Foundation and Empire

He sat back and loosened his collar with a jerk. “I don’t know what those Empire boys have done here. I think some of the gaps are out of alignment.”

“I take it, then, you’re trying to get to the Foundation.”

“I’m calling the Association—or trying to.”

“The Association? Who are they?”

“Association of Independent Traders. Never heard of it, huh? Well, you’re not alone. We haven’t made our splash yet!”

For a while there was a silence that centered about the unresponsive Reception Indicator, and Barr said, “Are you within range?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t but a small notion where we are, going by dead reckoning. That’s why I have to use directional control. It could take years, you know.”

“Might it?”

Barr pointed; and Devers jumped and adjusted his earphones. Within the little murky sphere there was a tiny glowing whiteness.

For half an hour, Devers nursed the fragile, groping thread of communication that reached through hyperspace to connect two points that laggard light would take five hundred years to bind together.

Then he sat back, hopelessly. He looked up, and shoved the earphones back.

“Let’s eat, doc. There’s a needle-shower you can use if you want to, but go easy on the hot water.”

He squatted before one of the cabinets that lined one wall and felt through the contents. “You’re not a vegetarian, I hope?”

Barr said, “I’m omnivorous. But what about the Association? Have you lost them?”

“Looks so. It was extreme range, a little too extreme. Doesn’t matter, though. I got all that counted.”

He straightened, and placed the two metal containers upon the table. “Just give it five minutes, doc, then slit it open by pushing the contact. It’ll be plate, food, and fork—sort of handy for when you’re in a hurry, if you’re not interested in such incidentals as napkins. I suppose you want to know what I got out of the Association.”

“If it isn’t a secret.”

Devers shook his head. “Not to you. What Riose said was true.”

“About the offer of tribute?”

“Uh-huh. They offered it, and had it refused. Things are bad. There’s fighting in the outer suns of Loris.”

“Loris is close to the Foundation?”

“Huh? Oh, you wouldn’t know. It’s one of the original Four Kingdoms. You might call it part of the inner line of defense. That’s not the worst. They’ve been fighting large ships previously never encountered. Which means Riose wasn’t giving us the works. He has received more ships. Brodrig has switched sides, and I have messed things up.”

His eyes were bleak as he joined the food-container contact-points and watched it fall open neatly. The stewlike dish steamed its aroma through the room. Ducem Barr was already eating.

“So much,” said Barr, “for improvisations, then. We can do nothing here; we cannot cut through the Imperial lines to return to the Foundation; we can do nothing but that which is most sensible—to wait patiently. However, if Riose has reached the inner line I trust the wait will not be too long.”

And Devers put down his fork. “Wait, is it?” he snarled, glowering. “That’s all right for you. You’ve got nothing at stake.”

“Haven’t I?” Barr smiled thinly.

“No. In fact, I’ll tell you.” Devers’s irritation skimmed the surface. “I’m tired of looking at this whole business as if it were an interesting something-or-other on a microscope slide. I’ve got friends somewhere out there, dying; and a whole world out there, my home, dying also. You’re an outsider. You don’t know.”

“I have seen friends die.” The old man’s hands were limp in his lap and his eyes were closed. “Are you married?”

Devers said, “Traders don’t marry.”

“Well, I have two sons and a nephew. They have been warned, but—for reasons—they could take no action. Our escape means their death. My daughter and my two grandchildren have, I hope, left the planet safely before this, but even excluding them, I have already risked and lost more than you.”

Devers was morosely savage. “I know. But that was a matter of choice. You might have played ball with Riose. I never asked you to—”

Barr shook his head. “It was not a matter of choice, Devers. Make your conscience free; I didn’t risk my sons for you. I co-operated with Riose as long as I dared. But there was the Psychic Probe.”

The Siwennian patrician opened his eyes and they were sharp with pain. “Riose came to me once; it was over a year ago. He spoke of a cult centering about the magicians, but missed the truth. It is not quite a cult. You see, it is forty years now that Siwenna has been gripped in the same unbearable vise that threatens your world. Five revolts have been ground out. Then I discovered the ancient records of Hari Seldon—and now this ‘cult’ waits.

“It waits for the coming of the ‘magicians’ and for that day it is ready. My sons are leaders of those who wait. It is that secret which is in my mind and which the Probe must never touch. And so they must die as hostages; for the alternative is their death as rebels and half of Siwenna with them. You see, I had no choice! And I am no outsider.”

Devers’s eyes fell, and Barr continued softly, “It is on a Foundation victory that Siwenna’s hopes depend. It is for a Foundation victory that my sons are sacrificed. And Hari Seldon does not pre-calculate the inevitable salvation of Siwenna as he does that of the Foundation. I have no certainty for my people—only hope.”

“But you are still satisfied to wait. Even with the Imperial Navy at Loris.”

“I would wait, in perfect confidence,” said Barr, simply, “if they had landed on the planet Terminus itself.”

The Trader frowned hopelessly. “I don’t know. It can’t really work like that; not just like magic. Psychohistory or not, they’re terribly strong, and we’re weak. What can Seldon do about it?”

“There’s nothing to do. It’s all already done. It’s proceeding now. Because you don’t hear the wheels turning and the gongs beating doesn’t mean it’s any the less certain.”

“Maybe; but I wish you had cracked Riose’s skull for keeps. He’s more the enemy than all his army.”

“Cracked his skull? With Brodrig his second in command?” Barr’s face sharpened with hate. “All Siwenna would have been my hostage. Brodrig has proven his worth long since. There exists a world which five years ago lost one male in every ten—and simply for failure to meet outstanding taxes. This same Brodrig was the tax collector. No, Riose may live. His punishments are mercy in comparison.”

“But six months, six months, in the enemy base, with nothing to show for it.” Devers’s strong hands clasped each other tautly, so that his knuckles cracked. “Nothing to show for it!”

“Well, now, wait. You remind me—” Barr fumbled in his pouch. “You might want to count this.” And he tossed the small sphere of metal on the table.

Devers snatched it. “What is it?”

“The message capsule. The one that Riose received just before I jacked him. Does that count as something?”

“I don’t know. Depends on what’s in it!” Devers sat down and turned it over carefully in his hand.

When Barr stepped from his cold shower and, gratefully, into the mild warm current of the air dryer, he found Devers silent and absorbed at the workbench.

The Siwennian slapped his body with a sharp rhythm and spoke above the punctuating sounds. “What are you doing?”

Devers looked up. Droplets of perspiration glittered in his beard. “I’m going to open this capsule.”

“Can you open it without Riose’s personal characteristic?” There was mild surprise in the Siwennian’s voice.

“If I can’t, I’ll resign from the Association and never skipper a ship for what’s left of my life. I’ve got a