Second Foundation - Isaac Asimov [62]
Damnation!
He was to violate the customs of Kalgan, was he? To allow the Mule’s palace to be ransacked so that a fool could write another book? The cause of science! The sacredness of knowledge! Great Galaxy! Were these catchwords to be thrown in his face in all seriousness? Besides—and his flesh prickled slightly—there was the matter of the curse. He didn’t believe in it; no intelligent man could. But if he was going to defy it, it would have to be for a better reason than any the fool had advanced.
“What do you want?” he snapped, and Lady Callia cringed visibly in the doorway.
“Are you busy?”
“Yes. I am busy.”
“But there’s nobody here, Poochie. Couldn’t I even speak to you for a minute?”
“Oh, Galaxy! What do you want? Now hurry.”
Her words stumbled. “The little girl told me they were going into the Mule’s palace. I thought we could go with her. It must be gorgeous inside.”
“She told you that, did she? Well, she isn’t and we aren’t. Now go tend your own business. I’ve had about enough of you.”
“But, Poochie, why not? Aren’t you going to let them? The little girl said that you were going to make an Empire!”
“I don’t care what she said— What was that?” He strode to Callia and caught her firmly above the elbow, so that his fingers sank deeply into the soft flesh, “What did she tell you?”
“You’re hurting me. I can’t remember what she said, if you’re going to look at me like that.”
He released her, and she stood there for a moment, rubbing vainly at the red marks. She whimpered, “The little girl made me promise not to tell.”
“That’s too bad. Tell me! Now!”
“Well, she said the Seldon Plan was changed and that there was another Foundation somewheres that was arranging to have you make an Empire. That’s all. She said Mr. Munn was a very important scientist and that the Mule’s palace would have proof of all that. That’s every bit of what she said. Are you angry?”
But Stettin did not answer. He left the room, hurriedly, with Callia’s cowlike eyes staring mournfully after him. Two orders were sent out over the official seal of the First Citizen before the hour was up. One had the effect of sending five hundred ships of the line into space on what were officially to be termed as “war games.” The other had the effect of throwing a single man into confusion.
Homir Munn ceased his preparations to leave when that second order reached him. It was, of course, official permission to enter the palace of the Mule. He read and reread it, with anything but joy.
But Arcadia was delighted. She knew what had happened.
Or, at any rate, she thought she did.
14
ANXIETY
Poli placed the breakfast on the table, keeping one eye on the table news-recorder which quietly disgorged the bulletins of the day. It could be done easily enough without loss of efficiency, this one-eye-absent business. Since all items of food were sterilely packed in containers which served as discardable cooking units, her duties vis-à-vis breakfast consisted of nothing more than choosing the menu, placing the items on the table, and removing the residue thereafter.
She clacked her tongue at what she saw and moaned softly in retrospect.
“Oh, people are so wicked,” she said, and Darell merely hemmed in reply.
Her voice took on the high-pitched rasp which she automatically assumed when about to bewail the evil of the world. “Now why do these terrible Kalganese”—she accented the second syllable and gave it a long “a”—“do like that? You’d think they’d give a body peace. But no, it’s just trouble, trouble, all the time.
“Now look at that headline: ‘Mobs Riot Before Foundation Consulate.’ Oh, would I like to give them a piece of my mind if I could. That’s the trouble with people; they just don’t remember. They just don’t remember, Dr. Darell—got no memory at all. Look at the last war after the Mule died—of course I was just a little girl then—and oh, the fuss and trouble. My own uncle was killed, him