Second Foundation. Айзек Азимов
ride might be long and far and that the destination might be glorious. If he goes with you, there is just that added push behind his seeking – that push for himself.’
‘Then,’ said Pritcher, still insistent, ‘why not remove my own Conversion, if you think that will improve me. I can scarcely be mistrusted, now.’
‘That never, Pritcher. While you are within arm’s reach, or blaster reach, of myself, you will remain firmly held in Conversion. If I were to release you this minute, I would be dead the next.’
The general’s nostrils flared. ‘I am hurt that you should think so.’
‘I don’t mean to hurt you, but it is impossible for you to realize what your feelings would be if free to form themselves along the lines of your natural motivation. The human mind resents control. The ordinary human hypnotist cannot hypnotize a person against his will for that reason. I can, because I’m not a hypnotist, and, believe me, Pritcher, the resentment that you cannot show and do not even know you possess is something I wouldn’t want to face.’
Pritcher’s head bowed. Futility wrenched him and left him grey and haggard inside. He said with an effort: ‘But how can you trust this man. I mean, completely – as you can trust me in my Conversion.’
‘Well, I suppose I can’t entirely. That is why you must go with him. You see, Pritcher,’ and the Mule buried himself in the large armchair against the soft back of which he looked like an angularly animated toothpick, ‘if he should stumble on the Second Foundation – if it should occur to him that an arrangement with them might be more profitable than with me – You understand?’
A profoundly satisfied light blazed in Pritcher’s eyes. ‘That is better, sir.’
‘Exactly. But remember, he must have a free rein as far as possible.’
‘Certainly.’
‘And … uh … Pritcher. The young man is handsome, pleasant, and extremely charming. Don’t let him fool you. He’s a dangerous and unscrupulous character. Don’t get in his way unless you’re prepared to meet him properly. 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 purple now, and the city was a smudge of light on the horizon.
What was it all for? And if he were the master of all there was what then? Would it really stop men like Pritcher from being straight and tall, self-confident, strong? Would Bail Channis lose his looks? Would he himself be other than he was?
He cursed his doubts. What was he really after?
The cool, overhead warning light flickered. He could follow the progress of the man who had entered the palace and, almost against his will, he felt the soft wash of emotional content touch the fibres of his brain.
He recognized the identity without an effort. It was Channis. Here the Mule saw no uniformity, but the primitive diversity of a strong mind, untouched and unmoulded except by the manifold disorganizations of the Universe. It writhed in floods and waves. There was caution on the surface, a thin, smoothing effect, but with touches of cynical ribaldry in the hidden eddies of it. And underneath there was the strong flow of self-interest and self-love, with a gush of cruel humour here and there, and a deep, still pool of ambition underlying all.
The Mule felt that he could reach out and dam the current, wrench the pool from its basin and turn it in another course, dry up one flow and begin another. But what of it? If he could bend Channis’ curly head in the profoundest adoration, would that change his own grotesquerie that made him shun the day and love the night, that made him a recluse inside an empire that was unconditionally his?
The door behind him opened, and he turned. The transparency of the wall faded to opacity, and the darkness gave way to the whitely blazing artifice of atomic power.
Bail Channis sat down lightly and said: ‘This is a not-quite-unexpected honour, sir.’
The Mule rubbed his proboscis with all four fingers at once and sounded a bit irritable in his response. ‘Why so, young man?’
‘A hunch, I suppose. Unless I want to admit that I’ve been listening to rumours.’
‘Rumours? Which one of the several dozen varieties are you referring to?’
‘Those that say a renewal of the Galactic Offensive is being planned. It is a hope with me that such is true and that I might play an appropriate part.’
‘Then you think there is a Second Foundation?’
‘Why not? It could make things so much more interesting.’
‘And you find interest in it as well?’
‘Certainly. In the very mystery of it! What better subject could you find for conjecture? The newspaper supplements are full of nothing else lately – which is probably significant. The Cosmos had one of its feature writers compose a weirdie about a world consisting of beings of pure mind – the Second Foundation, you see – who had developed mental force to energies large enough to compete with any known to physical science. Spaceships could be blasted light-years away, planets could be turned out of their orbits—’
‘Interesting. Yes. But do you have any notions on the subject? Do you subscribe to this mind-power notion?’
‘Galaxy, no! Do you think creatures like that would stay on their own planet? No, sir. I think the Second Foundation remains hidden because it is weaker than we think.’
‘In that case, I can explain myself very easily. How would you like to head an expedition to locate the Second Foundation?’
For a moment Channis seemed caught up by the sudden rush of events at just a little greater speed than he was prepared for. His tongue had apparently skidded to a halt in a lengthening silence.
The Mule said dryly: ‘Well?’
Channis corrugated his forehead. ‘Certainly. But where am I to go? Have you any information available?’
‘General Pritcher will be with you—’
‘Then I’m not to head it?’
‘Judge for yourself when I’m done. Listen, you’re not of the Foundation. You’re a native of Kalgan, aren’t you? Yes. Well, then, your knowledge of the Seldon plan may be vague. When the first Galactic Empire was falling, Hari Seldon and a group of psychohistorians, analysing the future course of history by mathematical tools no longer available in these degenerate times, set up two Foundations, one at each end of the Galaxy, in such a way that the economic and sociological forces that were slowly evolving, would make them serve as foci for the Second Empire. Hari Seldon planned on a thousand years to accomplish that – and it would have taken thirty thousand without the Foundations. But he couldn’t count on me. I am a mutant and I am unpredictable by psychohistory which can only deal with the average reactions of numbers. Do you understand?’
‘Perfectly, sir. But how does that involve me?’
‘You’ll understand shortly. I intend to unite the Galaxy now – and reach Seldon’s thousand-year goal in three hundred. One Foundation – the world of physical scientists – is still flourishing under me. Under the prosperity and order of the Union, the atomic weapons they have developed are capable of dealing with anything in the Galaxy – except perhaps the Second Foundation. So I must know more about it. General Pritcher is of the definite opinion that it does not exist at all. I know otherwise.’
Channis said delicately: ‘How do you know, sir?’
And the Mule’s words were suddenly liquid indignation: ‘Because minds under my control have been interfered with. Delicately! Subtly! But not so subtly that I couldn’t notice. And these interferences are increasing, and hitting valuable men at important times. Do you wonder now that a certain discretion has kept me motionless these years?
‘That is your importance. General Pritcher is