The Commdor’s own bodyguard, in the confusion, had struggled to the front line, and Mallow, for the first time, was near enough to see their unfamiliar hand-weapons in detail.
They were atomic! There was no mistaking it; an explosive projectile weapon with a barrel like that was impossible. But that wasn’t the big point. That wasn’t the point at all.
The butts of those weapons had, deeply etched upon them, in worn gold plating, the Spaceship-and-Sun!
The same Spaceship-and-Sun that was stamped on every one of the great volumes of the original Encyclopedia that the Foundation had begun and not yet finished. The same Spaceship-and-Sun that had blazoned the banner of the Galactic Empire through millennia.
Mallow talked through and around his thoughts, “Test that pipe! It’s one piece. Not perfect; naturally, the joining shouldn’t be done by hand.”
There was no need of further legerdemain. It had gone over. Mallow was through. He had what he wanted. There was only one thing in his mind. The golden globe with its conventionalized rays, and the oblique cigar shape that was a space vessel.
The Spaceship-and-Sun of the Empire!
The Empire! The words drilled! A century and a half had passed but there was still the Empire, somewhere deeper in the Galaxy. And it was emerging again, out into the Periphery.
Mallow smiled!
9
The Far Star was two days out in space, when Hober Mallow, in his private quarters with Senior Lieutenant Drawt, handed him an envelope, a roll of microfilm, and a silver spheroid.
“As of an hour from now, Lieutenant, you’re Acting Captain of the Far Star, until I return — or forever.”
Drawt made a motion of standing but Mallow waved him down imperiously.
“Quiet, and listen. The envelope contains the exact location of the planet to which you’re to proceed. There you will wait for me for two months. If, before the two months are up, the Foundation locates you, the microfilm is my report of the trip.
“If, however,” and his voice was somber, “I do not return at the end of two months, and Foundation vessels do not locate you, proceed to the planet, Terminus, and hand in the Time Capsule as the report. Do you understand that?”
“Yes, sir.”
“At no time are you, or any of the men, to amplify in any single instance, my official report.”
“If we are questioned, sir?”
“Then you know nothing.”
“Yes, sir.”
The interview ended, and fifty minutes later, a lifeboat kicked lightly off the side of the Far Star.
10
Onum Barr was an old man, too old to be afraid. Since the last disturbances, he had lived alone on the fringes of the land with what books he had saved from the ruins. He had nothing he feared losing, least of all the worn remnant of his life, and so he faced the intruder without cringing.
“Your door was open,” the stranger explained.
His accent was clipped and harsh, and Barr did not fail to notice the strange blue-steel hand-weapon at his hip. In the half-gloom of the small room, Barr saw the glow of a force-shield surrounding the man.
He said, wearily, “There is no reason to keep it closed. Do you wish anything of me?”
“Yes.” The stranger remained standing in the center of the room. He was large, both in height and bulk. “Yours is the only house about here.”
“It is a desolate place,” agreed Barr, “but there is a town to the east. I can show you the way.”
“In a while. May I sit?”
“If the chairs will hold you,” said the old man, gravely. They were old, too. Relics of a better youth.
The stranger said, “My name is Hobber Mallow. I come from a far province.”
Barr nodded and smiled. “Your tongue convicted you of that long ago. I am Onum Barr of Siwenna — and once Patrician of the Empire.”
“Then this is Siwenna. I had only old maps to guide me.”
“They would have to be old, indeed, for star-positions to be misplaced.”
Barr sat quite still, while the other’s eyes drifted away into a reverie. He noticed that the atomic force-shield had vanished from about the man and admitted dryly to himself that his person no longer seemed formidable to strangers — or even, for good or for evil, to his enemies.
He said, “My house is poor and my resources few. You may share what I have if your stomach can endure black bread and dried corn.”
Mallow shook his head. “No, I have eaten, and I can’t stay. All I need are the directions to the center of government.”
“That is easily enough done, and poor though I am, deprives me of nothing. Do you mean the capital of the planet, or of the Imperial Sector?”
The younger man’s eyes narrowed. “Aren’t the two identical? Isn’t this Siwenna?”
The old patrician nodded slowly, “Siwenna, yes. But Siwenna is no longer capital of the Normannic Sector. Your old map has misled you after all. The stars may not change even in centuries, but political boundaries are all too fluid.”
“That’s too bad. In fact, that’s very bad. Is the new capital far off?”
“It’s on Orsha II. Twenty parsecs off. Your map will direct you. How old is it?”
“A hundred and fifty years.”
“That old?” The old man sighed. “History has been crowded since. Do you know any of it?”
Mallow shook his head slowly.
Barr said, “You’re fortunate. It has been an evil time for the provinces, but for the reign of Stannell VI, and he died fifty years ago. Since that time, rebellion and ruin, ruin and rebellion.” Barr wondered if he were growing garrulous. It was a lonely life out here, and he had so little chance to talk to men.
Mallow said with sudden sharpness, “Ruin, eh? You sound as if the province were impoverished.”
“Perhaps not on an absolute scale. The physical resources of twenty-five first-rank planets take a long time to use up. Compared to the wealth of the last century, though, we have gone a long way downhill — and there is no sign of turning, not yet. Why are you so interested in all this, young man? You are all alive and your eyes shine!”
The trader came near enough to blushing, as the faded eyes seemed to look too deep into his and smile at what they saw.
He said, “Now look here. I’m a trader out there — out toward the rim of the Galaxy. I’ve located some old maps, and I’m out to open new markets. Naturally, talk of impoverished provinces disturbs me. You can’t get money out of a world unless money’s there to be got. Now how’s Siwenna, for instance?”
The old man leaned forward, “I cannot say. It will do even yet, perhaps. But you a trader? You look more like a fighting man. You hold your hand near your gun and there is a scar on your jawbone.”
Mallow jerked his head. “There isn’t much law out there where I come from. Fighting and scars are part of a trader’s overhead. But fighting is only useful when there’s money at the end, and if I can get it without, so much the sweeter. Now will I find enough money here to make it worth the fighting? I take it I can find the fighting easily enough.”
“Easily enough,” agreed Barr. “You could join Wiscard’s remnants in the Red Stars. I don’t know, enough, if you’d call that fighting or piracy. Or you could join our present gracious viceroy — gracious by right of murder, pillage, rapine, and the word of a boy Emperor, since rightfully assassinated.” The patrician’s thin cheeks reddened. His eyes closed and then opened, bird-bright.