Текст книги "Second Foundation"

Автор книги: Isaac Asimov

Соавторы: Isaac Asimov
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Not easy for his eminence, the First Minister, who, with fine impartiality, had served the last lord as well as the present; and who would, if he lived long enough, serve the next as honestly.

Nor easy for the Lady Callia, who was Stettin's more than friend, yet less than wife.

In Lord Stettin's private apartments the three were alone that evening. The First Citizen, bulky and glistening in the admiral's uniform that he affected, scowled from out the unupholstered chair in which he sat as stiffly as the plastic of which it was composed. His First Minister Lev Meirus, faced him with a far-off unconcern, his long, nervous fingers stroking absently and rhythmically the deep line that curved from hooked nose along gaunt and sunken cheek to the point, nearly, of the gray-bearded chin. The Lady Callia disposed of herself gracefully on the deeply furred covering of a foamite couch, her full lips trembling a bit in an unheeded pout.

"Sir," said Meirus – it was the only title adhering to a lord who was styled only First Citizen, "you lack a certain view of the continuity of history. Your own life, with its tremendous revolutions, leads you to think of the course of civilization as something equally amenable to sudden change. But it is not."

"The Mule showed otherwise."

"But who can follow in his footsteps. He was more than man, remember. And be, too, was not entirely successful."

"Poochie," whimpered the Lady Callia, suddenly, and then shrank into herself at the furious gesture from the First Citizen.

Lord Stettin said, harshly, "Do not interrupt, Callia. Meirus, I am tired of inaction. My predecessor spent his life polishing the navy into a finely-turned instrument that has not its equal in the Galaxy. And he died with the magnificent machine lying idle. Am I to continue that? I, an Admiral of the Navy?

"How long before the machine rusts? At present, it is a drain on the Treasury and returns nothing. Its officers long for dominion, its men for loot. All Kalgan desires the return of Empire and glory. Are you capable of understanding that?"

"These are but words that you use, but I grasp your meaning. Dominion, loot, glory – pleasant when they are obtained, but the process of obtaining them is often risky and always unpleasant. The first fine flush may not last. And in all history, it has never been wise to attack the Foundation. Even the Mule would have been wiser to refrain-"

There were tears in the Lady Callia's blue, empty eyes. Of late, Poochie scarcely saw her, and now, when he had promised the evening to her, this horrible, thin, gray man, who always looked through her rather than at her, had forced his way in. And Poochie let him. She dared not say anything; was frightened even of the sob that forced its way out.

But Stettin was speaking now in the voice she hated, hard and Impatient. He was saying: "You're a slave to the far past. The Foundation is greater in volume and population, but they are loosely knit and will fall apart at a blow. What holds them together these days is merely inertia; an inertia I am strong enough to smash. You are hypnotized by the old days when only the Foundation had atomic power. They were able to dodge the last hammer blows of the dying Empire and then faced only the unbrained anarchy of the warlords who would counter the Foundation's atomic vessels only with hulks and relics.

"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."

"I won't bother you, honestly. I'll have her in my own rooms." She was happy again. It was not very often these days that she was allowed to have her way. She put her arms about his neck and after the slightest hesitation, she felt its tendons relax and the large head come softly down upon her shoulder.

13. Lady

Arcadia felt triumphant. How life had changed since Pelleas Anthor had stuck his silly face up against her window – and all because she had the vision and courage to do what needed to be done.

Here she was on Kalgan. She had been to the great Central Theater – the largest in the Galaxy – and seen in person some of the singing stars who were famous even in the distant Foundation. She had shopped all on her own along the Flowered Path, fashion center of the gayest world in Space. And she had made her own selections because Homir just didn't know anything about it at all. The saleswomen raised no objections at all to long, shiny dresses with those vertical sweeps that made her look so tall – and Foundation money went a long, long way. Homir had given her a ten-credit bill and when she changed it to Kalganian "Kalganids," it made a terribly thick sheaf.

She had even had her hair redone – sort of half-short in back, with two glistening curls over each temple. And it was treated so that it looked goldier than ever; it just shone.

But this, this was best of all. To be sure, the Palace of Lord Stettin wasn't as grand and lavish as the theaters, or as mysterious and historical as the old palace of the Mule – of which, so far they had only glimpsed the lonely towers in their air flight across the planet – but, imagine, a real Lord. She was rapt in the glory of it.

And not only that. She was actually face to face with his Mistress. Arcadia capitalized the word in her mind, because she knew the role such women had played in history; knew their glamour and power. In fact, she had often thought of being an all-powerful and glittering creature, herself, but somehow mistresses weren't in fashion at the Foundation just then and besides, her father probably wouldn't let her, if it came to that.

Of course, the Lady Callia didn't quite come up to Arcadia's notion of the part. For one thing, she was rather plump, and didn't look at all wicked and dangerous. just sort of faded and near-sighted. Her voice was high, too, instead of throaty, and-

Callia said, "Would you like more tea, child?"

"I'll have another cup, thank you, your grace," – or was it your highness?

Arcadia continued with a connoisseur's condescension, "Those are lovely pearls you are wearing, my lady." (On the whole, "my lady" seemed best.)

"Oh? Do you think so?" Callia seemed vaguely pleased. She removed them and let them swing milkily to and fro. "Would you like them? You can have them, if you like."

"Oh, my-You really mean-" She found them in her hand, then, repelling them mournfully, she said, "Father wouldn't like it."

"He wouldn't like the pearls? But they're quite nice pearls."

"He wouldn't like my taking them, I mean. You're not supposed to take expensive presents from other people, he says."

"You aren't? But… I mean, this was a present to me from Poo… from the First Citizen. Was that wrong, do you suppose?"

Arcadia reddened. "I didn't mean-"

But Callia had tired of the subject. She let the pearls slide to the ground and said, "You were going to tell me about the Foundation. Please do so right now."

And Arcadia was suddenly at a loss. What does one say about a world dull to tears. To her, the Foundation was a suburban town, a comfortable house, the annoying necessities of education, the uninteresting eternities of a quiet life. She said, uncertainly, "It's just like you view in the book-films, I suppose."

"Oh, do you view book-films? They give me such a headache when I try. But do you know I always love video stories about your Traders – such big, savage men. It's always so exciting. Is your friend, Mr. Munn, one of them? He doesn't seem nearly savage enough. Most of the Traders had beards and big bass voices, and were so domineering with women – don't you think so?"

Arcadia smiled, glassily. "That's just part of history, my lady. I mean, when the Foundation was Young, the Traders were the pioneers pushing back the frontiers and bringing civilization to the rest of the Galaxy. We learned all about that in school. But that time has passed. We don't have Traders any more; just corporations and things."

"Really? What a shame. Then what does Mr. Munn do? I mean, if he's not a Trader."

"Uncle Homir's a librarian."

Callia put a hand to her lips and tittered. "You mean he takes care of book-films. Oh, my! It seems like such a silly thing for a grown man to do."

"He's a very good librarian, my lady. It is an occupation that is very highly regarded at the Foundation." She put down the little, iridescent teacup upon the milky-metaled table surface.

Her hostess was all concern. "But my dear child. I'm sure I didn't mean to offend you. He must be a very intelligent man. I could see it in his eyes as soon as I looked at him. They were so… so intelligent. And he must be brave, too, to want to see the Mule's palace."

"Brave?" Arcadia's internal awareness twitched. This was what she was waiting for. Intrigue! Intrigue! With great indifference, she asked, staring idly at her thumbtip: "Why must one be brave to wish to see the Mule's palace?"

"Didn't you know?" Her eyes were round, and her voice sank. "There's a curse on it. When he died, the Mule directed that no one ever enter it until the Empire of the Galaxy is established. Nobody on Kalgan would dare even to enter the grounds."

Arcadia absorbed that. "But that's superstition-"

"Don't say that," Callia was distressed. "Poochie always says that. He says it's useful to say it isn't though, in order to maintain his hold over the people. But I notice he's never gone in himself. And neither did Thallos, who was First Citizen before Poochie." A thought struck her and she was all curiosity again: "But why does Mr. Munn want to see the Palace?"

And it was here that Arcadia's careful plan could be put into action. She knew well from the books she had read that a ruler's mistress was the real power behind the throne, that she was the very well-spring of influence. Therefore, if Uncle Homir failed with Lord Stettin – and she was sure he would – she must retrieve that failure with Lady Callia. To be sure, Lady Callia was something of a puzzle. She didn't seem at all bright. But, well, all history proved-

She said, "There's a reason, my lady – but will you keep it in confidence?"

"Cross my heart," said Callia, making the appropriate gesture on the soft, billowing whiteness of her breast.

Arcadia's thoughts kept a sentence ahead of her words. "Uncle Homir is a great authority on the Mule, you know. He's written books and books about it, and he thinks that all of Galactic history has been changed since the Mule conquered the Foundation."

"Oh, my."

"He thinks the Seldon Plan-"

Callia clapped her hands. "I know about the Seldon Plan. The videos about the Traders were always all about the Seldon Plan. It was supposed to arrange to have the Foundation win all the time. Science had something to do with it, though I could never quite see how. I always get so restless when I have to listen to explanations. But you go right ahead, my dear. It's different when you explain. You make everything seem so clear."

Arcadia continued, "Well, don't you see then that when the Foundation was defeated by the Mule, the Seldon Plan didn't work and it hasn't worked since. So who will form the Second Empire?"

"The Second Empire?"

"Yes, one must be formed some day, but how? That's the problem, you see. And there's the Second Foundation."

"The Second Foundation?" She was quite completely lost.

'Yes, they're the planners of history that are following in the footsteps of Seldon. They stopped the Mule because he was premature, but now, they may be supporting Kalgan."

"Why?"

"Because Kalgan may now offer the best chance of being the nucleus for a new Empire."

Dimly, Lady Callia seemed to grasp that. "You mean Poochie is going to make a new Empire."

"We can't tell for sure. Uncle Homir thinks so, but hell have to see the Mule's records to find out."

"It's all very complicated," said Lady Callia, doubtfully.

Arcadia gave up. She had done her best.

***

Lord Stettin was in a more-or-less savage humor. The session with the milksop from the Foundation had been quite unrewarding. It had been worse; it had been embarrassing. To be absolute ruler of twenty-seven worlds, master of the Galaxy's greatest military machine, owner of the universe's most vaulting ambition – and left to argue nonsense with an antiquarian.

Damnation!

He was to violate the customs of Kalgan, was he? To allow the Mule's palace to be ransacked so that a fool could write another book? The cause of science! The sacredness of knowledge! Great Galaxy! Were these catchwords to be thrown in his face in all seriousness? Besides – and his flesh prickled slightly – there was the matter of the curse. He didn't believe in it; no intelligent man could. But if he was going to defy it, it would have to be for a better reason than any the fool had advanced.

"What do you want?" he snapped, and Lady Callia cringed visibly in the doorway.

"Are you busy?"

"Yes. I am busy."

"But there's nobody here, Poochie. Couldn't I even speak to you for a minute?"

"Oh, Galaxy! What do you want? Now hurry."

Her words stumbled. "The little girl told me they were going into the Mule's palace. I thought we could go with her. It must be gorgeous inside."

"She told you that, did she? Well, she isn't and we aren't. Now go tend your own business. I've had about enough of you."

"But, Poochie, why not? Aren't you going to let them? The little girl said that you were going to make an Empire!"

"I don't care what she said– What was that?" He strode to Callia, and caught her firmly above the elbow, so that his fingers sank deeply into the soft flesh, "What did she tell you?"

"You're hurting me. I can't remember what she said, if you're going to look at me like that."

He released her, and she stood there for a moment, rubbing vainly at the red marks. She whimpered, "The little girl made me promise not to tell."

"That's too bad. Tell me! Now!"

"Well, she said the Seldon Plan was changed and that there was another Foundation somewheres that was arranging to have you make an Empire. That's all. She said Mr. Munn was a very important scientist and that the Mule's palace would have proof of all that. That's every bit of what she said. Are you angry?"

But Stettin did not answer. He left the room, hurriedly, with Callia's cowlike eyes staring mournfully after him. Two orders were sent out over the official seal of the First Citizen before the hour was up. One had the effect of sending five hundred ships of the line into space on what were officially to be termed as "war games." The other had the effect of throwing a single man into confusion.

Homir Munn ceased his preparations to leave when that second order reached him. It was, of course, official permission to enter the palace of the Mule. He read and reread it with anything but joy.

But Arcadia was delighted. She knew what had happened.

Or, at any rate, she thought she did.

14. Anxiety

Poli placed the breakfast on the table, keeping one eye on the table news-recorder which quietly disgorged the bulletins of the day. It could be done easily enough without loss of efficiency, this one-eye-absent business. Since all items of food were sterilely packed in containers which served as discardable cooking units, her duties vis-a-vis breakfast consisted of nothing more than choosing the menu, placing the items on the table, and removing the residue thereafter.

She clacked her tongue at what she saw and moaned softly in retrospect.

"Oh, people are so wicked," she said, and Darell merely hemmed in reply.

Her voice took on the high-pitched rasp which she automatically assumed when about to bewail the evil of the world. "Now why do these terrible Kalganese" – she accented the second syIlable and gave it a long "a" – "do like that? You'd think they'd give a body peace. But no, it's just trouble, trouble, all the time.

"Now look at that headline: 'Mobs Riot Before Foundation Consulate.’ Oh, would I like to give them a piece of my mind, if I could. That's the trouble with people; they just don't remember. They just don't remember, Dr. Darell – got no memory at all. Look at the last war after the Mule died – of course I was just a little girl then – and oh, the fuss and trouble. My own uncle was killed, him being just in his twenties and only two years married, with a baby girl. I remember him even yet – blond hair he had, and a dimple in his chin. I have a trimensional cube of him somewheres-

"And now his baby girl has a son of her own in the navy and most like if anything happens-

"And we had the bombardment patrols, and all the old men taking turns in the stratospheric defense – I could imagine what they would have been able to do if the Kalganese had come that far. My mother used to tell us children about the food rationing and the prices and taxes. A body could hardly make ends meet-

"You'd think if they had sense people would just never want to start it again; just have nothing to do with it. And I suppose it's not people that do it, either; I suppose even Kalganese would rather sit at home with their families and not go fooling around in ships and getting killed. It's that awful man, Stettin. It's a wonder people like that are let live. He kills the old man – what's his name – Thallos, and now he's just spoiling to be boss of everything.

"And why he wants to fight us, I don't know. He's bound to lose – like they always do. Maybe it's all in the Plan, but sometimes I'm sure it must be a wicked plan to have so much fighting and killing in it, though to be sure I haven't a word to say about Hari Seldon, who I'm sure knows much more about that than I do and perhaps I'm a fool to question him. And the other Foundation is as much to blame. They could stop Kalgan now and make everything fine. They'll do it anyway in the end, and you'd think they'd do it before there's any damage done."

Dr. Darell looked up. "Did you say something, Poli?"

Poli's eyes opened wide, then narrowed angrily. "Nothing, doctor, nothing at all. I haven't got a word to say. A body could as soon choke to death as say a word in this house. It's jump here, and jump there, but just try to say a word-" and she went off simmering.

Her leaving made as little impression on Darell as did her speaking.

Kalgan! Nonsense! A merely physical enemy! Those had always been beaten!

Yet he could not divorce himself of the current foolish crisis. Seven days earlier, the mayor had asked him to be Administrator of Research and Development. He had promised an answer today.

Well-

He stirred uneasily. Why, himself! Yet could he refuse? It would seem strange, and he dared not seem strange. After all, what did he care about Kalgan. To him there was only one enemy. Always had been.

While his wife had lived, he was only too glad to shirk the task; to hide. Those long, quiet days on Trantor, with the ruins of the past about them! The silence of a wrecked world and the forgetfulness of it all!

But she had died. Less than five years, all told, it had been; and after that he knew that he could live only by fighting that vague and fearful enemy that deprived him of the dignity of manhood by controlling his destiny; that made life a miserable struggle against a foreordained end; that made all the universe a hateful and deadly chess game.

Call it sublimation; he, himself did can it that – but the fight gave meaning to his life.

First to the University of Santanni, where he had joined Dr. Kleise. It had been five years well-spent.

And yet Kleise was merely a gatherer of data. He could not succeed in the real task – and when Darell had felt that as certainty, he knew it was time to leave.

Kleise may have worked in secret, yet he had to have men working for him and with him. He had subjects whose brains he probed. He had a University that backed him. All these were weaknesses.

Kleise could not understand that; and he, Darell, could not explain that. They parted enemies. It was well; they had to. He had to leave in surrender – in case someone watched.

Where Kleise worked with charts; Darell worked with mathematical concepts in the recesses of his mind. Kleise worked with many; Darell with none. Kleise in a University; Darell in the quiet of a suburban house.

And he was almost there.

A Second Foundationer is not human as far as his cerebrum is concerned. The cleverest physiologist, the most subtle neurochemist might detect nothing – yet the difference must be there.

And since the difference was one of the mind, it was there that it must be detectable.

Given a man like the Mule – and there was no doubt that the Second Foundationers had the Mule's powers, whether inborn or acquired – with the power of detecting and controlling human emotions, deduce from that the electronic circuit required, and deduce from that the last details of the encephalograph on which it could not help but be betrayed.

And now Kleise had returned into his life, in the person of his ardent young pupil, Anthor.

Folly! Folly! With his graphs and charts of people who had been tampered with. He had learned to detect that years ago, but of what use was it. He wanted the arm; not the tool. Yet he had to agree to join Anthor, since it was the quieter course.

Just as now he would become Administrator of Research and Development. It was the quieter course! And so he remained a conspiracy within a conspiracy.

The thought of Arcadia teased him for a moment, and he shuddered away from it. Left to himself, it would never have happened. Left to himself, no one would ever have been endangered but himself. Left to himself-

He felt the anger rising-against the dead Kleise, the living Anthor, all the well-meaning fools-

Well, she could take care of herself. She was a very mature little girl.

She could take care of herself!

It was a whisper in his mind-

Yet could she?

***

At the moment, that Dr. Darell told himself mournfully that she could, she was sitting in the coldly austere anteroom of the Executive Offices of the First Citizen of the Galaxy. For half an hour she had been sitting there, her eyes sliding slowly about the walls. There had been two armed guards at the door when she had entered with Homir Munn. They hadn't been there the other times.

She was alone, now, yet she sensed the unfriendliness of the very furnishings of the room. And for the first time.

Now, why should that be?

Homir was with Lord Stettin. Well, was that wrong?

It made her furious. In similar situations in the book-films and the videos, the hero foresaw the conclusion, was prepared for it when it came, and she – she just sat there. Anything could happen. Anything! And she just sat there.

Well, back again. Think it back. Maybe something would come.

For two weeks, Homir had nearly lived inside the Mule's palace. He had taken her once, with Stettin's permission. It was large and gloomily massive, shrinking from the touch of life to lie sleeping within its ringing memories, answering the footsteps with a hollow boom or a savage clatter. She hadn't liked it.

Better the great, gay highways of the capital city; the theaters and spectacles of a world essentially poorer than the Foundation, yet spending more of its wealth on display.

Homir would return in the evening, awed-

"It's a dream-world for me," he would whisper. "If I could only chip the palace down stone by stone, layer by layer of the aluminum sponge. If I could carry it back to Terminus– What a museum it would make."

He seemed to have lost that early reluctance. He was eager, instead; glowing. Arcadia knew that by the one sure sign; he practically never stuttered throughout that period.

One time, he said, "There are abstracts of the records of General Pritcher-"

"I know him. He was the Foundation renegade, who combed the Galaxy for the Second Foundation, wasn't he?"

"Not exactly a renegade, Arkady. The Mule had Converted him."

"Oh, it's the same thing."

"Galaxy, that combing you speak of was a hopeless task. The original records of the Seldon Convention that established both Foundations five hundred years ago, make only one reference to the Second Foundation. They say if's located 'at the other end of the Galaxy at Star's End.' That's all the Mule and Pritcher had to go on. They had no method of recognizing the Second Foundation even if they found it. What madness!

"They have records" – he was speaking to himself, but Arcadia listened eagerly – "which must cover nearly a thousand worlds, yet the number of worlds available for study must have been closer to a million. And we are no better off-"

Arcadia broke in anxiously, "Shhh-h" in a tight hiss.

Homir froze, and slowly recovered. "Let's not talk," he mumbled.

And now Homir was with Lord Stettin and Arcadia waited outside alone and felt the blood squeezing out of her heart for no reason at all. That was more frightening than anything else. That there seemed no reason.

On the other side of the door, Homir, too, was living in a sea of gelatin. He was fighting, with furious intensity, to keep from stuttering and, of course, could scarcely speak two consecutive words clearly as a result.

Lord Stettin was in full uniform, six-feet-six, large-jawed, and hard-mouthed. His balled, arrogant fists kept a powerful time to his sentences.

"Well, you have had two weeks, and you come to me with tales of nothing. Come, sir, tell me the worst. Is my Navy to be cut to ribbons? Am I to fight the ghosts of the Second Foundation as well as the men of the First?"

"I… I repeat, my lord, I am no p… pre… predictor. I… I am at a complete… loss."

"Or do you wish to go back to warn your countrymen? To deep Space with your play-acting. I want the truth or I’ll have it out of you along with half your guts."

"I'm t… telling only the truth, and I'll have you re… remember, my l… lord, that I am a citizen of the Foundation. Y… you cannot touch me without harvesting m… m… more than you count on."

The Lord of Kalgan laughed uproariously. "A threat to frighten children. A horror with which to beat back an idiot. Come, Mr. Munn, I have been patient with you. I have listened to you for twenty minutes while you detailed wearisome nonsense to me which must have cost you sleepless nights to compose. It was wasted effort. I know you are here not merely to rake through the Mule's dead ashes and to warm over the cinders you find. ***You came here for more than you have admitted. Is that not true?"