Back to the first installment: ENCYCLOPEDIA <--
--> Onwards to the 2nd half: POWER
CAPTION:
Anacreonian Bulk Carrier
TUG 4 HIRE
Central CONSOLES display CCTV images of cramped CATWALKS surrounded by CLUSTERS of (worn, dirty) metal SPHERES & POLYHEDRA w/ varied SIGNS + CODES.
FADE IN:
Crew: 6 (+1 gestating)
In simple civilian clothes, CHECKING (forward) INSTRUMENTS:
In simple uniform-ish clothes, half-asleep at the (rearside) Helm:
FADE IN:
En route along an uncharted
shortcut near the outer Border.
(calmer)
Aye, aye, po... Bosun, sir! It's a big echo, 2 Kilometers wide or more. Spectrometer's wild with Iron, Titanium, Palladium, Iridium, and all the valuable stuff.
FADE IN:
75 F.E
Approaching:
We ain't touring this empty star so you can play fantasies! What did I tell you of my rock-hound years? All work and no lottery tickets out here! How old are these signals?
Working a Console:
It's pretty far, almost outside the system... Speed's low, angles are all odd for a comet or an asteroid. No wonder nobody's noticed!
Hm! Best place for a mountain of money to hide from everybody. It would explain the spectrum and the low temperature if sunlight hasn't baked it in centuries or millennia.
Let's go claim that baby right now! Everyone's hungry for metals, and the best payer would be... huh...
Calculating:
The Foundation, of course: they're the hungriest on their little metal-poor world, and would likely send their own Transports, saving us the hassle and the expense. They'd probably cancel our debts too.
Great! We're good for an extra Jump, maybe 2 if their Tech-Priests improved our gear as well as promised.
(half-joking)
Sure they did, lest their fabled Galactic Spirit punish 'em for bad work or untruthfulness, or the Kings disown the Peace and the Bad Old Times return!
(worried)
You shouldn't mock the Spirit, pops, sir. Its miracles are real: Millions are witnesses!
Navigating ship SCHEMATICS (incl. several big BUNCHES of color-coded circles/hexagons) & DATA with his Console:
Spare me your New Age Mysticism, boy. The Old Empire could do 'miracles' too, before the 4 Kingdoms or the Foundation existed. But we're low on Nucleics, and no amount of praying will change that. Jumping around would mess our schedule and budget.
For a mother-lode of millions of tons of pure metal, worth more than we'd make in several lifetimes ferrying Chemicals? You bet we must do it!
Back to his Helm:
Not for us to decide, son: The data isn't fresh enough, and there's always the risk of Pirates. Go wake up your mom. And for all that's sacred, don't forget to call her Captain!
MANY VOICES
(Off Screen, reciting)
This is my Faith and my Oath: to seek and treasure Knowledge in all its forms.
The aged/ugly yet ROBUST prismatic HEAD of the TUG 4 HIRE (50x25x20m?) PULLS 100s of tightly PACKED many-colored Spheres, Truncated Icosahedrons, et al (3 to 12m wide? w/ ICONS for FLAMMABLE, LIQUID, CORROSIVE, EXPLOSIVE, FRAGILE, DON'T SHAKE, KEEP COLD, etc), locked/fastened with cables, slender CHAINS, screws... around its (500+m?) long wireframe-ish TAIL/SPINE, at the end of which powerful ENGINES GLOW, accelerating, altering course.
(cont.)
To nurture it for [+] this and all Generations to come, as the Prophet envisioned.
A few hi-speed dust PARTICLES leave short STREAKS on encountering the thin mostly-transparent (bluish) SHIELD.
The ship JUMPS/BLINKS away.
(cont.)
To help by all means those less fortunate than I, as the Galactic Spirit demands.
IN JUMPS the TUG 4 HIRE.
(cont.)
To serve the Holy Foundation's light in the darkness, and protect it with my life...
A fair distance in front, MASSIVE RIDGES and CANYONS (partly covered in SNOW) leisurely TUMBLE to reveal CRATERED surfaces, encrusted dirt & pebbles, MELTED/overflown scars, oddly-angled RAMPARTS, deep dark PITS, a few (charred, partial, contorted) SKELETONS, more snow piled against the colossal CRACKED cylinder of a huge JUMP ENGINE, nearby a long jagged GASH (about as wide as the TUG's head?) reaching all the way to a pair of giant BURST Plasma CANNONS...
Further tumbling shows a large golden 'spaceship+sun' bas-relief ENSIGN, more damage, scattered glittering CRYSTALS, and finally the rest of an old derelict IMPERIAL BATTLECRUISER (baroque, filigreed, dark metal, H-shaped, 5-6 times the TUG) bristling with WEAPONS.
Around a small wheel, a GROUP turns TOGETHER (in various directions). A clear TICK sounds.
The GROUP of gears SHUDDERS, REVERSES direction.
TOCK.
(bird's eye view of) Huge tropical TREES, often TALLER than the modest ANTIQUE-MODERN (stone, wood, glass, greenery) 3-15-story buildings. Wide AVENUES, monuments, parks, PLAZAS, large WORKSITES around (a few) big RUINS, 3-4 gleaming GIANT 40-50-story pentagonal PYRAMIDS (w/ green PARKS + WATERFALLS on some levels) scattered around (+ as many normal-sized, also with greenery + trees). Rich deep-blue sky, with some medium-high gray-yellow CLOUDS, + 10s of (small) SHIPS zooming around.
CAPTION:
ANACREON CITY
Outskirts
FADE IN:
(formerly
Capital of the
Imperial Prefect of Anacreon)
FADE IN:
POPULATION: 60 MILLION
1 YEAR LATER
Exotic BIRDS sing, FLOWERS bloom, BEES work. Thin TRAFFIC (of modest cars and transports) on the ground. (Noticeably tanned) people STROLL the (barely dusty) STREETS on foot. Old men, couples, families, kids, lively street MUSICIANS, humble PRIESTS...
Among 'em, discreetly (civilian-clothed) but distinctly non-native:
(50s, rotund, proud)
You should have seen it 20-odd years ago, when we arrived: jungle-infested ruins, people scavenging for food and shelter, or fighting for the scarce water reserves not fouled up with dangerous chemicals... But I don't regret field work: Customers are the best education! I discovered novel concepts, ways to improve designs...
Re: the PYRAMID TOP glimpsed beyond the far end of a tree-lined BOULEVARD:
Here we've grown beyond our wildest dreams! That's the Thessalekian Consortium, newest and one of the largest on the planet, if not the Kingdom. Natives call 'em Temples. Only the Argolid, 15 kilometers East, near the old city center and the Royal Palace, is bigger, but then it houses the main Powerplant and the city's emergency Shield, whereas here it's mostly Hospital rooms, labs, schools...
Walking among busy vendor-stalls (flowers, pottery, wood items, art, foodstuffs...) towards a MASSIVE baobab-ish 25-stories-high jungle-style TREE (orange-green) in the middle of a roundabout:
Slim chance of that: it's the symbols they see, the robes, the staffs, the miracles...
(sotto)
For all my great Titles, I'm little more than a technical advisor. Without my crimson costume and magic wand, I'm just another tourist on a holiday, with negligible odds of running into Nobility or Police here in the poor parts of the city.
At the (raised) base of the great tree, a PLAQUE:
With the Blessings of
the Galactic Spirit,
a gift of friendship
from the Foundation.
Next to it, a SCREEN shows how it was TRANSPORTED from its (precarious) perch atop a jungle CLIFF (by flying crane, SHIELDED whole with roots, soil...) & set up.
Her fingers lightly BRUSHING the 'invisible' electrostatic (green-yellow) FENCE around the tree:
Simplest is best. So long after the Wars, the famines, and everything, Technology is still viewed as dangerous, suspect, better left to specialist practitioners, preferably the same trusty oath-bound foreigners who built and brought it.
Looking UP:
People love these trees: they're reminders of their roots, their tradition, and also the difficulties overcome, their resilience, and the future that awaits.
Gesturing around:
This is what your father's sacrifice bought, Lennie. A new start, a recovered, more open society where outsiders aren't necessarily enemies. He, more than anyone, should be here, basking in success, healing his wounds. His advice would be priceless!
(somber)
I know, Uncle Poly. But he can't forget the Psychic Probes and all the other tortures he endured for refusing a formal Surrender, before Old Pirenne and the Smyrnians and the other Kingdoms hammered out the Peace Treaties and jointly persuaded Anacreon to release him and retreat.
Their WALK carries them near a BIG STORE with an overhead BANNER:
SPIRITUAL FOODS
Smaller banners:
Personalized Recipes
Curation Guaranteed!
Many CUSTOMERS enter/exit.
(sighs)
What started as ransom and necessity became virtue: A new generation was born and lives in harmony, and we've shared the bounty of Science and its fruits, even with those who don't trust our Hospitals, as Hari Seldon planned. We changed History for the better!
By the doors:
Blessed be the Prophet and His ways!
Hand over heart, he NODS, hands 'em a PAMPHLET w/ schematics of diverse TREATMENTS.
Taking it & nodding back:
Blessed be!
(to Len)
Native Shaman-Priests didn't take long to see our Traders as allies for the preservation of old knowledge and help with material needs, freeing 'em for spiritual stuff. Adopting their ways may have been humiliating for our people at first, but it was the path of least resistance, and it's worked beautifully, on all 4 Kingdoms.
Who'd have thought of that... And they're happy merely using our gadgets and machines, and helping our Salespeople?
For the most part, yes. Give 'em plain solutions to everyday concerns, tell 'em only what they need to know, and time will do the rest.
Of course, we've needed to be careful with the teachings in our Schools and all. I'm afraid our so-called Religion has spread faster and deeper than the love of Math, Chemistry, Engineering, and the rest. The appearance before the substance!
As was only to be expected. We're enlarging again the Religious University back home, building a new open-air Forum for bigger and more complex spectaculars, increasing Student and Tourism Quotas... Not everybody's happy with the whole affair, tho.
(somber)
What else can we do? Trapped between the Treaties and the local Oligarchs who don't care for Higher Education, lest their subjects start asking uncomfortable questions...
Things will change, some day. I needed to see this, feel it myself, the energy, the optimism, at street level. The other planets and cities are pretty much the same, in all 4 Kingdoms. The ruling classes and the Aristocracy, however...
Offering his arm:
... are another matter. The ambitious always want more! Let's return. I have a new prototype to finish testing, and another scheduled performance before sundown.
Linking arms:
Anacreon has always been the strongest and most ruthless. But the old King and his son kept their side of the bargain, despite all their warmongering.
Not least because the Priesthood always supported 'em and their 'divine rights' to rule, besides keeping their subjects housed, fed, healthy, and productive.
Hunting accidents are a fact of life here, where so many make a living in the woods and keep our Surgeons busy. But the Royal sport, the giant Nyak birds of the mountains in the deep Jungle, traditionally pursued with air speedsters and Needle guns, are an extra level of dangerous.
They turn a corner.
I don't care how many visiting Emperors in centuries past tried their luck too, it's nothing short of recklessness! The father crashing to death a decade ago, and last month the son with a needle burst to the chest, nothing left to rebuild!
Ahead, a small car (wheeled, elecrical, with the Foundation's 'spaceship+sun' painted logo) OPENS its doors.
Approaching it:
(worried)
Seldon's Science was supposed to work with the unfathomable forces that rule large masses of people, at planetary and galactic scales, but we find ourselves at the mercy of a handful individuals. What's the situation like? The Council ponders our options, but Reports don't tell everything. I need to know!
Entering the car:
The grandson, Prince Lepold, is only 12, but he's already participated in several hunts, and is expected to kill his first Nyak soon. I talk with him about many things, in my duties as his Spiritual Advisor. He has potential. Pity his mother died of an undiagnosed heart ailment a few years ago.
His aunt, dowager Princess Wien, the appointed Regent, was there when Terminus fell, as your father no doubt remembers. She's not the forgiving kind, and is an evil scheming witch, hardly loved by her own people, despite being the Military's darling.
Sitting next to him:
He places his palm on the (glassy) DASHBOARD. A small square LITS (green) under it. The car STARTS.
Wonder not: Her first Edict was a new tax on foreign property to enlarge the Navy's shipyards, the same that have been cranking out warships for 2 decades with our grudging help, because they kept local industries running, people working, and Pirates or outside enemies at bay.
But the Priesthood refused that tax. Backed by the Galactic Spirit, the good people of Anacreon...
As the car SLOWLY navigates its selected route:
Risking the whole Peace, we did. She lost her first popularity contest, but got the funds elsewhere, starting with Anacreon's Education and Healthcare budgets.
Thereby forcing the Foundation to shoulder even more of those burdens, up to and including accepting more foreign Students at Terminus.
As if re-energizing and re-technifying dozens of foreign worlds with 100s of Cities, each much more populous than Terminus, wasn't hard enough! In 3 decades we aren't even half done with all that work!
The many discarded Imperial relics we've found and re-used helped. Alas, there's a downside: the reason for Wien's hurry is an old Imperial behemoth of a heavy Battle-Cruiser that her brother deemed too expensive to repair.
Ahhh. I've heard of it: lost centuries before the Zeonian Revolt, it belongs in a Museum, except that it's bigger than any Museum!?
Not anymore. 1000s of Techs work on it night and day, including many of our best Priests, closely watched by armed soldiers. It could be ready in 3, 4 years at most. And then...
Handing her his PAD:
(glum)
Exactly! I saw it at the initial Blessing Ceremony: it's a fearsome killing machine that can stay spaceborne for years thanks to efficient recycling systems... With twin Nucleic reactors to easily Jump its mass wherever needed.
Pad SCREEN:
Priesthood
OATHS of Service
* General
* Particular
* Restricted
Then:
Before 'em: rows of 100s of soldiers + a group of COURTIERS, dwarfed by the COLOSSAL (part-dismantled) BATTLECRUISER. On its other end, a waiting army of WORKERS.
...quad-barrel kilometer-long Blaster Cannons capable of pulverizing half this city to oblivion with a single shot, and Shield Generators to match, impervious to most everything, even Q-beams. Plus the usual extras.
BACK TO:
They knew how to build 'em, in ancient times! Once fully restored, nothing the other Kingdoms have (old or new) will so much as scratch it, and there'll be a new kind of Peace, for the survivors, under Anacreon's boot.
She returns the pad to:
The alternative is Anacreon attacking us now, betting they'll win the next round of Wars, with nobody left to carry out Seldon's Plans for the Second Empire but Wien.
The alternative is Lepold. In 4-5 years he'll be crowned King, with full powers, and she won't be at our throat anymore.
The windows show a huge PYRAMID approaching.
(glum)
Prince Lefkin, 5 years older than his cousin. Proud heir of his mother and father, with the good qualities of neither. But he loves warships, so a prime post in the Fleet awaits him.
(aghast)
Such as a new Flagship ready to win her the definitive War for the whole Province? It's too great a risk!
(a few) SOLDIERS guard the Pyramid's diverse ENTRANCES, thronged with people.
We've run high risks for decades, surrounded by neighbors friendly only while we serve 'em. Anacreon is the worst only for being the biggest. Their Royal Navy is strong enough to destroy Terminus and half the other Kingdoms, as it's always been. The Balance of Powers couldn't last forever.
A MISTY red
96 POPS/vanishes in a corner.
We need to be extremely careful, or this could become another Existential Crisis, as Seldon predicted.
3-4 years isn't enough time to build our own Fleet, even if the Treaties allowed us, or to beef up Smyrno's, nor any of the others. There's no place to flee, nor any hope of external help: the neighboring Provinces and their rulers are every bit as splintered and barbaric, if not worse. What else can we do?
In a couple days I'll return home to start my new job. The Council, and the Foundation itself, will tackle this threat as their highest priority.
Automatic doors OPEN to let the car IN a (downward) tunnel entrance.
Don't be. It's been 2 very enlightening months of visiting 10s of Planets, and meeting our people and theirs. But I saved the best for last, if you're still the genius dad says, whatever else your privileged position has done to your waistline these decades. Is that prototype you mentioned of any interest, or the performance?
Handing his PAD again:
(eager)
Forget the show! It's only imagery and music to awe the Peasants with the Galactic Spirit and open their ears to the week's Sermon on the greatness of their rulers and the goodness of the status quo. We owe that much to the Royal Courtiers. But the Prototype...!
It's a gift, for Lepold. A new massive Throne of the hardest metals for the special occasions, full of Gravitics, with a self-contained Nucleic generator, since there won't be the customary supporting road inside the Palace, or anywhere else on Anacreon, in fact.
Perusing (page after page of) SCHEMATICS in the PAD:
Aerial VIEW of:
CAPTION:
TERMINUS CITY
FADE IN:
3 Years Later
Youngsters POSE & take SELFIES under a (large) roadside SCREEN captioned:
Mayor HARDIN
LAST STAND & RELEASE with (still) FOOTAGE of the events.
A big Official CAR (light red? with 'spaceship+sun' LOGO) rushes by another SIGN:
ANACREON CIRCLE
City Center -->
<-- Spaceport
Spiritual Campus -->
<-- All Directions
You were right: they sell great! We're
giving you 1% of the benefits. Cheers,
Inside, a med-size full-color POSTER of VERISOF in full priestly REGALIA (incl. golden EMBROIDERY + pointy HAT) arms raised in welcome, captioned:
The Galactic Spirit
LOVES YOU!
She then reads its back:
All blessings on
you and yours,
P.V.
On the seat by her side, (a PAD with) the day's TERMINUS CITY JOURNAL, showing a (full-page) op-ed:
Still a ways to go!
by
Salvor Hardin
LEN grabs it as the car leisurely STOPS.
Vote
ACTIONIST
Party!
is TREASON!
or be
IMPEACHED!
TERMINUS
FIRST!
LEN descends her Official CAR.
Approaching:
(firm)
It's Mayor Hardin for you, Councillor. Do you really want to re-hash our weekly Debate here, now?
Of course not: Exchanges of monologues lead nowhere. Today the Actionist Party starts leading by calling the formal Vote for your Impeachment.
Climbing the stairs:
Keeping her pace:
A last plea, if you will, for united action against existential threat. Our puppet show cannot last much longer. Abandon your folly before it is too late!
My father spent many years as Mayor forging a delicate balance that's resulted in 3 decades of Peace and prosperity. That's what you want to end? And your better option is what? Have you found any yet?
3 decades of Slavery, working for our enemies, helping 'em grow stronger, delaying the inevitable!
A generation ago, Terminus was all but conquered, Hari Seldon's Foundation almost strangled in its crib. Most would think we're substantially better now.
Not so many, or the Appeasers wouldn't have needed a Hardin-branded candidate to win the latest Election.
Reaching the top of the stairs:
Not so few, or you'd have found enough support for your show of dissent much earlier. What's changed?
Showing his copy of the JOURNAL, open at a double-page article:
Great BattleCruiser fully operational for
King Lepold's 16th Birthday and Crowning!
subtitled:
Smyrno lodges formal COMPLAINT
They ENTER the great DOORS to:
Spare me the drama. We've always been in danger, at the mercy of stronger neighbors, since before you or I can remember. Plus, the Committee of Arbitration deemed it within Anacreon's rights under the Treaties to have their warship repaired.
It also issued a formal Request for it to be placed under joint administration, which Anacreon answered with the diplomatic equivalent of "come get it". If that isn't an invitation to War...
We've worked hard to prevent conflict. Successfully. For decades. Merely saying it is wrong won't win you a Vote. So, what do you want the Government to do now?
Too late for that: It's already space-worthy, with most of its systems functional. Besides, it would be a Breach of our duty under the Treaties.
They turn into:
We've been doing that for months, until the accusations of obstructionism became too believable. You were in that Council.
Hmpf! Expel the foreign spies in our midst, busy learning our Science to sell it back home! Unless you plan to use them as bargaining chips or human shields?
Surely you don't mean the Apprentice Priests? Their routine reading of screens and pushing of buttons is empirical knowledge at best, too ritualized and shallow to be called Science.
I mean the bunch of 'em inquisitive enough, talented enough to have been allowed out of the Religious circus into the Halls of the Foundation itself as regular Students. Many opposed the move, I among 'em.
The Council was divided on the matter, but approved it, I among 'em. An influx of new blood and worldviews won't hurt our Academics nor our Traders. And it's not like anyone can learn everything there's to learn in less than half a lifetime...
Turning a corner:
...to become an expert at the necessary levels to do more good than harm. Not without also learning to value Science above whatever petty Officers might have ordered 'em so.
That's an exceedingly naive view of people's motivations, with our safety and our future at stake!
Maybe it is, but Science doesn't overhaul Economies and Societies with luck or miracles. It needs lots of people and effort to succeed. The Foundation has 100s of 1000s of Scientists and Technologists, with Mankind's entire trove of knowledge to use and improve upon, and still struggles with such a task.
The Kingdoms don't need everything: Nucleics alone would be a revolution! Not only for Civilians, but the Military!
One that'd take 10s of lifetimes of hard work to get right. And then they'd need to learn to generate 'em, not just use 'em. It took us a decade with our best people to complete a single Primary Powerplant! And they'd still need Gravitics, the Jump, Hypercomms...
They exchange GREETINGS with others they cross.
Forget it: A few hundred advanced Students will never be able to lift Anacreon, or any of the other Kingdoms, significantly above their current levels, even if they were given the same kinds of support and creative freedom they enjoy here.
That would never be as optimal for them as our current arrangement, where our willing help fuels their exponential rate of progress, which still needs decades to reach what they had centuries ago. Education, Industry, Health, Architecture, Trade... matter more than mistrust and fear.
Why be cowards, then? Since you value their Progress so much, strike first! We never rebelled against the Old Empire: Our Priesthood could organize and lead popular Revolts against each Kingdom's usurper oligarchy! That'd advance Seldon's fabled Plan!
(aghast)
And risk restarting the old widespread Conflicts at the root of much of the Province's social, economic, and technical decay? Are you crazy?
Showing her copy of the JOURNAL:
You should read my father's Column. He makes his position crystal clear: 'Violence is the last refuge...'
'...of the incompetent'? Yeah, pretty words, but fancy Rhetoric won't get us out of this mess!
Maybe not, but a negotiated Peace that leaves us unhappy is preferable to a War that leaves us (and many others) dead.
They reach:
That would barely change anything, and it would be seen as unfriendly. Seriously, Councillor, haven't you got any useful ideas?
Your good friend Verisof has enriched himself and his friends as Anacreon's main ammo supplier, from his high post as our great Ambassador.
They worked hard to establish trust and Trade with all planets and cities in the Kingdom. His post reflects that. And they've spread their good fortunes to most everybody.
Is that your game? Hiding behind the Law? Or it's true what some say, that you expect Seldon's ghost to guide you, as he guided your father? Isn't another recording coincidentally due to appear in 6 weeks, just in time for our triumphal 80th Anniversary?
Barely hesitating:
As 2 Guards stop SERMAK, LEE (60s, in good shape) opens the big (glassy) DOORS with a
MAYOR'S OFFICE sign.
On the back wall, a BANNER:
Working for Everyone
Another wall occupied by a wide floor-to-ceiling SCREEN showing images/news/videos of TERMINUS, other planets, people, spaceships...
On the large (dark, plastic) DESK, a small PLAQUE:
Lenore Hardin
MAYOR
Sitting behind:
That Sermak makes me nervous, sometimes. Smart, but too stubborn, impatient... I'm afraid if things don't go as they wish, his Actionists might try something, y'know.
Closing the doors:
(firm)
I do: The Security Directorate has been closely watching the whole group for months, and we're ready to clamp on them in case they bite as well as bark.
Most reassuring, Uncle Yohan. I've always trusted you, but somehow they got wind of our most recent discovery regarding Seldon's vault.
(surprised)
Wha...!? Can't be!! Only the most loyal Techs have been allowed near the Atomic Clocks, and we know for sure there's been no tampering, nor spurious communications!
We should have dismantled all that gear with its secrets and booby-traps years ago, and replaced it with our own, machines we could absolutely trust.
And risk Seldon never reappearing again? His ghostly act was part of his Plan. Who knows what pearls of ancient Wisdom he still has in store for his chosen people!
Yeah, yeah. And everybody's supposed to act without precise knowledge of the Grand Plan's workings, like blind gas molecules in a jar, to avoid derailing PsychoHistory's delicate calculations.
(beat)
Someone must have tapped the Databanks, perhaps. They're supposed to be public, after all.
We'd know: the relevant Sections are heavily monitored. It was only yesterday we saw the new Entry added to the Calendar, and we're still trying to ascertain if it came from the same Clock as the first one.
(deflated)
Sermak was only guessing, then, and I might have given him the confirmation he needed.
Extracting a liquor BOTTLE from a cabinet (where there's also an old iridescent-plastic "cigar" BOX):
(glum)
Days like this, I wish Seldon had chosen an easier path, or at least a clearer way of guiding us along it.
Re: The JOURNAL on the desk, with the BattleCruiser news:
Days like this, I hope there is a Plan. I can't imagine a Second Empire when we're surrounded by darkness, not even sure what's happening beyond our little corner of the Galaxy.
Hope can be a curse. Nobody knows how close we came to blowing everything up, trying to keep the Anacreonians from setting foot inside the old Powerplant, 3 decades ago.
He pours himself a GLASS of liquor.
10+ nervous TECHS, w/ twice the CONSOLES, + LEE. Many screens show (wildly) FLUCTUATING GRAPHS/data. GAUGES show diminishing power.
Poly and I persuaded the Engineers to try a last-ditch trick with the Shield, pulsing it near minimum size to make the Barbarians believe we could slap 'em away at the push of a button. We had no Nucleic fuel for more!
Several TECHS (with tools) tweak/poke their Consoles' EXPOSED innards. A known TV duo witnesses all.
Reactor Core's destabilizing! Too much output!
BACK TO:
Tiny faint SCARS visible on his face & hand, he DRAINS his glass in 1 go.
Gesturing:
The Shield (unsteadily, menacingly) ADVANCES/RETREATS a couple times, RIPPLES (colors), then POP-VANISHES, exploding ALL the windows in a cloud of glass SHARDS!
The Anacreonians COWER, hesitate, then resume ADVANCING.
BACK TO:
More or less. When all the Failsafes fail...
(shudders)
The only thing Nucleic Engineers fear more than running out of gas.
Unblock the feedbacks! Let flux smooth!
The room SHAKES as a ghostly white (randomly FLUCTUATING) Shield membrane TRAVERSES it, briefly half-wrapping 'round screaming people/things then KNOCKING 'em down, EXPLODING most Screens!
From a door, young POLY stares fascinated, ABSORBING every detail of the MAYHEM, oblivious to the danger, until a GUARD tackles him to the ground just before projected DEBRIS sweep the vacated space.
People DUCK. Flying glass BITS pepper LEE & others as power DIES!
Darkness/quiet ENGULF everything, but for a few narrow SUNBEAMS entering thru CRACKS in the ceiling!
We disabled the Controls and escaped thru the Service tunnels before the soldiers finally broke in.
BACK TO:
Offering her another GLASS of liquor:
I reached the Trading Union just before they contacted Old Pirenne with Smyrno's Terms. Took us days to find where your father was, weeks to devise a workable compromise with all sides, War lurking in every word. Pirenne did a good job, under the circumstances.
(sad)
It'd have been great if negotiations had been faster, and the damage to my father and our City minimized. I barely remember the Blackout, but every time I see the old ruins by the Circle...
Anacreon Circle is a Historical site as much as a major artery. It reminds us that we avoided the worst, by a narrow margin, with or without Psycho-History.
Drinking her GLASS:
Yeah. From those days stemmed ours. Try as I might, I cannot fault a Compromise that saved so many lives. And yet... remember my first week on the job? When not even Dad could offer useful advice on a mounting pile of problems, and I asked you if it would ever get easier?
Looks like you were wrong: I see the cliff at the end of the road and no way to avoid it. We're running out of options!
As is only natural when everything points to a Seldon Crisis: Anacreon eager for a rematch, the other Kingdoms forced to react, the Actionists on the brink of destabilizing our Government, our own Policies spawning unexpected results, and now Seldon himself joining the party!
I still don't see how Wien and her cronies expect things to work after their move. They have no clue just how complex advanced machines are! And Nucleic energy? That's how the Periphery lost most of their Technologies, a century ago!
Excess optimism: They probably hope to learn what they need on their own, by trial and error if they cannot persuade enough of our people to help, Praying to the Spirit as a last resort.
Very close. Particularly if they use the Foreign Students again to sow disunity among our ranks.
In that case, we could bring Dad out of his horse farm Retirement. He'd enjoy it: he's kept sharp, writing for the Journal.
Make it official: tell the Council we're expecting Him to come back and confirm our successful handling of another of his Crises.
Too late to matter! First, we need to keep the Actionists from undoing decades of work. PsychoHistory will make 'em and our enemies doubt while reassuring our friends and the bulk of the population. Next, we need to plan a trip, just in case the road ends before his Ghost appears.
(grim)
I must be on the spot if the need arises. I want to be able to negotiate until the last possible minute.
Who can I send to play with Death? Who will persuade Princess Wien if I cannot, Uncle Yohan? Who?
Offering her empty glass:
Some Tradeships coming & going.
Around a sizable SPACESTATION, 10s of waiting WARSHIPS: Frigates, Cruisers, Destroyers, Patrols...
Thru the atmosphere's extensive high clouds CLIMBS the lumbering HULK of the REPAIRED BattleCruiser (not unlike a whale parting the waves, thanks to Gravitics, not rocketry) its lights rippling, a DARKGREEN circle painted on the Empire's SUN (under the Spaceship).
CAPTION:
Royal Flagship
WIEN
FADE IN:
(formerly
unnamed
Imperial BattleCruiser
Hegemon CLASS)
FADE IN:
Operational Testing
FADE IN:
10 days until
CROWNING DAY
At 1 of the few illuminated LANDING PADS, LEE, HARDIN (60s, walking CANE) + a few Guards WATCH a non-descript tradeship DEPART.
Someone has a fresh JOURNAL:
Impeachment fails to gain traction:
Vote delayed until Mayor returns
from swansong Diplomatic effort
and:
Seldon comeback: Hoax or portent?
The small wheel TURNS. Around it, others react, whole MECHANISMS spring to life.
TICK.
(bird's eye view of) Tall walls & TOWERS, chimneys, Guards, WINDOWS, weapon mounts, balconies, GARDENS w/ trees, ceremonial BANNERS/Draperies, festive LIGHTS, fireworks...
CAPTION:
CROWNING DAY
FADE IN:
6 hours to Midnight
Behind: (30+ meters of) sheer rock down to a narrow lake+trees. In front: ORNATE doors, stairs, a small (gardened) roundabout to a short (walled) ROAD descending into a stone-tiled COURTYARD w/ big (guarded) DOORS open to:
Here & there, BIG SCREENS display images of LEPOLD & WIEN, the castle's DINING HALL, ballroom, reception area (full of NOTABLES), government messages, royal news + tidbits...
Among the many horse-drawn CARRIAGES, in 1 of the bigger (open) CARS sits LEN, in formal robe-ish tunic/DRESS (+ a few jewels) a heavy/ostentatious CHAIN OF OFFICE (w/ fat silvery 'spaceship+sun' PENDANT), a handful Priestly wards/minders discreetly around (on foot).
They SLOWLY ADVANCE towards the Palace Gates as the happy expectant NATIVES buy mementos/snacks, spontaneously sing, CELEBRATE...
At a WINDOW, Princess WIEN (mid-50s, somber, casual-mourning courtier style + diadem) LOOKS outside/down.
On chairs/floor: pieces/garments of a (bloodied) hunting attire, boots, male underwear...
On a side table: leather GLOVES, a long (gory) KNIFE, bow+arrows, an antique/worn (heavy, big-barreled) NEEDLE SHOTGUN...
An INNER door OPENS.
ENTERING (barefoot, in pristine UNDERWEAR) drying his face/hair with a towel:
(strong happy youth)
Sorry, Aunt: the Nyak today was a monster! Surprised us at noon near the wilds of Sarnia, and led us a merry chase for hours! Wait till you see his horns and fangs when the head's readied!
(smiling)
I will, Lepold, dear. I'm so happy to see you became as great a Hunter as your forebears! Are you hungry? There's Lera nuts.
(points)
On the main table: a big SILVER BOWL with (Macadamia-like?) NUTS.
He DROPS the towel on the nearest chair/floor.
Gesturing:
My heart's still racing! First, he climbed the clouds, higher than most with his great wings, then, with the sun behind, he dived thru our group, right to the top of...!
Opening his tall/fat WARDROBE:
You'll tell me all later. Now, you must get ready for your Birthday Party. Tomorrow you'll be acknowledged as King by everyone, the most powerful man in the Province. Time you start filling the role!
Choosing a ripe NUT:
Munching more nuts:
The Foundation!? Awesome! Their stuff is the best! Will it be a bigger, more powerful Aura? Or a new Throne? I'm tired of the old one, so uncomfortable...
Something like that: A bigger Throne for you, and an even greater one for your heirs, as your Father and Grandfather wanted!
She HANDS him (filigreed) TROUSERS.
Taking 'em:
Starting tomorrow, you and the State will be one and the same, Lepold. Anacreon has high hopes for you!
She HANDS him a (creamy, silken) DRESS SHIRT.
Remember, half the Aristocrats here tonight helped our Family reach and keep power. The rest have come to accept the Old Empire isn't coming back. All of them guarantee peace and stability in their fiefdoms. They and their daughters deserve your utmost attention. Our people would love to see you married, as would I.
Buttoning his shirt:
HANDING him fine leather BOOTS:
It's like I hear your Father saying that! There's no hurry, but don't delay it unnecessarily, dear. I'm not going to live forever!
Of course you will!
(beat, somber)
That's what I used to tell Mother, before... Before she...
Holding his shoulders:
(serious)
I know. I miss her too: she was my friend before she married your Father. Sorry to have evoked painful...
No, you're right: I have duties. I must think like a King: Tell me all about the Foundation and my new Throne!
OFFERING him an old-yet-good (silken, finely embroidered) WAISTCOAT:
Your Father looked great in this, when he was your age. I had it prepared for you, in case you'd like...
Taking it:
He DONS it, proudly POSES, adjusting things.
Holding his ceremonial (military, goldbraided) JACKET:
Your Father and your Grandfather always had an overarching goal, an unfulfilled dream: to end the petty trade disputes and the absurd border conflicts, and reunite the Province, once and for all! To make Anacreon great again!
Taking the jacket:
We all do. But the Foundation, under guise of Neutrality, has always opposed it: They wrecked your Grandfather's plans with their low-born scheming, and kept your Father in check, under cowardly pretense of Peace. We worked hard for decades, diplomatically, militarily... until at long last circumstances aligned with destiny: Our time has come!
Holding his neck-Chain of Office:
Taking the CHAIN:
Against the Foundation!? But they have no warships! They help us! Our enemies are the other Kingdoms!
They help our enemies too, making sure we cannot outpace 'em, forcing us to beg and pay for each scrap of Technology they deign to offer us!
Well, Primate Verisof says that's the Galactic Spirit's way, that the Spirit abhors bloodshed.
Rummaging the WARDROBE:
So he does... I told you to look for motives beyond the nice words, to study the man under all that fancy Theology. We cannot trust anyone whose power over our own subjects rivals our own!
Verisof and his Priests are mostly harmless, and they mean well, that's why people trust 'em. They helped us rebuild our Cities after centuries of neglect, and still help people with their Temples of Health, Energy, schools, and...
Facing him:
(grim)
Yes, things were bad before the Foundation, when our meager reserves of Nucleics were needed for the Fleet that kept us free, and everybody else had to make do with coal, oil, and crude techniques that would shame our ancestors... We had so few specialists, engineers, Medics, masons, plumbers and all! Even the Nobility suffered in the mud. People died by the 1000s among the ruins, every Winter worse than the last.
Hence your love of wood-burning fireplaces, despite the full air-conditioning the Foundation installed in the Palace a decade ago.
They remind me of what is at stake. Many places had to rely on candles and torches for light and fires for messaging. And wood is so scarce on Terminus, so precious to all Foundationers... Seeing it ablaze makes 'em ill at ease.
Offering him fine (white) GLOVES:
They didn't come to help of their own free will, but when the threat of destruction forced 'em! They think they have bought everyone with their little trinkets and silly miracles, but we've seen how 'harmless' they are when they feel their interests or their sacrosanct ways menaced. Remember the Tax!
Adjusting his gloves:
I do. The whole affair is... unsettling. Like they have their own authority that doesn't quite bow to ours. But if the Spirit was real.... I mean, if it really was a sacrilege to affront His servants of the Foundation...? The people believe it!
We are about to show everyone the falsehood of all that. The Religion of Science will crumble and vanish! Did Verisof tell you about their fabled Prophet Hari Seldon, and their Grand Plan for Galactic domination?
Not a lot. Seems their Prophet forgot to explain to them how to proceed. The Foundation only has their faith in him.
Opening a fat antique ornate CHEST (metal-reinforced):
Those plans are all wishful thinking, no substance. Psychology and Math won't keep the angry mobs from destroying the scammers and their so-called Temples!
Opportunistic jackals, hiding their true intentions behind the same phony Galactic Spirit and the Arbiters of the Committee! We've endured 3 decades of false peace. Every incident, every skirmish, risking lives.
Like that unfortunate spat a couple years ago for the worlds on the Red Corridor, when we lost those ships and Lefkin got so upset?
Exactly! That's bloodshed too! Nobody wants more. It's better to put an end to it, now that we can do it without firing a shot.
Putting a (bejeweled) SWORD+scabbard before him:
Taking the sword:
I remember Dad with it! He said it was his last resort Advisor, when all else failed... or something like that.
He wears it, proudly POSING.
And risk them (or others) seizing the Foundation and its hoard of knowledge, Nucleics, and who knows what useful technologies? Or worse yet, destroying 'em, just to deny the chance to Anacreon and its people?
Perhaps, but we're ready for them. We can win the Wars once and for all, in a single battle, with a single shot. Those who'd rather die than see a true Peace will be the only who die.
Holding her hands:
(happy)
What a wonderful way to start my Reign, with such a masterstroke! The perfect Birthday gift!
(beaming)
I'll give you mine later, dear. Let's go down now so you can dazzle 'em all with your charms. Remember: listen lots, talk little, and don't touch...
OFF they go.
At its center (on the confluence of the main passes between the exits), in magnificent UNIFORM (w/ cape? ornate BLASTER + SWORD):
EYEING the Consoles:
Approaching:
Sir, Admiral: Chief Priest Aporat urges you to reconsider your plans and demands to see you at your earliest convenience.
He starts DIRECTING the techs.
The Heavy BATTLECRUISER accelerating, its engines GLOWING extra bright.
A sizable FLEET of 100s of smaller WARSHIPS (of all sizes & makes) escorts/follows it.
1 by 1, they JUMP/BLINK away!
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