words with his lips, "Space raid!"
And Ebling Mis held his wrist watch to his ears and shouted suddenly, "Stopped, by the "Ga-LAX-y, is there a watch in the room that is going?" His voice was a roar.
Twenty wrists went to twenty ears. And in far less than twenty seconds, it was quite certain that none were.
"Then," said Mis, with a grim and horrible finality, "something has stopped all nuclear power in the Time Vault - and the Mule is attacking."
Indbur's wail rose high above the noise, "Take your seats! The Mule is fifty parsecs distant."
"He was," shouted back Mis, "a week ago. Right now, Terminus is being bombarded."
Bayta felt a deep depression settle softly upon her. She felt its folds tighten close and thick, until her breath forced its way only with pain past her tightened throat.
The outer noise of a gathering crowd was evident. The doors were thrown open and a harried figure entered, and spoke rapidly to Indbur, who had rushed to him.
"Excellence," he whispered, "not a vehicle is running in the city, not a communication line to the outside is open.
The Tenth Fleet is reported defeated and the Mule's ships are outside the atmosphere. The general staff-"
Indbur crumpled, and was a collapsed figure of impotence upon the floor. In all that hall, not a voice was raised now. Even the growing crowd without was fearful, but silent, and the horror of cold panic hovered dangerously.
Indbur was raised. Wine was held to his lips. His lips moved before his eyes opened, and the word they formed was, "Surrender!"
Bayta found herself near to crying - not for sorrow or humiliation, but simply and plainly out of a vast frightened despair. Ebling Mis plucked at her sleeve. "Come, young lady-"
She was pulled out of her chair, bodily.
"We're leaving," he said, "and take your musician with you." The plump scientist's lips were trembling and colorless.
"Magnifico," said Bayta, faintly. The clown shrank in horror. His eyes were glassy.
"The Mule," he shrieked. "The Mule is coming for me."
He thrashed wildly at her touch. Toran leaned over and brought his fist up sharply. Magnifico slumped into unconsciousness and Toran carried him out potato-sack fashion.
The next day, the ugly, battle-black ships of the Mule poured down upon the landing fields of the planet Terminus. The attacking general sped down the empty main street of Terminus City in a foreign-made ground car that ran where a whole city of atomic cars still stood useless.
The proclamation of occupation was made twenty-four hours to the minute after Seldon had appeared before the former mighty of the Foundation.
Of all the Foundation planets, only the Independent Traders still stood, and against them the power of the Mule - conqueror of the Foundation - now turned itself.
Part II The Mule 19. Start Of The Search
The lonely planet, Haven - only planet of an only sun of a Galactic Sector that trailed raggedly off into intergalactic vacuum - was under siege.
In a strictly military sense, it was certainly under siege, since no area of space on the Galactic side further than twenty parsecs distance was outside range of the Mule's advance bases. In the four months since the shattering fall of the Foundation, Haven's communications had fallen apart like a spiderweb under the razor's edge. The ships of Haven converged inwards upon the home world, and only Haven itself was now a fighting base.
And in other respects, the siege was even closer; for the shrouds of helplessness and doom had already invaded
Bayta plodded her way down the pink-waved aisle past the rows of milky plastic-topped tables and found her seat by blind reckoning. She eased on to the high, armless chair, answered half-heard greetings mechanically, rubbed a wearily-itching eye with the back of a weary hand, and reached for her menu.
She had time to register a violent mental reaction of distaste to the pronounced presence of various cultured-fungus dishes, which were considered high delicacies at Haven, and which her Foundation taste found highly inedible - and then she was aware of the sobbing near her and looked up.
Until then, her notice of Juddee, the plain, snub-nosed, indifferent blonde at the dining unit diagonally across had been the superficial one of the nonacquaintance. And now Juddee was crying, biting woefully at a moist handkerchief, and choking back sobs until her complexion was blotched with turgid red. Her shapeless radiation-proof costume was thrown back upon her shoulders, and her transparent face shield had tumbled forward into her dessert, and there remained.
Bayta joined the three