Foundation and Empire 20. Conspirator

The mayors palace what was once the mayors palace was a looming smudge in the darkness. The city was quiet under its conquest and curfew, and the dazed milk of the great Galactic Lens, with present and on that point a lonely star, dominated the sky of the Foundation.In three centuries the Foundation had gr proclaim from a unavowed project of a sm only group of scientists to a tentacular trade empire sprawling deep into the Galaxy and half a year had flung it from its highschool to the status of an different conquered province.Captain Han Pritcher refused to grasp that.The citys sullen nighttime quiet, the darkened palace, intruder-occupied, were symbolic enough, merely Captain Han Pritcher, just inside the prohibiteder(a) gate of the palace, with the diminutive nuclear bomb under his tongue, refused to understand.A shape drifted closer the captain bent his head.The whisper came deathly low, The alarm system is as it always was, captain. motivate It will register nonhing. Softly, the captain ducked through the low archway, and down the fountain-lined path to what had been Indburs garden.Four months ago had been the day in the Time Vault, the well(p)ness of which his memory balked at. one at a time and sepa green goddessely the impressions would come back, unwelcome, mostly at night.Old Seldon speaking his benevolent words that were so shatteringly wrong the jumbled confusion Indbur, with his mayoral costume incongruously bright about his pinched, unconscious face the frightened crowds gathering quickly, waiting noiselessly for the inevitable word of surrender the young gentleman, Toran, disappearing out of a side door with the scuffs clown dangling over his shoulder.And himself, somehow out of it all after struggled, with his car unworkable.Shouldering his way a vast and through the leaderless mob that was already difference the city destination unknown.Making blindly for the various rat holes which were which had once been the headquarte rs for a democratic underground that for eighty years had been failing and dwindling.And the rat holes were empty.The next day, black alien ships were momentarily visible in the sky, sinking gently into the clustered buildings of the nearby city. Captain Han Pritcher felt an accumulation of helplessness and discouragement drown him.He started his transits in earnest.In thirty days he had covered nearly two hundred miles on foot, changed to the clothing of a role player in the hydroponic factories whose body he found refreshfully-dead by the side of the road, grown a fierce beard of russet intensityAnd found what was left-hand(a)over of the underground.The city was Newton, the district a residential one of one-time elegance slowly edging towards squalor, the house an undistinguished member of a row, and the man a small-eyed, big-boned whose knotted fists bulged through his pockets and whose wiry body quelled unbudgingly in the narrow door opening.The captain mumbled, I come fr om Miran.The man returned the gambit, grimly. Miran is early this year.The captain said, No preferably than last year. just now the man did not step aside. He said, Who are you?Arent you Fox?Do you always answer by soliciting?The captain took an unnoticeably longer breath, and because said calmly, I am Han Pritcher, Captain of the Fleet, and member of the Democratic Underground Party. Will you let me in?The Fox stepped aside. He said, My concrete represent is Orum Palley.He held out his hand. The captain took it.The room was well-kept, but not lavish. In one comer stood a decorative book-film projector, which to the captains military eyes energy easily have been a camouflaged blaster of respectable caliber. The projecting lens covered the doorway, and such could be remotely controlled.The Fox followed his bearded guests eyes, and smiled tightly. He said, Yes But only in the days of Indbur and his lackey-hearted vampires. It wouldnt do much against the mule, eh? Nothing would help against the Mule. Are you hungry?The captains jaw muscles tightened beneath his beard, and he nodded.Itll take a minute if you dont mind waiting. The Fox removed sesss from a cupboard and placed two before Captain Pritcher. Keep your finger on it, and break them when theyre fervent enough. My heat-control units out of whack. Things like that remind you on that points a war on or was on, eh?His quick words had a jovial content, but were said in anything but a jovial tone and his eyes were coldly thoughtful. He sat down opposite the captain and said, Therell be nothing but a burn-spot left where youre sitting, if theres anything about you I dont like. Know that?The captain did not answer. The cans before him opened at a pressure.The Fox said, shortly, Stew Sorry, but the food situation is short.I know, said the captain. He ate quickly not looking up.The Fox said, I once saw you. Im trying to remember, and the beard is definitely out of the picture.I havent shaved in thirty days. Then, fiercely, What do you want? I had the correct passwords. I have identification.The other waved a hand, Oh, Ill grant youre Pritcher all right. But there are plenty who have the passwords, and the identifications, and the identities who are with the Mule. Ever hear of Levvaw, eh?Yes.Hes with the Mule.What? He-Yes. He was the man they called No Surrender. The Foxs lips made laughing querys, with neither sound nor humor. Then theres Willig. With the Mule Garre and Noth. With the Mule Why not Pritcher as well, eh? How would I know?The captain merely shook his head.But it doesnt matter, said the Fox, softly. They must have my name, if Noth has gone over so if youre legitimate, youre in more new danger than I am over our acquaintanceship.The captain had finished eating. He leaned back, If you have no organization here, where can I find one? The Foundation may have surrendered, but I havent.So You cant wander forever, captain. Men of the Foundation must have travel permits t o move from town to town these days. You know that? Also identity cards. You have one? Also, all officers of the old Navy have been requested to report to the nighest occupation headquarters. Thats you, eh?Yes. The captains voice was hard. Do you think I run through fear. I was on Kalgan not long after its fall to the Mule. Within a month, not one of the old warlords officers was at large, because they were the natural military leaders of any revolt. Its always been the undergrounds knowledge that no revolution can be sure-fire without the control of at least part of the Navy. The Mule evidently knows it, too.The Fox nodded thoughtfully, Logical enough. The Mule is thorough.I discarded the uniform as soon as I could. I grew the beard. Afterwards there may be a chance that others have taken the same action.Are you married?My wife is dead. I have no children.Youre hostage-immune, then.Yes.You want my advice?If you have any.A dont know what the Mules policy is or what he intends, but arch(prenominal) workers have not been harmed so faraway. recompense rates have gone up. Production of all dissevers of nuclear weapons is booming.Yes? Sounds like a continuing offensive.I dont know. The Mules a subtle son of a drab, and he may merely be soothing the workers into submission. If Seldon couldnt figure him out with all his psychohistory, Im not going to try. But youre wearing work clothes. That suggests something, eh?Im not a skilled worker.Youve had a military course in nucleics, havent you?Certainly.Thats enough. The Nuclear-Field Bearings, Inc., is located here in town. Tell them youve had experience. The stinkers who used to run the factory for Indbur are inactive running it for the Mule. They wont ask questions, as long as they need more workers to sack their fat hunk. Theyll give you an identity card and you can apply for a room in the Corporations housing district. You might start now.In that manner, Captain Han Pritcher of the National Fleet became Shie ld-man Lo Moro of the 45 Shop of Nuclear-Field Bearings, Inc. And from an Intelligence agent, he descended the social scale to conspirator- a calling which led him months later to what had been Indburs private garden, In the garden, Captain Pritcher consulted the radometer in the palm of his hand. The inner warning field was still in operation, and he waited. half(prenominal) an hour remained to the life of the nuclear bomb in his mouth. He rolled it gingerly with his tongue.The radometer died into an ominous darkness and the captain advanced quickly.So far, matters had progressed well.He reflected objectively that the life of the nuclear bomb was his as well that its death was his death and the Mules death.And the grand climacteric of a four-months private war would be reached a war that had passed from flight through a Newton factoryFor two months, Captain Pritcher wore leaden aprons and heavy face shields, till all things military had been frictioned off his outer bearing. He w as a laborer, who collected his pay, spent his evenings in town, and never discussed politics.For two months, he did not see the Fox.And then, one day, a man stumbled historic his bench, and there was a scrap of paper in his pocket. The word Fox was on it. He tossed it into the nuclear chamber, where it vanished in a sightless puff, sending the energy production up a millimicrovolt and turned back to his work.That night he was at the Foxs home, and took a hand in a game of cards with two other men he knew by re chargeation and one by name and face.Over the cards and the passing and repassing tokens, they spoke.The captain said, Its a fundamental error. You live in the exploded past. For eighty years our organization has been waiting for the correct historical moment. Weve been blinded by Seldons psychohistory, one of the first propositions of which is that the individual does not count, does not make history, and that complex social and economic factors override him, make a puppe t out of him. He adjusted his cards carefully, appraised their value and said, as he put out a token. Why not kill the Mule?Well, now, and what good would that do? demanded the man at his left, fiercely.You see, said the captain, discarding two cards, thats the attitude. What is one man out of quadrillions. The Galaxy wont stop rotating because one man dies. But the Mule is not a man, he is a mutant. Already, he had upset Seldons plan, and if youll stop to analyze the implications, it meat that he one man one mutant upset all of Seldons psychohistory. If he had never lived, the Foundation would not have fallen. If he ceased living, it would not remain fallen.Come, the democrats have fought the mayors and the traders for eighty years by connivery. Lets try assassination.How? interposed the Fox, with cold common sense.The captain said, slowly, Ive spent three months of thought on that with no solution. I came here and had it in phoebe bird minutes. He glanced briefly at the man whose broad, pink melon of a face smiled from the place at his right. You were once Mayor Indburs chamberlain. I did not know you were of the underground,Nor I, that you were.Well, then, in your capacity as chamberlain you periodically checked the working of the alarm system of the palace.I did.And the Mule occupies the palace now.So it has been announce though he is a modest conqueror who makes no speeches, proclamations nor public appearances of any sort.Thats an old story, and affects nothing. You, my ex-chamberlain, are all we need.The cards were shown and the Fox collected the stakes. Slowly, he dealt a new hand.The man who had once been chamberlain picked up his cards, singly. Sorry, captain. I checked the alarm system, but it was routine. I know nothing about it.I evaluate that, but your mind carries an eidetic memory of the controls if it can be probed deeply enough with a psychic probe.The chamberlains ruddy face paled suddenly and sagged. The cards in his hand crumpled under sudden fist-pressure, A psychic probe?You neednt worry, said the captain, sharply. I know how to use one. It will not harm you past a few days weakness. And if it did, it is the chance you take and the price you pay. There are some among us, no doubt, who from the controls of the alarm could determine the wavelength combinations. There are some among us who could manufacture a small bomb under time-control and I myself will carry it to the Mule.The men gathered over the table.The captain announced, On a effrontery evening, a riot will start in Terminus City in the neighborhood of the palace. No real fighting. Disturbance then flight. As long as the palace guard is attracted or, at the very least, distracted-From that day for a month the preparations went on, and Captain Han Pritcher of the National Fleet having become conspirator descended further in the social scale and became an assassin.Captain Pritcher, assassin, was in the palace itself, and found himself grimly please d with his psychology. A thorough alarm system outside meant few guards within. In this case, it meant none at all.The floor plan was clear in his mind. He was a blob moving noiselessly up the well-carpeted ramp. At its head, he flatten against the wall and waited.The small closed door of a private room was before him. Behind that door must be the mutant who had beaten the unbeatable. He was early the bomb had ten minutes of life in it.Five of these passed, and still in all the world there was no sound. The Mule had five minutes to live So had Captain Pritcher-He stepped forward on sudden impulse. The plot could no longer fail. When the bomb went, the palace would go with it all the palace. A door between ten yards between was nothing. But he wanted to see the Mule as they died together.In a last, insolent gesture, he thundered upon the door.And it opened and let out the blinding light.Captain Pritcher staggered, then caught himself. The solemn man, standing in the center of t he small room before a suspend fish bowl, looked up mildly.His uniform was a somber black, and as he tapped the bowl in an absent gesture, it bobbed quickly and the feather-finned, orange and vermilion fish within darted wildly.He said, Come in, captainTo the captains quivering tongue the little metal globe beneath was swelling ominously a physical impossibility, the captain knew. But it was in its last minute of life.The uniformed man said, You had better spit out the foolish pellet and free yourself for speech. It wont blast.The minute passed and with a slow, sodden motion the captain bent his head and dropped the silvery globe into his palm. With a furious force it was flung against the wall. It rebounded with a tiny, sharp clangor, gleaming harmlessly as it flew.The uniformed man shrugged. So much for that, then. It would have done you no good in any case, captain. I am not the Mule. You will have to be satisfy with his viceroy.How did you know? muttered the captain, thickly.B lame it on an efficient counter-espionage system. I can name every member of your little gang, every step of their planning-And you let it go this far?Why not? It has been one of my great purposes here to find you and some others. Particularly you. I might have had you some months ago, while you were still a worker at the Newton Bearings Works, but this is much better. If you hadnt suggested the main outlines of the plot yourself, one of my own men would have advanced something of much the same sort for you. The result is quite dramatic, and rather grimly humorous.The captains eyes were hard. I find it so, too. Is it all over now?Just begun. Come, captain, sit down. Let us buy the farm heroics for the fools who are impressed by it. Captain, you are a capable man. According to the information I have, you were the first on the Foundation to recognize the power of the Mule. Since then you have interested yourself, rather daringly, in the Mules early life. You have been one of those wh o carried off his clown, who, incidentally, has not yet been found, and for which there will yet be full payment. Naturally, your ability is recognized and the Mule is not of those who fear the ability of his enemies as long as he can convert it into the ability of a new friend.Is that what youre hedging up to? Oh, noOh, yes It was the purpose of tonights comedy. You are an intelligent man, yet your little conspiracies against die Mule fail humorously. You can scarcely dignify it with the name of conspiracy. Is it part of your military training to waste ships in hopeless actions?One must first admit them to be hopeless.One will, the viceroy assured him, gently. The Mule has conquered the Foundation, It is rapidly being turned into an arsenal for accomplishment of his greater aims.What greater aims?The conquest of the entire Galaxy. The reunion of all the tom worlds into a new Empire. The fulfillment, you dull-witted patriot, of your own Seldons dream seven hundred years before he ho ped to see it. And in the fulfillment, you can help us.I can, undoubtedly. But I wont, undoubtedly.I understand, wakeless the viceroy, that only three of the Independent Trading Worlds yet resist. They will not last much longer. It will be the last of all Foundation forces. You still hold out.Yes.Yet you wont. A voluntary recruit is the, most efficient. But the other kind will do. Unfortunately, the Mule is absent. He leads the fight, as always, against the resisting Traders. But he is in continual contact with us. You will not have to wait long.For what?For your conversion.The Mule, said the captain, frigidly, will find that beyond his ability.But he wont. I was not beyond it. You dont recognize me? Come, you were on Kalgan, so you have seen me. I wore a monocle, a fur-lined scarlet robe, a high-crowned hat-The captain stiffened in dismay. You were the warlord of Kalgan.Yes. And now I am the loyal viceroy of the Mule. You see, he is persuasive.