Second Foundation

point for observation! You clumsy fool! Did you so underestimate me that no combination of impossible fortuities struck you as being too much for me to swallow?”

“You mean I’ve been too successful?”

“Too successful by half for any loyal man.”

“Because the standards of success you set me were so low?”

And the blaster prodded, though in the face that confronted Channis only the cold glitter of the eyes betrayed the growing anger: “Because you are in the pay of the Second Foundation.”

“Pay?”—infinite contempt. “Prove that.”

“Or under the mental influence.”

“Without the Mule’s knowledge? Ridiculous.”

“With the Mule’s knowledge. Exactly my point, my young dullard. With the Mule’s knowledge. Do you suppose else that you would be given a ship to play with? You led us to the Second Foundation as you were supposed to do.”

“I thresh a kernel of something or other out of this immensity of chaff. May I ask why I’m supposed to be doing all this? If I were a traitor, why should I lead you to the Second Foundation? Why not hither and yon through the Galaxy, skipping gaily, finding no more than you ever did?”

“For the sake of the ship. And because the men of the Second Foundation quite obviously need nuclear weapons for self-defense.”

“You’ll have to do better than that. One ship won’t mean anything to them, and if they think they’ll learn science from it and build nuclear power plants next year, they are very, very simple Second Foundationers, indeed. On the order of simplicity as yourself, I should say.”

“You will have the opportunity to explain that to the Mule.”

“We’re going back to Kalgan?”

“On the contrary. We’re staying here. And the Mule will join us in fifteen minutes—more or less. Do you think he hasn’t followed us, my sharp-witted, nimble-minded lump of self-admiration? You have played the decoy well in reverse. You may not have led our victims to us, but you have certainly led us to our victims.”

“May I sit down,” said Channis, “and explain something to you in picture drawings? Please.”

“You will remain standing.”

“At that, I can say it as well standing. You think the Mule followed us because of the hyper-relay on the communication circuit?”

The blaster might have wavered. Channis wouldn’t have sworn to it. He said: “You don’t look surprised. But I don’t waste time doubting that you feel surprised. Yes, I knew about it. And now, having shown you that I knew of something you didn’t think I did, I’ll tell you something you don’t know, that I know you don’t.”

“You allow yourself too many preliminaries, Channis. I should think your sense of invention was more smoothly greased.”

“There’s no invention to this. There have been traitors, of course, or enemy agents, if you prefer that term. But the Mule knew of that in a rather curious way. It seems, you see, that some of his Converted men had been tampered with.”

The blaster did waver that time. Unmistakably.

“I emphasize that, Pritcher. It was why he needed me. I was an Unconverted man. Didn’t he emphasize to you that he needed an Unconverted? Whether he gave you the real reason or not?”

“Try something else, Channis. If I were against the Mule, I’d know it.” Quietly, rapidly, Pritcher was feeling his mind. It felt the same. It felt the same. Obviously the man was lying.

“You mean you feel loyal to the Mule. Perhaps. Loyalty wasn’t tampered with. Too easily detectable, the Mule said. But how do you feel mentally? Sluggish? Since you started this trip, have you always felt normal? Or have you felt strange sometimes, as though you weren’t quite yourself? What are you trying to do, bore a hole through me without touching the trigger?”

Pritcher withdrew his blaster half an inch, “What are you trying to say?”

“I say that you’ve been tampered with. You’ve been handled. You didn’t see the Mule install that hyper-relay. You didn’t see anyone do it. You just found it there, I suppose, as I did, too, and assumed it was the Mule who had placed it there, and ever since you’ve been assuming he was following us. Sure, the wrist receiver you’re wearing contacts the ship on a wavelength mine isn’t good for. Do you think I didn’t know that?” He was speaking quickly now, angrily. His cloak of indifference had dissolved into savagery. “But it’s not the Mule that’s coming toward us from out there. It’s not the Mule.”

“Who, if not?”

“Well, who do you suppose? I found that hyper-relay the day we left. But I didn’t think it was the Mule. He had no reason for indirection at that point. Don’t you see the nonsense of it? If I were a traitor and he knew that, I could be Converted as easily as you were, and he would have the secret of the location of the Second Foundation out of my mind without sending me half across the Galaxy. Can you keep a secret from the Mule? And if I didn’t know, then I couldn’t lead him to it. So why send me in either case?

“Obviously, that hyper-relay must have been put there by an agent of the Second Foundation. That’s who’s coming towards us now. And would you have been fooled if your precious mind hadn’t been tampered with? What kind of normality have you that you imagine immense folly to be wisdom? Me bring a ship to the Second Foundation? What would they do with a ship?

“It’s you they want, Pritcher. You know more about the Union than anyone but the Mule, and you’re not dangerous to them while he is. That’s why they put the direction of search into my mind. Of course, it was completely impossible for me to find Tazenda by random searchings of the Lens. I knew that. But I knew there was the Second Foundation after us, and I knew they engineered it. Why not play their game? It was a battle of bluffs. They wanted us and I wanted their location—and Space take the one that couldn’t outbluff the other.

“But it’s we that will lose as long as you hold that blaster on me. And it obviously isn’t your idea. It’s theirs. Give me the blaster, Pritcher. I know it seems wrong to you, but it isn’t your mind speaking, it’s the Second Foundation within you. Give me the blaster, Pritcher, and we’ll face what’s coming now, together.”

Pritcher faced a growing confusion in horror. Plausibility! Could he be so wrong? Why this eternal doubt of himself? Why wasn’t he sure? What made Channis sound so plausible?

Plausibility!

Or was it his own tortured mind fighting the invasion of the alien?

Was he split in two?

Hazily, he saw Channis standing before him, hand outstretched—and suddenly, he knew he was going to give him the blaster.

And as the muscles of his arm were on the point of contracting in the proper manner to do so, the door opened, not hastily, behind him—and he turned.

There are perhaps men in the Galaxy who can be confused for one another even by men at their peaceful leisure. Correspondingly, there may be conditions of mind when even unlikely pairs may be misrecognized. But the Mule rises above any combination of the two factors.

Not all Pritcher’s agony of mind prevented the instantaneous mental flood of cool vigor that engulfed him.

Physically, the Mule could not dominate any situation. Nor did he dominate this one.

He was rather a ridiculous figure in his layers of clothing that thickened him past his normality without allowing him to reach normal dimensions even so. His face was muffled and the usually dominant beak covered what was left in a cold-red prominence.

Probably as a vision of rescue, no greater incongruity could exist.

He said: “Keep your blaster, Pritcher.”

Then he turned to Channis, who had shrugged and seated himself: “The emotional context here seems rather confusing and considerably in conflict. What’s this about someone other than myself following you?”