Isaac Asimov - Foundation and Empire

He tossed it, and Devers scrambled after the flying bills.

Lord Brodrig stopped at the door and turned. “One reminder, Trader. My playmates with the guns here have neither middle ears, tongues, education, nor intelligence. They can neither hear, speak, write, nor even make sense to a Psychic Probe. But they are very expert at interesting executions. I have bought you, man, at one hundred thousand credits. You will be good and worthy merchandise. Should you forget that you are bought at any time and attempt to . . . say . . . repeat our conversation to Riose, you will be executed. But executed my way.”

And in that delicate face there were sudden hard lines of eager cruelty that changed the studied smile into a red-lipped snarl. For one fleeting second, Devers saw that space fiend who had bought his buyer look out of his buyer’s eyes.

Silently, he preceded the two thrusting blast-guns of Brodrig’s “playmates” to his quarters.

And to Ducem Barr’s question, he said with brooding satisfaction, “No, that’s the queerest part of it. He bribed me.”

Two months of difficult war had left their mark on Bel Riose. There was heavy-handed gravity about him; and he was short-tempered.

It was with impatience that he addressed the worshiping Sergeant Luk. “Wait outside, soldier, and conduct these men back to their quarters when I am through. No one is to enter until I call. No one at all, you understand.”

The sergeant saluted himself stiffly out of the room, and Riose with muttered disgust scooped up the waiting papers on his desk, threw them into the top drawer, and slammed it shut.

“Take seats,” he said shortly, to the waiting two. “I haven’t much time. Strictly speaking, I shouldn’t be here at all, but it is necessary to see you.”

He turned to Ducem Barr, whose long fingers were caressing with interest the crystal cube in which was set the simulacrum of the lined, austere face of His Imperial Majesty, Cleon II.

“In the first place, patrician,” said the general, “your Seldon is losing. To be sure, he battles well, for these men of the Foundation swarm like senseless bees and fight like madmen. Every planet is defended viciously, and once taken, every planet heaves so with rebellion it is as much trouble to hold as to conquer. But they are taken, and they are held. Your Seldon is losing.”

“But he has not yet lost,” murmured Barr politely.

“The Foundation itself retains less optimism. They offer me millions in order that I may not put this Seldon to the final test.”

“So rumor goes.”

“Ah, is rumor preceding me? Does it prate also of the latest?”

“What is the latest?”

“Why, that Lord Brodrig, the darling of the Emperor, is now second in command at his own request.”

Devers spoke for the first time. “At his own request, boss? How come? Or are you growing to like the fellow?” He chuckled.

Riose said, calmly, “No, can’t say I do. It’s just that he bought the office at what I considered a fair and adequate price.”

“Such as?”

“Such as a request to the Emperor for reinforcements.”

Devers’s contemptuous smile broadened. “He has communicated with the Emperor, huh? And I take it, boss, you’re just waiting for these reinforcements, but they’ll come any day. Right?”

“Wrong! They have already come. Five ships of the line; smooth and strong, with a personal message of congratulations from the Emperor, and more ships on the way. What’s wrong, Trader?” he asked, sardonically.

Devers spoke through suddenly frozen lips. “Nothing!”

Riose strode out from behind his desk and faced the Trader, hand on the butt of his blast-gun.

“I say, what’s wrong, Trader? The news would seem to disturb you. Surely, you have no sudden birth of interest in the Foundation.”

“I haven’t.”

“Yes—there are queer points about you.”

“That so, boss?” Devers smiled tightly, and balled the fists in his pockets. “Just you line them up and I’ll knock them down for you.”

“Here they are. You were caught easily. You surrendered at first blow with a burnt-out shield. You’re quite ready to desert your world, and that without a price. Interesting, all this, isn’t it?”

“I crave to be on the winning side, boss. I’m a sensible man; you called me that yourself.”

Riose said with tight throatiness, “Granted! Yet no Trader since has been captured. No trade ship but has had the speed to escape at choice. No trade ship but has had a screen that could take all the beating a light cruiser could give it, should it choose to fight. And no Trader but has fought to death when occasion warranted. Traders have been traced as the leaders and instigators of the guerrilla warfare on occupied planets and of the flying raids in occupied space.

“Are you the only sensible man then? You neither fight nor flee, but turn traitor without urging. You are unique, amazingly unique—in fact, suspiciously unique.”

Devers said softly, “I take your meaning, but you have nothing on me. I’ve been here now six months, and I’ve been a good boy.”

“So you have, and I have repaid you by good treatment. I have left your ship undisturbed and treated you with every consideration. Yet you fall short. Freely offered information, for instance, on your gadgets might have been helpful. The atomic principles on which they are built would seem to be used in some of the Foundation’s nastiest weapons. Right?”

“I am only a Trader,” said Devers, “and not one of these bigwig technicians. I sell the stuff; I don’t make it.”

“Well, that will be seen shortly. It is what I came here for. For instance, your ship will be searched for a personal force-shield. You have never worn one; yet all soldiers of the Foundation do. It will be significant evidence that there is information you do not choose to give me. Right?”

There was no answer. He continued, “And there will be more direct evidence. I have brought with me the Psychic Probe. It failed once before, but contact with the enemy is a liberal education.”

His voice was smoothly threatening and Devers felt the gun thrust hard into his midriff—the general’s gun, hitherto in its holster.

The general said quietly, “You will remove your wristband and any other metal ornament you wear and give them to me. Slowly! Atomic fields can be distorted, you see, and Psychic Probes might probe only into static. That’s right. I’ll take it.”

The receiver on the general’s desk was glowing and a message capsule clicked into the slot, near which Barr stood and still held the trimensional Imperial bust.

Riose stepped behind his desk, with his blast-gun held ready. He said to Barr, “You too, patrician. Your wristband condemns you. You have been helpful earlier, however, and I am not vindictive, but I shall judge the fate of your behostaged family by the results of the Psychic Probe.”

And as Riose leaned over to take out the message capsule, Barr lifted the crystal-enveloped bust of Cleon and quietly and methodically brought it down upon the general’s head.

It happened too suddenly for Devers to grasp. It was as if a sudden demon had grown into the old man.

“Out!” said Barr, in a tooth-clenched whisper. “Quickly!” He seized Riose’s dropped blaster and buried it in his blouse.

Sergeant Luk turned as they emerged from the narrowest possible crack of the door.

Barr said easily, “Lead on, sergeant!”

Devers closed the door behind him.

Sergeant Luk led in silence to their quarters, and then, with the briefest pause, continued onward, for there was the nudge of a blast-gun muzzle in his ribs, and a hard voice in his ears which said, “To the trade ship.”