“But the Mule, my dear Meirus, has changed that. He spread the knowledge, that the Foundation had hoarded to itself, through half the Galaxy and the monopoly in science is gone forever. We can match them.”
“And the Second Foundation?” questioned Meirus, coolly.
“And the Second Foundation?” repeated Stettin as coolly. “Do you know its intentions? It took ten years to stop the Mule, if, indeed, it was the factor, which some doubt. Are you unaware that a good many of the Foundation’s psychologists and sociologists are of the opinion that the Seldon Plan has been completely disrupted since the days of the Mule? If the Plan has gone, then a vacuum exists which I may fill as well as the next man.”
“Our knowledge of these matters is not great enough to warrant the gamble.”
“Our knowledge, perhaps, but we have a Foundation visitor on the planet. Did you know that? A Homir Munn – who, I understand, has written articles on the Mule, and has expressed exactly that opinion, that the Seldon Plan no longer exists.”
The First Minister nodded, “I have heard of him, or at least of his writings. What does he desire?”
“He asks permission to enter the Mule’s palace.”
“Indeed? It would be wise to refuse. It is never advisable to disturb the superstitions with which a planet is held.”
“I will consider that – and we will speak again.”
Meirus bowed himself out.
Lady Callia said tearfully, “Are you angry with me, Poochie?” Stettin turned on her savagely. “Have I not told you before never to call me by that ridiculous name in the presence of others?”
“You used to like it.”
“Well, I don’t any more, and it is not to happen again.”
He stared at her darkly. It was a mystery to him that he tolerated her these days. She was a soft, empty-headed thing, comfortable to the touch, with a pliable affection that was a convenient facet to a hard life. Yet, even that affection was becoming wearisome. She dreamed of marriage, of being First Lady.
Ridiculous!
She was all very well when he had been an admiral only – but now as First Citizen and future conqueror, he needed more. He needed heirs who could unite his future dominions, something the Mule had never had, which was why his Empire did not survive his strange nonhuman life. He, Stettin, needed someone of the great historic families of the Foundation with whom he could fuse dynasties.
He wondered testily why he did not rid himself of Callia now. It would be no trouble. She would whine a bit– He dismissed the thought. She had her points, occasionally.
Callia was cheering up now. The influence of Graybeard was gone and her Poochie’s granite face was softening now. She lifted herself in a single, fluid motion and melted toward him.
“You’re not going to scold me, are you?”
“No.” He patted her absently. “Now just sit quietly for a while, will you? I want to think.”
“About the man from the Foundation?”
“Yes.”
“Poochie?” This was a pause.
“What?”
“Poochie, the man has a little girl with him, you said. Remember? Could I see her when she comes? I never–”
“Now what do you think I want him to bring his brat with him for? Is my audience room to be a grammar school? Enough of your nonsense, Callia.”
“But I’ll take care of her, Poochie. You won’t even have to bother with her. It’s just that I hardly ever see children, and you know how I love them.”
He looked at her sardonically. She never tired of this approach. She loved children; i.e. his children; i.e. his legitimate children; i.e. marriage. He laughed.
“This particular little piece,” he said, “is a great girl of fourteen or fifteen. She’s probably as tall as you are.”
Callia looked crushed. “Well, could I, anyway? She could tell me about the Foundation? I’ve always wanted to go there, you know. My grandfather was a Foundation man. Won’t you take me there, sometime, Poochie?”
Stettin smiled at the thought. Perhaps he would, as conqueror. The good nature that the thought supplied him with made itself felt in his words, “I will, I will. And you can see the girl and talk Foundation to her all you want. But not near me, understand.”