Foundation

independence and power of the secular monarchs. And if that wasn’t enough, the case of Askone two decades back made it plain enough. There isn’t a ruler in the Periphery now that wouldn’t sooner cut his own throat than let a priest of the Foundation enter the territory.

“I don’t propose to force Korell or any other world to accept something I know they don’t want. No, Sutt. If nuclear power makes them dangerous, a sincere friendship through trade will be many times better than an insecure overlordship, based on the hated supremacy of a foreign spiritual power, which, once it weakens ever so slightly, can only fall entirely and leave nothing substantial behind except an immortal fear and hate.”

Sutt said cynically, “Very nicely put. So, to get back to the original point of discussion, what are your terms? What do you require to exchange your ideas for mine?”

“You think my convictions are for sale?”

“Why not?” came the cold response. “Isn’t that your business, buying and selling?”

“Only at a profit,” said Mallow, unoffended. “Can you offer me more than I’m getting as is?”

“You could have three-quarters of your trade profits, rather than half.”

Mallow laughed shortly. “A fine offer. The whole of the trade on your terms would fall far below a tenth share on mine. Try harder than that.”

“You could have a council seat.”

“I’ll have that anyway, without and despite you.”

With a sudden movement, Sutt clenched his fist. “You could also save yourself a prison term. Of twenty years, if I have my way. Count the profit in that.”

“No profit at all, but can you fulfill such a threat?”

“How about a trial for murder?”

“Whose murder?” asked Mallow, contemptuously.

Sutt’s voice was harsh now, though no louder than before. “The murder of an Anacreonian priest, in the service of the Foundation.”

“Is that so now? And what’s your evidence?”

The secretary to the mayor leaned forward. “Mallow, I’m not bluffing. The preliminaries are over. I have only to sign one final paper and the case of the Foundation versus Hober Mallow, Master Trader, is begun. You abandoned a subject of the Foundation to torture and death at the hands of an alien mob, Mallow, and you have only five seconds to prevent the punishment due you. For myself, I’d rather you decided to bluff it out. You’d be safer as a destroyed enemy, than as a doubtfully converted friend.”

Mallow said solemnly, “You have your wish.”

“Good!” and the secretary smiled savagely. “It was the mayor who wished the preliminary attempt at compromise, not I. Witness that I did not try too hard.”

The door opened before him, and he left.

Mallow looked up as Ankor Jael re-entered the room.

Mallow said, “Did you hear him?”

The politician flopped to the floor. “I never heard him as angry as that, since I’ve known the snake.”

“All right. What do you make of it?”

“Well, I’ll tell you. A foreign policy of domination through spiritual means is his idee fixe, but it’s my notion that his ultimate aims aren’t spiritual. I was fired out of the Cabinet for arguing on the same issue, as I needn’t tell you.”

“You needn’t. And what are those unspiritual aims according to your notion?”

Jael grew serious. “Well, he’s not stupid, so he must see the bankruptcy of our religious policy, which has hardly made a single conquest for us in seventy years. He’s obviously using it for purposes of his own.

“Now any dogma, primarily based on faith and emotionalism, is a dangerous weapon to use on others, since it is almost impossible to guarantee that the weapon will never be turned on the user. For a hundred years now, we’ve supported a ritual and mythology that is becoming more and more venerable, traditional—and immovable. In some ways, it isn’t under our control any more.”

“In what ways?” demanded Mallow. “Don’t stop. I want your thoughts.”

“Well, suppose one man, one ambitious man, uses the force of religion against us, rather than for us.”

“You mean Sutt—”

“You’re right. I mean Sutt. Listen, man, if he could mobilize the various hierarchies on the subject planets against the Foundation in the name of orthodoxy, what chance would we stand? By planting himself at the head of the standards of the pious, he could make war on heresy, as represented by you, for instance, and make himself king eventually. After all, it was Hardin who said: ‘A nuclear blaster is a good weapon, but it can point both ways.’? ”

Mallow slapped his bare thigh. “All right, Jael, then get me in that council, and I’ll fight him.”

Jael paused, then said significantly, “Maybe not. What was all that about having a priest lynched? It isn’t true, is it?”

“It’s true enough,” Mallow said, carelessly.

Jael whistled. “Has he definite proof?”

“He should have.” Mallow hesitated, then added, “Jaim Twer was his man from the beginning, though neither of them knew that I knew that. And Jaim Twer was an eyewitness.”

Jael shook his head. “Uh-uh. That’s bad.”

“Bad? What’s bad about it? That priest was illegally upon the planet by the Foundation’s own laws. He was obviously used by the Korellian government as a bait, whether involuntary or not. By all the laws of common sense, I had no choice but one action—and that action was strictly within the law. If he brings me to trial, he’ll do nothing but make a prime fool of himself.”

And Jael shook his head again. “No, Mallow, you’ve missed it. I told you he played dirty. He’s not out to convict you; he knows he can’t do that. But he is out to ruin your standing with the people. You heard what he said. Custom is higher than law, at times. You could walk out of the trial scot-free, but if the people think you threw a priest to the dogs, your popularity is gone.

“They’ll admit you did the legal thing, even the sensible thing. But just the same you’ll have been, in their eyes, a cowardly dog, an unfeeling brute, a hard-hearted monster. And you would never get elected to the council. You might even lose your rating as Master Trader by having your citizenship voted away from you. You’re not native born, you know. What more do you think Sutt can want?”

Mallow frowned stubbornly. “So!”

“My boy,” said Jael. “I’ll stand by you, but I can’t help. You’re on the spot,—dead center.”

14

The council chamber was full in a very literal sense on the fourth day of the trial of Hober Mallow, Master Trader. The only councilman absent was feebly cursing the fractured skull that had bedridden him. The galleries were filled to the aisleways and ceilings with those few of the crowd who by influence, wealth, or sheer diabolic perseverance had managed to get in. The rest filled the square outside, in swarming knots about the open-air trimensional ’visors.

Ankor Jael made his way into the chamber with the near-futile aid and exertions of the police department, and then through the scarcely smaller confusion within to Hober Mallow’s seat.

Mallow turned with relief. “By Seldon, you cut it thin. Have you got it?”

“Here, take it,” said Jael. “It’s everything you asked for.”

“Good. How are they taking it outside?”

“They’re wild clear through.” Jael stirred uneasily. “You should never have allowed public hearings. You could have stopped them.”

“I didn’t want to.”

“There’s lynch talk. And Publis Manlio’s men on the outer planets—”

“I wanted to ask you about that, Jael. He’s stirring up the Hierarchy against me, is he?”