He felt the wall behind him, and the Mule faced him, skinny arms akimbo, lips smiling terribly beneath that mountain of nose.
The Mule said: “Your game is through, Channis. The game of all of you-of all the men of what used to be the Second Foundation. Used to be! Used to be!
“What were you sitting here waiting for all this time, with your babble to Pritcher, when you might have struck him down and taken the blaster from him without the least effort of physical force? You were waiting for me, weren’t you, waiting to greet me in a situation that would not too arouse my suspicions.
“Too bad for you that I needed no arousal. I knew you. I knew you well, Channis of the Second Foundation.
“But what are you waiting for now? You still throw words at me desperately, as though the mere sound of your voice would freeze me to my seat. And all the while you speak, something in your mind is waiting and waiting and is still waiting. But no one is coming. None of those you expect – none of your allies. You are alone here, Channis, and you will remain alone. Do you know why?
“It is because your Second Foundation miscalculated me to the very dregs of the end. I knew their plan early. They thought I would follow you here and be proper meat for their cooking. You were to be a decoy indeed – a decoy for a poor, foolish weakling mutant, so hot on the trail of Empire that he would fall blindly into an obvious pit. But am I their prisoner?
“I wonder if it occurred to them that I’d scarcely be here without my fleet – against the artillery of any unit of which they are entirely and pitifully helpless? Did it occur to them that I would not pause for discussion or wait for events?
“My ships were launched against Tazenda twelve hours ago and they are quite, quite through with their mission. Tazenda is laid in ruins; its centers of population are wiped out. There was no resistance. The Second Foundation no longer exists, Channis – and I, the queer, ugly weakling, am the ruler of the Galaxy.”
Channis could do nothing but shake his head feebly. “No– No–”
“Yes– Yes–” mimicked the Mule. “And if you are the last one alive, and you may be, that will not be for long either.”
And then there followed a short, pregnant pause, and Channis almost howled with the sudden pain of that tearing penetration of the innermost tissues of his mind.
The Mule drew back and muttered: “Not enough. You do not pass the test after all. Your despair is pretense. Your fear is not the broad overwhelming that adheres to the destruction of an ideal, but the puny seeping fear of personal destruction.”
And the Mule’s weak hand seized Channis by the throat in a puny grip that Channis was somehow unable to break.
“You are my insurance, Channis. You are my director and safeguard against any underestimation I may make.” The Mule’s eyes bore down upon him. Insistent– Demanding–
“Have I calculated rightly, Channis? Have I outwitted your men of the Second Foundation? Tazenda is destroyed, Channis, tremendously destroyed; so why is your despair pretense? Where is the reality? I must have reality and truth! Talk, Channis talk. Have I penetrated then, not deeply enough? Does the danger still exist? Talk, Channis. Where have I done wrong?”
Channis felt the words drag out of his mouth. They did not come willingly. He clenched his teeth against them. He bit his tongue. He tensed every muscle of his throat.
And they came out – gasping – pulled out by force and tearing his throat and tongue and teeth on the way.
“Truth,” he squeaked, “truth–”
“Yes, truth. What is left to be done?”
“Seldon founded Second Foundation here. Here, as I said. I told no lie. The psychologists arrived and took control of the native population.”
“Of Tazenda?” The Mule plunged deeply into the flooding torture of the other’s emotional upwellings – tearing at them brutally. “It is Tazenda I have destroyed. You know what I want. Give it to me.”