--> Onwards to the 2nd part: COURTIER
Not too far from the last flare, FOCUS an encircled little fat DOT.
FADE IN LABEL:
RIOSE
*****
Outer Fleet
FOCUS TO:
Orbiting it: FORMATIONS of 100s of 'future vintage' IMPERIAL WARSHIPS of all sizes with GOLDEN 'spaceship+sun' ENGRAVINGS.
CAPTION:
SIWENNA
FADE IN:
(EMPIRE's
border MARCHES)
A small Imperial SHUTTLE, escorted by 6-8 armed outriders, DESCENDS planetwards.
FLYING FAST above, SHUTTLE + outriders CONVERGE on:
On it, using a cranky HOLOPROJECTOR, voice carrying:
(late-60s, long cream tunic w/ dark-red SASH around waist)
Reading, Writing and Math will enable you to leverage the scarce opportunities that...
The shuttle LANDS to one side of the scenario. Its escorts FLOAT overhead as the students & adults DISPERSE.
The shuttle OPENS its door.
EXITING, in full pristine UNIFORM (incl. sword & Blaster):
(tall, broad-shouldered, fair-haired, early-40s, confident)
A word with you, Teacher, if you aren't too busy!
SHUTTING OFF the holo:
Approaching:
Aren't you glad that last year's Amnesty put an end to those things, Professor Barr? Can I call you Ducem?
Descending the scenario's LADDER:
You can call me an old fool, if you want, for believing it to be other than a ruse to get some of us out of hiding.
Gesturing around:
A ruse? 50 years of hatred and bloodshed hopefully coming to an end thanks to a little generosity from both sides? Your little School here but one of the fruits of our new-found spirit of cooperation?
Cooperation, is it, General? Or you'd rather be called Military Governor Bel Riose, Lion of the Empire, Conqueror of the Periphery, Head of the 20th Fleet, with 1000s of the galaxy's best Warships plus millions of loyal soldiers under your command?
Taking off his black GLOVES:
Only part of the Periphery. And you forgot Peer of the Realm. But don't let my reputation scare you.
Fair enough. I only seek some... information. Call it a service, in exchange for continued peace and prosperity.
SITTING on a stone block:
As long as it isn't love potions, lucky charms, or any other magical nonsense, as most people want nowadays. I have nothing to hide.
Indeed you don't. The untimely death, 4 decades ago, of the Viceroy who, after much effort, defeated and publicly executed the rebel Wiscard is no longer a mystery.
EYEING the floating ESCORTS:
(half-smile)
Even if it didn't, I wouldn't risk the fragile trust it's earned for a Legend, however interesting.
The most widespread and colorful fairytale in this quadrant of the Periphery! About people who glow in the dark, fly in the air, impervious to Blasters...
The Magicians!? Fodder for the romantic, the superstitious, or the illiterate. I'm here to teach useful skills to my students.
As a SERGEANT (MORI) approaches, gives him a PAD:
Call me a Romantic, then, for I couldn't help but notice that some neighboring planets add a particular family name to the common tale, already pretty similar to the incoherent accounts of those who witnessed that Viceroy's end.
PATTING his Blaster:
(firm)
Of course. Now, if you'd be so kind to hand me that sash you wear so we can learn the truth... No sudden moves. Nobody needs to get hurt.
EYEING the SHOOTERS surrounding 'em from afar:
TAKING the offered garment:
Ghosts like your late father the Patrician is rumoured to have found and befriended when they cured his illnesses with miracle pills which granted him a long life afterwards?
Revealing a STURDY LINKED-STEEL BELT wrapped in the cloth:
As MORI carefully takes it, hands it to a TECH-MAN (clad in distinctive ornate TUNIC + TOOLBELT):
We searched the pile of rubble you call home. There was nothing useful there, either. Broken machines, useless relics. And yet...
WORKING a (bulky) hand-held SCANNER:
Circuitry's fused into a solid uniform mass, impossible to analyze. Whatever its function was, it's completely inert now.
Disappointed:
Returning the BELT:
(shrugs)
Unknown. Not ours.
At RIOSE's pointed LOOK:
I'll see to it.
(retreats)
LOOKING thru the belt in his hands:
So this technology may or may not have been what enabled you to evade the Viceroy's Guard that day, and it may or may not have been obtained by your traitorous father from foreign Agents...
He TOSSES the belt+sash to DUCEM.
Caressing the belt:
(smiles?)
Oh, the Court most certainly does. But I'm a Fleet Commander, not a toy soldier for their hollow Tournaments and Dress Parades. Rebel Provinces and Pirates are scarce these days, but there's still Glory to be had, a greater and safer Empire to be forged, conquering what lies outside the Borders!
'Where the stars are scattered thinly, and the cold of space seeps in,' it's said.
(beat)
I'd be cautious, in your place. You might find some Legends are best left alone.
DONNING the belt+sash again:
You won't be fighting toys, or Magicians. If my father's Research (which I continued) is right, you'll face Hari Seldon himself.
A great Scientist from 2 centuries ago, when the Empire and the Galaxy were one and the same, all planets and peoples lived in luxury and Peace, and Siwenna was a great commercial center, rich in the Arts and Sciences.
Spare me the boring Golden Age fairytales. There's no stagnant backwater planet, however far from the splendor of the Core, that hasn't 'em.
MORI returns with an OLD ORNATE Tea Service on a platter, OFFERS a steaming CUP to:
Back when Siwenna was still part of that splendid Core, a Sector capital no less, Seldon discovered the Equations of Psychohistory, the rules for turning mere Statistics into a powerful predictive instrument, and with them the accelerating decline and imminent breakup and Fall of our Civilization.
Taking the tea CUP offered to him:
The Fall...? Old man, are you blind? The Emperors rebuilt the Fleet, and we've retaken many breakaway Systems and Regions. In due time, the rest will also be brought back into the fold.
MORI leaves the Tea Service atop a STONE BLOCK half-way between both.
Gesturing 'round:
Is this back as it should be, you say? Half a century after the Great Massacre unleashed by that Viceroy nobody misses? Have the Emperors rebuilt the Planets, the Cities, and the people, too?
Squirting a few DROPS from an underjacket FLASK into his TEA:
You know as well as I that all that will take a long time. Siwenna is but one of many cases where barbarism and anarchy went too far.
What you call barbarism, Seldon saw as just another side of human psychology. He calculated the Pax Imperium would finally unravel, worlds would rebel, and the weakened Empire would be powerless to stop it. Yours might be the last Glory of the Empire, before its end.
I've heard rants like that before. Nothing the renewed power of the Imperial Fleet couldn't subdue. Once peace and order return, rebuilding starts.
Sipping his TEA:
Too slow, uncertain and bloody. Hari Seldon cared about much more than the Old Empire, and sought a better way when planning for a new one.
If only I could prove it to you! His Plan's not dead: it's been marching along its tracks for Generations! He placed his Pieces on the Board so the Game could only go the way he wanted, and you... General, I'm afraid you're on the wrong side of it.
(upset)
Nonsense! Games! Pieces! Equations! The Fleet is the only force that matters, as it's always been! You know my fame, you say. Are there others, better than I, in the Empire? Or outside of it?
Sipping his TEA:
They aren't, for the most part. Did your Seldon arrange for sizable Fleets to wait and repel my attack?
Not likely, from what I've been able to discern. He didn't work that way. He only had his Math for handling the subtle undercurrents that drive all Societies, and a bunch of followers.
You said there was danger. And Glory. I guess you cannot view what's been happening differently. If my theories are correct about these colorful Legends. I only have old Records, hearsay, and hopes.
POINTING with his teacup:
(worried)
No! Your Edicts have improved things here at Siwenna. I hear you are a man of Honor, whatever that means nowadays. Perhaps the last noble warrior in the Old Empire. I'd hate to see you dead.
Death, is it? An occupational hazard, in my job. As long as ours stands strong, there'll be no need for a new Empire. Your Seldon better be ready for me.
He most likely is. How, I cannot fathom. His tools were the forces of human behavior, which reign now as always, and hold you the same as everybody else. But no one has been able to follow his steps.
Vague musings about a dead Myth won't sway me from my Duty. I might not know the Ancients as you do, but I'm unmatched in the ways of my Trade. He cannot have calculated all my actions!
Draining his TEA:
I don't believe he needed to, as he dealt with Historical events and quantities. It's all in my old Notebooks, which your searchers probably missed. Still, he'll beat you as he's beaten all others.
BROWSING his PAD:
Notebooks!? How archaic. Behind a wall? Yup. Got 'em.
So be it. If you haven't made it up, I'll challenge that Legend of yours for the future of the Galaxy. See who wins!
Worry not: You'll be of use as either Advisor or Storyteller in the coming weeks and months, Professor.
At his SIGNAL, SOLDIERS approach, TAKE:
As MORI takes his half-empty teacup:
Faint sounds of unseen CLOCKWORK. Then a slow ponderous "TICK".
FOCUS:
CAPTION:
Convention hinterlands
6 MONTHS LATER
An IMPERIAL FLEET (3 massive DREADNOUGHTS + 10s of smaller WARSHIPS/auxiliaries) JUMPS in, headed towards the star.
FADE IN:
(contested space)
FROM BEHIND the Gas Giant, a FOUNDATION FLEET (100+ armed Tradeships + Patrolships, with SILVERY 'spaceship+sun' LOGOS) APPROACHES at high speed, FLANKS the Imperial juggernauts, BLASTING their SHIELDS at close quarters (with little or no effect).
The DREADNOUGHTS barely alter trajectory, only POINT their WEAPONS, shoot BACK (with little or no effect), as the pigmy Foundationers nimbly RUN/dash between 'em.
Imperial skirmishers (10s) ENGAGE the attackers, BLOWING 2 before the rest JUMPS/BLINKS away.
The Imperial Armada approaches the INNER planets.
CAPTION:
BROADCAST, ALL CHANNELS:
FADE IN:
By order of His Imperial Majesty
Cleon II, Lord of the Universe...
As it slowly ROTATES, a big LANDED WARSHIP is revealed (shark-like, with 10s of 'spikes' & assorted WEAPONS), with the 'spaceship+sun' imperial LOGO, under a fat hemispheric BUBBLE SHIELD.
CAPTION:
20TH FLEET
temporary HeadQuarters
FADE IN:
(inside Convention SPACE)
A smaller TROOPSHIP approaches a WIDE open LANDING BAY.
Standing around a fair-sized TABLE with a 3D (holo) STARMAP floating above it:
Logistics is quite tight and iffy across these vast uncivilized expanses. So many light-years and Jumps. Half the Fleet tied in Garrison duty while waiting for supplies or parts...
(happy)
And yet your Seldon is losing!
(glum)
So it seems. All my father's guesswork, and mine, were a waste!
Re: the MAP showing stars CHANGING colors, lines depicting ship MOVEMENTS:
So many stars loyal to his Foundation, such reputation, but no fleets to match ours, nor strategy! Resistance is weak. We hold key spots along Jump lines. Manoeuvers for a wide-ranging Enclosure proceed apace.
Conquest as usual, then. What makes today special?
(re: their well-appointed surroundings)
After many failures, we've finally taken a Trader ship intact! Its crew will be meeting us shortly. This is a golden opportunity!
You expect to learn anything that your Spies haven't told you already?
Turning OFF the MAP:
Not much, perhaps. Certainly not the hiding place of Seldon's Ghost. Still, it's good to finally meet face to face the enemy, not just their servants and allies.
After a discrete KNOCK, the Guards OPEN the doors.
2 SOLDIERS HAUL a barefoot unconscious WOMAN (trousers, plastic hooded COAT with removed buttons, no jewelry...)
FOLLOWING them, MORI.
She's SAT on a chair.
She was alone onboard. Tried to stop us inspecting her cargo. Our Tech-men are reviewing her things.
The soldiers EXIT, CLOSE the doors.
Her shoes, too?
Consulting his PAD:
Her high boots had metal in the soles.
LATER, as she's slowly TRYING on (barely oversized) combat BOOTS:
Stunner?
A fascinating weaponry, no doubt derived from ours, that my Agents acquired in this very Region a few months ago, before hostilities started. Almost as interesting as the Personal Shields they're designed to circumvent. Pity they didn't invent better ship Shields too.
Taking the offered CUP:
Watch your tongue!
As she DRINKS:
Ducem Barr, of Siwenna.
Devers, of the Freer Enterprise. Don't blame me if someone gets hurt sticking their noses where they shouldn't... Boss.
Re: PAD:
A Report arrived, General. A searching party had an accident, some... thing... flashed. 2 injured, 1 dead.
Only for those who don't know their butt from the business end of a Power Puncher. Same goes for Sonic Charges or Filter Fields.
As MORI works the PAD:
My pilot brother timed it great, wrecking that tavern. Now he's safe in jail!
(beat)
What kind of Pirate band is this, anyway? Big-ass warships piercing my Shields like they were soap bubbles, fancy Uniforms, no care for Safety signs?
The Old Galactic Empire!
Ok... If this is some kind of joke, wait 'til the Guild Enforcers hear it. What do you mean war?
(grim)
Conquest: The Emperors have been retaking the Inner and Outer Belts, the Periphery is next, and Seldon's Plan isn't stopping 'em.
He SIGNALS to the Guards.
LATER, plenty FOOD & DRINKS on the table. Seated around, EATING:
Faced with absorption and irrelevancy, Seldon's colony of Scientists managed to forge a balance of power, propped up by a Trading network and a Religion of good deeds and technological miracles. So far so good.
Clever, that. They've had it better than most parts of the Empire.
But in the last century, the Religion of Science has become little more than a bedtime story for children, Priests little more than street peddlers, while Trade pervades everybody's life and the Combines' greed has taken over Democracy and any high ideals Seldon might have hoped for.
(grim)
Partnerships between the strongest Traders. The Trading Guild practically belongs to them. They buy everything, make their own rules, and push around everybody else, always taking their cut. If you don't play along, they brand you a smuggler, or a Pirate, suspend your License, ground you for life... or worse.
Munching:
How like an Aristocracy. Which would make the rest... serfs?
Gilded servants, yoked by the lure of riches. My ship and its cargo that you seized are indebted to Forell. If he doesn't get his dues soon, he'll claim our Contracts, leaving my brother and I ruined and finished.
Biggest and baddest of the lot. Old enough to cheekily claim the late great Hober Mallow as his secret father, while having little of Mallow's sense of morals. He and his peers skim the entire Convention for their personal gain, caring not if that strangles Commerce and progress.
(sad)
So Seldon's great Plan has been reduced to this? Just another petty bunch of planets where a few thugs exploit the rest?
Fork in hand:
1000s of worlds. But let me tell you, Boss, if you kick 'em fat cats out, most people will welcome you as a Liberator.
I would, if your Deal is fair enough. It'd be in your benefit too, if you allowed people to go on with their lives and Trades. Taxes are taxes, and it matters little who collects.
But it matters what they use 'em for!
(nods)
I'll offer the whole Empire to you, if you're willing to work for it. How's that sound?
Surprised:
Whoa!
STANDING:
Rebuilding the Imperial Fleet over the last half-century has been a strenuous task, even with plenty of old Grand Fleet ships to scavenge for parts. It's become painfully obvious to all involved that our technical manpower and expertise has decayed too much since the happy days of our Ancestors.
Not only for military matters. Too many are soldiers, or want to be, while maintaining basic infrastructure is a daily challenge and a thankless job. There's widespread shortages of all kinds of parts, but also of qualified workers, Medics, designers...
A few months ago, at the start of the Campaign, carefully compiled Reports started coming in about the Foundation. I had trouble believing 'em, at first. But the Planets we've taken, the ships we've fought, and now your account of the situation behind the appearances, all lead me to the same conclusion.
(Off Screen)
There's a supply of millions, 10s or 100s of millions, of technically capable people waiting the opportunity to deploy their skills in the betterment of their own and others' fortunes. Skills the Empire desperately needs, even if most don't realize it. Why, your quality Medical products alone...! This chance is so good for all of us, I'm even ready to believe your Mage Seldon planned it.
BACK TO:
The Tech Men could certainly use the help. Our Hospitals too.
Huh, wait a minute, Boss... Not everybody is a Doctor, or knows how things work, back home. They're happy just using 'em and paying 'em.
Fine by me. They'll still keep the Factories and the Schools running, ensuring a less decayed, healthier and better future for everyone.
You think that will save the Empire?
It will help the Reconstruction efforts. The inner developed worlds cannot be expected to keep up with such a monumental task. Even they have trouble training and fielding enough specialists.
(beat)
The Emperor, his Viceroys, and his Fleet Commanders, including me, will care for the Empire.
What if people don't want to play along? If they don't want to leave their homes, their lives? Doesn't sound as if you'll be giving us a lot of choice.
(firm)
A renewed, stronger Galactic Empire, capable of keeping universal Peace, is the only way. Even your Seldon planned for that. The alternative's mounting chaos, misery, degradation and death.
There must be some workable agreement...
Turning ON the MAP:
Once the Enclosure is complete, nobody will escape our tightening net. I trust your people will see what's best for 'em, then.
SIGNALING to the guards:
Meanwhile, I thank you for this glimpse of your way of thinking, and the chance to refine my case. You may now go to your quarters.
He's left ALONE.
LATER:
... full Enclosure is needed, I'm afraid. Any additional forces you can provide...
(pause, as he LISTENS)
I know, I know, but the enemy's extreme mobility and endless supply of ships...
(pause, as he LISTENS)
Their own shipyards, of course. But they're no match for our heavy...
(pause, as he LISTENS)
Oh! Great! How soon?
(pause, as he LISTENS)
All right. Please no later than that.
(pause, as he LISTENS)
Thank you, my Lord. Their ships may be fast, but their planets and cities can't flee. Success is guaranteed!
PAD screen:
Imperial Council
- * -
Privy Secretary
Switch to:
SECURE Ultrawave
Connection CLOSED
As the main HEAVY DOOR closes:
A very capable man, one of the best in the Galaxy, well on the way to achieving his goals, for the Empire and against Seldon.
Studying everything:
He isn't there yet. I know my way around ships, and I know my way around cells. I won't be here long, by Hardin!
FADE TO:
CAPTION:
Korell
FADE IN:
Imperial Province
FADE IN:
(formerly
Korellian Republic)
A Month Later.
Terminus
To the side, several HANGERS with clothing, a book-case with stacks of data-discs, data-cubes, artifacts...
On a WORKTABLE strewn with small TOOLS, gadgets & parts, DEVERS carefully PROBES a (shoebox-size) METAL STRONGBOX with a fist-size SPHERE protruding from its center.
At a soft KNOCK on the inner door:
Entering with his Tea Service on a wooden TRAY:
Mori says Riose, after winning yet another battle, rejected 10 years of the entire Convention's mineral output, as payment, to halt attacks and go find a different chunk of the Periphery to conquer. His counter-offer of a sweetened version of his Servitude pill was declined.
On the far wall behind him, a bedside TABLE, a charcoal PORTRAIT of Onum BARR...
Re: her WORK:
(smiles)
Every one of these puzzles I help Riose crack gets me more of my things back and closer to finding my ship.
Offering a cup of TEA:
Lucky you're good at it. He's got lots of souvenirs from his Campaigns. Shows a keen interest in new Cultures.
Taking the CUP:
TASTING her tea:
A good Trader has to be good at all sorts of things to survive out there, as my brother taught me. This one may be the most interesting of the lot.
(re: PAD)
'Found at a big Temple or Palace near the capitol. Defended with the lives of many.'
SIPPING his tea:
Again POKING & SCANNING the box:
The box HISSES, lets out a wisp of VAPOR!
She quickly ADJUSTS her instruments, until the box CLICKS open, its HALVES freeing the SPHERE.
Holding & EXAMINING it:
Those are supposed to be unbreachable, encoded to the personal Characteristic of owner or receiver. If improperly handled, the contents are atomized!
SWEEPING it with the PAD's X-ray-like scanner:
Boss wouldn't like that. Definitely. Luckily for him, the old Imperials never had to worry about the kinds of tricks we now have...
She APPLIES a small TOOL with 10+ slender articulated PRONGS that automatically ADJUST to the Capsule's LOCKS.
Slipping off one of her flat-linked (copper) BRACELETS, she arranges it on the table, around the SPHERE, then ACTIVATES the hugger LOCKPICK, which starts PROBING the locks in rapid COMBINATIONS.
The Capsule SCREECHES open with a blinding FLASH!
Carefully FISHING with surgical PINCERS:
They divert a small fraction of incoming energy to harden the barrier if, as, and where needed. A bit slower than fixed Shields, but lighter, cheaper, and longer-lasting, with much lower power needs.
EXTRACTING a SILVER-filigreed thumb-sized GLASS DATACUBE, aged yet still serviceable:
Placing it on a small TRAY:
While he does, she examines the Capsule's PARTS.
Wait. Foundation Datapads were initially developed for the Encyclopedists and Archivers. Even modern cheap versions still have the needed stuff.
She PUTS the sphere BACK together, applies the hugger LOCKPICK, then ACTIVATES it in REVERSE MODE.
The Capsule CLICKS back into its CLOSED state!
Putting it on the bookcase:
re: PAD:
CLASSICAL Imperial MUSIC (of many instruments) fills the space, slow, ponderous, MAGNIFICENT.
A large CHORUS joins the music.
(smiles)
If old ears don't deceive me, it's an Opera. My parents used to take us kids to the Theater, back when... Before...
(his voice FALTERS)
Taking the pad while he SITS on a chair:
Relax, old man. Let me check these Indexes. Hhmmmm... '3000 Anniversary Edition'... 'Santanni Philharmonic'... Ah! It's called 'The Garden of Summa', apparently.
The music SWELLS.
(moved)
Of course... One of the pinnacles of the Art. My sister's favourite! Did I tell you she wanted to be a professional singer?
So that's why those Primitives held the thing in such high esteem. There's video too, but we'd need a good Projector...
TEARS ROLLING down his cheeks:
Oh, that I have lived to this day, to hear this, once again! Half a century later, it's like I hear her singing it!!
Switching OFF the music:
Please, don't stop it! The pain... is a constant of life. But that music... it's pure joy, one of the few things worth... the... pain.
Switching ON the music:
PAN TO:
Behind an 'infinite' WALL of floating (lightly Shielded) MINES:
The Foundation's FLEET awaits in defensive FORMATION (of several coordinated battlegroups) with a well-known heavy Anacreonian BATTLECRUISER at its center, 10+ (15%) smaller REPLICAS, surrounded by 100s of CRUISERS, DESTROYERS, FRIGATES, et al.
Among 'em, 1000s of armed PRIVATEERS + 10s of Prototype BLAST CANNON platforms, each tied with fat CABLING to 4-6 big CARGOships.
(Accompanied by the MUSIC)
A colossal IMPERIAL DREADNOUGHT BLINKS/JUMPS in, shields high, then another under it, then 4 others forming a square to their side, then another square to the other side! As both rows of 5 slightly correct their position, in between/around JUMP 10s of BATTLESHIPS + CRUISERS, arranged into rows & columns! As all them neatly ALIGN w each other, in JUMPS their escort of 1000s of smaller WARSHIPS in offensive arrangement!
CAPTION:
BROADCAST, ALL CHANNELS:
FADE IN:
Surrender or be destroyed!
The CANNON platforms ENERGIZE, raise SHIELDS!
The big Battlecruiser FIRES a tremendous (kilometers-long) twin BLAST!
1 of the imperial Dreadnoughts catches the SHOT in full, SHRUGS it off with its SHIELDS, fires BACK a stronger BLAST!
10+ Dreadnought SHOTS + 1000s of smaller Blasts + 100s of MISSILES approach the FIRING defenders!
(all SILENT except for music highlights)
The CANNON platforms (Shields barely holding) SHOOT non-stop! Everybody else too!
In the wild intense FIREFIGHT, ships on both sides (as their Shields FRITZ) burn, crack, EXPLODE, flee...
SWITCH to WHITE.
BACK TO:
Both still ENJOYING the music, there's a Knock-KNOCK on the outer door.
ENTERING:
(smiles)
So the rumors were true, about some unusual music and chants in this section!
General's busy today. Expecting an important Lord from Trantor, no less. Everybody's much nervous but him. The cooks are real happy you fixed their big freezer, m'Lady.
Before I forget, the wifey messaged to say the Water Purifier arrived, works a miracle. Healers from other villages are mighty interested in getting some of your handy portable Scanners.
Thank you.
At his SIGNAL, 2 SOLDIERS enter, loaded with PARCELS, leave the lot on the table.
As the soldiers EXIT:
A proper dress for the formalities tonight. Also, all the Lady's Jewelry.
Switching OFF the music:
General said you want to look and act like an exotic Princess today, m'Lady, not a tramp. His words. And make sure you wear all your jewels right.
(points)
There's one of the General's best tunics arranged for you, m'Lord.
(checks his PAD)
The guest is Lord Privy Secretary Brodrig. Big name. You have 2 hours.
He LEAVES.
Much worse! He's the Emperor's personal Wolf for all unspeakable things neither Viceroys nor Generals can be expected to do for the Empire: Political dirty tricks, strange assassinations, ferreting out secrets, dodgy tax collection, pressuring industrialists, wholesale corruption...
Checking out her returned JEWELRY + high BOOTS:
Being one of the richest and most powerful Lords in the Empire, I hope he's got better things to do. But he's also extremely acute. If he does notice, you don't want to bore him. He can be pretty unpleasant with people he finds interesting, but if he thinks you of no value...
Uncovering the DRESS:
LATER, both fully DECKED out:
Could we find a way to get that Courtier to stop Riose, if they compete for the Emperor's favor?
Outside, an ALARM BLARES!
REACHING for a (blinking) Pad:
The door's KICKED OPEN!
10+ SOLDIERS SWARM the ROOM!!
After 'em, EXQUISITELY dressed, stately, his ornate WALKING CANE tapping the floor:
(60s)
Well, well, well, what a pleasant surprise our good General had in store for us! In all the years I've followed his Career, this may be his greatest coup!
Deeply BOWING:
As BRODRIG approaches:
Gesturing with his delicately embroidered HANDKERCHIEF, as half his soldiers SEARCH the inner ROOM:
Oh, he had to go, momentarily. Some kind of Emergency or other.
CLOSING on her as the main door SHUTS:
So this is what the fabled Foundation barbarians look like, hhhmmm??
(he SNIFFS)
The alarm is SILENCED.
TAKING her hand (none-too-gently):
I'll give the orders. You'll be careful or you'll be disemboweled!
DISENGAGING:
POINTING his cane at her face:
I put these rooms under my own Field Distorter. No-one will hear you cry. It will be a great pleasure to teach you manners, little toy-maker!
As DEVERS RETREATS, the cane suddenly EXTRUDES a sizable STILETTO DAGGER, right at her eyes!
She JUMPS up/away, KICKING the stiletto with her high BOOT, then FLIES backwards THRU the inner door, hard INTO the SOLDIERS approaching from behind!
Watching 'em drop TANGLED to the floor:
(grins)
Ahhh, this is more like it! Not as defenseless as she seemed!
Getting in the way:
RAISING his cane to HIT him:
Take 'em!!!
His soldiers quickly SUBDUE the FLAILING DEVERS, slip a BLACK BAG on her head, do the same with the SCREAMING DUCEM.
SWITCH TO BLACK.
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