“That’s your own signature, isn’t it?”
“Yes, yes. It’s my record. Make the comparison.”
The scanner threw old and new on to the screen. All six curves in each recording were there, and in the darkness, Munn’s voice sounded in harsh clarity. “Well, now, look there. There’s a change.”
“Those are the primary waves of the frontal lobe. It doesn’t mean a thing, Homir. Those additional jags you’re pointing to are just anger. It’s the others that count.”
He touched a control knob and the six pairs melted into one another and coincided. The deeper amplitude of primaries alone introduced doubling.
“Satisfied?” asked Anthor.
Darell nodded curtly and took the seat himself. Semic followed him and Turbor followed him. Silently the curves were collected; silently they were compared.
Munn was the last to take his seat. For a moment, he hesitated, then, with a touch of desperation in his voice, he said, “Well now, look, I’m coming in last and I’m under tension. I expect due allowance to be made for that.”
“There will be,” Darell assured him. “No conscious emotion of yours will affect more than the primaries and they are not important.”
It might have been hours, in the utter silence that followed
And then in the darkness of the comparison, Anthor said huskily: “Sure, sure, it’s only the onset of a complex. Isn’t that what he told us? No such thing as tampering; it’s all a silly anthropomorphic notion – but look at it! A coincidence I suppose.”
“What’s the matter?” shrieked Munn.
Darell’s hand was tight on the librarian’s shoulder. “Quiet, Munn – you’ve been handled; you’ve been adjusted by them.”
Then the light went on, and Munn was looking about him with broken eyes, making a horrible attempt to smile.
“You can’t be serious, surely. There is a purpose to this. You’re testing me.”
But Darell only shook his head. “No, no, Homir. It’s true.”
The librarian’s eyes were filled with tears, suddenly. “I don’t feel any different. I can’t believe it.” With sudden conviction: “You are all in this. It’s a conspiracy.”
Darell attempted a soothing gesture, and his hand was struck aside. Munn snarled, “You’re planning to kill me. By Space, you’re planning to kill me.”
With a lunge, Anthor was upon him. There was the sharp crack of bone against bone, and Homir was limp and flaccid with that look of fear frozen on his face.
Anthor rose shakily, and said, “We’d better tie and gag him. Later, we can decide what to do.” He brushed his long hair back.
Turbor said, “How did you guess there was something wrong with him?”
Anthor turned sardonically upon him. “It wasn’t difficult. You see, I happen to know where the Second Foundation really is.”
Successive shocks have a decreasing effect–
It was with actual mildness that Semic asked, “Are you sure? I mean we’ve just gone through this sort of business with Munn–”
This isn’t quite the same,” returned Anthor. “Darell, the day the war started, I spoke to you most seriously. I tried to have you leave Terminus. I would have told you then what I will tell you now, if I had been able to trust you.”
“You mean you have known the answer for half a year?” smiled Darell.
“I have known it from the time I learned that Arcadia had left for Trantor.”
And Darell started to his feet in sudden consternation. “What had Arcadia to do with it? What are you implying?”
“Absolutely nothing that is not plain on the face of all the events we know so well. Arcadia goes to Kalgan and flees in terror to the very center of the Galaxy, rather than return home. Lieutenant Dirige, our best agent on Kalgan is tampered with. Homir Munn goes to Kalgan and he is tampered with. The Mule conquered the Galaxy, but, queerly enough, he made Kalgan his headquarters, and it occurs to me to wonder if he was conqueror or, perhaps, tool. At every turn, we meet with Kalgan, Kalgan – nothing but Kalgan, the world that somehow survived untouched all the struggles of the warlords for over a century.”
“Your conclusion, then.”
“Is obvious,” Anthor’s eyes were intense. “The Second Foundation is on Kalgan.”