the simulacrum of the lined, austere face of His Imperial Majesty, Cleon II.
“In the first place, patrician,” said the general, “your Seldon is losing. To be sure, he battles well, for these men of the Foundation swarm like senseless bees and fight like madmen. Every planet is defended viciously, and once taken, every planet heaves so with rebellion it is as much trouble to hold as to conquer. But they are taken, and they are held. Your Seldon is losing.”
“But he has not yet lost,” murmured Barr politely.
“The Foundation itself retains less optimism. They offer me millions in order that I may not put this Seldon to the final test.”
“So rumor goes.”
“Ah, is rumor preceding me? Does it prate also of the latest?”
“What is the latest?”
“Why, that Lord Brodrig, the darling of the Emperor, is now second in command at his own request.”
Devers spoke for the first time. “At his own request, boss? How come? Or are you growing to like the fellow?” He chuckled.
Riose said, calmly, “No, can’t say I do. It’s just that he bought the office at what I considered a fair and adequate price.”
“Such as?”
“Such as a request to the Emperor for reinforcements.”
Devers’s contemptuous smile broadened. “He has communicated with the Emperor, huh? And I take it, boss, you’re just waiting for these reinforcements, but they’ll come any day. Right?”
“Wrong! They have already come. Five ships of the line; smooth and strong, with a personal message of congratulations from the Emperor, and more ships on the way. What’s wrong, Trader?” he asked, sardonically.
Devers spoke through suddenly frozen lips. “Nothing!”
Riose strode out from behind his desk and faced the Trader, hand on the butt of his blast-gun.
“I say, what’s wrong, Trader? The news would seem to disturb you. Surely, you have no sudden birth of interest in the Foundation.”
“I haven’t.”
“Yes—there are queer points about you.”
“That so, boss?” Devers smiled tightly, and balled the fists in his pockets. “Just you line them up and I’ll knock them down for you.”
“Here they are. You were caught easily. You surrendered at first blow with a burnt-out shield. You’re quite ready to desert your world, and that without a price. Interesting, all this, isn’t it?”
“I crave to be on the winning side, boss. I’m a sensible man; you called me that yourself.”
Riose said with tight throatiness, “Granted! Yet no Trader since has been captured. No trade ship but has had the speed to escape at choice. No trade ship but has had a screen that could take all the beating a light cruiser could give it, should it choose to fight. And no Trader but has fought to death when occasion warranted. Traders have been traced as the leaders and instigators of the guerrilla warfare on occupied planets and of the flying raids in occupied space.
“Are you the
Devers said softly, “I take your meaning, but you have nothing on me. I’ve been here now six months, and I’ve been a good boy.”
“So you have, and I have repaid you by good treatment. I have left your ship undisturbed and treated you with every consideration. Yet you fall short. Freely offered information, for instance, on your gadgets might have been helpful. The atomic principles on which they are built would seem to be used in some of the Foundation’s nastiest weapons. Right?”
“I am only a Trader,” said Devers, “and not one of these bigwig technicians. I sell the stuff; I don’t make it.”
“Well, that will be seen shortly. It is what I came here for. For instance, your ship will be searched for a personal force-shield. You have never worn one; yet all soldiers of the Foundation do. It will be significant evidence that there is information you do not choose to give me. Right?”
There was no answer. He continued, “And there will be more direct evidence. I have brought with me the Psychic Probe. It failed once before, but contact with the enemy is a liberal education.”
His voice was smoothly threatening and Devers felt the gun thrust hard into his midriff—the general’s gun, hitherto in its holster.
The general said quietly, “You will remove your wristband and any other metal ornament you wear and give them to me. Slowly! Atomic fields can be distorted, you see, and Psychic Probes might probe only into static. That’s right. I’ll take it.”
The receiver on the general’s desk was glowing and a message capsule clicked into the slot, near which Barr stood and still held the trimensional Imperial bust.
Riose stepped behind his desk, with his blast-gun held ready. He said to Barr, “You too, patrician. Your wristband condemns you. You have been helpful earlier, however, and I am not vindictive, but I shall judge the fate of your behostaged family by the results of the Psychic Probe.”
And as Riose leaned over to take out the message capsule, Barr lifted the crystal-enveloped bust of Cleon and quietly and methodically brought it down upon the general’s head.
It happened too suddenly for Devers to grasp. It was as if a sudden demon had grown into the old man.
“Out!” said Barr, in a tooth-clenched whisper. “Quickly!” He seized Riose’s dropped blaster and buried it in his blouse.
Sergeant Luk turned as they emerged from the narrowest possible crack of the door.
Barr said easily, “Lead on, sergeant!”
Devers closed the door behind him.
Sergeant Luk led in silence to their quarters, and then, with the briefest pause, continued onward, for there was the nudge of a blast-gun muzzle in his ribs, and a hard voice in his ears which said, “To the trade ship.”
Devers stepped forward to open the air lock, and Barr said, “Stand where you are, Luk. You’ve been a decent man, and we’re not going to kill you.”
But the sergeant recognized the monogram on the gun. He cried in choked fury, “You’ve killed the general!”
With a wild, incoherent yell, he charged blindly upon the blasting fury of the gun and collapsed in blasted ruin.
The trade ship was rising above the dead planet before the signal lights began their eerie blink, and against the creamy cobweb of the great Lens in the sky which was the Galaxy, other black forms rose.
Devers said grimly, “Hold tight, Barr—and let’s see if they’ve got a ship that can match my speed.”
He knew they hadn’t!
And once in open space, the Trader’s voice seemed lost and dead as he said, “The line I fed Brodrig was a little too good. It seems as if he’s thrown in with the general.”
Swiftly they raced into the depths of the starmass that was the Galaxy.
8
TO TRANTOR
Devers bent over the little dead globe, watching for a tiny sign of life. The directional control was slowly and thoroughly sieving space with its jabbing tight sheaf of signals.
Barr watched patiently from his seat on the low cot in the corner. He asked, “No more signs of them?”
“The Empire boys? No.” The Trader growled the words with evident impatience. “We lost the scuppers long ago. Space! With the blind jumps we took through hyperspace, it’s lucky we didn’t land up in a sun’s belly. They couldn’t have followed us even if they outranged us, which they didn’t.”
