--> Onwards to the 2nd half: PRINCES
Back to the first installment: TRADERS <--
Entering, Blaster in hand:
Checking SCHEMATICS:
(upset)
Lucky shot, or...?
A faraway GRINDING NOISE.
Anything on the Hyper-relay?
Working a Console:
A Blaster SHOT enters thru the smoke! Another!
Peeking OUT:
Readying his Blaster:
It is too dangerous for the Foundation if its secrets fall into enemy hands! We must not be taken alive!
The 3 BLAST Consoles & machinery around!
WEIGHTLESSNESS ensues!
They exchange knowing glances/nods, then float/CHARGE out SHOOTING, SHOUTING!
CAPTION:
153 F.E
FADE IN:
Terminus and the former Four
Kingdoms have greatly prospered.
FADE IN:
Their neighbors too.
An overhead SIGN:
Terminus City Center
--<<--
HOBER MALLOW (strong build, late-50s) reviews documents/PADS en route (some MARKED FYEO).
BACK TO:
1 BLACK (armored, heavy) HOVERCAR slides AHEAD of Mallow's, another BEHIND, others to each SIDE, BOXING it, NUDGING it towards:
An overhead SIGN:
Evacuation Access
-->>--
CLOSED
LOOKING around:
The sign BLINKS to:
OPEN
All 5 hovercars ENTER a side lane/tunnel.
The sign FLIPS BACK to:
CLOSED
BACK TO:
The HOVERCAR slows to a STOP. Engine falls SILENT. Weak light outside.
A SCREEN BUZZES. On it:
JORANE SUTT
Mayor Secretary
(direct link) with official 'spaceship+sun' as BACKGROUND.
BACK TO:
RAISING the separation/privacy PANE before ANSWERING:
What!? 3 of our Tradeships have been lost in the last 4 months! Big ships, not prone to vanishing without a trace!
Ahh, yes. Not exactly a secret, y'know: People talk when their friends or partners fail to show up at the appointed place and time.
POURING himself a GLASS of fine SPIRITS:
Hmm, the first lost Trader was well-known for wandering off-route and taking risks. The second was a big hauler ferrying ores on a fixed path. Nothing links both. As for the third...
... it carried our best Weaponry and Shields, plus Agents trained to trigger all Alarms in case of trouble.
We've concealed the fact that telemetry analysis of all 3 puts 'em inside or about to enter a particular region of space.
(upset)
By Hardin! Why would you do that? Traders need to know this kind of thing in order to avoid...
(beat)
Ohh. That weird Quarantine alert... It's Korell!?
They've denied us entry for decades, and we've ignored 'em for as long as we could, but now they've destroyed or taken Nucleic-powered Tradeships, Nucleic-armed, Nucleic-shielded!
SIPPING his GLASS:
Yeah, I get it. Only Nucleic technology can possibly do that. This must be a first in the Foundation's History. But then... how can Korell have it?
That's the thing. Far as we know they don't, and never have, since the Korellian Republic was born. They aren't bragging and we cannot ask.
Not me: My father was the first in his family to own land thanks to Sermak's Redistribution. My life as a Trader is beyond any Farmer's dreams.
Good for you, but there's too many short-sighted fools around who'd sell anything to anyone for a handful credits, consequences be damned!
Almost THROWING his GLASS:
(grim)
Careful, Mr. Secretary, before you further insult all the Traders who've devoted their lives to the Foundation's well-being and pre-eminence among all our neighbors!
(upset)
I don't...!!
(beat, diplomat)
All I'm doing is ask your help with the worst threat we've ever faced while our own unity is in question.
As expected. But you can also be of service by doing what you do best, and have been doing most of your life.
NURSING his GLASS:
Go on vacation, then. I'm sure your Mistress will appreciate it. She must miss her old life too.
(sober)
Oh... of course. My bad. Still, this is too important. And exotic dangerous locales used to be your specialty. You even visited Korell once, years ago.
You're the best. Bold, smart. All your peers say it. But you weren't born here, and your Citizenship and Licenses could be revoked as easily as they were granted, with all the uncomfortable consequences.
(gloomy)
I see...
(GULPS his remaining GLASS)
This rarefied atmosphere is so tiresome...! I'll go tour some warmer faraway stars, perhaps.
(smiles)
Good man. The Foundation's hopes hang on your every word and act. No funny business, please.
Packing finely-crafted duel SWORDS:
Packing CLOTHING & GADGETS:
Packing a short Smyrnian JACKET:
(worried)
And here I was feeling comfortably safe. Everywhere I've been, I was a Foundation man, but to the Foundation itself I'm still a foreigner.
A widescreen PHONE RINGS.
Packing their well-worn HOLSTERED BLASTERS:
Gem, always a pleasure! Hober, please let the Party intervene: we can stop that thug, even if it's our last victory before he wins the Mayoralty!
Packing some expensive WINE BOTTLES:
I appreciate the gesture, Jael, but let's save it for a better time. I'm afraid Sutt may be right about one thing: this is looking more and more like a true Seldon Crisis!
(winks)
Most of it. For this 'vacation trip' I don't want to fly a regular ship with a regular crew, but no true Trader hits space without some merchandise.
Beyond the VAN:
A sleek SPORTS JUMPSHIP/YACHT (arrow-shaped, elegantly FINISHED, minimally ARMED), named:
Far Star
As the Mallows BOARD, the delivery people STORE several (floating) medium & big CRATES in the CARGO bay.
A (MASSIVE/extreme close-up) PENDULUM (classic, golden) SWINGS PONDEROUSLY BY!
A single, powerful "TICK" is heard.
Mallow's YACHT taking OFF (no visible exhaust), leaving the atmosphere, running, JUMPING away.
MESSAGE:
Trajectory identified:
Whassallian Run
(96.51% confidence)
CAPTION:
Office of the Foreign Secretary
Primate of the Church
Publis Manlio
(sneaky)
They prop up the Mayor's moderate wing. But they also neglect their Spiritual duty, and care little for the citizens of the Foundation whom this Office serves.
(nods)
The Priesthood is worried about the lack of significant Spiritual advances in all these years, despite the increasing numbers of Traders.
Things need to improve. Our safety and our future are at risk. What kind of Actionists are we if we don't act decisively in time of Crisis?
On VIEWPORTS:
only DEEP SPACE.
MALLOW works the Consoles.
Checking her BLASTER:
Seldon's Plan for the Second Empire forecasts the Foundation undergoing a series of Crises, or trials, on its way to ruling the Galaxy.
KEYING the Consoles:
SWITCH TO:
BACK TO:
I checked the Guild's records. Money keeps flowing, the Convention's signatories are wealthier than ever since the Empire left.
JEWELS in hand:
But Hardin established the Priesthood to ensure our continued safety, and the Traders to keep our goods, our Technology, and our Religion of Science flowing outwards.
Testing his SHIELD:
(unhappy)
Exactly! They started as Trading partners under the Convention. A decade later, the Priesthood was firmly established, with their Temples of Energy, Health, and everything. The Grand Master and his council do nothing without their permission.
Yes, and cemented our reputation too, as a dangerous friend, one that wants vassals more than partners. Hold on.
SWITCH TO:
BACK TO:
Since then, everybody else has been wary of starting Trade with us. Which amounts to a colossal wasted opportunity to forge valuable alliances, not based on superstition or fear.
And with reason. Looking beyond money, the Convention's expansion was already slowing down 50 years ago. 20 years ago, Askone was a blip against general stagnation.
Re: their well-appointed surroundings:
Yeah, but the past decade has seen no advances at all. The trend would explain both current challenges: Sutt inside and Korell outside. Dire situation!
Counting the assorted SWORDS:
Makes sense, but most people don't see things that way: the Free-Traders are a minority group, while Sutt's influence grows fostered by the Priests.
Hand on Console:
SWITCH TO:
CAPTION:
WHASSALLIAN RIFT
Convention's hinterlands
If old accounts can be trusted, Seldon calculated it all even before Terminus was settled. He also said we needed to find our own solutions as problems presented themselves.
The Far Star JUMPS/BLINKS IN, leisurely 'drifting'.
BACK TO:
PEERING thru the VIEWPORTS:
WORKING the Consoles:
Its weaponry is too small to worry anything bigger than stray rocks. I hope the Korellians don't mind.
POINTING:
A fair distance away, the Far Star FLOATS (engines idle).
A small delay while I get my bearings. These regions are vast, and their Routes aren't as accurately mapped as those back home.
Stray stellar RADIATION bounces (harmlessly) off the ship's SHIELD.
Seems I attempted a Jump too far for our error margins, and we ended in a neighboring system. Safeties worked, but we'll need to manoeuver for a few hours. Go back to bed.
The ship leisurely TURNS 90 degrees away (engines glowing), ACCELERATES.
CAPTION:
Border Systems of the
KORELLIAN REPUBLIC
FADE IN:
(formerly Korell Freehold,
formerly Imperial
Province of Korell)
FADE IN:
POPULATION: 6400 MILLION
4 DAYS LATER
The Far Star JUMPS/BLINKS IN. Signal lights FLASH.
(happy)
Wish we'd arrived already. My first true exotics outside the Convention since...!
(SAD, hand to her belly)
Huh, 10 years ago.
Patrolships AROUND the unmoving Far Star.
CAPTION:
KORELL CENTRAL
FADE IN:
(formerly Korell
Provincial Capital)
FADE IN:
POPULATION: 1300 MILLION
1 WEEK LATER
MALLOW at the table, checking a DISASSEMBLED Blaster, slowly putting it back together.
GEM, stunning in a PARTY DRESS, advances stealthily thru the CORRIDOR behind him. On entering the room, she slowly FISHES out a thigh-attached STILETTO dagger, RAISES it!
A VIEWSCREEN displays:
Incoming Message:
Clearance to land GRANTED.
Proceed immediately.
KORELL Traffic Control
SHEATHING her dagger:
Bad for everyone, if each Jump near inhabited worlds always takes a day or more of carefully monitored approaching, plus paperwork.
The Far Star carefully LANDS, engines/thrusters turn OFF.
LATER:
The cargo RAMP comes down. Out STROLLS the pair (no weaponry SHOWN).
Looking 'round:
A LOUD SHOT whistles by, THUNKS against the ship's HULL!
Both CROUCH behind nearby (empty) CONTAINERS!
Both ACTIVATE their (mostly-invisible) belt-SHIELDS.
From a nearby big HANGAR-type building, someone approaches, RUNNING, zig-zagging.
After the white-haired monk-ish RUNNER comes a BUNCH of gun-toting SOLDIERS, led by a ROCKET-LAUNCHER-mounting TRUCK.
More SHOTS whistle by!
Help!
GESTURING to him:
As she REACHES the ramp, MALLOW gets it RISING.
The RAGGED RUNNER shouts, JUMPS onto the waist-level ramp, barely HOLDING on.
HELPING the unknown aboard:
Another SHOT THUNKS against the HULL!
MALLOW works a REMOTE CONTROL.
A warning BLAST scores a shallow CRATER just ahead of the onrushing TRUCK, forcing it to SCREECH to a HALT.
BACK TO:
That should buy us a couple minutes.. But this isn't as Shielded as a Tradeship. If they bring more artillery...
Looks like a Missionary, all right.
Only pure luck kept 'em from gunning him down!
Furiously KEYING a Console:
(weak)
I come from Anacreon to free the unenlightened from their darkness, to teach the Power of Science...
Cleaning some DIRT & BLOOD from his head:
Easy, easy, Revered one. Now rest. How shall we call you?
The CONSOLE displays:
BUSY lanes above.
WAIT for Clearance.
KORELL Traffic Control
From OUTSIDE, AMPLIFIED:
Foreign ship! Hand over the escaped prisoner or face force!
From INSIDE, AMPLIFIED:
That priest broke Korell law by preaching on our streets against repeated warnings, and is sentenced to death by the District's Governor. I am his Lordship's Deputy Officer!
BACK TO:
(angry)
We cannot yield! They'll kill him!
RAISING both bony hands HIGH:
(upset)
Becursed by the Spirit be those who destroy their fellow men, and those who betray the Holy Foundation! Blackened forever be the souls that consort with blackness!
Gesturing, BLASTER in hand:
(firm)
What would you have us do, then? Fire upon those Korellians, fly off Blasting or ramming anything that gets in our path? Trade who knows how many lives for this one reckless Priest?
We'll be helping 'em murder a holy man!
(deflated)
Team Mallow?
From INSIDE, AMPLIFIED:
Deputy Officer, I'll let you have this man on the condition that your Governor receives the Foundation's Envoy before any harm comes to him. Refuse and no-one will get their wish today!
After briefly CONFERRING:
On my word, as Korell law.
BACK TO:
No! There must be...
Gem, cover us. Revered one, I am only a Trader, but rest assured the Foundation, with all its might, will take you back, the Spirit permitting.
GEM draws her Blaster.
DEPUTY ORDERS all weapons lowered.
Down the ramp STROLLS MALLOW, clad in his SHIELD, hands RAISED at shoulder height.
DEPUTY APPROACHES, slowly.
MALLOW reaches behind, PULLS REFUGEE downramp.
The SOLDIERS murmur.
REFUGEE TRIES to back UP, but DEPUTY GRABS him, none-too-gently.
DEPUTY NODS before retreating with his prize.
(tired)
Even as thou dealest with the humble and defenseless, thus shalt thou be dealt with.
Behind him, MALLOW eyes:
GEM (Blaster pointed at the soldiers) FURY in her eyes, is leaving her COVER!
Impatient, DEPUTY half-turns.
(poker-faced)
I'll relay your wish. If you're still here.
SOON:
Their prey on a truck, the Korellians RETREAT at speed, VANISH behind the big HANGAR.
LOWERING her Blaster-hand:
(emotional)
If... if... my father... my... that Priest!
HUGGING her:
As both WALK inside, he pushes the BUTTON that raises the RAMP.
Opening DRAWERS at random:
The VIEWSCREEN displays:
Incoming Message:
Audience TOMORROW
with
Commdor Asper Argo,
1st Citizen of KORELL
KNEELING by her:
They have great potential, but all that glitters is not gold, yet.
BACK TO:
CHECKING his Distorter RING:
Not bad, for people who've been at war with each other ever since the Empire faded away, until they got only a handful Jumpships left.
Re: her PAD:
KORELL
Elementary
History.
Education Ministry.
About 50 years ago, Commdor Argo and his Navy managed to impose order and peace on all 6 suns. Not the current Commdor, but his grand-uncle. The family's been in control ever since, one way or another. And they added a couple more stars to the flock.
So much for "Republic". At least they seem fond of books and Culture. Anything on their Trade Records?
Re: her PAD:
As expected, Korell exports mainly Empire scraps and raw materials, buys farm machinery, satellites, medicines, automation systems...
Re: her PAD:
KORELL Chamber of Commerce
Industrial Guide.
WHO'S WHO.
CATEGORY:
Export/Import
We can only ascertain what they Trade with Convention members or partners. Korell has contacts with pretty much everybody around: neighboring backwaters, places I've never heard of...
They don't like our Priests. And they got plenty of catching-up to do before thinking of Nucleics. Couple millennia at least.
I've yet to see a world where Nucleic technology didn't utterly transform their entire economy and society.
The groundcar APPROACHES along a meandering ROAD.
(Off Screen)
We'll see.
As the Mallows CLIMB towards him:
(expansive)
Hober Mallow, Master Trader of the Foundation, and his beautiful Lady: welcome to the People's Palace!
Now he's friendly?
To both:
As the men SHAKE hands:
(firm)
We're here for an urgent matter, if...
MOTIONING to walk indoors:
As they ENTER:
And after we go?
Who knows. I'm optimistic. But enough of him. I wanted to see you for more important reasons.
The Mallows EYE each other.
(charmer)
My Lady, are those magnificent Gardens yours? I've never seen their likes in the entire Convention!
(smiles)
Oh, my, of course they are! At long last someone with taste! Let me show 'em to you, lovely, leave them men to their business machinations.
OFF they GO.
(surprised?)
Gem...?
Don't all women?
(winks)
True, true. Perhaps this is better. Let's ponder more serious matters, then. Starting with our wine, widely believed to be better than Locris'.
(grins)
I'll be happy to tell you the truth of that.
A round mostly-empty CUP in hand:
SIPPING his cup:
REFILLING his cup:
(expansive)
Of course. The Convention is a big Trading hub for all kinds of goods and services, we'd welcome Korell with open arms.
SITTING straighter:
The Priesthood is necessary to give backwards superstitious worlds a palatable version of our advanced Sciences and Technologies for them to use.
I admit you are unusual. Still, trained Priests manage the most dangerous stuff. But other Deals might be possible. Did you have anything in mind?
STANDING, excitedly GESTURING:
Transportation! Its impact would be deep across the board! Hover-trucks, air-trains, orbital Lifters, Jumpships!
Yes, yes! Those too! And Energy! There's a Nucleic Powerplant by the city, sadly abandoned for lack of parts. If only...
Getting UP:
You'll agree with me that Trades of this import need to be handled strictly among people we absolutely trust?
I'm a very reasonable Merchant. That's all. Now, we should start with a little demonstration of the few things I happen to carry on board.
The ladies STROLL back, arm in arm, LAUGHING.
Asper dear, wait till you hear the amazing idea this delightful creature has had!
Atop the GRAND STAIRS appear both couples: COMMDOR (full REGALIA) + COMMDORA (elegant BALL DRESS, pearls), MALLOW (short vaguely-military JACKET & Dagger) + GEM (stylish PARTY DRESS).
(carrying)
The gracious hosts of tonight's Grand Ball & Diner, Commdor and Commdora Argo, wish you to meet their honored guests, Hober Mallow and Lady, from the Foundation!
Polite APPLAUSE.
As MALLOW helps her down the steps, GEM caresses her silvery WAISTCHAIN, which slowly ENGULFS her in a pale soft MULTICOLORED flaming AURA, toe to head (incl. writhing TIARA).
She GRINS, shows off her personal Aurora Borealis, a GODDESS of LIGHT.
Behind them, COMMDOR & COMMDORA do the same, to much OOHHing & AAHHing from everybody else.
GEM caresses her waistchain again. Her fiery aura INTENSIFIES, her jewelry (necklace, EARRINGS, bracelet) CATCHES multi-hued FIRE too.
A step behind/up, the ecstatic COMMDORA does the same.
The NOTABLES below MURMUR at will.
...amplification of the body's own EM fields. My boy would know...
Finally, they reach the dance FLOOR.
Everybody else makes ROOM. Lights DIM. Orchestral music SWELLS.
Both PAIRS start ritual (more or less graceful) GYRATIONS. The women's AURAS slowly INVADE their partners too, SETTING their every medal, BUTTON, dagger, and metal surface ON pulsating FIRE. A vision of ETHEREAL bliss.
A STANDING OVATION grows, drowning the music.
FADE TO:
2 pairs of multi-colored BINARY STARS, turning 'round CLOSE to each other.
OVATION (O.S) slowly dies down, as do gyrations.
FADE TO:
Her curiosity for the Foundation was insatiable. Poor thing's a flower among stones, a rarity and a celebrity. That keeps her on edge, much like you are, at home.
(shrugs?)
You sponsor Project Raindrop, Laboratories... She endows Charities, Libraries... But it was too easy. Bet we don't find a thing?
40. If the Contract comes true. Risk is all mine, and the Commdor must also get his cut to better keep him on board. Same for Korell's Liquors, but you'll get a Marketing bonus on those if you help me persuade all our high-society friends back home.
The car slows to a STOP.
Amid a CLUSTER of V.I.Ps (incl. COMMDOR + GUARDS, courtiers, industrialists, local authorities):
Wearing an ORANGE JUMPSUIT with safety HARNESS:
COMMDOR helps MALLOW round the VIPs into a more-or-less official-looking STANCE.
As she LETS FLOAT 3-4 mini-DRONES:
They comply. The drones around 'em DO their thing, then DISPERSE away.
SHOWING his PAD to the others:
TAPPING a nearby 4m wide x 2m high x 1m deep STEEL BLOCK:
Unpacking several CRATES with scaffolding PARTS:
While she works, he UNPACKS more crates, GESTURES:
These motorized 'fingers' will run along the frame, under command from this central controller, and carve any suitable design.
As the VIPs examine the ITEMS, the Mallows finish SURROUNDING the big steel block with a 3D metal/plastic FRAME (about 20cm away from surfaces).
System isn't efficient enough for mass production, but works nicely for fast prototyping and low volumes thanks to its cutting precision.
Once they get 10+ smallish robotic 'fingers' CLINGING around the frame:
The FINGERS ZOOM along the 3-axis scaffolding, WARMING UP, pointing...
UNPACKING a final crate:
A handful sweaty WORKERS approach with a THICK STEEL SLAB (0.1m x 1.5m x 1.5m) on 4 smallish metal SHOEBOXES on a STURDY WHEELED PLATFORM.
PUSHING the heavy METAL (to no avail) as the workers LEAVE:
As he (briefly) CLAPS hands, the VIPs follow.
Smallish pistol-like GIZMO in hand:
She carefully PLACES the tool, then (at the TOUCH of a button) CUTS several slim CYLINDERS (cuts so THIN they're barely discerned) near the CORNERS of the slab.
Working a big REMOTE CONTROL:
The Shoeboxes HUM, LIFT the slab (perfectly horizontal) OFF the platform (at hip level). The now unsupported cylinders CLATTER to the floor.
The VIPs GASP.
(beaming)
What did I tell you, huh?
GEM effortlessly SLIDES the floating metal closer to the VIPs, DRILLS a handful SCREWHOLES, then places/CLAMPS/attaches another (moderately heavy) 4 SHOEBOXES on top, opposite the lifters.
You'll appreciate that our Nucleic Drills can be exactly tuned to cut to the desired width and depth, and not an atom beyond.
As she DIGS several FOOT-sized RECTANGLES & OVALS on the steel surface, SHOWS the CUT pieces:
GIVING another (inactive) DRILL to the VIPs:
It isn't without danger, but anyone can learn to use it in a day. Has no wear or tear, can be tuned to a variety of materials...
CUTTING perfect SHAPES on several metal BLOCKS:
HEATING a steel ROD to RED HOT in a few seconds, then WHACKING it until it CURVES:
SLICING (diagonally) a fat metal CUBE neatly in 2:
She OFFERS the cube's HALVES to the VIPs, who CHECK they're barely WARM to the touch.
He RETRIEVES the cube's halves, carefully ALIGNS 'em (on the slab), PUSHES 'em firmly together... then DROPS the whole on the floor, where it CLANGS loudly against the other metal pieces.
PICKING the CUBE in 1 piece:
The VIPs TEST that the join HOLDS.
SITTING on the FLOATING platform (it doesn't budge):
These are only the simplest all-purpose units we can offer. Unlike with more complex machinery, no Priests are needed.
She CLIMBS onto the STILL platform.
Power cells last 6 months with normal usage, replacements included in the Maintenance Contract...
Which our good friend Mallow has generously discounted...
GEM ANCHORS her suit to the HOLES she previously drilled.
As he WORKS the remote, the steel slab LIFTS to shoulder level. CROUCHING on top:
As the FLYING slab SHOOTS UPWARDS halfway to the roof:
The flying slab (leisurely) OVERTURNS, putting the safely attached GEM upside DOWN. She WAVES 'hi'.
The VIPs CHEER.
As MALLOW commands, the slab turns 90 degrees, leaving GEM horizontal.
As she MIMICS flying, GEM is propelled FORWARDS to the END of the Factory, then BACK:
Observe the freedom and control of movement, ladies and gentlemen. On the same principle as hovercars, each set of 8 of our mini-lifters can easily handle up to 100 tons.
The flying steel SLOWLY turns 45 degrees one way, then the other, then along a different AXIS, then "counts" smaller angles (like a clock) finally doing several complete BARRELS, while GEM YELLS joy.
Virtual walls, automated sequences of movements and sensor feedback can be defined in a variety of ways...
The flying slab DESCENDS (in spirals) to ground level.
GEM detaches her harness.
Boost any working site with these, my friends, you'll see they're worth 1000 times their cost.
As she DEBARKS (helped by 2 eager VIPs):
While the VIPS examine & ponder the LIFTERS, the Mallows HIGH-5.
RETRIEVING all her drones:
To the VIPs:
The 'fingers' are finished, RESTING all over the Frame. The Mallows take everything away (incl. plenty metal scraps) REVEALING:
A shiny nearly LIFE-SIZE steel SCULPTURE of the VIPs (with Mallow behind) exactly as they POSED at the start. On its base a LEGEND:
Let's Grow TOGETHER.
The VIPs (incl. the COMMDOR) are suitably IMPRESSED, can't help touching, GESTURING...
The performers BOW. APPLAUSE follows.
CAPTION:
9 DAYS LATER
(worried)
We gave 'em something to remember with our magic tour, but we go away empty-handed. Except for some juicy Contracts...
(half-smile)
Dazzle and awe indeed. But if it gets our household gadgets, industrial and agricultural machinery into these people's hands, and that in turn enriches us and their rulers, a true friendship could develop, and conflict be avoided.
The ships' RAMP lowers for them. Then:
DEPUTY walks up to them, SALUTES, shows a PAD.
With the Commdor's best wishes.
FOOTAGE OF:
DEPUTY walks away with the PAD.
CLIMBING the ramp:
On VIEWPORTS:
Korell's ORBIT slowly RECEDING.
CONSOLE display:
Whassallian Rift
route calculated.
3 BIG Foundation SHIPS ADVANCE. The Far Star's engines SHUT DOWN!
PUSHING buttons IN VAIN:
CONSOLE display:
PUBLIS MANLIO
Foreign Secretary
(direct link) with official 'spaceship+sun' BACKGROUND.
(mockingly?)
What now?
He DRINKS his glass.
He THROWS his glass against a wall (it SHATTERS).
MALLOW, struck, SLUMPS on his ARMCHAIR.
The screen BLINKS OFF.
Looking behind him:
The big SQUARE is PACKED full of silent PEOPLE, on both SIDES of the POLICE-defined CORRIDOR he has walked. Seldon's big (stone) STATUE glimpsed among the trees at the far end.
On one side, PLACARDS like
Mercy for the
Hero of Askone
or
with US!
FREE
TRADE!
On the other side:
MONEY has
NO SOUL!
or
OUTLANDERS!
Also, a BIG SCREEN:
Celebrity Trader
Mallow
TRIAL for TREASON
4th DAY
-= all-Convention =-
-= watch live =-
STARTING SOON
The others are too tired to yell. Even our less pious friends around the Convention don't know what to think. Your ship's Videolog yesterday was pretty damning.
The only wrongdoing it proved was the trampling of my Constitutional Rights. I followed both the Convention and Korell law!
I actively opened plenty of doors for them. They never needed help using 'em. Witness Askone.
Of course, but you can't reason your way out of a feelings-based trial! You'll lose your reputation, as will anyone close to you. The Party, myself... even if we ditched you today, the damage is done!
As they ENTER the building:
Still going on. Sharing your Executive powers with Gem (even if she uses 'em sparingly) did the trick, for now.
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