Back to the 1st half: ENCYCLOPEDIA <--
--> Onwards to the next installment: MAYOR
HARDIN examines a clear transparent plastic CYLINDER (with 1 silvery/metallic END) snugly enveloping an oversize CIGAR.
CAPTION:
3 months later
He carefully brings the silver MOUTHPIECE to his lips, turn-TWISTS it gently.
The cigar's opposite end LIGHTS all UP (with the merest CLICK).
He INHALES deeply, then EXHALES streams of VAPOR thru his mouth/nostrils that JOIN the WISPY SMOKE exiting the (finely perforated) clear plastic END.
Re: the dissipating CLOUD:
PUFFING again:
With this new kind of Filters, our Traders will also be able to breathe safely in contaminated atmospheres.
So we hope! The Blaster powercells are taking long to catch on, after all our efforts to get the Vegan machinery working.
HARDIN twist-CLICKS the silvery MOUTHPIECE. The cigar's burning end FIZZLES OUT.
He TURNS to exit.
Re: the cylinder:
Re: the LAB:
(happy)
For setting me up with the biggest Consortium, and getting us access to the Foundation's Engineering Archives? Yeah, no sweat!
On a facade, a simple BANNER:
Alpha Traders
HARDIN exits a side DOOR.
Waiting at the controls of an old (battered) 4x4:
CLIMBING aboard:
Leave it to Pirenne to manage the impossible and mess the easy. At least he did something to address the Anacreonian menace, after months of nothing.
Driving AWAY:
Must admit that his asking the 'freer' Traders to relay messages beyond the Borders, after years of broken communications, wasn't so hopeless, even if he got the idea from a docudram.
We should have expected it to work, as we shouldn't have been surprised when the last of the long-distance hyper-relays stopped working, either from neglect or sabotage. Things out there aren't exactly clear-cut. Which reminds me of things Alurin used to say...
They take a long wide busy ROAD.
Far AHEAD, under a (smaller than) usual SWARM of (10s of) ships, APPEARS:
PIRENNE + some Trustees WAIT, in their best FINERY.
An Imperial FLYING SAUCER precision-LANDS, extends its (ornate) RAMP.
Descending:
(50s, colorful, w/ long intricate vest & WIG?)
By the stars! What a dreadfully long trip to get out here from Trantor! We swear we cannot fathom why your Foundation wasn't set up much closer to home!
He's followed/surrounded/PROTECTED by a group of ATTENDANTS (some of 'em with ready hands on gun HOLSTERS or sheathed POIGNARDS, others with hand-held SCANNERS).
BOWING:
My Lord Chancellor, it's an Honor.
The others SECOND him.
DORWIN returns a courtly half-BOW.
Arriving, PUFFING his cigar:
He half-BOWS too.
PIRENNE SCOWLS. 1 of the ATTENDANTS (very discreetly) hand-SCANS him.
(slightly ACCENTED)
Oh! And who may you be, my dear fellow?
(double-take)
Space! Is that a Vegan Cheroot?
I'm the City's Mayor, My Lord, at your service. I heard tobacco was in fashion at Trantor's Court, so I rescued an old family heirloom.
Scan-Attendant SWEEPS him too.
Eyeing PIRENNE:
PUFFING a significant CLOUD:
A simple Tradesman, My Lord. My Grandfather was a long-range Trader. His frozen corpse's probably still wandering among the stars.
How exotic! Like old docu-dramas! But cigars went out of favor years ago. Nowadays, everyone who's anyone uses this:
He SHOWS an elaborate SNUFF BOX, takes a small PINCH, inhales it.
CLICKING his cigar OFF, pocketing it:
DORWIN graciously OFFERS his BOX.
Gentlemen, if we're done with presentations...
(animated)
Yes, yes! We didn't expect to find so civilized a world. You need to show us all about that famous Encyclopedia of yours!
(stern)
Tomorrow, Mr. Mayor, when we aren't dead tired from so much Traveling, will be the time to talk about all that, yes?
The Chancellor's (ticker-tape) MOTORCADE.
DORWIN, standing in the biggest (open) GROUNDCAR, alone, SALUTES.
FOLLOWING in another, HARDIN & PIRENNE seated (unhappily) together.
Central glass CUBE in full operation, displaying holographic PAGES + PAGES of elaborate GRAPHS, text, pictures, movies, math...
CAPTION:
5 days later
PIRENNE presents, talking/GESTURING at length.
DORWIN watches, comfortably seated/RECLINED in the 1st row. The rest of the Trustees sit NEARBY. A few Academics + STUDENTS scattered here & there.
10 rows behind:
Impressive!
His cylinder-cigar peeking out a pocket:
I used to think so, as a student. Nowadays I'm too busy with our many other problems, wishing Pirenne and the Foundation were more helpful.
The Chancellor's people are pretty closed too. At least we've managed to avoid their Scans.
They're understandably paranoid, with Trantor mired in so many intrigues and rivalries between Aristocrats ruling whole Provinces. Information is power!
Like any schoolyard, but with knives, planets, armies... Huh, is He about to fall asleep?
(glum)
Must be exhausted after all the Diners, Receptions, Grand Tours, even a Ball! of the past few days. He's seen everybody, visited everywhere, but I was hoping for a more practical Diplomacy, with all that's in play.
Your Office, together with the Trading Union and several Consortiums, sponsored some of these events.
For all the good it did us: we got nothing from him, only vague promises, no warships. He has shown little interest in Trade, History, or everyday Culture, so this Preview is also useless.
There's more things in the Encyclopedia...
The glass CUBE displays REAM after REAM of carefully ARRANGED (colorcoded, 3D) DATA.
Yeah, but modern Science is boring, as has been for centuries. Even the Encyclopedists admit it: No big discoveries or breakthroughs since the early Golden Ages, everything pretty much set in stone afterwards. Scholars in our days do little more than compile, refine and classify the work of their forebears.
Except for Hari Seldon and his Psycho-History? That was new.
It was also mostly in his head, but for his heavily simplified Publications. His complete Formulas and the true reach of his Research remain a mystery. We know what he did, but not how he did it!
Predicting the Fall of the Empire somewhere in the near future, and persuading the Imperial court to Exile his people (our Founders) as far away as possible, thus indirectly putting us in the danger we are today?
Just so, damn his genius and his fiery Speeches. None of his disciples left any detailed notes either. It was our first Fact Finding mission, a decade ago, to Trantor itself. A waste of time!
DORWIN twiddles his fingers.
After a bit more silent WATCHING:
Won't the blueprints for Poly's cartridges be in there, too?
Not in this Volume, I think, but somewhere, yes: It's a classic design, standardized for most of the Galaxy. Poly's team only tweaked it a little to make it lighter and cheaper, easier to make and sell.
I wouldn't find that boring.
That's your love of Weapons talking. You'd sound different if they powered things like children toys, kitchen appliances, or whatever...
PIRENNE finishes with a FLOURISH & BOW, to general APPLAUSE, incl. a standing ENTHUSIASTIC DORWIN.
The giant holo-CUBE lingers on a (slightly wavering) MAP of the Milky Way Galaxy before going DARK.
Getting UP:
As they APPROACH:
Ah, my dear Mayor! We wanted to thank you! Our most esteemed Doctor Pirenne says the City of Terminus has been helping the Foundation after Imperial funds ran out!
Eyeing PIRENNE:
(wary)
It's the least we could do: Lab supplies, living allowances... People need to eat, even Scholars. I know: I once was one.
It's a reason Volume 1 of the Encyclopedia hasn't suffered more than a slight delay, despite all the hardships. Our Editors were completely focused on...
Yes, yes...
(to Hardin)
The Empire won't forget your generosity, or what a capable Administrator you are, rest assured.
(to ALL, carrying)
In fact, today we can announce the end of this anomalous situation: our Diplomats have negotiated Treaties with all the so-called independent Kingdoms. They'll recognize the Emperor's sovereignty!
More APPLAUSE, incl. (eventually) HARDIN & LEE.
(elated)
Great! At long last!
Everybody wins: the Empire won't need to waste more resources with ungrateful barbarous worlds, and they'll be free to conduct their own affairs.
They were never as civilized as the Core, but things weren't so bad a couple Centuries ago: Anacreon was a vacation darling for Emperors, renowned for its fine woods, liquors and artisans.
(sober)
The Zeonian revolt afflicted many Regions... It's in the History books. These aren't the old Great Days anymore.
This Province suffered less than others, yet now they can hardly keep what's left of their Infrastructure working, and wars erupt about scraps.
That isn't unheard of, my dear friend: only 6 years ago Gamma Andromeda, a major world in the Belts, suffered the partial meltdown of its Primary Powerplant, due to poor refits and repairs made scarcely 30 years before.
It was a disaster, but they manage with what they have. Everybody does when good Specialists are so hard to find. The Laws will be stricter about who's allowed to meddle with Nucleic Power. We learn and we go on!
Worry not: the Emperor is personally interested in the Encyclopedia Galactica, as are we. The Archaeology Section alone is well worth the trip to the Periphery for a connoisseur!
Surely you must be considered a true Scientist, My Lord: Your Comparative Studies of the vastly different Theories about the Origin Question and the Unique Dilemma are as rigorous and complete as the best we have.
Oh, you flatter our modest contributions to the Field, busy as we always are with State matters... Remember you promised us a full copy of this Volume 1 before we depart tomorrow, yes?
It's being Printed at the moment, My Lord. With your permission, I'd like to add your work to it. Of course, we'll transmit the last updates to Trantor as soon as they're Proofed.
That would be great. We'll make sure your admirable work out here receives the praise it deserves from the Court.
SIGNALING to his people:
Diplomacy doesn't wait, alas. We'll treasure these moments in your most civilized company while we deal with the brutes out there. Which reminds us: you have some tobacco to spare? Vega's crops were damaged last year in the Disturbances that afflicted 10s of worlds, nobody knows when regular shipments will resume.
OPENING his cylinder:
TAKING the offered CIGAR, with a curt BOW & FLOURISH:
The small wheel TURNS more. 6-7 nearby others (of varied sizes) TURN too.
A not-so-faint TICK.
TERMINUS CITY shining on the HORIZON.
CAPTION:
2 weeks later
Its speed significantly reduced (by unseen means) the ship VEERS off course.
1000+ sword/rifle/gun-armed SOLDIERS in simple UNIFORMS, arrayed around the landed TRADESHIP.
From another similar tradeship's exits DEBARK 100s more soldiers. Among 'em:
A BIG Uniformed WARLORD leading his big HORSE down a ramp.
More tradeships APPROACH (dimmed lights).
Re: (table-inset) SCREEN with tactical DIAGRAMS:
(worried)
I was expecting their Fleet, not... this. Guess they didn't want to alert the other Kingdoms or give 'em an opening.
(grim)
Using Tradeships as troop transports kept 'em from being noticed until they were about to land, bypassing any Orbital Defenses we might have had, and Landing so far from the City avoids any dangerous air Defenses we might have had down here too.
Working his CONSOLE:
If only we had something! Can't stop all those Legions of foot Soldiers with a Police force of 1000 City Guards!
They'll need to walk in the mud for days before arriving. More if they carry heavy gear, less if they have vehicles.
We can use the Colony Shield, but it'll protect little beyond the Powerplant, the Foundation's grounds, and the old City Center, and it isn't ready for a Siege anyway.
We should shut down the Orbital Mirrors: Foul weather like the Winters of our childhood, when everything froze at night, would greatly inconvenience and delay those fair-weather Anacreonians.
So no-one will die from exposure, theirs or ours. But they'll get a gelid first impression of their future Farming lands.
Beyond: 1 by 1, each ORBITAL MIRROR 'undeploys' itself, reflecting sunlight no more.
BACK TO:
Keying his PAD:
READING his Console:
(firm)
As little as possible! They had their chance, and wasted it. Now it's our turn, and I don't care if we're betraying Seldon and the Founding ancestors. We do it for their Descendants... us.
At the base of one, surveying the TECHS/installers, PIRENNE + a handful other TRUSTEES.
Arriving:
We know. We aren't blind, regardless of what parts of the populace may say.
We've already taken measures. The solution is at hand.
The Empire, of course! Lord Dorwin promised...
(worried?)
Not yet. But once the Empire knows of this assault upon our Rights...
(upset)
That kind of alarmism borders Treason! Even more when so many follow your every word!
Re: his PAD (full of GRAPHS & EQUATIONS):
(firm)
I brought proof. Have you seen the Treaties Lord Dorwin recently signed with all our Neighbors?
Of course! Peace and good relationships are restored. It's as he said: Diplomacy fixed...
They EYE each other.
What do you mean?
I can't fault you for trusting Dorwin and the Empire. But I'm more open to the harsh realities around us, that have surrounded us for decades.
You consort too much with those profit-driven Traders.
They could also try to manipulate you and your fears for their own ends.
They could try. Luckily for me, I can resort to the same Consultants they often use to check their own convoluted commercial Contracts.
Why should you trust 'em, if they work for money?
Because they're Academics from the Foundation, with solid reputations, and their work can be and has been cross-checked.
Offering his PAD:
They belong to the Division of Logic, Department of Symbolic Analysis, devoted among other things to cleaning and clarifying all sorts of rules, formulas, and languages, including specialized and opaque lingos such as Lawyers, Traders and Diplomats tend to use.
Reviewing the PAD:
I know that Signature: Muller Holk is absolutely committed to the Encyclopedia and to Scientific truth.
Re: the PAD's long streams of LOGIC SYMBOLS:
Assuming the Analysts are right declaring over 90% of every Treaty 'meaningless padding and clutter', they still confirm what we thought: Trantor grants ample Autonomy for as long as the Kingdoms respect strict rules, including the Borders.
Full Autonomy. Complete Independence in all but name for all of 'em. Notice that they won't contribute to the Empire, thru Taxes or anything, and need not worry about Imperial Law unless within Imperial Space proper. Plus how the Imperial Fleet is forbidden from ever trespassing into splinter Territory.
A SMOKY yellow
95.4 FLOATS BY.
But then that would mean...
(alarmed)
Anacreon's Treaty includes a clause on ensuring "peace and security" for all their subjects!
Exactly! They didn't need it, but that frees 'em to do as they please with the likes of us, without the Empire's interference, and they're wasting no time.
Can't be!
Treason!
The installers ACTIVATE the big screen.
(firm)
There must be a misinterpretation somewhere, a loophole you overlooked. Lord Dorwin personally guaranteed...
You weren't always present when we talked.
(angry)
What!?!? That's against Hospitality rule...!!!
(horrified)
Do you realize the kind of trouble that disgraceful lack of respect could have...!?
(shrugs)
Nobody found. The Imperials swept everywhere for Spy Beams, but passive Recorders are easier to conceal, harder to track.
Tapping his pocket with the empty cigar-holder:
You should have asked for permission!
What for? I only started doing it for fear of falling asleep and missing something important, and continued because nobody else cared to. Pointless worries, you see, for the esteemed Chancellor never said or did anything of any real value while he was here, and nobody noticed.
What the Space...!? Of course he did! I distinctly remember... huh...
(firm)
You will need show us proof, Mr. Mayor.
GESTURING empty-handed:
There's nothing to see! Holk's people have toiled day and night reviewing, pondering, and cross-analyzing Dorwin's every word and gesture, nearly 100 hours of Recordings, to no avail. Once all the useless platitudes, vague declarations, and unrelated statements are eliminated, there's nothing left: no assurances, no support, and no help coming.
You are wrong! You must be!
Why so? Trantor cannot or will not gather a Warfleet and retake the splinter peripheral Provinces. We can only guess what other critical issues preoccupy 'em, but meanwhile we are isolated, alone, and must fend for ourselves!
The big screen DISPLAYS test patterns.
No: That's not enough. You're making the same mistake most everybody else does these days: You underestimate Hari Seldon and his science of Psycho-History!
He returns the Pad to:
He was the greatest Psychologist and Statistician of his Time, predicted the future of the Empire 100s of years in advance, and manoeuvered the Government into putting us here and nowhere else.
So we could better fulfill our mission of rebuilding and publishing the Encyclopedia that'll save the Human Race. He chose the most suitable Historical trends for that purpose.
We've studied what's known of his Math, and his public statements. There's no doubt he could do that, and more.
Seldon found a way to ensure the Foundation could work unhindered for generations, beyond the present difficulties. Thus, there's a way forward, or a workable compromise, even if we don't see it now.
That's what his Recording will reveal today, the day of our 50th Anniversary.
That's why we're setting up these big screens, for everybody to see. They deserve to know!
You... you all believe that? You put the lives of everybody on the planet on a guess? Blind faith in an omniscient Ancestor?
Not blind. Not faith. Science!
I believe in Science too. But, with all due respect, what's lacking here is common sense. Your Theory still needs to answer why: Why would Seldon go to all the trouble to set up us out here in the middle of the most dangerously complex of situations precisely to make our work easier? It's madness!
(smiles)
We'll soon see!
As everybody LOOKS upwards at the screens:
Exact as an atomic clock!
SELDON (from SCREEN, captioned?)
I'm told the Colony Ship landed successfully. Guess you are there, 50 years into my Future. Odds are above 98% in the first Century of our Grand Plan. But you must be very worried about your Future and the looming Crisis! Psycho-History predicts it with mathematical near-certainty, for the fundamental Forces of Human Nature, Necessity and Growth that shape all Societies are as deep and strong as the Nuclear Forces and the Gravity that shape the Stars, and their interactions as well-known to us, and to nobody else.
He CLOSES the book, revealed to be an ANTIQUE:
Encyclopedia
Galactica
(Junior Ed.)
Exactly as we thought!
As you probably think, survival is at stake, but fret not: the solution is at hand, and with it the first crucial step towards a much more important goal than any Encyclopedia. The Galactic Empire is spent, its general stagnation and its decomposition all over the Periphery prove it. When it finally Falls, struggle and Barbarism will engulf the entire Human Race for 1000 generations, until a new Empire rises from the ashes or, if the long millennia of disaster prove too much, Mankind too Falls beyond recovery.
Passersby GATHER around each screen. All SILENT, as are PIRENNE & the TRUSTEES.
We put you there to prevent that, for a much better way exists. Not easier, but safer and shorter. You don't need the full details, but all the pieces of the game are now in place, Terminus and the Revolts that created the hostile Kingdoms around. Events are unstoppable, and you'll have no choice but to play your best. For at the end of the Road we're about to take lies a greater and stronger Second Empire, which your descendants, and nobody else, will build. The Race's Future is yours, our Equations guarantee it!
PIRENNE & the TRUSTEES are flummoxed.
Signposts mark our Path, in the form of Existential Crises, such as the present one. Each Crisis will shape not only the available options, but also who gets to decide. Odds are you have some sort of collective decision-making, probably a Democracy. But that's only the start. We don't know what kind of Leadership the Second Empire will need: Mankind hasn't found a good enough or durable enough solution in all its long History. We'll have 30-odd Generations to find and test our own Formulas.
People eye each other, MURMUR, grow agitated...
Have faith: you are the lever that will move worlds! This won't be the last you see of me. Until then, good luck!
All the screens go DARK.
Seems we all underestimated Seldon!
EYEING the VOLATILE groups of people around:
We must think this thru... somewhere calmer.
Swiftly WORKING his Pad:
(firm)
Sorry: this cannot wait!
(beat, to the Pad)
Citizens of Terminus, compatriots: I am Mayor Salvor Hardin!
(Bird's eye view of) the big screens SHOW his face, ECHO his words.
A grave danger comes test us! We cannot meet it by force, but by the wisdom of our Forebears, who even now watch over us offering their Guide!
From a car's RADIO:
We aren't defenseless: the old Colony Shield can protect everybody for weeks until help comes! Come to the City Center before midnight.
From a plain screen, thru a WINDOW on a (tall) apartment BUILDING:
Town Hall will organize everything. Carry only foodstuffs and water. You are the only valuables that matter!
Site of the
ORIGINAL LANDING
around the corner
LEE (+ several helpers) about to ENTER, salutes the 3-4 (armed) GUARDS on duty.
From his PAD:
The Guards will assist you. With your courage, and your cooperation, we'll weather this Crisis together!
LEE smiles.
From an old SCREEN that's seen better times:
4-5 seasoned (Blaster-armed, gloomy) TRADERS watch.
With the screen above REPEATING him:
(most) People CHEER and APPLAUD. Not PIRENNE nor (most of) the TRUSTEES.
(upset)
You didn't have permission for that!
The screen above REPEATS him!
(cool)
I didn't think I needed the Foundation's permission to save the City. Not after what Hari Seldon just said.
EYEING the group around:
Mob rule!
Not a bad definition of Democracy, when one puts the needs of the Majority above the desires of a Minority. Luckily I am their chosen Leader.
(worried)
You must not inflame the citizenry into something rash, Hardin. It's too dangerous: we aren't prepared for War!
(firm)
It's Mayor Hardin, Dr. Pirenne. Never forget. I hope you wise men of the Foundation can come up with something useful for our collective Defense. Yes?
EYEING the screen:
Switching OFF the screens:
Please hurry. Even if Seldon's right, we only have a few days before the Barbarians arrive.
But... the Colony's Shield!? You said...
That Shield can withstand a Nuclear explosion, Blaster Cannons, orbital Bombardments, or rock-throwing Catapults if needs be. The people inside will fray sooner.
A few BLOCKS beyond, outside the FAINT (rippling) DOME SHIELD, significant SNOWING.
CAPTION:
4 days after
Seldon's revelations
HARDIN (in winter clothing) CLIMBS a ladder to 1 of the (small) crowning "towers" at each corner, with (a low parapet +) a commanding VIEW of most of the outer (deserted) City.
Standing GUARD with several LOOKOUTS (w/ long-range hi-tech BINOCULAR-SCOPES + winter CLOTHING):
Reminds me of our School days! The time I flooded the playground with cold water and made an ice rink, to the delight of kids little and big.
(half-smile)
Until some broke their silly bones and their parents wanted you sold to offworld Farmers, based on your reputation as troublemaker and school bully...
Luckily, the school's Counselor offered 'em and me a better deal: the hard job of guarding a certain bossy brat and his younger protegés.
Typical Alurin. I still wonder what his lesson was about,
(gesturing)
or for whom. Still, it's been good, and has got us places...
(glum)
Some days I regret it: Playing with entire planets!? Who in their right mind would even attempt such a thing!?
(smiles)
As smoothly as we could wish. With everybody already in the City's pay, and Seldon's quasi-endorsement, it's been the easiest coup d'etat in recorded History!
Pirenne and his Academics are too used to scientific Fact, but not enough to variable People. Even Seldon overvalued our cards!
(sad)
No. The news is the Spacedock: seems the Anacreonians infiltrated it with enough Forces to take it, although it's unclear how or when exactly they managed to Board.
(firm)
It should have been completely evacuated days ago and deorbited, as I suggested, or at least vented to space, commercial shipping operations be damned.
(shrugs)
The Stationmaster and her Security Squad barricaded themselves in the Control Center. Nobody knows how many Civilians are still stuck up there.
If at all possible before we lose the last few remaining Channels, yes: It will still be a key infrastructure, under Anacreonian rule or not. Violence, sabotage, or angering the invaders in any way, would only risk lives and losses for nothing.
Pointing:
Sir!? Their Vanguard!!
Scrambling to their SCREENS:
Re: a bunch of shadows (GRAINY image) perched on the HORIZON:
No joking: They'll reach the outlying Farms in a few hours. The Guards will need to hurry with stragglers!
Alert the Shield operators to be ready to harden it on short notice. Was all the food gathered and stored?
Working his PAD:
Looking skywards:
Would have been great if Seldon's visionaries had set up some nice fat Minefields around the planet to properly shelter their far-fetched Promises!
That would have hindered our Trading abroad, essential to counter Terminus' lack of useful Resources. No: the solution must be something else!
In the only (open, powerless) parked GROUNDCAR:
From a SCREEN:
(tired)
Everything else on the List requires parts and time we don't have! Blowing up all our remaining Nucleics, irrational as it may seem, would be fast and easy.
We won't soak the City and perhaps the planet in Radiation just to scare the Anacreonians off. Assuming they're smart enough to flee before it's too late.
Thanks for your and the Foundation's efforts, Dr. Pirenne.
He switches the screen Off.
At least it gave 'em something to do, with the Encyclopedia in limbo and everything beyond their Campus out of their purview.
Don't forget the many Refugees they took in, and their help with Logistics everywhere.
True. Sorry. What now? I'm out of ideas, and Poly says the Powerplant is down to the last batches of fuel.
(glum)
This is it, then. All our Industrialization efforts, our gadgetry, Commerce, Diplomacy, our high ideals of usefulness and independence, even Poly's innovative ammo factory, count for nothing before warriors who only know the use of guns!
For nearly a million people huddled under a Dome Shield, surrounded by encamped Barbarians [+], worried about air, water and food, pillagers, Orbital Cannons... 5 extra days is already a lot.
They'll like being serfs even less.
You can get 'em to accept it, bid their time until Seldon returns, or whatever, using your Political and Psychological skills. Pity you cannot charm the Anacreonians the same way.
Tapping his (empty) pocket:
(sighs)
I'm out of cigars, my friend.
They LEAVE the car.
A news ANCHOR (female, middle-aged) + CAMERAMAN (loaded with hi-tech yet discreet aud/vid/3D recording GEAR) approach.
Holding a small MIC/light:
Hi, Mr. Mayor, this is Terminus Hypernews, live for all ships and worlds in this corner of the Galaxy: On what may be the last hour of our City and Seldon's Foundation, it seems your otherwise fine Tenure will end in failure.
SIGNALING for the CAMERAMAN to CUT emissions (her MIC/light + telltale lights on his gear shut OFF):
(impatient?)
Certainly not with an outrageously expensive, massive and power-hungry Ultrawave set, which also loses coherence when trying to slip thru a hardened Shield.
The Trading Union's Hyper-relay still has juice for a few hours of careful use. It reaches Tradeships light-years away who re-transmit to others until reaching most worlds in the region. Fresh info is a hot commodity out there!
The Grapevine...!? I should have guessed.
SIGNALING for the CAMERAMAN to RESUME (her MIC/light ON again):
Any instruction or advice for the 1000s of our fellow citizens abroad, Traders stranded at foreign Ports, their associates, or unlucky travelers, afraid now for their future, their livelihoods, their families?
Yes: We haven't forgotten you! Please be patient. We hope to solve our differences with Anacreon peacefully. They don't want us dead. Their rules aren't the same as ours, that's all.
After a short SILENCE:
(sober)
That's all, folks. After Seldon's rousing fantasies, the disappointing Reality check.
She SIGNALS to CUT.
LEE & HARDIN (whispering among themselves) WALK towards:
Beyond its END, the Shield's shiny rippling WALL mostly BLOCKS view. HARDIN + LEE approach it.
The Guards COMMANDER meets 'em.
Saluting:
(stern)
Mayor Hardin, Sir: the Guards want to defend the City. Your order to return all the weapons' powercells to the Powerplant for safekeeping or recycling hasn't been well received. Not at all.
EYEING LEE:
Figures. Yet they helped secure all the Industrial and Farm equipment, and retrieve their Nucleics?
Same principle. Unless you think a shooting battle against 90000 soldiers amid a million civilians is safe enough?
(aghast)
No, Sir! But, Seldon said... well... We cannot just surrender, can we? Not if we're gonna build a new Empire!?
That's a task for tomorrow, Commander. Today, we keep alive those who'll do it. Understood?
(grim)
Let's go make History.
They WALK towards:
The other side is OCCUPIED by platoons of (worn/tired?) Anacreonian SOLDIERS (uniforms augmented w/ some warmer CLOTHING), huddled against the cold & the (windswept) SNOW. There's (some) TRASH, groups of HORSES, makeshift TENTS, a few (old-style) CANNON, weapon & (plastic, light) shield racks, torn DOORS, chopped-down tree STUMPS, a few bonfires...
(small) SMOKE clouds exit a number of (broken) WINDOWS.
BEYOND, all streets pretty much the same.
10s of BULLETS, several Ballista bolts & even cannonballs are STUCK into the Shield, at different DEPTHS & heights.
A middle-aged MAN (w/ old, patched-up? clothing) PUSHES a wheeled FOOD-CART along the middle of the snowed road, HAWKING his wares. A CHILD (girl) carries 'em to the SOLDIERS, brings back the (scarce) COINS they pay.
Not far behind, a middle-aged WOMAN (in an old dress) PUSHES a wheeled DRINKS-CART along, hawking steaming hot BEVERAGES. Another CHILD (boy) helps her business.
WATCHING 'em from close inside the Shield (which attenuates SOUND as well as SIGHT):
(surprised?)
They've been bridging the cultural-political chasm while we wallowed in our impotence!?
FACES at some windows watch 'em. Also (discreetly, from the side street) ANCHOR + CAMERAMAN, not far from the COMMANDER arraying 20+ City Guards.
Another MAN (w/ better clothing) APPEARS, pushing a wheeled VENDOR-CART along the sidewalk's edge, with PENDANTS, medals, assorted trinkets, small GADGETS...
Many soldiers GAWK / point at his wares, but only 1 (an OFFICER?) dares APPROACH (a hand caressing his holstered GUN).
Can't blame 'em. Old Alurin said a Market Economy was easy to setup, not for being better than others, but it was simple, and catered to basic Human...
There's a (brief, inaudible) seller/buyer ARGUMENT, eagerly WATCHED from all sides, until it ENDS with several pendants & gadgets SWEPT to the ground.
A SHORT FANFARE sounds. Most Anacreonians STAND at attention. More EXIT the buildings.
The vendors VANISH (the trinket-seller HELPED by a monk-ish type).
Several VIPS (a young finely dressed PRINCESS, the WARLORD, a handful high-ranked OFFICERS + RODRIC) descend the ample stairs of an ORNATE BUILDING (a Theater?) 2-3 blocks away, MOUNT their horses, followed/protected by a Blaster-RIFLEMEN company (on foot).
As they (leisurely) APPROACH:
You were right: They've been using the 'Port for more than basic supplies. Their Industry may be in trouble, but it still dwarfs ours.
Very big: all his medals, decorations and everything are larger than Rodric's. Who's the redhead by his other side?
Re: the PRINCESS:
The King's daughter, if Reports don't lie. She married 1 of the biggest Warlords in the Province about a year ago.
She's also the brains of the family, inherited from her ambitious Father. Her older brother is more like one would expect of a noble Prince: all charisma and strength. Guess who'll be the next King.
STOPPING on their side of the Shield:
(serious)
At long last! Nearly a week we've waited for you. What makes today special?
(commanding)
Where's the Imperial Representative?
(loud)
Trantor's Appointee and his loyals rule no more! That said, we didn't ditch 1 faraway Tyrant to welcome the next. Please state your Business here and depart!
Stop playing games! We've been testing your Shield: it softens every day!
Must be why there were no city Lights these past few nights.
LEE notices ANCHOR + CAMERAMAN on a nearby window, listening/recording/EMITTING. He TOUCHES Hardin's arm.
Let 'em. Defeat won't be any easier nor less humiliating without an Audience. In fact...
Will you surrender? You're only wasting Nucleics to delay the inevitable!
Not according to Hari Seldon's science, you aren't! Winter is! In 6 weeks, when the whole planet freezes, how will you keep this City warm? Burning it down?
Don't you see it? He's using us to send a message!
(to Hardin)
We aren't the Barbarians you portray us to be! You know how to keep warm! We want that knowledge to end people's hardships!
The Shield RIPPLES on the verge of COLLAPSE!
Horses REACT. Soldiers POINT. An Anacreonian bullet-RIFLEMAN shoots at it!!
The explosion-propelled slug EMBEDS itself (well over head) into the shiny surface, its POINT clearly visible INSIDE!!!
Orders are BARKED. Artillery pieces are LOADED, pointed. The Anacreonian Army readies for the final PUSH.
Yohan, make sure that Broadcast is received at all 'Ports and Trading Offices abroad. Everyone on the 4 Kingdoms, from the lowest to the highest, must see everything: The taking of our ships, our Town Hall, and above all, of the University!
Slowly (yet too fast!) the Shield (not unlike a giant soap bubble) DISSOLVES/UNRAVELS/COLLAPSES!!
He notices the City Guards + their COMMANDER ADVANCING, loading their Blaster GUNS with small CARTRIDGES!
LEE RUNS to comply!
As his army ADVANCES from the snowy to the clean side of the AVENUE:
In the name of His puissant Majesty our King, I hereby claim this planet for Anacreon and its people!
Hurrah!
Hurrah!!
HURRAH!!!
LEE & the Guards (+ most faces at the windows) RETREAT.
Not so ANCHOR + CAMERAMAN.
Get him!
Salvor Hardin! You're to remain under custody for questioning about your crimes against...!
The SOLDIERS KNOCK HARDIN to the ground before TAKING him!
Held by (1 of) the seasoned (Blaster-less, grim) TRADERS from earlier.
In front of an ANTIQUE wooden ORNATE TABLE (full of CHARTS) with a Senior BUREAUCRAT (+ 6-7 GOVERNMENT / MILITARY TYPES behind).
In:
# A very SUNNY & FORMAL OFFICE with tall WINDOWS + plenty FLAGS. DAY.
CAPTION:
Ministry of TRADE
The Screen blinks to SNOW.
FADE IN:
SMYRNO
A GHOSTLY white
92 FLOATS BY.
FADE IN:
(formerly part of
the Imperial Province
of Anacreon)
The Smyrnians EYE each other.
Near its RIM, a small LONE star flares OFF, sending a modest SHOCKWAVE 'round.
A handful nearby stars briefly FLARE as the shockwave REACHES 'em.
(scrolling) TEXT:
ORIGIN QUESTION: the mystery of the exact
birthplace of the Human race, of which no
solid proof has survived thru the millennia,
also challenged by several Archaeological
finds of primitive pre-spacetravel societies
on diverse planets around the Galaxy.
UNIQUE DILEMMA: the mystery of the absence of
other intelligent species in our Galaxy, despite
the abundance of life-friendly planets, many
of which have complex biospheres and lifeforms.
Encyclopedia Galactica
(116th Ed.) 1020 F.E
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