‘Um-m-m. Yes. But pardon me, sir, if I question you. How are these men of yours disturbed, so that I might detect change in General Pritcher, in case any occurs. Are they Unconverted again? Do they become disloyal?’
‘No. I told you it was subtle. It’s more disturbing than that, because it’s harder to detect and sometimes I have to wait before acting, uncertain whether a key man is being normally erratic or has been tampered with. Their loyalty is left intact, but initiative and ingenuity are rubbed out. I’m left with a perfectly normal person, apparently, but one completely useless. In the last year, six have been so treated. Six of my best.’ A corner of his mouth lifted. ‘They’re in charge of training bases now – and my most earnest wishes go with them that no emergencies come up for them to decide upon.’
‘Suppose, sir … suppose it were not the Second Foundation. What if it were another, such as yourself – another mutant?’
‘The planning is too careful, too long range. A single man would be in a greater hurry. No, it is a world, and you are to be my weapon against it.’
Channis’ eyes shone as he said: I’m delighted at the chance.’
But the Mule caught the sudden emotional upwelling. He said: ‘Yes, apparently it occurs to you, that you will perform a unique service, worthy of a unique reward – perhaps even that of being my successor. Quite so. But there are unique punishments, too, you know. My emotional gymnastics are not confined to the creation of loyalty alone.’
And the little smile on his thin lips was grim, as Channis leaped out of his seat in horror.
For just an instant, just one, flashing instant, Channis had felt the pang of an overwhelming grief close over him. It had slammed down with a physical pain that had blackened his mind unbearably, and then lifted. Now nothing was left but the strong wash of anger.
The Mule said: ‘Anger won’t help … yes, you’re covering it up now, aren’t you? But I can see it. So just remember – that sort of business can be made more intense and kept up. I’ve killed men by emotional control, and there’s no death crueler.’
He paused: ‘That’s all!’
The Mule was alone again. He let the lights die and the wall before him kicked to transparency again. The sky was black, and the rising body of the Galactic lens was spreading its bespanglement across the velvet depths of space.
All that haze of nebula was a mass of stars so numerous that they melted one into the other and left nothing but a cloud of light.
And all to be his—
And now but one last arrangement to make, and he could sleep.
FIRST INTERLUDE
The Executive Council of the Second Foundation was in session. To us they are merely voices. Neither the exact scene of the meeting nor the identity of those present are essential at the point.
Nor, strictly speaking, can we even consider an exact reproduction of any part of the session – unless we wish to sacrifice completely even the minimum comprehensibility we have a right to expect.
We deal here with psychologists – and not merely psychologists. Let us say, rather, scientists with a psychological orientation. That is, men whose fundamental conception of scientific philosophy is pointed in an entirely different direction from all of the orientations we know. The ‘psychology’ of scientists brought up among the axioms deduced from the observational habits of physical science has only the vaguest relationship to PSYCHOLOGY.
Which is about as far as I can go in explaining colour to a blind man – with myself as blind as the audience.
The point being made is that the minds assembled understood thoroughly the workings of each other, not only by general theory but by the specific application over a long period of these theories to particular individuals. Speech as known to us was unnecessary. A fragment of a sentence amounted almost to long winded redundancy. A gesture, a grunt, the curve of a facial line – even a significantly timed pause yielded informational juice.
The liberty is taken, therefore, of freely translating a small portion of the conference into the extremely specific word-combinations necessary to minds oriented from childhood to a physical science philosophy, even at the risk of losing the more delicate nuances.
There was one ‘voice’ predominant, and that belonged to the individual known simply as the First Speaker.
He said: ‘It is apparently quite definite now as to what stopped the Mule in his first mad rush. I can’t say that the matter reflects credit upon … well, upon the organization of the situation. Apparently, he almost located us, by means of the artificially heightened brain-energy of what they call a “psychologist” on the First Foundation. This psychologist was killed just before he could communicate his discovery to the Mule. The events leading to that killing were completely fortuitous for all calculations below Phase Three. Suppose you take over.’
It was the Fifth Speaker who was indicated by an inflection of the voice. He said, in grim nuances: ‘It is certain that the situation was mishandled. We are, of course, highly vulnerable under mass attack, particularly an attack led by such a mental phenomenon as the Mule. Shortly after he first achieved Galactic eminence with the conquest of the First Foundation, half a year after to be exact, he was on Trantor. Within another half year he would have been here and the odds would have been stupendously against us – 96.3 plus or minus 0.05% to be exact. We have spent considerable time analysing the forces that stopped him. We know, of course, what was driving him on so in the first place. The internal ramifications of his physical deformity and mental uniqueness are obvious to all of us. However, it was only through penetration to Phase Three that we could determine – after the fact – the possibility of his anomalous action in the presence of another human being who had an honest affection for him.
‘And since such an anomalous action would depend upon the presence of such another human being at the appropriate time, to that extent the whole affair was fortuitous. Our agents are certain that it was a girl that killed the Mule’s psychologist – a girl for whom the Mule felt trust out of sentiment, and whom he, therefore, did not control mentally – simply because she liked him.
‘Since that event – and for those who want the details, a mathematical treatment of the subject has been drawn up for the Central Library – which warned us, we have held the Mule off by unorthodox methods with which we daily risk Seldon’s entire scheme of history. That is all.’
The First Speaker paused an instant to allow the individuals assembled to absorb the full implications. He said: ‘The situation is then highly unstable. With Seldon’s original scheme bent to the fracture point – and I must emphasize that we have blundered badly in this whole matter, in our horrible lack of foresight – we are faced with an irreversible breakdown of the Plan. Time is passing us by. I think there is only one solution left us – and even that is risky.
‘We must allow the Mule to find us – in a sense.’
Another pause, in which he gathered the reactions, then: ‘I repeat – in a sense!’
The ship was in near-readiness. Nothing lacked, but the destination. The Mule had suggested a return to Trantor – the world that was the hulk of an incomparable Galactic metropolis of the hugest Empire mankind had ever known – the dead world that had been capital of all the stars.
Pritcher disapproved. It was an old path – sucked dry.
He found Bail Channis in the ship’s navigation room. The young man’s curly hair was just sufficiently dishevelled to allow a single curl