Preem Palver had tucked the napkin down his shirt collar with a twist of his plump neck and had reached for his poached eggs with an uninhibited satisfaction.
"I was down in the city yesterday, Mamma," he said, wielding his fork and nearly drowning the words with a capacious mouthful.
"And what is down in the city, Pappa?" asked Mamma indifferently, sitting down, looking sharply about the table, and rising again for the salt.
"Ah, not so good. A ship came in from out Kalgan-way with newspapers from there. It's war there."
"War! So! Well, let them break their heads, if they have no more sense inside. Did your pay check come yet? Pappa, I'm telling you again. You warn old man Cosker this isn't the only cooperative in the world. It's bad enough they pay you what I'm ashamed to tell my friends, but at least on time they could be!"
"Time; shmime," said Pappa, irritably. "Look, don't make me silly talk at breakfast, it should choke me each bite in the throat," and he wreaked havoc among the buttered toast as he said it. He added, somewhat more moderately, "The fighting is between Kalgan and the Foundation, and for two months, they've been at it."
His hands lunged at one another in mock-representation of a space fight.
"Um-m-m. And what's doing?"
"Bad for the Foundation. Well, you saw Kalgan; all soldiers. They were ready. The Foundation was not, and so - poof!"
And suddenly, Mamma laid down her fork and hissed, "Fool!"
"Huh?"
"Dumb-head! Your big mouth is always moving and wagging."
She was pointing quickly and when Pappa looked over his shoulder, there was Arcadia, frozen in the doorway.
She said, "The Foundation is at war?"
Pappa looked helplessly at Mamma, then nodded.
"And they're losing?"
Again the nod.
Arcadia felt the unbearable catch in her throat, and slowly approached the table. "Is it over?" she whispered.
"Over?" repeated Pappa, with false heartiness. "Who said it was over? In war, lots of things can happen. And... and-"
"Sit down, darling," said Mamma, soothingly. "No one should talk before breakfast. You're not in a healthy condition with no food in the stomach."
But Arcadia ignored her. "Are the Kalganians on Terminus?"
"No," said Pappa, seriously. "The news is from last week, and Terminus is still fighting. This is honest. I'm telling the truth. And the Foundation is still strong. Do you want me to get you the newspapers?"
"Yes!"
She read them over what she could eat of her breakfast and her eyes blurred as she read. Santanni and Korell were gone - without a fight. A squadron of the Foundation's navy had been trapped in the sparsely-sunned Ifni sector and wiped out to almost the last ship.
And now the Foundation was back to the Four-Kingdom core - the original Realm which had been built up under Salvor Hardin, the first mayor. But still it fought - and still there might be a chance-and whatever happened, she must inform her father. She must somehow reach his ear. She must!
But how? With a war in the way.
She asked Pappa after breakfast, "Are you going out on a new mission soon, Mr. Palver?"
Pappa was on the large chair on the front lawn, sunning himself. A fat cigar smoldered between his plump fingers and he looked like a beatific pug-dog.
"A mission?" he repeated, lazily. "Who knows? It's a nice vacation and my leave isn't up. Why talk about new missions? You're restless, Arkady?"
"Me? No, I like it here. You're very good to me, you and Mrs. Palver."
He waved his hand at her, brushing away her words.
Arcadia said, "I was thinking about the war."
"But don't think about it. What can you do? If it's something you can't help, why hurt yourself over it?"
"But I was thinking that the Foundation has lost most of its farming worlds. They're probably rationing food there."
Pappa looked uncomfortable. "Don't worry. It'll be all right."
She scarcely listened. "I wish I could carry food to them, that's what. You know after the Mule died, and the Foundation rebelled, Terminus was just about isolated for a time and General Han Pritcher, who succeeded the Mule for a while was laying siege to it. Food was running awfully low and my father says that his father told him that they only had dry amino-acid concentrates that tasted terrible. Why, one egg cost two hundred credits. And then they broke the siege just in time and food ships came through from Santanni. It must have been an awful time. Probably it's happening all over, now."
There was a pause, and then Arcadia said, "You know, I'll bet the Foundation would be willing to pay smuggler's prices for food now. Double and triple and more. Gee, if any co-operative, f'r instance, here on Trantor took over the job, they might lose some ships, but, I'll bet they'd be war millionaires before it was over. The Foundation Traders in the old days used to do that all the time. There'd be a war, so they'd sell whatever was needed bad and take their chances. Golly, they used to make as much as two million dollars out of one trip - profit. That was just out of what they could carry on one ship, too."
Pappa stirred. His cigar had gone out, unnoticed. "A deal for food, huh? Hm-m-m- But the Foundation is so far away."
"Oh, I know. I guess you couldn't do it from here. If you took a regular liner you probably couldn't get closer than Massena or Smushyk, and after that you'd have to hire a small scoutship or something to slip you through the lines."
Pappa's hand brushed at his hair, as he calculated.
***
Two weeks later, arrangements for the mission were completed. Mamma railed for most of the time - First, at the incurable obstinacy with which he courted suicide. Then, at the incredible obstinacy with which he refused to allow her to accompany him.