Iwo was duly impressed. He grew confidential in his turn, "That's good. You know, they say we've got five hundred ships ready to pitch in on our own at the right time. "
Fran said authoritatively, "More than that, maybe. This is real strategy. This is the kind I like." He clawed loudly at the skin of his abdomen. "But don't you forget that the Mule is a smart boy, too. What happened at Horleggor worries me."
"I heard he lost about ten ships."
"Sure, but he had a hundred more, and the Foundation had to get out. It's all to the good to have those tyrants beaten, but not as quickly as all that." He shook his head.
"The question I ask is where does the Mule get his ships? There's a widespread rumor we're making them for him."
"We? The Traders? Haven has the biggest ship factories anywhere in the independent worlds, and we haven't made one for anyone but ourselves. Do you suppose any world is building a fleet for the Mule on its own, without taking the precaution of united action? That's a... a fairy tale."
"Well, where does he get them?"
And Fran shrugged, "Makes them himself, I suppose. That worries me, too."
Fran blinked at the sun and curled his toes about the smooth wood of the polished foot-rest. Slowly, he fell asleep and the soft burr of his breathing mingled with the insect sibilance.
Lastly, there were the very few who knew considerable and were not confident at all.
Such as Randu, who on the fifth day of the all-Trader convention entered the Central Hall and found the two men he had asked to be there, waiting for him. The five hundred seats were empty - and were going to stay so.
Randu said quickly, almost before he sat down, "We three represent about half the military potential of the Independent Trading Worlds."
"Yes," said Mangin of Iss, "my colleague and I have already commented upon the fact."
"I am ready," said Randu, "to speak quickly and earnestly. I am not interested in bargaining or subtlety. Our position is radically in the worse."
"As a result of-" urged Ovall Gri of Mnemon.
"Of developments of the last hour. Please! From the beginning. First, our position is not of our doing, and but doubtfully of our control. Our original dealings were not with the Mule, but with several others; notably the ex-warlord of Kalgan, whom the Mule defeated at a most inconvenient time for us."
"Yes, but this Mule is a worthy substitute," said Mangin. "I do not cavil at details."
"You may when you know all the details." Randu leaned forward and placed his hands upon the table palms-up in an obvious gesture.
He said, "A month ago I sent my nephew and my nephew's wife to Kalgan."
"Your nephew!" cried Ovall Gri, in surprise. "I did not know he was your nephew."
"With what purpose," asked Mangin, dryly. "This?" And his thumb drew an inclusive circle high in the air.
"No. If you mean the Mule's war on the Foundation, no. How could I aim so high? The young man knew nothing - neither of our organization nor of our aims. He was told I was a minor member of an intra-Haven patriotic society, and his function at Kalgan was nothing but that of an amateur observer. My motives were, I must admit, rather obscure. Mainly, I was curious about the Mule. He is a strange phenomenon - but that's a chewed cud; I'll not go into it. Secondly, it would make an interesting and educational training project for a man who had experience with the Foundation and the Foundation underground and showed promise of future usefulness to us. You see-"
Ovall's long face fell into vertical lines as he showed his large teeth, "You must have been surprised at the outcome, then, since there is not a world among the Traders, I believe, that does not know that this nephew of yours abducted a Mule underling in the name of the Foundation and furnished the Mule with a casus belli. Galaxy, Randu, you spin romances. I find it hard to believe you had no hand in that. Come, it was a skillful job."
Randu shook his white head, "Not of my doing. Nor, willfully, of my nephew's, who is now held prisoner at the Foundation, and may not live to see the completion of this so-skillful job. I have just heard from him. The Personal Capsule has been smuggled out somehow, come through the war zone, gone to Haven, and traveled from there to here. It has been a month on its travels."
"And?-"
Randu leaned a heavy hand upon the heel of his palm and said, sadly, "I'm afraid we are cast for the same role that the onetime warlord of Kalgan played. The Mule is a mutant!"
There was a momentary qualm; a faint impression of quickened heartbeats. Randu might easily have imagined it.
When Mangin spoke, the evenness of his voice was unchanged, "How do you know?"
"Only because my nephew says so, but he was on Kalgan.
"What kind of a mutant? There are all kinds, you know."
Randu forced the rising impatience down, "All kinds of mutants, yes, Mangin. All kinds! But only one kind of Mule. What kind of a mutant would start as an unknown, assemble an army, establish, they say, a five-mile asteroid as original base, capture a planet, then a system, then a region - and then attack the Foundation, and defeat them at Horleggor. And all in two or three years!"
Ovall Gri shrugged, "So you think he'll beat the Foundation?"
"I don't know. Suppose he does?"
"Sorry, I can't go that far. You don't beat the Foundation. Look, there's not a new fact we have to go on except for the statements of a... well, of an inexperienced boy. Suppose we shelve it for a while. With all the Mule's victories, we weren't worried until now, and unless he goes a good deal further than he has, I see no reason to change that. Yes?"