Foundation and Empire (Page 67)

"I can see that the Mule’s program is an intelligent and worthy one. In the time since I have been – converted, I have followed his career from its start seven years ago. With his mutant mental power, he began by winning over a condottiere and his band. With that – and his power – he won a planet. With that – and his power – he extended his grip until he could tackle the warlord of Kalgan. Each step followed the other logically. With Kalgan in his pocket, he had a first-class fleet, and with that – and his power – he could attack the Foundation.

"The Foundation is the key. It is the greatest area of industrial concentration in the Galaxy, and now that the nuclear techniques of the Foundation are in his hands, he is the actual master of the Galaxy. With those techniques – and his power – he can force the remnants of the Empire to acknowledge his rule, and eventually – with the death of the old emperor, who is mad and not long for this world – to crown him emperor. He will then have the name as well as the fact. With that – and his power – where is the world in the Galaxy that can oppose him?

"In these last seven years, he has established a new Empire. In seven years, in other words, he will have accomplished what all Seldon’s psychohistory could not have done in less than an additional seven hundred. The Galaxy will have peace and order at last.

"And you could not stop it – any more than you could stop a planet’s rush with your shoulders."

A long silence followed Pritcher’s speech. What remained of his tea had grown cold. He emptied his cup, filled it again, and drained it slowly. Toran bit viciously at a thumbnail. Bayta’s face was cold, and distant, and white.

Then Bayta said in a thin voice, "We are not convinced. If the Mule wishes us to be, let him come here and condition us himself. You fought him until the last moment of your conversion, I imagine, didn’t you?"

"I did," said Colonel Pritcher, solemnly.

"Then allow us the same privilege."

Colonel Pritcher arose. With a crisp air of finality, he said, "Then I leave. As I said earlier, my mission at present concerns you in no way. Therefore, I don’t think it will be necessary to report your presence here. That is not too great a kindness. If the Mule wishes you stopped, he no doubt has other men assigned to the job, and you will be stopped. But, for what it is worth, I shall not contribute more than my requirement."

"Thank you," said Bayta faintly.

"As for Magnifico. Where is he? Come out, Magnifico, I won’t hurt you-"

"What about him?" demanded Bayta, with sudden animation.

"Nothing. My instructions make no mention of him, either. I have heard that he is searched for, but the Mule will find him when the time suits him. I shall say nothing. Will you shake hands?"

Bayta shook her head. Toran glared his frustrated contempt.

There was the slightest lowering of the colonel’s iron shoulders. He strode to the door, turned and said:

"One last thing. Don’t think I am not aware of the source of your stubbornness. It is known that you search for the Second Foundation. The Mule, in his time, will take his measures. Nothing will help you – But I knew you in other times; perhaps there is something in my conscience that urged me to this; at any rate, I tried to help you and remove you from the final danger before it was too late. Good-by."

He saluted sharply – and was gone.

Bayta turned to a silent Toran, and whispered, "They even know about the Second Foundation."

In the recesses of the library, Ebling Mis, unaware of all, crouched under the one spark of light amid the murky spaces and mumbled triumphantly to himself.

25. Death Of A Psychologist

After that there were only two weeks left to the life of Ebling Mis.

And in those two weeks, Bayta was with him three times. The first time was on the night after the evening upon which they saw Colonel Pritcher. The second was one week later. And the third was again a week later – on the last day – the day Mis died.

First, there was the night of Colonel Pritcher’s evening, the first hour of which was spent by a stricken pair in a brooding, unmerry merry-go-round.

Bayta said, "Torie, let’s tell Ebling."

Toran said dully, "Think he can help?"

"We’re only two. We’ve got to take some of the weight off. Maybe he can help."

Toran said, "He’s changed. He’s lost weight. He’s a little feathery; a little woolly." His fingers groped in air, metaphorically. "Sometimes, I don’t think he’ll help us muchever. Sometimes, I don’t think anything will help."

"Don’t!" Bayta’s voice caught and escaped a break, "Torie, don’t! When you say that, I think the Mule’s getting us. Let’s tell Ebling, Torie – now!"

Ebling Mis raised his head from the long desk, and bleared at them as they approached. His thinning hair was scuffed up, his lips made sleepy, smacking sounds.

"Eh?" he said. "Someone want me?"

Bayta bent to her knees, "Did we wake you? Shall we leave?"

"Leave? Who is it? Bayta? No, no, stay! Aren’t there chairs? I saw them-" His finger pointed vaguely.

Toran pushed two ahead of him. Bayta sat down and took one of the psychologist’s flaccid hands in hers. "May we talk to you, Doctor?" She rarely used the title.

"Is something wrong?" A little sparkle returned to his abstracted eyes. His sagging cheeks regained a touch of color. "Is something wrong?"

Bayta said, "Captain Pritcher has been here. Let me talk, Torie. You remember Captain Pritcher, Doctor?"

"Yes- Yes-" His fingers pinched his lips and released them. "Tall man. Democrat."

"Yes, he. He’s discovered the Mule’s mutation. He was here, Doctor, and told us."