Foundation - Isaac Asimov [85]
Mallow frowned stubbornly. “So!”
“My boy,” said Jael. “I’ll stand by you, but I can’t help. You’re on the spot,—dead center.”
14
The council chamber was full in a very literal sense on the fourth day of the trial of Hober Mallow, Master Trader. The only councilman absent was feebly cursing the fractured skull that had bedridden him. The galleries were filled to the aisleways and ceilings with those few of the crowd who by influence, wealth, or sheer diabolic perseverance had managed to get in. The rest filled the square outside, in swarming knots about the open-air trimensional ’visors.
Ankor Jael made his way into the chamber with the near-futile aid and exertions of the police department, and then through the scarcely smaller confusion within to Hober Mallow’s seat.
Mallow turned with relief. “By Seldon, you cut it thin. Have you got it?”
“Here, take it,” said Jael. “It’s everything you asked for.”
“Good. How are they taking it outside?”
“They’re wild clear through.” Jael stirred uneasily. “You should never have allowed public hearings. You could have stopped them.”
“I didn’t want to.”
“There’s lynch talk. And Publis Manlio’s men on the outer planets—”
“I wanted to ask you about that, Jael. He’s stirring up the Hierarchy against me, is he?”
“Is he? It’s the sweetest setup you ever saw. As Foreign Secretary, he handles the prosecution in a case of interstellar law. As High Priest and Primate of the Church, he rouses the fanatic hordes—”
“Well, forget it. Do you remember that Hardin quotation you threw at me last month? We’ll show them that the nuclear blaster can point both ways.”
The mayor was taking his seat now and the council members were rising in respect.
Mallow whispered, “It’s my turn today. Sit here and watch the fun.”
The day’s proceedings began and fifteen minutes later, Hober Mallow stepped through a hostile whisper to the empty space before the mayor’s bench. A lone beam of light centered upon him and in the public ’visors of the city, as well as on the myriads of private ’visors in almost every home of the Foundation’s planets, the lonely giant figure of a man stared out defiantly.
He began easily and quietly. “To save time, I will admit the truth of every point made against me by the prosecution. The story of the priest and the mob as related by them is perfectly accurate in every detail.”
There was a stirring in the chamber and a triumphant mass-snarl from the gallery. He waited patiently for silence.
“However, the picture they presented fell short of completion. I ask the privilege of supplying the completion in my own fashion. My story may seem irrelevant at first. I ask your indulgence for that.”
Mallow made no reference to the notes before him:
“I begin at the same time as the prosecution did; the day of my meeting with Jorane Sutt and Jaim Twer. What went on at those meetings you know. The conversations have been described, and to that description I have nothing to add—except my own thoughts of that day.
“They were suspicious thoughts, for the events of that day were queer. Consider. Two people, neither of whom I knew more than casually, make unnatural and somewhat unbelievable propositions to me. One, the secretary to the mayor, asks me to play the part of intelligence agent to the government in a highly confidential matter, the nature and importance of which has already been explained to you. The other, self-styled leader of a political party, asks me to run for a council seat.
“Naturally I looked for the ulterior motive. Sutt’s seemed evident. He didn’t trust me. Perhaps he thought I was selling nuclear power to enemies and plotting rebellion. And perhaps he was forcing the issue, or thought he was. In that case, he would need a man of his own near me on my proposed mission, as a spy. The last