Ebling Mis. There is always the evidence of Ebling Mis. Ebling said it kept itself secret. Only secrecy can turn its weakness to strength. And surely I myself am proof of that." Wry smile.

"Secrecy as deep as this is past possibility without nonexistence as well." Pritcher noted. "I've no doubt of course, that Second Foundationers exist, scattered throughout the Galaxy. I've met one. But it could well be possible there is no organization, no central location. Seldon may have simply left them scattered and as of now, unable to unite."

The Mule looked up, her large eyes sharp and wary. "No. An organization does exist. They have a center and a plan." A bony finger pointed sharply. "There is going to be a slight change in tactics."

Pritcher frowned. "You plan to leave yourself? I would scarcely advise it."

"No, of course not. You will have to go out once again, I'm sorry to say, but I believe it will be just one last time. Though with another in joint command."

There was a silence, and Pritcher's voice was hard, "Who, Ma'am?"

"There's a young man here in Kalgan. Bail Channis. Do you know him?" she eyed him. "Ah, I see you do."

"Yes, ma'am. I met him two years ago, at the Imperial reception."

"I see."

"But I doubt he's of use in this."

"I believe he is. He's got an agile mind, he's ambitious, and he's not Converted." Hard stare.

Pritcher's long jaw trembled for a bare instant, "I fail to see the advantage in that."

"There is one, Pritcher. You're a resourceful and experienced man. You have given me good service. But you are Converted. Your motivation is simply an enforced and helpless loyalty to myself. When you lost your native motivations, you lost something, some subtle drive, that I cannot possibly replace." She sighed.

"I don't feel that, ma'am," said Pritcher grimly. "I recall myself quite well as I was in the days when I was an enemy of yours. I feel none the inferior."

"Naturally not," and the Mule's mouth twitched into a smile. "Your judgment in this matter is scarcely objective. This Channis, now, is ambitious - for himself. He is completely trustworthy, out of no loyalty but to himself. He knows that it is on my coattails that he rides, and he would do anything to increase my power that the ride might be long and far and that the destination might be glorious. If he goes with you, there is just that added push behind his seeking, that push for himself."

"Then," said Pritcher, still insistent, "why not remove my own Conversion, if you think that will improve me. I can scarcely be mistrusted, now."

"That never, Pritcher. While you are within arm's reach, or blaster reach, of myself, you will remain firmly held in Conversion. If I were to release you this minute, I would be dead the next." She eyed him.

The general's nostrils flared. "I am hurt that you should think so."

"I don't mean to hurt you, Han." Sigh, her sad eyes on him. "Truly. But it is impossible for you to realize what your feelings would be if free to form themselves along the lines of your natural motivation. The human mind resents control. The ordinary human hypnotist cannot hypnotize a person against his will for that reason. I can, because I'm not a hypnotist, and, believe me, the resentment that you cannot show and do not even know you possess is something I wouldn't want to face."

Pritcher's head bowed. Futility wrenched him and left him gray and haggard inside. He said with an effort, "But how can you trust this man. I mean, completely, as you can trust me in my Conversion."

"Well, I suppose I can't entirely. That is why you must go with him. You see, Pritcher," and the Mule buried herself in the large armchair against the soft back of which she looked like an angularly animated toothpick, "if he should stumble on the Second Foundation, if it should occur to him that an arrangement with them might be more profitable than with me…You understand?" arch look.

A profoundly satisfied light blazed in Pritcher's eyes. "That is better, ma'am."

"Exactly. But remember, he must have a free rein as far as possible." She raised a finger.

"Certainly."

"And…Uh…Pritcher? The young man is handsome, pleasant and extremely charming. Don't let him fool you. He's a dangerous and unscrupulous character. Don't get in his way unless you're prepared to meet him properly. That's all."

The Mule was alone again. She let the lights die and the wall before her kicked to transparency again. The sky was purple now, and the city was a smudge of light on the horizon.

What was it all for? And if she were the mistress of all there was - what then? Would it really stop men like Pritcher, from being straight and tall, self-confident, strong? Would Bail Channis lose his looks? Would she herself be other than she was? And when she died…A grim thought she did not shrink from, would it have made any difference? Would her Union even survive?

But she would have her chance. Rox's dream would have its chance. That much she demanded. That much she had fought for. Let the Galaxy choose then and so be it.

She cursed her doubts.

The same cool, overhead warning light flickered. Once again she could easily follow the progress of the man who had entered the palace and, almost against his will, he felt the soft wash of emotional content touch the fibers of his brain.

She recognized the identity without an effort. It was Channis. Here the Mule saw no uniformity, but the primitive diversity of a strong mind, untouched and unmolded except by the manifold disorganizations of the Universe. It writhed in floods and waves. There was caution on the surface, a thin, smoothing effect, but with touches of cynical ribaldry in the hidden eddies of it. And underneath there was the strong flow of self-interest and self-love, with a gush of cruel humor here and there, and a deep, still pool of ambition underlying all.

The Mule knew that she could reach out and dam the current, wrench the pool from its basin and turn it in another course, dry up one flow and begin another. But what of it? To bend Channis' curly head in the profoundest adoration, would that change her own grotesquerie that made her shun the day and love the night, that made her a recluse inside an empire that was unconditionally hers?

The door behind him opened, and she turned. The transparency of the wall faded to opacity, and the darkness gave way to the whitely blazing artifice of atomic power.

Bail Channis sat down lightly and said: "This is a not-quite unexpected honor, ma'am."

The Mule rubbed her proboscis with all four fingers at once and sounded a bit irritable in her response. "Why so, young man?"

"A hunch, I suppose. Unless I want to admit that I've been listening to rumors."

"Rumors? Which one of the several dozen varieties are you referring to?"

"Those that say a renewal of the Galactic Offensive is being planned. It is a hope with me that such is true and that I might play an appropriate part."

"Then you think there is a Second Foundation?"

"Why not? It would make things so much more interesting."

"And you find interest in it as well?"

"Certainly. In the very mystery of it! What better subject could you find for conjecture? The newspaper supplements are full of nothing else lately, which is probably significant. The Cosmos had one of its feature writers compose a weirdie about a world consisting of beings of pure mind…The Second Foundation, you see…Who had developed mental force to energies large enough to compete with any known to physical science. Spaceships could be blasted light-years away, planets could be turned out of their orbits…" wry smile.

"Interesting. Yes. But do you have any notions on the subject? Do you subscribe to this mind-power notion?"

"Galaxy, no! Do you think creatures like that would stay on their own planet? No, ma'am. I think the Second Foundation remains hidden because it is weaker than we think."

"In that case, I can explain myself very easily. How would you like to head an expedition to locate the Second Foundation?"

For a moment Channis seemed caught up by the sudden rush of events at just a little greater speed than he was prepared for. His tongue had apparently skidded to a halt in a lengthening silence.

She said dryly, eyeing him. "Well?"

Channis corrugated his forehead. "Certainly. But where am I to go? Have you any information available?"

"General Pritcher will be with you…"

"Then I'm not to head it?" cautious tone.

"Judge for yourself when I'm done. Listen, you're not of the Foundation. You're a native of Kalgan, aren't you? Yes. Well, then, your knowledge of the Seldon plan may be vague. When the first Galactic Empire was falling, Hari Seldon and a group of psychohistorians, analyzing the future course of history by mathematical tools no longer available in these degenerate times, set up two Foundations, one at each end of the Galaxy, in such a way that the economic and sociological forces that were slowly evolving, would make them serve as foci for his Second Empire. Hari Seldon planned on a thousand years to accomplish that, and it would have taken thirty thousand without the Foundations. But he couldn't count on me. I am a mutant and I am unpredictable by psychohistory which can only deal with the average reactions of numbers. Do you understand?"

"Perfectly, ma'am. But how does that involve me?'

"You'll understand shortly. I intend to unite the Galaxy now and reach Seldon's thousand-year goal in three hundred. One Foundation, the world of physical scientists, is still flourishing, under me. Under the prosperity and order of the Union, the atomic weapons they have developed are capable of dealing with anything in the Galaxy, except perhaps the Second Foundation. So, I must know more about it. General Pritcher is of the definite opinion that it does exist at all, but is completely decentralized. Possibly powerless. I know otherwise. It has organization and it is actively working to undermine our Union."

Channis said delicately "How do you know, ma'am?"

And the Mule's words were suddenly liquid indignation: "Because minds under my control have been interfered with. Delicately! Subtly! But not so subtly that I couldn't notice. And these interferences are increasing, and hitting valuable people at important times, particularly those on the frontiers, the precise point where our expansion would continue. Do you wonder now that a certain discretion has kept me motionless these years?"

"That is your importance. General Pritcher is the best military commander with frontier experience left me, so he is no longer safe. Of course, he does not know that. It's vital he does not so that he remains able to risk. Knowing would compromise him and make him cautious. But you are Unconverted and therefore not instantly detectable as a Mule's man. You may fool the Second Foundation longer than one of my own men would, perhaps just sufficiently longer. Do you understand?"

"Um-m-m. Yes. But pardon me, ma'am, if I question you. How are these people of yours disturbed, so that I might detect change in General Pritcher, in case any occurs. Are they Unconverted again? Do they become disloyal?"

"No." she shook head. "I told you. It's subtle. It's more disturbing than that, because it's harder to detect and sometimes I have to wait before acting, uncertain whether a key man is being normally erratic or has been tampered with. Their loyalty is left intact, but initiative and ingenuity are rubbed out. I'm left with a perfectly normal person, apparently, but one completely useless to my goals. In the last year, six have been so affected. Six of my best." A corner of her mouth lifted. "They're in charge of training bases now, and my most earnest wishes go with them that no emergencies come up for them to decide upon."

"Suppose, ma'am...Suppose it were not the Second Foundation. What if it were another, such as yourself…Another mutant? Surely if one can exist…"

"The planning is too careful, too long range. A single man would be in a greater hurry to overthrow me. No, it is a world, and you are to be my weapon against it."

Channis' eyes shone as he said: "I'm delighted at the chance."

But the Mule caught the sudden emotional upwelling, offering a cool smile. "Yes, apparently it occurs to you, that you will perform a unique service, worthy of a unique reward, perhaps even that of being my successor. Quite possibly so. But there are unique punishments, too, you know. My emotional gymnastics are not confined to the creation of loyalty alone."

And the little smile on her thin lips was grim, as Channis leaped out of his seat in horror.

For just an instant, just one, flashing instant, Channis had felt the pang of an overwhelming grief close over him. It had slammed down with a physical pain that had blackened his mind unbearably, and then lifted. Now nothing was left but the strong wash of anger.

The Mule smiled, "Channis, anger won't help ...Yes, you're covering it up now, aren't you? But I can see it. So just remember, that sort of business can be made more intense and kept up. I've killed men by emotional control, and there's no death crueler."

She paused. "That's all! You'll meet Pritcher and leave in two days. I suggest you settle any affairs." Channis rose, saluted and left.

The Mule was alone again. She again let the lights die and the wall before him kicked to transparency again. The sky was black and the rising body of the Galaxy was spreading its bespanglement across the velvet depths of space.

All that haze of nebula was a mass of stars so numerous that they melted one into the other and left nothing but a cloud of light.

And all to be hers…

And now but one last arrangement to make, and she could sleep. And gather herself for the reception tomorrow. Where she would again play at being one of Dagobert's senior Ministers…An amusing enough game in its way. And Dagobert was a dear fellow in his way, truly pleased at the Restoration, truly concerned, much as he could be, with the good of His…Her, in fact…Subjects. And he played the part of Emperor so well, truly.

And soon his Chief Minister, hers truly, would present His Imperial Celestial Majesty with all the Galaxy…