Back to the 1st half: MERCHANTS <--
To their side, alone in a BENCH sits GEM, poker-faced.
Everything else in relative DARKNESS, incl. ROWS of CHAIRS behind big TABLES in front of the DAIS.
JAEL & MALLOW sit at their TABLE (with PADS).
There she is, at last! If only we could talk befor...!
To their side, PUBLIS MANLIO, PAD in hand, takes the FLOOR. The ILLUMINATION focuses him.
(formal)
Your Honors, Mr. Mayor: the Prosecution is ready to conclude the case of this traitorous Trader. Has the Accused anything new to offer?
STANDING UP as the ILLUMINATION focuses him:
I wish only to point out that, while all that's been shown and told here happened, it is not all that happened. There's no proof against me, no confirmed crime.
You've already been warned against hiding behind the facade of a hostile foreign power that's paying you handsomely for your efforts!
Yesterday you said it was me bribing 'em. But I followed the Law to the dot. The Mayor's Office has grossly overstepped its powers. This trial is baseless.
He SITS down.
Your moral bankruptcy has been exposed already, the unfortunate result of a careless upbringing, the so-called lay education. An experiment that's lasted long enough!
The ILLUMINATION focuses:
You betray the solid foreign policy of our fathers for a haphazard tangle of economic bribery and dazzling gadgetry!
(grim)
In Hardin's time, when the Religion of Science was new, the Priesthood untested, their worth unknown, people like yourself opposed them as risky, radical. Now they are tried, hallowed, comfortable...
To the ATTENTIVE public:
All well and good, until their initial impulse, their historical momentum, became spent, stale, unable to keep us going any longer. We must consider the alternatives at hand before it is too late!
The show of weakness you suggest is suicidal. In the Periphery the appearance of strength is paramount. We would never survive the joint assault of every vulture out there!
The ILLUMINATION focuses:
The ILLUMINATION focuses GEM, who STANDS UP.
The late Elementary Science teacher Jaim Twer, killed during a revolt on one of the poorer worlds of the Convention, yes.
People MURMUR. JAEL & MALLOW exchange GLANCES.
Your father understood knowledge is reached thru the Spirit, not the other way around. Did he take the Oath?
In order to teach children, yes, he learnt to act and talk like a Priest, under the Spirit. Taught me too.
Then you understand the horrible fault the Accused committed, denying shelter to a Foundation Holy Man, as you witnessed?
I didn't understand at first. I thought he was just being a cold-blooded, steel-hearted Trader, a soulless bastard.
Murmurs GROW. MANLIO nods.
Under SUTT's fiery GLARE:
Of course you don't: I'm not your Witness, but a mere pawn in this farce, as are Hober and the oth...!
She cannot be HEARD anymore under a focused SILENCE BUBBLE!
As the ILLUMINATION focuses him:
STANDING UP:
Let her talk, you son-of...!
He's also MUTED by Silence Bubble.
STANDING UP:
(formal)
The Defense hasn't yet questioned the Witness.
Different MURMURS. Amusement in the shadows?
The JUDGES eye each other.
As the ILLUMINATION focuses him:
Hi, Gem. I'd like to hear anything you have to say.
Thank you, Jael. After giving 'em all the 'proof' they wanted, I realized they didn't care for the truth at all.
MALLOW (inaudibly) THUMPS the table.
What truth?
The ILLUMINATION on her:
A Priest was in mortal danger in enemy territory. Yet Manlio and Sutt worried only about Hober Mallow.
Weird, that.
As he looks 'round, there's MURMURS of agreement.
Unfortunately, I was isolated 'for my own good'.
(RUBBING her earrings)
But Traders and women don't go anywhere without their emergency Comms.
Mallow's ornate BELTBUCKLE buzzes softly. He IGNORES it.
(smiles)
Of course. Who did you call?
Mallow's BELTBUCKLE buzzes CONSPICUOUSLY. He SILENCES it!
Amused MURMURS in the shadows.
FLASHBACK:
BIRD's EYE around as she THINKS.
She navigates MENUS, finally PRESSES a button.
BACK TO:
(half-smile)
Merciful Seldon, I was told you received it already... It's probably sitting somewhere in your Inbox pile.
As he RUMMAGES thru his PAD:
JAEL navigates, finds IT. Stunned, SHOWS his PAD to:
Hah! I knew it!
Korell guaranteed the Priest wouldn't be executed, and it's all we could get from 'em. Here's proof!
He HOLO-PROJECTS his screen to FILL the illuminated ZONE:
KORELLIAN
SECRET
POLICE.
Agent File: + REFUGEE's photo (healthy, younger).
REAL NAME: *****
RANK: ***** SALARY: *****
CURRENT LOCATION: *****
ALIAS1: *****
ALIAS2: *****
ALIAS3: *****
ALIAS4: JORD PARMA
Foundation Priest, Anacreon
ALIAS5: *****
BACK TO:
POINTING to SUTT:
That is the cross you wanted to nail me to!?!? A trickster parroting a Priestly act!?!? Is this how you play Politics!?!?
He LAUGHS loudly, more-or-less heartily. Others ECHO him (discreetly).
But, you divorced him, years ago! He doesn't respect our most sacred...!
(sad)
After my ship's accident, my life was saved, but I became sterile.
I granted this exceptional man his freedom so he could form a family with another woman.
(formal)
Your Honors, Mr. Mayor: the Defense rejects this Case as void and null, and asks for the Accused to be fully exonerated and reinstated.
Murmurs in CRESCENDO. There's HOOTING & APPLAUSE while the JUDGES, MANLIO & SUTT deliberate.
Finally:
(formal)
The Mayor's Office assumes its error and declares Trader Mallow Innocent!
He retreats to the shadows. Sutt is nowhere to be seen.
Standing UP, arm RAISED in triumph:
LOUD CHEERING & APPLAUSE.
BIG SCREEN:
MALLOW Trial
Surprise RESULT!
-= Trader Acquitted =-
All Infos HERE
It SWITCHES to:
(smiling)
Hober Mallow, now that you are again a free and wealthy man, will you marry me?
MALLOW SWEEPS her in his ARMS, GYRATES laughing while she KISSES him.
More cheering, HOOTING & applause.
A single, powerful "TOCK" sounds.
The PENDULUM of Psychohistory (at maximum UPSWING) starts SWINGING in the OPPOSITE direction!
The door CLOSES behind 'em.
A PHONE chimes!
Duffel BAG in hand:
(grins)
Half the Convention saw our wedding last week! What did you expect!?
Re: his PHONE ringing:
GEM activates her PAD.
We're going on vacation. Can it wait?
GUIDING her towards the backyard:
Gem's pad SCREEN:
BACK TO:
PAD SCREEN:
The Commdor's BODYGUARDS, centered on their well-worn holstered BLASTERS, engraved with the Empire's 'spaceship+sun' golden LOGO.
Authentic Imperial artifacts in good working condition! Extremely rare and valuable!
BACK TO:
Dropping his LUGGAGE:
I'll be damned...!?
(diplomat)
How interesting! If you forward us your Reports, we can check and contextualize everything.
Several small & big GEARS turning, maybe ACCELERATING.
A single "TICK" sounds.
The Far Star JUMPS/BLINKS IN.
Nearby, a lumbering TRADE HAULER BLINKS/JUMPS IN, in the OPPOSITE direction, ARCS away, engines GLOWING.
On VIEWPORTS:
The Rift.
CHECKING her Console:
PAD in hand:
Hope not. Korell's TV networks offer a Deal for their Historical Archives. The Commdor approves, of course. How business-like.
Several HOVERCARS with, among other V.I.Ps:
COMMDORA & GEM, in elaborated DRESSES:
...course you're Royalty! Or as close to Royalty the Foundation's got, I guess... That lavish wedding...! Reminds me so much of mine... I was so naive then.
I must admit I'm not used to the kind of fame and fortune Hober takes for granted...
WAVING & SMILING around:
Well, the things we sell improve others' lives. That, and the money, used to be enough for us.
Do show 'em your hand... Wave like I do. They're always looking for a strong guiding hand...
Oh, my, you are a natural, honey!
(smiles)
Say, that exquisite clothier of yours could be a king among the moneyed ladies of 1000 worlds...
COMMDOR & MALLOW, fully DECKED out:
... how much things have changed in just 1 month, with the initial shipments. See the people's enthusiasm!
Bigger and better things will come. If you gear for quantity of solidly manufactured goods, you'll find eager buyers on 1000 developing and developed worlds all over the Convention.
We'll need to build our reputation first, to compete with...
Worry not. My name is well-known, and the Market is huge. It's always been a struggle to serve so many from only a few well-developed worlds.
I thought your planet...
(half-smile)
Terminus isn't big enough. Its Factories are better left for small batches of top-notch stuff.
Top-notch and expensive. Our modest exports can barely pay your machines we make 'em with.
Really? How so?
Checking his Console:
She's smarter and darker than she shows: she probably helped us only to weaken our Government, and I cannot place what's left of her accent.
I'll check her voice registers against the all-Convention library while you check her backstory.
Hours LATER...
Offering her 1 of 2 BOWLS of steaming soup:
Taking the BOWL:
FLASHBACK:
Among the V.I.Ps, 2 conspicuous BODYGUARDS.
ZOOM IN their Imperial BLASTERS.
BACK TO:
Both eating:
That's the first confirmed appearance of those guys and their toys. The other thing is a news snippet: They called her the 'Normanic Princess', not having any solid data on her other than the Jump vector of the ship carrying her.
CAPTION:
SIWENNA
Normannic Sector
(EMPIRE hinterlands)
FADE IN:
(formerly: Sector
Capital)
3 WEEKS LATER
An OLD MAN (late 60s) carrying a BAG, walks CAREFULLY among the ruins, past a war-torn POSTER:
Have you seen this PIRATE?
Dangerous ENEMY
of the Empire!
Reward for CAPTURE or Death
1000000 Gold Coins
He TURNS a corner to:
Against a scorched wall, GEM in all her pale-iridescent-aura GLORY, PAD in hand (other hand behind back).
Lady, unless you aren't of mortal flesh, you should be seeking shelter, not drawing the attention of half the hunters in the city.
REVEALING the BLASTER in her other hand:
Must be him all right.
(Re: her PAD)
Let's go someplace safer.
She SWITCHES OFF her light-show (except her SHIELD).
OUT from behind a broken pillar, SHIELDED in pearly-white, BLASTER in hand:
It's been a long day of misunderstandings, but the 4th gang we met had the good sense to tell us where to find a scholar, One Barr.
Onum Barr, Patrician of the... never mind. Just because I can read and write, I'm now a Scholar?
(COUGHS)
Hell, compared with the rest of my fellow wretches, I guess I am. What d'you want?
WALKING again:
CONTROLLING her DRONES:
There's plenty danger out there.
You must come from far and away indeed to have missed such grave Events as have rocked the Empire and most of the Galaxy in recent decades.
It only takes a few light-years of no-one's space with no working hyper-relays and no safe, pirate-free Routes to cause a dearth of communications, shipping, and all.
Anyone around or following us?
Re: her PAD:
They're afraid of the trees. And the insects. And the stars. Not easy, lacking a solid roof over one's head, y'know. Youngsters nowadays have no respect for life, but they avoid the monsters we invented for 'em.
The Mallows exchange GLANCES.
LEADING along a narrow DIRT PATH:
Rebellion and ruin, and little else, spiraling downwards. If really destructive weapons weren't so hard to acquire and power, there'd be nothing left.
Some craters seemed fairly recent.
Oh, the Imperials still have their Navy. They can surgically destroy anything from orbit, as they did last month with a suspected rebel lair.
That wasn't 'em. 5 years ago, to deny 'em refueling, some patriots of ours disabled our primary Power Plant. They broke a D-tube or something, and the Tech-Men were unable to repair it or prevent the Overload.
Tech Men?
A privileged Caste of engineers and scientists, or rather caretakers, Empire-wide. Pass working knowledge from generation to generation, but forget the little details!
(frowns)
The explosion killed 1000s and levelled everything previously weakened by decades of strife. Had it not been deep underground, it'd have killed millions, knocked down half an Hemisphere.
You're lucky radioactive dust didn't cover the whole planet.
STOPPING:
(upset)
Imperial Power Plants are designed better than that, built to last millennia: They're the lifeblood of the Navy, which is the beating heart of the Empire. But 'lucky'?
(COUGHS)
After seeing my people massacred, dying in battle, under torture or of untreatable illnesses, including 5 of 6 sons, while my only daughter was abducted to wither in the Viceroy's flying brothels?
GUIDING along a small WATERCOURSE:
Thanks, but it's no use lamenting what's gone and won't come back. Like an entire optimally Civilized planet brought low by Energy scarcity:
(counts)
Light, heat, food processing, transportation, communications, record keeping... coupled with the destruction of Learning Centers suspect of helping rebels coalesce and organize!
Guess none of us here is lucky, if Siwenna isn't good for Trade.
Oh, people in 25 formerly first-rank planets would readily buy weapons and shields like yours. Medicines, foodstuffs, vehicles, energy cells... You wouldn't like the payment, though: grains of Gold in the best of cases, Imperial coin otherwise, betrayal and death more likely.
The neighboring Provinces are almost as bad. Bet you have a good ship, a blockade-runner nimble enough to avoid detection and fast enough to evade everything with enough firepower to stop it.
GUIDING around some ROCKS:
But anything bigger would be intercepted by the Imperials or by Wiscard's pirates. Both will shoot first, scavenge later.
Wiscard?
Our former Viceroy. He was bad enough, until he rebelled against the Throne, 12 years ago. It's becoming fashionable, I hear!
HOPPING a big FALLEN TREE:
Then things became worse, until a new one came to oust him, and things became much worse, as we were all treated like rebels, despite having denied our support to Wiscard's uprising.
As bad as a lawless Frontier. And as barren for us.
OPENING a heavy TRAPDOOR (half-hidden by LEAVES & bushes):
No! Please... I told you everything you wanted to know. I need one small favor before you go back to where you came from, far from the Empire's rot.
You know about us? Seen any Traders before?
Never! But... rumours and Legends and fairytales abound, of a strange people who somehow escaped the Empire, preserving and nurturing the wisdom and the spirit that once made us a mighty race, and so became Wizards of extraordinary powers.
(smiles)
I used to laugh at the notion! But now I've seen and heard you, Lady. I need nothing more, except...
He VANISHES into the wide DARK TUNNEL. A drone FOLLOWS him.
(stern)
We're not going in there.
Re: her PAD:
What!?
ENTERING:
ARRIVING:
The big room is STACKED floor-to-ceiling with SHELVES of thumb-sized gaudily COLORED glass DIES, millions of 'em! A glittering TEMPLE of DATA.
FISHING around:
Let me check some!
HANDING 1 (silver/gold-filigree) DIE:
Our Culture! The Empire's and Siwenna's. Centuries of news, people, art, science... Lots of other data too, of little value to those who'd rather use a gun.
Re: the DIE under her PAD:
(grins)
It reads! And it's incredibly dense, too!
Carefully FILLING an old ornate COFFER:
The Imperial Library here used to be the best outside the Core planets. Now it's a burnt broken husk. This is but a sample of all it contained.
And a great Mathematician.
Ahh, yes! Raven Seldon! Predicted the Fall of the Empire, almost... 2 centuries ago, I think. What of him?
His coffer PACKED with DIES:
More Legends. Odds are it's recorded in here somewhere. I should spend less time scavenging, more reading.
Dawn's coming. We must go. But we'll be back.
Of course you will: when the Empire's dead and gone, you'll come pick the pieces, won't you? At least I hope so.
HANDING the COFFER:
TAKING the gift:
Will do. I'll personally care for it.
Taking OFF 1 of his 2 sturdy linked-steel BELTS:
This is an energy Shield. Power can be regulated. Should last 4 months of light use, 2 full days of Blaster combat.
TAKING the OFFER:
A personal Shield? How is it even possible? Our child Emperor in all His glory doesn't have anything like this!
He could use it: we've had 9 Emperors in 50 years, the Throne shortens their health. Hard to revere any of 'em when they die or are replaced with depressing regularity.
Would you give this technology to the Empire?
STORING it away:
What for? The great aristocratic Families are a mean bunch. Let 'em suffer as their Subjects do!
(COUGHS)
I have someone who'll use it for the better.
Perhaps. He enlisted with the Viceroy's levies to better help our people policing our streets, and has made it to Sergeant, but a better chance may present itself: Viceroys nowadays aren't as smart nor durable nor deserving of Imperial Purple as they believe.
LEAVING:
Good luck! And many thanks!
Both ALONE:
Depends. Old Wiscard's fleet is encroached around the Red Stars. Our current Viceroy would love to flank their lines, hit 'em from an unexpected quarter, from outside the Border, or even better, if he can gather enough strength: encircle and capture all those valuable warships.
You bet! Other scheming Viceroys could rebel and see us as a weakened and conquerable neighbor. Agents have been sent to the Void Beyond and its barbaric Kingdoms, Alliances forged, who knows with what aims.
(shrugs)
It could all be a bunch of lies.
He LEAVES.
1 of Gem's DRONES guides him into the BUSHES.
ARRIVING (thru the AIRLOCK):
Hand ON her shoulder:
But Barr...
(beat)
The Foundation never before encountered this kind of devastation. The sheer amount of people in need...
Lowering the RAMP:
She CLOSES the box, COMMANDS it to FLOAT out, above the bushes & trees, towards the (distant) TRAPDOOR.
LATER, the RAMP closes.
Re: the (secured) COFFER:
The Commdora? It's the Empire we must worry about: How are they helping Korell and to what end.
Hmmm. We can't ask for help without risking a panic. The Foundation is an insect against the Empire's juggernaut!
What for? One wrong move from anyone and we might get an Imperial Fleet knocking on Terminus, razing the whole Convention for the glory of the Emperor and his vultures!
En route to the COCKPIT:
Blasted if I know. The tools we Trade to Korell are all they need to turn any Jumpships they capture into Warships, troop Transports or whatever. Now I feel like a traitor!
But voiding our Contracts could trigger their attack, after all the popularity the Commdor has bought with his part of our money.
By Hardin, if it's not the same kind of Crisis as the last! Our technological edge cannot counter their sheer might!
Seldon knows. He must have foreseen the Foundation would expand until meeting the Old Empire's remnants.
We won't bribe 'em with all our money. Maybe if we built our own Warfleets fast enough, before they noticed...
Entering the COCKPIT:
On VIEWPORTS:
A small BLUE-Green PLANET.
CAPTION:
Somewhere in the
Foundation's CONVENTION
2 MONTHS LATER
My Father,
the PIRATE
A screen FLASHES/BUZZES, insistently!
In the CORRIDOR, a door opens. MALLOW exits, hurriedly donning a silken BATHROBE.
Don't take it!
(beat, GROANS)
Unless it's the Fuel shipment!
ANSWERING the screen:
(gently)
A Priority Call now, Mr. Secretary Jael? We've barely started our sojourn all around the Convention!
From the corridor:
Jael, please be brief!
ENTERING (in a GOWN):
I thought that kind of thing was forbidden?
They could challenge you for the Mayoralty?
The entire Convention is abuzz with the new commercial opportunities your freer Policies are allowing, and the wealth and well-being they can create. Trade squabbles are at a minimum, most borders quiet. We cannot lose!
(smiles)
You'll have all the money you need. We're getting new pledges every day.
I'll let you use my name, Jael. I'll even campaign on your behalf if it comes to that, but not for a Seat in your Cabinet.
(winks)
Korell!
(firm)
I want final say on everything related to them. Trade, Diplomacy, whatever. From now until I say so, nobody else will meddle.
He's not joking, Jael.
Hand around GEM's waist, drawing her CLOSE:
See you 'round, Jael.
She SWITCHES OFF the call as he KISSES her EAR.
(giggles)
Still a couple hours till our Fuel arrives. You sure wanna go this path?
KISSING her NECK:
In the HEAT of the moment, the BOOK is KNOCKED OFF the table.
CAPTION:
ARYS Conglomerate
5 MONTHS LATER
In formal ATTIRE, small GIFTBOX included:
(alarmed)
Hober!
Slightly APART:
A strike, by Hardin! How am I supposed to react to that, Jael?
(pause, as he LISTENS)
Of course it's not about the pay, or the hours! My partners and providers all say the same: it's Sutt and his Religionist agitators!
GEM pulls him towards the OPENING ornate (golden) DOORS, as he LISTENS.
'Corrupt, undeserving, Spirit-less Merchant Princes, bent on domination'? Yeah, well. But with Manlio gone, how hard can it be to get the Mayor to do something?
(pause, as he LISTENS)
No! I won't default on my Contracts, my other Factories are working double shifts!
The Mallows ENTER:
As GEM exchanges RITUAL BOWS & GIFTS with a bejeweled (female) AIDE:
Tell you what: if they don't want to work for me, by Seldon, they won't! I'll close the Factory and relocate everyone willing to any of the others!
(pause, as he LISTENS)
I know Politics is your turf, but this is Business!!
ENDING the call, he takes GEM's hand, BOWS ceremoniously.
The Mallows (festive mood, w/ light BAGS) EXIT the parked Far Star, near where an OFFICIAL hovercar (Burgundy) with 'spaceship+sun' PLATES, escorted by 3 BLACK ones, awaits.
CAPTION:
TERMINUS
Interplanetary
4 MONTHS LATER
The hovercar DOOR opens. JAEL inside.
The Mallows ENTER. The car silently DEPARTS with its ENTOURAGE.
Yeah, the Actionists are greatly weakened, but forcing the Mayor's resignation 2 months before the Election won't do a lot of good.
You had plenty support, with all Traders and Industrialists, major or minor, demanding decisive measures. Those who don't get enough Business outside Terminus are facing ruin.
Unlike you: Korell goods sell like wildfire all around the Convention. Your benefits multiplied exponentially. Which makes you and 'em handy popular scapegoats. Vultures say you must be in their pay, after all.
FILLING a glass of WINE:
They couldn't be more wrong!
We toured the whole Convention, talked to everybody we could. All agree the Priesthood needs to remember its place. As Acting Mayor, you can now act, Jael.
(worried)
Anything we do will only give ammunition to the Religionist radicals. You won't believe how popular they've managed to become!
SWITCH TO:
KORELL not so FRIENDLY: Tradeships STOPPED at Border!
and
HOBER Mallow & WIFE end High-Flying HONEYMOON turned CELEBRITY tour.
Angry PEOPLE fill the big SQUARE, with PLACARDS like:
DOWN WITH
THE MERCHANT
PRINCES!!
US
FROM
GREED!
BACK TO:
TASTING his glass:
I believe every darn credit they're costing me and everybody else. And the instability they breed. Which is why you'll arrest Sutt tonight.
A handy counter to populist demagoguery, don't you think? People still value their own well-being above wannabe tyrants.
Many Priests are tired of their hollow Mysticism, want to further the Foundation's cause by other means.
Not all: Sutt wants to punish Korell and awe all others with our true might, in the name of Dignity and Justice. And if we money-obsessed Politicians disallow him, he might launch a Crusade of the Outer worlds against Terminus, in the name of Orthodoxy.
Defeat the Foundation with its own tools!?
Wholesale suicide: Korell's allies are too dangerous. This isn't about local politics anymore. Do you know who their leaders are?
Of course: they've been on the News for months! Manlio even had the cheek to hold public rallies with his Priests on the 4 Kingdoms!
That's illegal!
(firm)
You'll jail 'em all. Before dawn, pending trial for High Treason, and with zero outside contact for as long as it takes.
SWITCH TO:
RELIGIONIST hierarchy CHARGED
with ENDANGERMENT of the STATE!
(fewer) Angry PEOPLE fill the big SQUARE, brandish PLACARDS like:
Sutt!
FREE
Manlio!
to HERESY!
BACK TO:
(alarmed)
What!? War!?
Our Deals with Korell reached a critical stage. They demand we stop making excuses and get their main Nucleic Power Plant up and running, with no Priestly supervision.
DRINKING his glass:
Which we'll finally sadly deny. If we read 'em right, in a few weeks they'll have no choice but attack.
SWITCH TO:
On VIEWPORTS:
A MASSIVE wall of metal SCROLLS past, studded with WEAPONS of all classes & SIZES.
ALARMS yammer hysterically.
CAPTION:
Foundation Patrolship
DARK NEBULA
(near Korell space)
(whisper)
Great Galloping Galaxies!
A Console LISTS Imperial Catalog data, STATS, wireframe SCHEMATICS... with a FOOTER:
AGIS-class
DREADNOUGHT
On VIEWPORTS:
The Empire's SPACESHIP-AND-SUN logo, prominently displayed on the PASSING/accelerating WALL of metal.
(firm)
Alert the Guild! Scramble for Jump!
Korell ATTACKS
Convention PARTNERS,
unprovoked, CAUSES
great LOSSES!
SQUARE packed full of patriotic PEOPLE brandishing PLACARDS like:
CRUSH
KORELL!
IMPERIALS!
REACHING for the bottle:
Dear Hardin. You both are nuts.
Korell is little more than a 'jaunt in the wilderness' for a treacherous Imperial Viceroy who cannot devote more than a fraction of his Forces to the effort.
Thank Seldon!
HANDING the
My Father,
the PIRATE book:
SWITCH TO:
AUTHORIZED
Personnel
ONLY sign.
10+ black-clad masked COMMANDOS KILL 'em (discreetly, with silenced bullets?), BREACH the door, DISABLE the ALARMS, quickly ADVANCE along a wide curved downsloping (concrete) CORRIDOR, another (heavier) security DOOR at its END with
DANGER!
.Keep.
OUT! signs.
Near the CEILING, small overlooking OFFICES with plenty CONSOLES. At the end of their CATWALK, a big closed BULKHEAD is BLOWN OFF its hinges!
IN ENTER the commandos, ADJUSTING their GOGGLES, another 2 DEAD guards in their wake. They SURPRISE & DISABLE the ENGINEER on duty before she can do a thing.
Before 'em, FILLING 90% of the room:
Titanic SCAFFOLDING anchors a host of INJECTOR/MANIPULATOR/REFLECTOR/other ARMS around concentric LAYERS of strong/sparking electric-blue SHIELDS, which deftly CONTAIN/stabilize a giant yellow-white (writhing/bubbling) PLASMA BALL/explosion (not unlike a pocket STAR).
Working a small CONSOLE:
No beams in here! If those Shields short, even for a microsecond, we'd all burn in hell!
They all HOLSTER their Blasters (but keep their bullet-GUNS). Some DRAW knives.
Re: schematics in his PAD:
Dead ahead!
As the others TROT past:
Quick! Before safeties kick in!
BACK TO:
Re: the book:
This is older than me! There's been no Pirates in Convention space for more than half a century!
FLASHBACK:
CAPTION:
RED STARS
(contested space)
FADE IN:
A few weeks
after Siwenna.
PAN TO:
The Far Star, FLOATING at leisure.
Almost out of range, a (small) unmarked WARSHIP can be discerned.
A big CARGO HAULER BLINKS/JUMPS IN.
BACK TO:
A Warfleet, same as a Trade fleet, runs on its stomach. We call it Money, they call it Fuel. Both mean Energy.
4 BIG WARSHIPS floating above the CLOUDS, with the Imperial LOGO.
In the Empire, only the largest Power Plants process the high-grade Nucleics their world-shattering Warships require.
10+ smallish TROOPSHIPS descend from the sky, followed by 6 mid-size HAULERS (with Korell's LOGO).
The invaders LAND near the City's MAIN POWER PLANT.
BACK TO:
The HAULERS climb from below, escorted by the TROOPSHIPS.
The whole FLEET starts JUMPING away (biggest 1st).
It's the biggest HAULER's turn.
CAPTION:
Korell
Transport
FREEDOM
FADE IN:
(formerly
Foundation bulk hauler
ARGOLID ACOLYTE)
Its engines GLOW bright as it runs, then it BLINK-CRUMPLES itself into a scrap-metal BALL that finally VANISH-EXPLODES.
BACK TO:
2 Imperial BATTLESHIPS keep watch above, barely-lit, BLOTTING stars, while Korell's 'pirates' LAND around a large Powerplant.
1 of them LAGS a bit...
CAPTION:
Korell
Troopship
PRIDE
FADE IN:
(formerly
Foundation tradeship
LOCRIS SPIRIT)
Its engines unstably FLARE. Suddenly, it EXPLODES!
BACK TO:
Ultimately, it's the clash of 2 opposite views on life: Imperial centralism, versus our Trading Convention.
(upset)
You based our entire strategy on this!? With survival at stake!?!?
Civilian death TOLL mounts! TRADERS won't FIGHT. Fleet READY for major RETREAT.
Plenty patriotic PEOPLE with PLACARDS like:
PREPARE
for WAR!
BACK TO:
Ours, and Korell's. They're playing with forces they don't fully understand. Their Economy is likely to implode without our goods and our Nucleics.
And with it their entire Society, as their people has had enough time to see what they were missing, and now regard as essential.
The Imperials could supply 'em.
Unlikely: their vital Technology is managed by hereditary specialists no better than our Priests at understanding what makes their machines work, much less build new ones.
SWITCH TO:
Much closer, 1000s of metal DOTS: (sparse) ROWS & rows of (quiescent, spiky) oven-sized floating MINES.
Smack in the middle, IN JUMPS 1 of Korell's FLEETS: 2 Imperial DREADNOUGHTS escorted by 12 BATTLESHIPS + 100s of smaller warships (in formation).
Some mines (here & there) ACTIVATE (w/ tiny lights).
(happy)
Excellent! Our next target won't see us coming!
In magnificent PRIESTLY DISGUISE (incl. WAND):
Use the Codes we 'discovered' last week.
(smug)
Amazing what some believers tell their Spiritual advisors!
BACK TO:
1000+ mines ACTIVATE, then IGNITE their small ENGINES in (coordinated) kamikaze RUNS!
EVASIVE MANOEUVERS!
FIRE EVERYTHING!!
Breaking their formation, FIRING (beams, kinetic, missiles) WILDLY against the mines, most ships are HIT by 1 or more, causing fair-sized EXPLOSIONS!!
Only 25-30 of the biggest & best Shielded survive!!! (more or less DAMAGED)
BACK TO:
We'll play the attrition game with the cards we have. Seldon would approve: He probably foresaw the whole mess and our lack of better options.
But... there's a myriad possible random accidents, in a conflict of this scale, that could derail your calculations!
In the DISTANCE, a big IMPERIAL WARSHIP (with plenty FLAMES & SMOKE) descends (none-too-gently) thru the CLOUDS.
CAPTION:
SIWENNA
FADE IN:
(contested space)
In the middle of a BUNCH of frayed people AROUND an old (patched-up, barely functional) news RECEIVER:
(grim)
It's Wiscard! Attacks the Viceroyal fleet!
BACK TO:
Hopefully the small things will cancel themselves out, allowing the main events to proceed as expected.
What chances do we have, with little more than Economic forces on our side? There must be an alternative! Aren't you afraid of setting everyone on that course??
They'll probably tire of their expensive fruitless adventure before we run out of places to flee.
The car STOPS.
Even in that case, what about the Guild, the Traders? They're an unruly free-minded bunch, will never heed...
Tapping a slim BRIEFCASE:
I'll persuade them. It's the best part of this Economic strategy, and it will hand you the Elections on a silver platter!
OPENING the door:
As the Mallows DEBARK, JAEL gulps his GLASS.
Over the doors, a giant BANNER:
* TRADING GUILD * EMERGENCY MEETING *
Below, on a raised lectern:
(commanding, amplified?)
I'm not Hari Seldon! I cannot forecast the future of the galaxy! But I know what's in store for us!
Murmurs here & there.
Our prospects may seem bleak, and rumours abound of conflict and war coming! I can guarantee that won't happen!
That's not what I want! You'll all be busy elsewhere, helping the Convention thrive! And profiting from it!
More MURMURS.
There's been plenty rumours about my travels of this past year! Of my Dealings! Of my adventures! Of the lucrative Contracts I've amassed!
Putting his briefcase on top of the lectern:
Louder murmurs!
Opening the briefcase, taking a fat PAD out:
Here's 20000 Contracts I've gathered from all the worlds in the Convention! Enough to keep everyone with a workshop or a ship, here & out there, busy for a decade!
Awe + agitation on the street!
Solemly placing his hand on the PAD:
Now, I've signed them all for the Guild to parcel out to the best bidders! With my take of each reduced to a mere 1 100th of 1%!
Watching 'em close as many trade hopeful glances:
Loud CHEERING!
A BANNER ahead:
- = March of a MILLION Housewives = -
CAPTION:
8 MONTHS into the WAR
Plenty PLACARDS like:
ECONOMY IS
CRUMBLING!
IMPERIAL
THIEVES!
POWER CELLS!
IS FREEZING!
CHILDREN
SUFFER!
FOREIGN
Ruler!
INDEPENDENCE AGAIN!!
FADE IN:
Korell BOYCOTTED by ALL neighbors
MORPH TO:
Big & small GEARS turn, almost imperceptibly.
A "TOCK" sounds.
# SUBURBAN MANSION. AFTERNOON. Inner PATIO/SOLARIUM with mid-size POOL.
GEM (in a swimsuit) SWIMS, MALLOW relaxes on a LOUNGE CHAIR, DRINK in hand, only a TOWEL around his waist.
His PAD:
Korell HARDSHIPS hit BOTTOM:
Commdor ARGO & WIFE arrested!
(National JUNTA expected
to DECLARE end of WAR!)
Hah! Not surprising that their debts busted 'em!
Korell SURRENDERS! Convention SUMMIT to study post-war RECONSTRUCTION.
Jubilant PEOPLE with PLACARDS like:
FREE TRADE RULES!
LONG LIVE
SELDON!
LONG LIVE
MaLLoW!
BACK TO:
GEM exits the pool, DRIES herself with a big TOWEL (smiling).
Still too busy to attend the talks? They're shaping the future of the Convention, perhaps of Seldon's Plan itself!
Overhauling the old Committee of Arbitration, letting more associates in, maybe turning it into a true interstellar representative chamber, with enhanced legislative powers?
The Foundation won't be only Terminus anymore!
Playfully, he PULLS her down to sit on his lap.
They KISS.
A widescreen Phone RINGS. He SCOWLS.
Checking it:
(winks)
Not the Insurance Trust!
MALLOW takes the call.
It's the least I could do for the people on the planets we refused to fight for. And it's been longer than I planned.
Phone SCREEN:
Its engines SPUTTER, STOP GLOWING!
Its LIGHTS off, 10s of small LIFEBOATS exit it, START their own ENGINES.
As the lifeboats (in 1s & 2s) JUMP AWAY:
Several BIG explosions ROCK the abandoned BEHEMOTH, not breaking it, but somewhat altering its TRAJECTORY (nearer the moon's SURFACE).
Beyond the moon's HORIZON:
A HUMONGOUS GAS GIANT!
BACK TO:
Checking METADATA:
They couldn't properly scuttle, with all their Nucleics exhausted!
STANDING barefoot:
That ship must be over 1000 years old. Height of the Empire's craft. If it doesn't hit rock tomorrow, it'll head towards a deep grave.
What if it becomes public knowledge?
As his towel FALLS, revealing his SWIMMING TRUNKS:
Grinning, she KEYS her PAD.
The Far Star ACTIVATES (lights, engines, weaponry)!
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