“You see,” said Darell, and in one gesture turned the intensity knob to maximum.
And with an unearthly shriek, Pelleas Anthor sank to the floor. He rolled in his agony; whitened, gripping fingers clutching and tearing futilely at his hair.
Munn lifted his feet hastily to prevent contact with the squirming body, and his eyes were twin depths of horror. Semic and Turbor were a pair of plaster casts; stiff and white.
Darell, somber, turned the knob back once more. And Anthor twitched feebly once or twice and lay still. He was alive, his breath racking his body.
“Lift him on to the couch,” said Darell, grasping the young man’s head. “Help me here.”
Turbor reached for the feet. They might have been lifting a sack of flour. Then, after long minutes, the breathing grew quieter, and Anthor’s eyelids fluttered and lifted. His face was a horrid yellow; his hair and body was soaked in perspiration, and his voice, when he spoke, was cracked and unrecognizable.
“Don’t,” he muttered, “don’t! Don’t do that again! You don’t know– You don’t know– Oh-h-h.” It was a long, trembling moan.
“We won’t do it again,” said Darell, “if you will tell us the truth. You are a member of the Second Foundation?”
“Let me have some water,” pleaded Anthor.
“Get some, Turbor,” said Darell, “and bring the whiskey bottle.”
He repeated the question after pouring a jigger of whiskey and two glasses of water into Anthor. Something seemed to relax in the young man–
“Yes,” he said, wearily. “I am a member of the Second Foundation.”
“Which,” continued Darell, “is located on Terminus – here?”
“Yes, yes. You are right in every particular, Dr. Darell.”
“Good! Now explain what’s been happening this past half year. Tell us!”
“I would like to sleep,” whispered Anthor.
“Later! Speak now!”
A tremulous sigh. Then words, low and hurried. The others bent over him to catch the sound, “The situation was growing dangerous. We knew that Terminus and its physical scientists were becoming interested in brain-wave patterns and that the times were ripe for the development of something like the Mind Static device. And there was growing enmity toward the Second Foundation. We had to stop it without ruining SeIdon’s Plan.
“We … we tried to control the movement. We tried to join it. It would turn suspicion and efforts away from us. We saw to it that Kalgan declared war as a further distraction. That’s why I sent Munn to Kalgan. Stettin’s supposed mistress was one of us. She saw to it that Munn made the proper moves–”
“Callia is–” cried Munn, but Darell waved him silent.
Anthor continued, unaware of any interruption, “Arcadia followed. We hadn’t counted on that – can’t foresee everything – so Callia maneuvered her to Trantor to prevent interference. That’s all. Except that we lost.”
“You tried to get me to go to Trantor, didn’t you?” asked Darell.
Anthor nodded, “Had to get you out of the way. The growing triumph in your mind was clear enough. You were solving the problems of the Mind Static device.”
“Why didn’t you put me under control?”
“Couldn’t … couldn’t. Had my orders. We were working according to a Plan. If I improvised, I would have thrown everything off. Plan only predicts probabilities … you know that … like Seldon’s Plan.” He was talking in anguished pants, and almost incoherently. His head twisted from side to side in a restless fever. “We worked with individuals … not groups … very low probabilities involved … lost out. Besides … if control you … someone else invent device … no use … had to control times … more subtle … First Speaker’s own plan … don’t know all angles … except … didn’t work a-a-a–” He ran down.
Darell shook him roughly, “You can’t sleep yet. How many of you are there?”
“Huh? Whatjasay … oh … not many … be surprised fifty … don’t need more.”
“All here on Terminus?”
“Five … six out in Space … like Callia … got to sleep.”
He stirred himself suddenly as though to one giant effort, and his expressions gained in clarity. It was a last attempt at self-justification, at moderating his defeat.