Second Foundation - Isaac Asimov [67]
A vast, inhuman amusement.
It was much to see in such a quick flicker of a pair of eyes, but Arcadia had no doubt of what she saw.
She was running now—running wildly—searching madly for an unoccupied public booth at which one could press a button for public conveyance.
She was not running from Lord Stettin; not from him or from all the human hounds he could place at her heels—not from all his twenty-seven worlds rolled into a single gigantic phenomenon, hallooing at her shadow.
She was running from a single, frail woman who had helped her escape. From a creature who had loaded her with money and jewels; who had risked her own life to save her. From an entity she knew, certainly and finally, to be a woman of the Second Foundation.
An air-taxi came to a soft clicking halt in the cradle. The wind of its coming brushed against Arcadia’s face and stirred at the hair beneath the softly-furred hood Callia had given her.
“Where’ll it be, lady?”
She fought desperately to low-pitch her voice to make it not that of a child. “How many spaceports in the city?”
“Two. Which one ya want?”
“Which is closer?”
He stared at her: “Kalgan Central, lady.”
“The other one, please. I’ve got the money.” She had a twenty-Kalganid note in her hand. The denomination of the note made little difference to her, but the taxi-man grinned appreciatively.
“Anything ya say, lady. Sky-line cabs take ya anywhere.”
She cooled her cheek against the slightly musty upholstery. The lights of the city moved leisurely below her.
What should she do? What should she do?
It was in that moment that she knew she was a stupid, stupid little girl, away from her father, and frightened. Her eyes were full of tears, and deep down in her throat, there was a small, soundless cry that hurt her insides.
She wasn’t afraid that Lord Stettin would catch her. Lady Callia would see to that. Lady Callia! Old, fat, stupid, but she held on to her lord, somehow. Oh, it was clear enough, now. Everything was clear.
That tea with Callia at which she had been so smart. Clever little Arcadia! Something inside Arcadia choked and hated itself. That tea had been maneuvered, and then Stettin had probably been maneuvered so that Homir was allowed to inspect the palace after all. She, the foolish Callia, had wanted it so, and arranged to have smart little Arcadia supply a foolproof excuse, one which would arouse no suspicions in the minds of the victims, and yet involve a minimum of interference on her part.
Then why was she free? Homir was a prisoner, of course—
Unless—
Unless she went back to the Foundation as a decoy—a decoy to lead others into the hands of . . . of them.
So she couldn’t return to the Foundation—
“Spaceport, lady.” The air-taxi had come to a halt. Strange! She hadn’t even noticed.
What a dream-world it was.
“Thanks,” she pushed the bill at him without seeing anything and was stumbling out the door, then running across the springy pavement.
Lights. Unconcerned men and women. Large gleaming bulletin boards, with the moving fingers that followed every single spaceship that arrived and departed.
Where was she going? She didn’t care. She only knew that she wasn’t going to the Foundation! Anywhere else at all would suit.
Oh, thank Seldon, for that forgetful moment—that last split-second when Callia wearied of her act because she had to do only with a child and had let her amusement spring through.
And then something else occurred to Arcadia, something that had been stirring and moving at the base of her brain ever since the flight began—something that forever killed the fourteen in her.
And she knew that she must escape.
That above all. Though they located every conspirator on the Foundation; though they caught her own father; she could not, dared not, risk a warning. She could not risk her own life—not in the slightest—for the entire realm of Terminus. She was the most important person in the Galaxy. She was the only important person in the Galaxy.
She knew that even as she stood before the ticket-machine