Second Foundation - Isaac Asimov [24]
“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?”
Pritcher intervened sharply: “Was a hyper-relay placed upon our ship by your orders, sir?”
The Mule turned cool eyes upon him, “Certainly. Is it very likely that any organization in the Galaxy other than the Union of Worlds would have access to one?”
“He said—”
“Well, he’s here, general. Indirect quotation is not necessary. Have you been saying anything, Channis?”
“Yes. But mistakes apparently, sir. It has been my opinion that the hyper-relay was put there by someone in the pay of the Second Foundation and that we had been led here for some purpose of theirs, which I was prepared to counter. I was under the further impression that the general was more or less in their hands.”
“You sound as if you think so no longer.”
“I’m afraid not. Or it would not have been you at the door.”
“Well, then, let us thresh this out.” The Mule peeled off the outer layers