Foundation

Mallow sat silent, and waited. Then, “What of your sixth son?” he asked softly.

“Eh?” Barr smiled acidly. “He is safe, for he has joined the admiral as a common soldier under an assumed name. He is a gunner in the viceroy’s personal fleet. Oh, no, I see your eyes. He is not an unnatural son. He visits me when he can and gives me what he can. He keeps me alive. And some day, our great and glorious viceroy will grovel to his death, and it will be my son who will be his executioner.”

“And you tell this to a stranger? You endanger your son.”

“No. I help him, by introducing a new enemy. And were I a friend of the viceroy, as I am his enemy, I would tell him to string outer space with ships, clear to the rim of the Galaxy.”

“There are no ships there?”

“Did you find any? Did any space-guards question your entry? With ships few enough, and the bordering provinces filled with their share of intrigue and iniquity, none can be spared to guard the barbarian outer suns. No danger ever threatened us from the broken edge of the Galaxy,—until you came.”

“I? I’m no danger.”

“There will be more after you.”

Mallow shook his head slowly. “I’m not sure I understand you.”

“Listen!” There was a feverish edge to the old man’s voice. “I knew you when you entered. You have a force-shield about your body, or had when I first saw you.”

Doubtful silence, then, “Yes,—I had.”

“Good. That was a flaw, but you didn’t know that. There are some things I know. It’s out of fashion in these decaying times to be a scholar. Events race and flash past and who cannot fight the tide with nuclearblast in hand is swept away, as I was. But I was a scholar, and I know that in all the history of nucleics, no portable force-shield was ever invented. We have force-shields—huge, lumbering powerhouses that will protect a city, or even a ship, but not one, single man.”

“Ah?” Mallow’s underlip thrust out. “And what do you deduce from that?”

“There have been stories percolating through space. They travel strange paths and become distorted with every parsec,—but when I was young there was a small ship of strange men, who did not know our customs and could not tell where they came from. They talked of magicians at the edge of the Galaxy; magicians who glowed in the darkness, who flew unaided through the air, and whom weapons would not touch.

“We laughed. I laughed, too. I forgot it till today. But you glow in the darkness, and I don’t think my blaster, if I had one, would hurt you. Tell me, can you fly through air as you sit there now?”

Mallow said calmly, “I can make nothing of all this.”

Barr smiled. “I’m content with the answer. I do not examine my guests. But if there are magicians; if you are one of them; there may some day be a great influx of them, or you. Perhaps that would be well. Maybe we need new blood.” He muttered soundlessly to himself, then, slowly, “But it works the other way, too. Our new viceroy also dreams, as did our old Wiscard.”

“Also after the Emperor’s crown?”

Barr nodded. “My son hears tales. In the viceroy’s personal entourage, one could scarcely help it. And he tells me of them. Our new viceroy would not refuse the Crown if offered, but he guards his line of retreat. There are stories that, failing Imperial heights, he plans to carve out a new Empire in the Barbarian hinterland. It is said, but I don’t vouch for this, that he has already given one of his daughters as wife to a Kinglet somewhere in the uncharted Periphery.”

“If one listened to every story—”

“I know. There are many more. I’m old and I babble nonsense. But what do you say?” And those sharp, old eyes peered deep.

The trader considered. “I say nothing. But I’d like to ask something. Does Siwenna have nuclear power? Now, wait, I know that it possesses the knowledge of nucleics. I mean, do they have power generators intact, or did the recent sack destroy them?”

“Destroy them? Oh, no. Half a planet would be wiped out before the smallest power station would be touched. They are irreplaceable and the suppliers of the strength of the fleet.” Almost proudly, “We have the largest and best on this side of Trantor itself.”

“Then what would I do first if I wanted to see these generators?”

“Nothing!” replied Barr, decisively. “You couldn’t approach any military center without being shot down instantly. Neither could anyone. Siwenna is still deprived of civic rights.”

“You mean all the power stations are under the military?”

“No. There are the small city stations, the ones supplying power for heating and lighting homes, powering vehicles and so forth. Those are almost as bad. They’re controlled by the tech-men.”

“Who are they?”

“A specialized group which supervises the power plants. The honor is hereditary, the young ones being brought up in the profession as apprentices. Strict sense of duty, honor, and all that. No one but a tech-man could enter a station.”

“I see.”

“I don’t say, though,” added Barr, “that there aren’t cases where tech-men haven’t been bribed. In days when we have nine emperors in fifty years and seven of these are assassinated,—when every space-captain aspires to the usurpation of a viceroyship, and every viceroy to the Imperium, I suppose even a tech-man can fall prey to money. But it would require a good deal, and I have none. Have you?”

“Money? No. But does one always bribe with money?”

“What else, when money buys all else.”

“There is quite enough that money won’t buy. And now if you’ll tell me the nearest city with one of the stations, and how best to get there, I’ll thank you.”

“Wait!” Barr held out his thin hands. “Where do you rush? You come here, but I ask no questions. In the city, where the inhabitants are still called rebels, you would be challenged by the first soldier or guard who heard your accent and saw your clothes.”

He rose and from an obscure corner of an old chest brought out a booklet. “My passport,—forged. I escaped with it.”

He placed it in Mallow’s hand and folded the fingers over it. “The description doesn’t fit, but if you flourish it, the chances are many to one they will not look closely.”

“But you. You’ll be left without one.”

The old exile shrugged cynically. “What of it? And a further caution. Curb your tongue! Your accent is barbarous, your idioms peculiar, and every once in a while you deliver yourself of the most astounding archaisms. The less you speak, the less suspicion you will draw upon yourself. Now I’ll tell you how to get to the city—”

Five minutes later, Mallow was gone.

He returned but once, for a moment, to the old patrician’s house, before leaving it entirely, however. And when Onum Barr stepped into his little garden early the next morning, he found a box at his feet. It contained provisions, concentrated provisions such as one would find aboard ship, and alien in taste and preparation.

But they were good, and lasted long.

11

The tech-man was short, and his skin glistened with well-kept plumpness. His hair was a fringe and his skull shone through pinkly. The rings on his fingers were thick and heavy, his clothes were scented, and he was the first man Mallow had met on the planet who hadn’t looked hungry.

The tech-man’s lips pursed peevishly. “Now, my man, quickly. I have things of great importance waiting for me. You seem a stranger—” He seemed to evaluate Mallow’s definitely un-Siwennese costume and his eyelids were heavy with suspicion.

“I am not of the neighborhood,” said Mallow, calmly, “but the matter is irrelevant. I have had the honor to send you a little gift yesterday—”

The tech-man’s nose lifted. “I received it. An interesting gewgaw. I may have use for it on occasion.”