Foundation and Empire - Isaac Asimov [50]
Toran entered from the pilot room, “Nothing to do now but wait, Bay. I hope the Mule is capable of understanding that a Foundation ship is Foundation territory.”
Magnifico Giganticus, once Bobo, opened his eyes wide and exclaimed, “How great is the Foundation before which even the cruel servants of the Mule tremble.”
“Have you heard of the Foundation, too?” asked Bayta, with a little smile.
“And who has not?” Magnifico’s voice was a mysterious whisper. “There are those who say it is a world of great magic, of fires that can consume planets, and secrets of mighty strength. They say that not the highest nobility of the Galaxy could achieve the honor and deference considered only the natural due of a simple man who could say ‘I am a citizen of the Foundation,’—were he only a salvage miner of space, or a nothing like myself.”
Bayta said, “Now, Magnifico, you’ll never finish if you make speeches. Here, I’ll get you a little flavored milk. It’s good.”
She placed a pitcher of it upon the table and motioned Toran out of the room.
“Torie, what are we going to do now—about him?” and she motioned toward the kitchen.
“How do you mean?”
“If the Mule comes, are we going to give him up?”
“Well, what else, Bay?” He sounded harassed, and the gesture with which he shoved back the moist curl upon his forehead testified to that.
He continued impatiently, “Before I came here I had a sort of vague idea that all we had to do was to ask for the Mule, and then get down to business—just business, you know, nothing definite.”
“I know what you mean, Torie. I wasn’t much hoping to see the Mule myself, but I did think we could pick up some firsthand knowledge of the mess, and then pass it over to people who know a little more about this interstellar intrigue. I’m no storybook spy.”
“You’re not behind me, Bay.” He folded his arms and frowned. “What a situation! You’d never know there was a person like the Mule, except for this last queer break. Do you suppose he’ll come for his clown?”
Bayta looked up at him. “I don’t know that I want him to. I don’t know what to say or do. Do you?”
The inner buzzer sounded with its intermittent burring noise. Bayta’s lips moved wordlessly, “The Mule!”
Magnifico was in the doorway, eyes wide, his voice a whimper, “The Mule?”
Toran murmured, “I’ve got to let them in.”
A contact opened the air lock and the outer door closed behind the newcomer. The scanner showed only a single shadowed figure.
“It’s only one person,” said Toran, with open relief, and his voice was almost shaky as he bent toward the signal tube, “Who are you?”
“You’d better let me in and find out, hadn’t you?” The words came thinly out of the receiver.
“I’ll inform you that this is a Foundation ship and consequently Foundation territory by international treaty.”
“I know that.”
“Come with your arms free, or I’ll shoot. I’m well-armed.”
“Done!”
Toran opened the inner door and closed contact on his blast pistol, thumb hovering over the pressure point. There was the sound of footsteps and then the door swung open, and Magnifico cried out, “It’s not the Mule. It’s but a man.”
The “man” bowed to the clown somberly, “Very accurate. I’m not the Mule.” He held his hands apart, “I’m not armed, and I come on a peaceful errand. You might relax and put the blast pistol away. Your hand isn’t steady enough for my peace of mind.”
“Who are you?” asked Toran, brusquely.
“I might ask you that,” said the stranger, coolly, “since you’re the one under false pretenses, not I.”
“How so?”
“You’re the one who claims to be a Foundation citizen when there’s not an authorized Trader on the planet.”
“That’s not so. How would you know?”
“Because I am a Foundation citizen, and have my papers to prove it. Where are yours?”
“I think you’d better get out.”
“I think not. If you know anything about Foundation methods, and despite