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Back to the prequel: HOT SALE <--
Nearby WEATHER PAD displays:
Temperature: 26 oC
Pressure: 0.89 Atm
Gravity: 0.52 Std
Humidity: 47%
Oxygen: 29%
CO2: 564 ppm
Radiation: 19 mJ
Soft ambient MUSIC.
CAPTION:
A quiet corner in the Foundation's
busily expanding Trading Convention
PRESSING the point:
Stopping her work:
Half-TURNING to better face her:
To see exotics: planets, people, cities, palaces... but what do I get?
(re: featureless gray-WHITE sky around)
TAKING her hand:
Soon as we're done here, next Jump is Arys the Golden, with some of my best clients, in time to make Quota. I swear.
Checking a big BOTTLE half-buried in a snow pocket, propped up by 2 well-worn HOLSTERED BLASTERS:
The music DIES.
The WEATHER PAD switches to:
Incoming
message:
PRIORITY
ALERT!
Taking it:
Fastening his BLASTER around his waist/towel:
The forcefield ADJUSTS to his body.
Checking her own PAD:
FOLDING the foam mat:
LEAVING:
She fastens her HOLSTER to her thigh, KEYS her PAD.
The forcefield 'bubble' SPLITS, adjusting to her as she (TOWEL on shoulder) rescues the BOTTLE + 2 tall GLASSES from the snow.
Both descend the OUTCROPPING. Snow everywhere.
The white-ish "sky" beyond turns out to be a sturdy PLASTIC fabric.
CAPTAIN UNZIPS a round man-sized PASSAGE.
STEPPING/CLIMBING into the plastic TUBE after him:
OPENING an AIRLOCK:
EMBRACING him in the CRAMPED airlock, their personal forcefields MINGLING with a few smallish SPARKS:
He SMILES, hits a big red BUTTON.
The bag ZIPS OPEN, revealing a SNOW asteroid (w/plenty ROCK) inside. A puff of water-ice DROPLETS fly off.
The bag is carefully PACKED into a side CARGO BAY, showing the heavy-duty CABLE & GRAPPLE holding the rock fast. Here & there on the hull, smallish BLAST CANNONS swivel around. 1 of them ZAPS a floating ice boulder.
LIGHTS ripple. The ship UNCLAMPS, turns deftly around (shielding FORCEFIELD glimpsed as hi-speed dust HITS it), zooms AWAY.
Main engine TURNS ON. After a short RUN, it JUMPS/BLINKS into nothingness.
CAPTAIN, in a SHIELDED light SPACESUIT, Blaster holster on his waist, floats thru the AIRLOCK, tethered to a thin cable. Opposite, the COURIER (early-20s) does the same.
They APPROACH, clasp hands, stabilize. A small (silvery) SPHERE changes owner, CAPTAIN pockets it.
Via HELMET CONTACT:
This is nothing. Keep your eyes open, you'll see many more things. Fascinating things.
(pats BLASTER)
Dangerous things. Even profitable things...
Well... once the initial novelty and excitement of Jumping around wear off, all those glimpses of... eternity... weigh more. I may be onto something else.
No risk, no gain! If your business is good, the Guild will help with credit, ship, lawyers, mentors, partners...
A trifle, compared with the benefits, or the taxes.
(gestures)
And a crew beats flying solo, you'll one day find.
Hah! Many Traders hire bulk haulers. This is just my personal ride, with only enough room for small things that never go out of fashion.
Those, and more. Don't underestimate the goodwill that something simple like clean drinking water can earn at a ravaged planet.
They PART, return to their ships.
Soon after, the COURIERSHIP JUMPS/BLINKS away.
A small GEAR turns a bit. THEN a bigger one.
A faint "TICK" sounds.
CAPTAIN (minus the spacesuit's TOP half, his T-shirt reads:
Money
is the
Plan!) ACTIVATES the SPHERE, which PROJECTS a scrolling (unreadable) HOLOTEXT above itself.
From the upper DECK (in a washed-out T-shirt reading
Cooler
than
magic plus knee-length shorts):
The sphere DISABLES ITSELF with a FLASH + a puff of SMOKE. He throws it into a BIN, hard.
Climbing a short LADDER:
A fellow Trader needs my help. I... cannot refuse. We are close enough, and he hasn't got a lot of time left.
But then, soon as you land...
(beat)
No sane Trader would ever go there! You'll end just another name at the feet of Seldon's statue!
Face to face:
Only important people who did important things for the Foundation get their names in that place of honor. I'll leave you at the nearest Guild outpost, maybe Glyptal. Should I fail to come back, you'll be...
HOLDING her shoulders:
...in charge of my affairs. With my contacts and my line of credit, you'll have no trouble...
(emotional)
Maybe... I'll go stand in your stead, come Dealmaking Day at Arys, while your corpse rots in a hole at Askone. That'd teach you!
You'll be a terrific Trader. I was... selfish to keep you around for so long. Please forgive me.
She HUGS him, tight.
PULL BACK. OUTSIDE.
CAPTION:
Outskirts of the
ASKONE AUTHORITY
FADE IN:
(formerly Imperial
District of Askone)
FADE IN:
POPULATION: 290 MILLION
4 DAYS LATER
The TRADESHIP JUMPS in.
A small DEEP SPACE BUOY (simple yet new) activates!
Finally:
A NEWSCAST (with a background of KIDS at play) captioned:
DIPLOMATIC CONFLICT DEEPENS.
Tribunal ready to sentence.
Rooster? Pilgrim here. Looks bad. Waiting for...
Several INSTRUMENTS light up, a DATASCREEN shows scrolling ship SCHEMATICS, "Imperial Registry" IDs, stats...
... the Cavalry.
He quickly KEYS a message. An Askonian SHIP fills the forward VIEWPORTS.
DATASCREEN fills with NUMBERS, followed by:
New flight path.
Acknowledge procedure.
Their cards, their game.
He ACTIVATES the piloting CONSOLE.
Little by little, the TRADESHIP leaves 'em behind.
DREAM/FLASHBACK:
A big BLACKBOARD with chalk drawings of numbers, FRACTIONS, percentages, a CIRCLE, its radius, some angles, the speed of light... On its corner a phrase:
25 million
inhabited
worlds!
8-10 rows of empty chairs. A wooden DESK.
Before it, modestly clothed:
Seated, in a good reddish ROBE:
(old, formal)
The Galactic Spirit tells everyone what's good and what's bad. Some listen, but others, sadly, don't.
(excited)
Not toys! You spoke of machines that show where an illness hides, or what's wrong with a crop, or...
Steepled hands:
SHAKING head:
(intense)
Yet you learnt to read. And numbers. Knowledge could be yours, with effort and an open mind...
(frowns)
You say the same when explaining the wonderful things the Spirit and the Holy Men do for all of us...
Fetching a FAT BOOK from a DRAWER:
You're bright. You question what others take for granted. You may have a choice not many get. Ever seen this one?
(OFFERS it)
Practical Science
Addressing human needs
and problems.
(not for sale)
Guild Ed.
TAKING it:
Hurrying to LEAVE:
On a VIEWSCREEN:
Himself talking, rewinding fast, REJUVENATING, with a footer:
Captain's Log + a swiftly RECEDING DATE.
Soon, a very young/rookie CAPTAIN is replaced by a not-so-aged PRIEST.
CAPTAIN tweaks the LOG's speed, SEARCHING back & forth.
CAPTION:
ASKONE CENTRAL
FADE IN:
(formerly Askone
District Capital)
8 HOURS LATER
The TRADESHIP approaches, alone.
The PATROLSHIPS point their WEAPONS, surround it.
Out walks CAPTAIN, in a short (orange + gray + red) TUNIC (not unlike a monk's upper ROBE), trousers + boots, no BLASTER nor SHIELD on his wide (black) BELT, only a (pearly, ornate) BOOK in his hands.
A group of (lightly armored) GUARDS (with flechette GUNS) + a CUSTOMS OFFICER (with ceremonial SWORD) await him.
Your kind is not welcome here!
Unfazed, showing the:
BOOK
of
Spirit
The GUARDS advance.
Stopping before a BARRED door:
Gorov the impious, company for you!
Entering, RAISING his BOOK:
GOROV is dumbfounded.
Offering the BOOK at lower-than-waist height:
(stern)
Kneel before the Galactic Spirit that sends me in this wretched place to guide you to its bosom!
GOROV hesitates, eyes the JAILOR in the corridor.
GOROV obeys. JAILOR closes the door with a CLANG.
Taking Captain's hand with both his:
(gentle)
Sorry for the act, Eskel, had to play it up a bit to get thru. You know how it is with people worried more about intangible souls and friends than...
Re: the fat golden RING on his finger:
Latest model. Nobody can spy on us, even if they had mics within the room. Now sit and tell me what this blasted business is all about.
Complying:
The Foundation cannot build the Second Empire alone. Askonians are little better than barbarians, but not unreasonable. Trade with 'em needs to advance, for their good and ours. Nucleics, not just farm machinery and a few satellites sold by common partners.
Their Patrolships could certainly use some proper Weapons, and I doubt any of 'em can Jump farther than the scrapyard. But you... it's true you became an Agent? Did you learn nothing in your time as my apprentice?
SHAKING head:
I know it's been tried before, for decades, but the rich and powerful here won't budge. I thought I had found a better approach to skirt their extreme Ancestor Worship.
Children!? Toys and games!? Magic pills and light shows!? In a closed society that's barely retained enough understanding of basic Chemistry to accept electronic gadgets!?
Until their parents found out, and the authorities. You're lucky their bureaucracy is so convoluted and slow.
News vultures blew everything out of all proportion. Death by dismemberment is an excessive punishment!
As was only to be expected. Your daring shook Askone to the core. Even our other Trading partners are worried about this unholy mess.
I know. It's why we still have a chance. But the reputational damage could very well extend beyond the loss of your invaluable life.
Please don't tell me this could become a Seldon Crisis, with the Foundation's survival at stake. Every election year I've heard that, since I can remember!
Hope not, but we need to think our next move. Tell me all there's to know about everything and everyone in this place.
GOROV talks. The SKY, seen from the window, darkens as HOURS PASS.
A middle-aged COURTIER (w/ STAFF), thin-faced, bearded, stands in a corner.
The TRADESHIP flies IN, (carefully) lands. MAIN CARGO door/ramp opens. CAPTAIN descends it.
ZOOM OUT.
The "square" is actually the ROOF of the tallest TOWER in a tall 'modern' CASTLE-outpost by the hills. Deep WOODS, birds, a small river or 2, clusters of modest HOUSES. Down-valley, a city GLIMPSED on a distant SEACOAST.
CAPTION:
PHERL FAMILY SEAT
Northern Continent
FADE IN:
(formerly Imperial
Guard Tower)
3 DAYS LATER
Keeping the distance:
(worried)
Wish you didn't come with that infernal vehicle: it could get us both arrested, or worse. Popular tolerance of foreigners runs thin, even of Tenders of the Soul.
APPROACHING:
Yes, better for the future, perhaps, but the other Councillors would have none of it. Askonians take very seriously anything imperiling their souls' health, or their children's...
I may have an idea about that, but first the gold. You wanted assurances on provenance and quantity?
LEADING along the CARGO ramp:
Looking around before ENTERING:
Offering 'em:
Hesitating:
PHERL can't help taking the gold, EXAMINES it with connoisseur's RELISH.
Taking some IRON items from the nearby TABLE:
He deftly puts the items into the machine's COMPARTMENT, closes its DOOR, ACTIVATES it. It HUMS (softly) as its LIGHTS ripple.
(firm)
You're going to get all the gold you can wish. That was the Deal. How it comes to be is nobody's concern.
The machine PINGS. Humming STOPS. Lights turn off.
Carefully/showily TAKING the GOLDEN items from the (barely SMOKING) compartment:
You'll keep the Transmuter. Make all the gold you need to buy the Mastership, despite your Family being the youngest of the traditional ruling class.
Putting the items on PHERL's hand:
Contemplating the RICHES:
Askone's modernization and prosperity guaranteed. The Foundation as your ally. Everybody wins!
Gesturing:
(frowns)
Yes, but... the Ancestors would know! And then...
(letting the gold FALL from his hands)
No deal! I'm tainted! My soul is forfeit! What have you done to me!?
The gold items CLATTER on the floor.
The ramp CLOSES, the ship LURCHES upwards!
Remote CONTROL in hand:
RAISING his STAFF:
PHERL whimpers, surprised/terrified. His staff FALLS from his limp hands.
Finally:
CAPTION:
Lost city of
PHERLTOWN
FADE IN:
(formerly no-man's land)
The TRADESHIP lands at the town's center SQUARE, its protective FORCEFIELD invisibly RIPPLING, SPARKLING.
The CARGO ramp opens.
ENGINEERING-DATAPAD-SCANNER in belt holster, BLASTER in hand, 'helping' a morose PHERL down:
'Tapping' his personal FORCEFIELD with the gun (it becomes briefly visible as it REACTS), then Pherl's:
PHERL, strangely MOVED, falls on his knees, almost reverentially grabs DIRT with his hands (it SPARKLES against his Shield). Then, as if jolted, THROWS it away!
This is where the curse on Nucleic technology comes from, huh? Everything else is fine, but not the Empire's pride and might!
Rising:
Our blessed Ancestors ousted the last Imperials at great cost. But they left us this... unspeakable... blight.
ENCOURAGING Pherl towards the RIVERBANK:
Took me a while to realize why your Law books were so... sparse about such a strict ban. History treatises weren't help, either.
He gives a small glass FLASK to Pherl, motions for it to be filled with clear river WATER.
He THROWS the flask to the ground (it SHATTERS), looks everywhere at once.
I sent them all to our Symbolic Analysts, to distill the verbiage into neat symbols and graphs for flawless comprehension, to no avail.
FILLING another flask with pure river water:
But they requested additional cultural sources: folk tales, legends, songs, bedtime stories... That was last night.
Blaster not quite aimed, he's about to DRINK the water.
PHERL surges, SLAPS the flask out of his hands! (it flies into the river)
(smiles)
It's been a long sleepless night. Kid tales are so gruesome, full of monsters and witches!
Using yet another FLASK to fetch more river water:
Of course. Demon-slayers, such as your great-grandfather, the boy who saved the souls of an entire city. This one, right?
He found a dragonhusk, built a boat of it, persuaded friends and family to flee downriver with him, away from the horrors.
While the faith-less who remained were devoured from the inside, or turned into Ghouls howling in the woods... 2 decades later, the town was deserted, forgotten.
MOTIONING back to the ship:
(antsy)
Devil-breath cannot be seen or touched, but it kills! The dark magic of the wicked Imperials contaminates and condemns the soul!
GRABBING Pherl:
No! Ignorance kills! You've forgotten what made humankind giants capable of building a Galactic Empire!
A hand on Captain's BLASTER:
Self-sacrifice now would be the merciful thing for both of us, Master Trader, before evil takes root in our souls and rots us whole. You've seen our Medical records: it's no fairytale!
DISENGAGING:
Your virtuous Ancestors weren't dumb. I give 'em that. Their superstitions kept people away from most danger areas, saved millions of lives. But children grow. The reign of fear must end.
SWEEPING the engineering PAD over the flask:
The 'real' image GLOWS malignantly GREEN with 1000s of scintillating PARTICLES. To one side, (superimposed) STATS scroll by.
Huh. Nasty! Deep radiation everywhere! Must be in the air too.
(shows it to Pherl)
Watch your enemy! This is what gets inside people and makes 'em ill!
PHERL recoils, but cannot avert his eyes.
CAPTAIN opens a side access PANEL on the ship, empties the flask into an uncapped TUBE, drops it in a 'Recycling' CHUTE, places another UNDER a spigot, flicks a SWITCH. A RED light turns ON.
The spigot FILLS the flask with water. The red light turns BLUE.
The Galactic Spirit? Good for Philosophers and the masses. My beliefs are: understanding my customers and offering mutually beneficial Deals.
LOOKING thru the PAD again, the image is fully NORMAL. No trace of glow.
He offers the water to PHERL, who shakes his head.
Affectionately PATTING the purifier:
You bet! Finest Terminus engineering. No Trader leaves home without one! We sell 'em at very reasonable prices too.
(firm)
Nucleic-based, of course. As are our Shields and Blasters. Not that our many clients mind.
We fight common pollution with the wisdom our forebears accumulated over 1000s of years. Advanced Medicine, Jumpships, they are your inheritance too, if you trust us!
(tired)
You trust your machines too much. Your technological wizardry is a delusion, foolishly imperiling your souls for worldly concerns....
I was born on a planet every bit as underdeveloped and superstitious as yours. Foundation technology changed all that, about 30 years ago. Place is barely recognizable now. People are... well...
OFFERING his HAND:
We can cleanse every river, valley and mountain on this planet. Afflicted people too. End the blight once and for all, in a couple decades.
PHERL stares at his own (dirty) hand, looks AROUND, slowly, before facing:
You'll be the hero of this and the future generations. End the needless suffering. End the shame. That's worth more than gold!
A big GEAR turns a bit. THEN several smaller ones.
A "TOCK" sounds.
CAPTION:
PHERLTOWN development area.
5 DAYS LATER
Re: 3D overview MAP of the MOUNTAINS (+ other areas of the planet), with (a MIST of) radiation LEVELS and (guessed) underground mineral VEINS.
Most oddities arise near mountain areas, which the natives normally avoid, despite being the richest in minerals and other resources. Concentrations of natural Nucleics are pretty low overall, but in some places and rivers there's just enough to cause dangerous radiation levels.
Plus lots of tons of heavy metal ores to glean. Not good enough for the Empire, but plenty for us.
VIEWSCREENS:
Askonian TV: A big city SQUARE, crowded. DIGNITARIES perform some elaborate CEREMONY.
Too much for your current License. The Agency could sponsor your upgrades to Master, 1st Class. With our gratitude.
Cool! Thanks! But... that's only the start. I'll need a really hefty credit line, partners...
And a lot of people for Land Rehabilitation too. It's gonna be one hell of a long-term investment.
TV images: the GRAND MASTER in full regalia, reviews DOCUMENTS with Foundation REPRESENTATIVES.
In time, Askone will become a full member of the Convention, and all will be better for it. You could stay, making damn sure everyone who comes understands the locals and respects their culture.
I was looking forward to leaving the place forever. If your iron-to-gold gimmick had failed, or Pherl had lacked vision...
Transmuters are 1 of the oldest tricks in the Trader's book, and the best I could rig under the circumstances. Alas, they need too much Nucleic energy to work, or the Foundation could get everything from thin air, instead of working so hard for each Trade.
Re: TV images:
As for Pherl, turns out he values other things beyond gold. Ending their Dark Ages has made him pretty popular. See? That's the old bird himself signing your Pardon, right where your public execution would have taken place. He even wants to name a children's Hospital after you.
You should have seen him arguing our case before the Grand Council, and on TV afterwards: Mass psychology in action. Seldon would be so proud!
A VIEWSCREEN switches to:
Incoming message.
PERSONAL
Urgent!
So you are alive, after 2 weeks of bounced messages!?
(weary)
Of course, life and death, as always, right? Luckily I made it to the Dealmaking Arena!
You bet! Everybody who matters attended. I was invited to 100s of... parties. I signed all the Contracts on your behalf.
Peeking closer:
(purring?)
Nope. Just her personal Transport with her pet musicians. She wants me for her Diplomatic Corps, says they need negotiators with my skills.
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