Back to the 1st half: GENERAL <--
At the center, DEVERS stands, hands high, CHAINED to the ceiling.
LEANING on his CANE (stiletto hidden), holding her HIGH BOOTS:
He tosses 'em aside. DEVERS tries to KICK him!
Easily EVADING:
Don't make me drug you, sorceress. It wouldn't be a mild euphoriant and sincerity-enhancing concoction as Riose uses (per my advice) but rather more.... feverish!
Can it be? I always suspected it!
(angry)
I don't believe you, fiend!
He TAKES (1 by 1) her golden RINGS, copper BRACELETS, steel BELT, silver NECKLACE... DROPS 'em all to the floor.
CARESSING her face with his CANE's business end:
So much information in that precious head! Perhaps a few crucial things that Riose may not be aware of. Chance of a lifetime!
UNABLE to get away:
I got nothing to tell you!
TRACING her jawline with the cane:
(smirk)
Oh, you have. And you will. We have all day and all night, don't we? I'll keep you alive for a long, long time!
Riose's ships will find us soon!
BLINK to black / BLINK back!
After the Jumps we're doing? Not until we reach Orsha II, where, incidentally, my own Fleet (which is as big and well armed as his, if not better) has been guarding his Supply Lines and would give him pause!
You cannot defy the Empire like this!
(grins)
But, my dear Patrician (if we can still call you that) I am the Empire! I'm Cleon's eyes and ears in this Campaign, to directly Report on the Fleet's performance, and its Head's loyalty. He'll be happy to know how I found the key to the Empire's Restoration that even the great Riose missed!
Struggling:
What key? My people won't help you! The General already tried!
Slowly SWEEPING her (sweaty) CHEEK with his finger:
Oh, he did, did he? Well, he may be the smartest Fleet Commander since the Golden Age, but I have the most talent in persuading people to do my bidding!
Directing his Guards to start READYING a much-patched-up CONTRAPTION connected by many CABLES to an oversize HELMET:
Let me tell you how it'll go: First, we'll choose a big enough World so the impact is as great as necessary. Then I'll give 'em 10 days to comply before my forces Decimate the population...
Oh, no!
Ah, you already know? Which was it? The Rebel accomplices, the Tax evaders? Any of the others?
The... tax. 20 years ago.
Good. Be glad it won't be Siwenna. Nobody would notice if that pig-pen vanished into the Void. Tell her what happened to those who dithered!
He put... giant Boards with... countdowns, floating where everybody... could see 'em.
With days and hours left, population totals, dues owed... plus plenty TV screens, on every city. And then?
When his time limit reached 0, his... butchers started killing people, in great numbers, everywhere!
And transmitting the highlights to the TV screens, while the totals were updated in real-time. Neat, huh?
(angry)
Men, women, children! Random, defenseless! From the air, the ground... with Blasters, bullets, explosives, swords...!
(his voice FAILS)
Only until the population number fell exactly by the promised 10%, as was only fair. With minimal property damage. After that, they obeyed. They always do. Some are smart enough to minimize the pain. Others ain't.
You're crazy! How can the Emperor, or anyone, tolerate that kind of atrocity?
GRABBING her chin:
They do more than tolerate: They welcome the efficiency! Ask yourself if War isn't costlier. Ask Siwenna if Rebellion is any cheaper. Ask him!
Riose will stop you. You must be...
Not while I serve the Empire so well. But, since you so abhor Mass Psychology, let's try something a little more personal, shall we?
As his SIGNAL, 2 Guards APPROACH with the HELMET.
(smiles)
See that? Nobody even knows if it still works as it should, but its results are nonetheless fascinating.
RECOILING:
A Psychic Probe?! No!! Even the least misaligning of neural loops...!
You're supposedly skilled. Perhaps I should give you the chance to fix it first? Knowing that you and the old man will be the Test Subjects?
(aghast)
Stop it! There's no need! I'll persuade her! We'll persuade everybody!
The entire room SHUDDERS, forcing him & his to AVOID falling!
The Guards TURN to the DOORS, which EXPLODE at 'em!!
10s of SOLDIERS (w/ Blasters) CHARGE in, FOLLOWED by MORI & a sword-wielding:
(furious?)
Care to explain yourself, my Lord? The false alarm? The Raid on Fleet Headquarters?
Why, my friend, I needed some time for a meaningful chat with your... mysterious Guests. You reached us too soon.
Pointing with his sword:
Complying:
Of course, of course. Don't think things. Let's talk this now that we're all together. You should have Reported 'em, y'know.
As DEVERS & DUCEM are FREED:
You didn't? Even to me? Wonder why. I did what was needed to keep most of your Reports from reaching the Court. Not even Emperor Cleon has got the juiciest parts.
(half-smile)
Oh, now, Bel. How often have I told you that, for all your Military genius, you regrettably lack the depth to successfully navigate Politics? Treason would have been allowing your secret weapon to fall in the wrong hands!
As DEVERS & DUCEM get behind him:
That's what needs to be ascertained, and soon, before others come looking. Your secret will be out, and all hells will break loose!
Massaging her pained WRISTS:
5 minutes ago, he was ready to sell you, Boss.
He knows better than that.
(to Brodrig)
Stop talking circles! What secret can be worth a charge of Treason?
Well, since you ask: the Foundation, or rather its Shipyards, are the key to renewing the Grand Fleet, beyond the mere tearing down the old to cobble together the new.
As his soldiers GIVE DEVERS her things BACK:
They can?
Nobody else in the Galaxy can. Not reliably. The Empire's disintegration would be unstoppable if they cannot, either. But if they can?
A powerful enough Fleet could halt and revert the problem once and for all. The Emperor will be glad to know!
Sure? Bet the Lords of the Council would, too. There's no way they won't find out. And what happens when everybody's busy renewing and augmenting their allotted splinters of the Imperial Fleet?
(aghast)
Absent limits imposed by wear and caution, recurring power squabbles would escalate into endless Wars. Entire Provinces burned down. The whole Galaxy, even.
Again wars, as soon as others found out. We'd win at first, but, eventually, it would be half the Galaxy against the other half, with attrition dictating the losers, until nothing's left.
Not... necessarily. That's where your little secret, and my efforts to keep it hidden, come into play.
Let me guess: we covertly take some of the Foundation's Shipyards intact? Together with enough Technicians, Engineers...?
Means hostages.
Inhumanly high casualties. There's about 3000 inhabited planets out there, in their Trading organization.
(angry)
You monster!
Suppose by some miracle of luck your scheme works, nobody catches us, we catch 'em all unawares, including the Emperor...
We'd control a lot more of the Galaxy's firepower than our current 5%. With 10% (or more, if the fools waste some of theirs in the usual conflicts) we'd be able to impose our terms on the strongest Warlords, and forge a much more stable Government.
The Charter could certainly be improved. But if they don't play along? If the Emperor doesn't play along?
(shrugs)
They'd show themselves as unfit to Rule. My age, and Cleon's fragile health, guarantee you no significant competition on your way to the Throne. Which would also please the people.
(half-smile)
I see: We'd both be Traitors, but I'd be the biggest one. Then, if by chance the Emperor found out before we were ready, I'd be executed, and you'd find the way to control 10% or more of the Galaxy's firepower!
Time for bold moves, Bel. That's why you need my guidance and my much more pragmatic approach.
You cannot trust him!
Gesturing to his SOLDIERS:
I've trusted you in many things, my Lord, but enough is enough. Today, you're the only Traitor. You're under arrest, pending Trial at Trantor!
(upset)
Think, you fool! I left no trace of my trimming of your Reports! You'll fall before I do!
I'm afraid he might be right.
As his soldiers BIND BRODRIG:
Doesn't matter. My Duty and my Honor are the service of the Fleet and the Emperor. I cannot break that.
Space! You'll allow your dumb brand of Mysticism stand in the way of your saving the Galaxy? You'll fail after all my efforts to promote you?
Struggling against his bonds:
Now I see you, Riose! Think you can do it without me!? Who's gonna believe your self-serving accusation against the Privy Secretary of the Council?
As he's LED outside:
Once ALONE:
What for? A prisoner's word has no weight. I'm not even a Subject of the Empire, or its Laws.
But I am. I'm also, in theory, a Patrician of the Provincial Senate, thus a Peer of the Empire.
With direct appeal to the Throne. Or at least the right to petition for a personal Audience with the Emperor.
What's wrong with a hyper-relay call?
And risk others eavesdropping and hatching the same kind of convoluted schemes as Brodrig, only riskier?
Send some of your own people.
Execute the rascal yourself. Say you had orders from the Emperor.
Cleon's power isn't absolute: he's bound by the terms of the Charter, as signed by his Father with the Lords of the Domain. Political strife's unadvisable when the slightest slip can result in War.
Brodrig has no friends, but there's enough Factions that'd welcome the chance to erode the Emperor's standing. I'd rather task you to ferry our Patrician witness in your own ship, assuming it is fast enough.
(frowns)
My ship... huh. We'd need to bypass Brodrig's Fleet.
Can you do it? Is it a fast ship?
It would be a capital service to the Empire. One worthy of Pardons and Honors, even Peace Treaties with friendly foreign Powers.
(smiles)
By Seldon, that'd be a great Deal!
In regular clothes, ADJUSTING her Blaster HOLSTER before entering:
Behind her (tunic mended):
Mori said the Normannic Sector has been under Brodrig's protection for 2 weeks. If they watch the Jump routes to Trantor...
Sitting on the pilot's chair:
We'll see how well those Logistics Fleet IDs from Riose's work. We'll need to refuel along the way, and my emergency stash of food pills won't last long, either.
Sitting on the co-pilot's chair:
Checking Consoles:
It'll take us 2 to 4 days to arrive, depending on the detours we make, and how much the ship's been messed with.
Re: Console GRAPH (blinking DOT):
See that? A hyper-tracker in the Antenna Array's trunk. Maybe Riose's, maybe not. First stop we make, I'll need to clean up.
Working Consoles:
Engines and Atmosphere test OK. The rest can wait. Staying around is too dangerous for us, should Brodrig escape Riose's clutches, or even turn the tables.
The VIEWPORTS reflect the ship manoeuvering, ACCELERATING.
Re: Console GRAPHS:
Hands on CONTROLS:
BLINK/FADE TO BLACK.
Entering:
Another Tracker in the Engines' control lines. Different make and frequencies, who knows who put it there. Everything else checks allright. Any visitors?
Re: RADAR Console:
RESTARTING systems:
STARS on VIEWPORTS move as she WORKS controls.
BLINK/FADE TO BLACK.
BLINK/FADE TO:
(smirks)
And go out in a blaze of glory, like in cheap Space Operas? Forget it: if we tried to Jump thru a significant gravity well with our mass, hyperspace would spit us out as an energy-drained tangled mess. Instant oblivion in the best case, cold slow starvation otherwise.
(beat)
No risk, no gain! 1 more time!
BLINK/FADE TO BLACK.
BLINK/FADE TO:
(grim)
Caught a bit of news when I checked our Comms: After a string of bloody defeats, the Combines offered Riose all their stockpiles of refined Nucleics as enticement for a Truce, threatening to blow them all to deep space if he didn't relent. But his Fleets battled their biggest and best near Anacreon's old border, forcing 'em to retreat.
Turns out money doesn't solve all problems! He'll probably want to finish his business out here before returning to Trantor, sorry.
It's the end for the Association of Independents, too. We may hope to break free from the Combines, but there'll be no Trading with every Factory and Research Lab in enemy hands. If Riose keeps the pace, his Fleets will reach Terminus in a week. Less if he only sends light ships.
And leave his heavies behind? Too risky. Replacements are too hard to come by, never of good enough quality.
So Brodrig wasn't magnifying the problem? Is the Empire that strapped for Resources and Techs?
Not surprising, given the long century of widespread conflict and destruction before Cleon's august Father ousted Ricker the Usurper, took the Throne, curbed the worst excesses of the hereditary ship Captains, and gathered most of the Warlords under the Charter.
Hmmm. If I'm to negotiate with the Empire, I'll need to know more about that. Wasn't Cleon supposed to be a strong Emperor?
He is! He's ruthlessly maintained the balance his Father wrought after sweeping away the last good-for-nothings of the useless Commission of Public Safety, negotiating the benefits of Peace into improvements both for Civilians and the Military... Alas, the Balance itself is as fragile as ever.
Just so. None trusts their neighbors, all envy the others' prosperity, and each is ready to challenge Trantor if the chance arises.
Vastly bigger. To the highest Lords planets mean little, millions of lives mean nothing. I wonder if they'll even notice when Riose defeats their worst enemy. His kind of glory pales before the prospect of seizing the Galactic Throne!
BLINK/FADE TO BLACK.
BLINK/FADE TO:
Back when less than half had signed the Charter, Mountel of Paramay, 1 of the greatest Warlords the Galaxy has ever seen, defied 'em.
Perhaps. Too great to sign a Charter, at any rate. He was also viciously cruel, particularly with defeated enemies. Brodrig worked for him, having proved his talents from an early age.
Indeed! Many hesitated to fight their Fleet. But Cleon's old man had beaten worse odds, and with his Loyals attacked Paramay relentlessly, until Mountel was cornered into a decisive battle. That's when Brodrig switched sides, helping capture most of Paramay's Fleet intact.
You bet: His first task, or loyalty test, was finding a creative enough way to execute his former Master, as a warning and example for all Rebels and Warlords. He succeeded, spectacularly.
I don't know. It was televised exclusively for all Imperial Officials above the rank of City Mayor or Ship Captain, plus what Senators could be found. My father would only tell me that it was simple, brutally effective, horrifying. The memory gave him the chills, every time I dared ask. But everybody rushed to sign the Charter, afterwards.
(sad)
Started with Brodrig. Will probably end with him. Cleon won't be happy when he receives our news that his best servant turned Traitor.
I don't care that much, unless I could use it to get Riose's Campaign halted before it is too late.
It is most likely too late. Your people must have lost the path, or Seldon's Plan would have kept the Foundation safe.
I know nothing! I can only guess. But it is obviously too much to expect that someone who died 2 centuries ago managed to foresee and solve all the challenges his heirs would face, up to and including the Empire itself.
Re: Consoles:
Our best route runs close to several hi-radiation zones & dead nebulae no sane ship would approach.
I'd rather not be blinded, burnt, radiation-scarred, or lost in the void forever, just to save a few light-years.
Readying things:
We'll be OK as long as we skip by without delay and with Shields at max. Plus, it'll help mislead any Imperial deep-space hyper-scanners pointed in this direction.
Perhaps they're a well-kept secret, even if they aren't as good as the Foundation's. We'll soon know!
BLINK/FADE TO:
Checking Consoles:
Flipping SCREENS:
Enough to see those oversized Dreadnoughts. Hmmmm, seems to be a lot of 'em, plus 1000s of auxiliaries, stretched far and wide. It's a large Fleet!
Lemme see... yup, the bird perched on the Spaceship & Sun, that's Brodrig's ensign. You can almost make out Paramay's arrows, chiseled off, underneath some of 'em.
Pointing:
Console:
Warning:
ACTIVE SCANNING
Detected!
SWIFTLY piloting as the viewscreens CHANGE:
Console:
RED Alert!!
Incoming
BARRAGE!
Wildly MANOEUVERING:
A BIG EXPLOSION SHAKES & TUMBLES the ship!
SWITCH TO WHITE.
THEN TO:
TIED to a stuffy old heavy ARMCHAIR, suddenly AWAKENING:
He looks 'round.
Tied to a similar ARMCHAIR:
Straining:
Re: a few pale-robed CIVILIANS in a far corner next to a DOOR, carrying old Books, weird INSTRUMENTS...
Yes! For nearly 2 decades, every talented Healer in the Galaxy has tried curing Cleon, to no avail. It's a recurrent News item.
Some indistinct SHOUTING beyond the door. Another MEDIC (hurriedly) EXITS, passes by the group, not meeting their searching STARES.
Finally, another ENTERS.
So, the Emperor came all the way from Trantor. Serious business. Just exactly what's the illness?
Best guess is some kind of stress-induced nervous system dysfunction. But nobody knows. No-one has Medical Scanners like yours anymore.
Of course he is! The Court's been expecting him to fall off the Throne ever since his first seizure, 20-odd years ago!
Seriously? I'm not an expert, but that's an awful long time for an untreated problem to run its course. What if he's just baiting...?
A sharp YELL beyond the door. Guards enter, CARRY the hapless gibbering Medic outside, HERD the whole group away.
Both armchairs FLOAT in the air!
As they ADVANCE towards the door, slightly WOBBLING:
They reach the door. A mostly-invisible Shield LOWERS as they ENTER:
The Shield RISES behind 'em.
As his FLOATING bed FOLDS over a THRONE:
(50s, overweight?)
You'd lose your bet, Lady Trader: I've read all of Riose's Reports, and Brodrig's doctored versions too.
The armchairs LAND a few steps before him.
That's fast reading, Boss.
Not quite IN CONTACT with his bed/throne, looking DOWN on 'em:
(stern)
I got an army of Analysts whose sole function is to distill all that happens in my Empire for me to easily grasp. But everything related to this mess was for my eyes only, so I concentrated on the differences in both versions. Very enlightening!
Raising his hand:
(grimaces)
I know. I haven't endured the excruciating pain of 100s of Jumps to hear someone from the edge of the Galaxy telling me what happens in my own house.
You saved us a long trip, Boss.
Tell me, Siwennian, why you're here on behalf of my youngest Fleet General. Is Siwenna no longer sour with the Empire after so many years?
My world has suffered much, your Majesty. We only want to be treated fairly. Riose... allowed us that hope.
Caressing his PAINED neck:
Amazing! What about you, Trader? What hope did our good Riose give you, or your people, other than (as you put it) Slavery?
The alternatives were worse. And he hinted...
(firm)
I see. Now it is my job to decide how best to deal with this challenge to the Empire, and with all of you.
HOLDING tight his FISTED hand with the other:
Trial!? There'll be nothing of the sort. Certainly not publicly. The guilt, and the Sentence, are clear. In this, all the Lords of the Council agree.
Forget it. Half my life I've dreaded the moment Brodrig saw his chance, or anyone persuaded Riose to try. Since he got his first Command, actually. The Balance won't last much longer.
But, Boss... Sir, Riose refused to...
Of course! Fair scion of a loyal aristocratic Family that he is. I've always been happy with his Services, but his disregard of Politics makes him naive, unpredictable, and too dangerous.
Realizing:
Gesturing 'silence':
(sad)
Believe me, this pains me more than you can comprehend. But one like Riose, able to elicit the respect and admiration of everyone, be it enemies, subjects, soldiers, Captains, Courtiers, Brodrig, and even me...
(beat)
A great Commander capable of rallying people to his banner like no-one else since my Father was young... A man like that must by necessity become Emperor, or be a pawn or a casualty in someone else's attempt on the Throne.
He could be stripped of his Rank. Sent to garrison a rock near the coldest Border. Exile would be an acceptable alternative, too!
Gripping his armrests:
As long as he's alive, no matter where and how, his usefulness no longer compensates the threat. No, the whole Galaxy will see him executed for disobeying orders, consorting with the enemy, Treason... Let his demise be a warning to others.
(angry)
A warning!? You sacrifice your best man while the vultures gorge themselves!? What will everyone else think...!?
It is indeed most unfortunate that I should lose Brodrig now, too, as he'd doubtless be able to keep the others in line. Alas, it seems that, even as both rose serving the Empire, keeping it safe, both must fall so the Empire can survive.
STEEPLED fingers:
Bless your ignorance of the cutthroat Politics of recent decades, Patrician. I've been unable to keep my own sons from choosing their own allies among the Factions, and it is but a matter of time before the strongest, or the cleverest, or the dumbest, starts a war, regardless of my choice of Heir.
(firm)
My Father had 3 children too. Unfortunately, my little brother died of a pest, and my sister vanished in a failed Jump. I was lucky then, but I'm unlucky now. I have 3 strong sons, Patrician, all 3 skilled in battle. Each could burn the Empire whole to get their wish. Trillions of lives are at risk.
Riose would gladly help you! He's loyal to the Empire!
(half-smile)
But my sons, and the Factions, are the Empire, too! No, Trader: I must seize this chance to clean house, with Brodrig's Fleet already under my direct control, and Riose's soon to be.
Realigned without delay. Precedent avails me. The Foundation, useful or not, will have to wait. I cannot spare any Forces for a bunch of Border slums.
(glum)
We must heed Imperial Custom, then. Will we be allowed to pay our final respects, at least?
DUCEM LAUGHS softly.
Checking her GEAR:
His relationship with Brodrig dooms him regardless of the actual charges. Funny enough, Brodrig would have happily pocketed the Convention's money, despite being wealthier than them all. Of course the accusations work better if the enemy remains undefeated.
The only truth that matters is that the Empire decided to get rid of 2 powerful individuals, and nobody wants to prematurely join them. The Foundation's fight for survival is a secondary matter. Cleon could even use your alleged invincibility to bolster his case.
Eyeing several big WARSHIPS floating above the planet/clouds:
Cleon will probably attack his enemies before anyone realizes he's abandoned this Campaign. The Plan works, the Foundation is safe!
The Combines will celebrate. Most others, not so much. We lost 100s of ships and 100000 people at least, many of 'em Traders.
Not as bad as the alternative. If Cleon's right, the coming Succession War will likely be the last and bloodiest Civil War of the Empire, all participants universally hated by the survivors, while Riose's remembered as an unjustly murdered hero.
RIOSE, chained, stands in full Uniform on a small platform, amid ROWS of SOLDIERS, Officers, TV cameras...
He'll have a proper execution and funeral, as per the oldest Fleet Traditions.
BRODRIG (minus his cane & finery), CHAINED, 'helped' along (none-too-gently) by several Guards.
Soldiers going the other way BUMP into him.
Face CONTORTED in pain/rage, he CLUTCHES at his abdomen, both hands RED with BLOOD.
The Guards help him into a small CUBICLE.
Out FLOATS, helpless, BRODRIG, eyes wide with SHOCK.
A RIFLE BLAST PIERCES him from behind, leaving a head-size HOLE in his (congealing) chest.
... instead of a cold space grave.
As his body TURNS 'round, ANOTHER BLAST approaches his FACE.
FLASH TO WHITE.
BACK TO:
He will. His Honor, his Service to the Fleet and the Empire, and the people under his Command, mean to him much more than his own life. Not that he was offered better options.
So the honourable foolishly perishes, while the jackals thrive and rejoice with his disgrace.
(tired)
He belonged to better times, long past and forgotten. Modern days shape and reward other kinds of people.
Looking to the sky:
A slow ponderous "TOCK" amid faint CLOCKWORK sounds.
(carrying)
... every battle, I've been ready to give my life for the Empire. Today is that day. The Empire needs me, and I lay my life willingly, proudly, knowing that my comrades at arms, all that have toiled and bled with me, will keep the highest standards and Traditions that made our Empire Mankind's finest and greatest achievement...
LATER:
While several Officers STRIP all INSIGNIA off him, a big soldier (MORI), multi-strand WHIP in hand, APPROACHES slowly.
LATER:
As a DRUM COUNTS, MORI (calmly) WHIPS RIOSE (only hands chained, on one knee, shredded Uniform) as 1000s watch IN SILENCE.
LATER:
3 ROWS of Blaster-RIFLEMEN take position (quarter-circle) facing RIOSE (unsteady), while MORI (weeping) stands apart, the whip DRIPPING BLOOD.
The Firing Squad takes aim, WAITS.
An order is BARKED.
Multiple HITS shroud RIOSE in light/smoke, TOPPLE him (slo-mo) backwards, STILL, lifeless, his rags RIDDLED with smoking HOLES.
DUCEM, CLEON et al WATCH as a kneeling MILITARY MEDIC (in distinctive Uniform) checks RIOSE's vital signs, then slowly SHAKES his head 'NO'.
LATER:
As a FUNEREAL MARCH sounds, 8 OFFICERS (in varied Uniforms) CARRY a (metal-glass) CASKET with RIOSE's body INTO a small significantly damaged TRADESHIP (the name Freer Enterprise still readable). MORI follows, sword in hand.
After everybody else DESCENDS the cargo ramp, MORI commits ritual SUICIDE plunging the sword INTO his own body. He SLUMPS against the casket as the ramp CLOSES.
LATER:
The Tradeship is RELEASED, floats leisurely AWAY, towards the nearby SUN.
A cannon BLASTER sets Riose's funeral barge ON FIRE. The escorts are SLOWLY left behind.
LATER:
The Freer Enterprise's DOT PLUNGES into the STAR.
FADE TO WHITE.
CAPTION:
SIWENNA
FADE IN:
(newest signatory
of the Convention)
6 Months Later
DEVERS (dressed to kill) sits on a stone BLOCK, eyeing the darkening SKY.
ARRIVING, in a good TUNIC + SASH:
There you are! The Association of Independents awaits your little speech while the whole Convention watches. You left too soon!
Re: the BIG SCREEN filling the SCENARIO, displaying a multitudinous festive GATHERING:
(half-smile)
Sorry. Can't stand Ceremonies. Or rather, the pompous parasites infesting 'em, while the majority of Traders endlessly toil to make ends meet.
The Combines bought you a new ship, didn't they? Twice bigger than the old. And got your brother out of Jail.
Who knows, if things had turned different... Can't complain: when their Ships left us to our own devices, the popular revolt was swift and bloodless.
No wonder. News of the Empire are scarce these days, but there's rumours of War brewing. A big one, despite all of Cleon's heavy-handed efforts to impose his will.
The Void take 'em! We're better without.
(re: the SCREEN)
Inside the Convention, Siwenna faces a much better future.
Indeed. My father's legacy is at long last safe: his data hoard is being copied by the Foundation's Encyclopedists. In exchange, I was allowed to study Seldon's own texts at Terminus, while the rest of our Delegation negotiated things. PsychoHistory and his grand Plan are still valid and guiding us.
You sound like a believer! I still think pure luck saved us. If Cleon had been less pragmatic, or Riose more so. If there had been no Brodrig...
(smiles)
There's no combination of Fleet Commanders and Emperors in the late Empire that allows 'em to reunite the Galaxy: Weak ineffectual Emperors are ousted by strong Commanders. It's happened often enough in the last centuries. Strong Emperors need to keep their servants, Courtiers and Generals, under control. Every War squanders irreplaceable resources, ships, and personnel, hastening the Fall.
(shrugs)
Nobody can. Not without recreating Seldon's lost Equations. I think that's Planned too.
Caressing her BRACELET:
FLASHBACK:
DEVERS enters, fully DECKED.
He was cool as a statue, the day I went to plead for his life. Mori by his side, as always.
Mori earned the privilege by volunteering for the execution ticket. That's Tradition, too.
LATER, she LEAVES (minus her copper BRACELETS).
Riose could be alive, if only...!
RIOSE raises his (chained) hands before his face as they FIRE!
NONE of their BLASTS actually PIERCES him!
I was there, remember.
He's waved THRU.
Thru a LOOSE hull plate/window, a thin cable EXTRACTS a large BLACK BODYBAG from the Tradeship, as a moribund MORI (w/ breathing MASK) helps it OUT.
After RELEASING the Tradeship, the towing CABLES/GRAPPLES (+ the bodybag) RETRACT into the Shuttle, helped by a Uniformed/helmeted DEVERS.
A big HOVERTRUCK (loaded with tree TRUNKS) glides by, revealing a ROADSIDE SIGN:
PHERLTOWN
Pop: 68725
The Foundation could learn so much from him!
Over a large street-facing OFFICE, a MARQUEE:
COUNTY OFFICES - POLICE - OMBUDSMAN
On a table, besides a Police BLASTER, a DATASCREEN:
ASKONE
Civil Code
&
Custom
An INPUT screen:
Life on the Line
CHAPTER 7 - FLEET ENGAGEMENTS:
Practical Considerations.
BACK TO:
They LEAVE the Plaza, arm-in-arm.
DIVE IN.
Small GEARS, big GEARS, other MECHANISMS, all blown UP to gigantic proportions. All ticking together.
KEEP DIVING. Keep TICKING.
Beyond the shiny METAL pieces:
Pure DARKNESS.
Except:
Tiny white-ish DOTS appear, GROW, turn into:
STARS.
NEBULAE.
"Tick."
ZOOM AROUND.
PLANETS.
SPACESHIPS, big & small, alone or in groups, peaceful or FIGHTING.
"Tock."
FINALLY:
ZOOM IN.
PEOPLE/vehicles go around their business as a GHOSTLY WHITE number
92 FLOATS around.
A colorful BUTTERFLY flaps its WINGS. (slo-mo)
FREEZE.
"Tick."
Someone has taken a wide-angle PIC (with their PAD), manipulates it deftly, DISSOLVES it into:
Scrolling STATS & graphs. A deluge.
PLUNGE UNDER.
A RIVER of jostling NUMBERS, then a SHOWER, knocking around each other, blown UP to gigantic proportions.
FINALLY, deep DOWN:
CLOCKWORK.
"Tock."
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