Of Men and Mule

[jegs2]

Have always enjoyed stories by Isaac Asimov, and read all his Foundation stories years ago. Recently found time to re-read them again, and that generated a cross-over story idea. Am publishing this on Fanfiction.com here, if you want to follow it without comments. Hope you enjoy the story.

Author's disclaimer: I do not own or control any element of Star Wars by George Lucas, nor that of Foundation or Second Foundation by the late Isaac Asimov. This story is not for sale, but is for free distribution for the enjoyment of readers.

Chapter 1

"There has to be more," said the man silently to himself. He gazed out before him, but the room was empty. It usually was. He was frustrated. It had all been easy – too easy. Memories of his childhood flooded back to him, wherein he recalled being an object of scorn, ridicule and pity. That of course was before he had discovered a latent talent.

He had nearly not achieved his goal – all because of a young woman who had liked him – him! It was weakness. It was an utterly foolish weakness, and the man swore it would never be repeated. He recalled the moment at which all of his plans were nearly smashed. In his mind, he could recall it clearly. An older man was slumped over book films, barely able to remain coherent, but the knowledge was there. The old man retained life only in his eyes, and for that reason he remained coherent, though his body had been sapped of all strength and will otherwise.

On that day, a woman stood in that room with him too, along with a young man. She had nearly ruined it all, but just as she drew her blaster he saw it clearly. He leaped. But his leap was different from that others might have made. It was in his mind. He clamped on to the woman's emotional will and stopped her. She froze before she could make contact and activate the blaster. It had been pointed at the old man. So close!

Eighteen months after that event, the man finished his task with ruthless efficiency, and the galaxy was his. His official title was First Citizen, but most of the galaxy knew him by the name with which he had branded himself: The Mule.

The Mule allowed such memories to course freely through his mind, for they served to remind him how weakness could quickly bring about disaster. He punished himself with such memories. The large room in which he now sat was empty but for himself, and he knew that no guards were outside his door. Indeed, no guards were on his palace grounds at all. He had no need for them.

He was a mutant. His physical appearance was unimpressive, and indeed he may have seemed laughable to most with whom he had not come into mental contact. His limbs were long and thin, his body was small and frail, he had a beak of a nose, and he had large, soft brown eyes. Few knew what he actually looked like, and that too was not accidental. Rumors circulated about the appearance of the Mule, but the most prevalent was the one he had invented years before, that of a tremendously-powerful man of staggering physique and proportion who's eyes were never visible – and to look upon them meant madness or even death.

Persons who came into contact with the Mule were converted. The Mule had early discovered an ability to not only read the emotions of persons but also to adjust them, permanently. Even his most bitter enemies could be and were transformed into his most loyal and dedicated servants, without but of the slightest mental effort by the Mule. To him, human minds were a series of dials and switches that he could read, reach into and adjusted at will. Nobody could hide their emotions from the Mule. He could read even the most subtle changes in emotion like a book. He had even the ability to read and project emotions over a wide area, including the projection of a pervasive and irresistible sense of fear and dread. Such a dread fell over anyone who approached his palace unbidden.

Once again, the Mule recalled the day he had stopped that woman. Her name was Bayta Darell. She and her husband, Toran, had been fleeing from the Mule and his forces, after the fall of Terminus, home planet of the Foundation. They had brought with them an older man named Ebling Mis. They had fled to the former capital of the old Galactic Empire, the the former planet-city of Trantor. They had with them a clown known as Magnifico, who had claimed to have served the Mule and then escaped from him. What none of the others knew was that Magnifico was indeed the Mule himself.

The Mule had used his extraordinary mutant power to induce Ebling Mis into expending all of his mental energies into researching the location of the secretive Second Foundation. Indeed, the Mule's manipulation allowed the older man to drain all of his physical energy in the process, all but killing the old man. He had been careful to manipulate everyone in that small group of people into believing he was only a harmless clown – all save one.

Bayta Darell had shown affection for him – real affection. The Mule was not accustomed to that, since he had known only revulsion, disgust, amusement, and pity from others. Because of that, he had decided earlier not to convert her. Her true emotions had become too precious to him, and so he left them unmodified. That decision had nearly cost the Mule everything.

After the Mule had clamped down on Bayta Darell and prevented her from killing Ebling Mis, he took complete control of the situation with his mind. All emotions of the room's occupants were under his command. The old man recovered from the shock that he had nearly been killed by his friend, and the woman's husband was still reeling from the same. The old man, still retaining a look of surprise, uttered, "It's here! It has been here all the time – right here on Trantor."

Later that day, the Mule had taken swift and decisive action. The members of the Second Foundation were powerful, and they had the ability to make mental adjustments of their own, though not on the scale of which the Mule himself was capable. They were too dangerous for the Mule to attempt to convert. He ordered the ancient capital of the former Galactic Empire razed from orbit – nothing survived. For good measure, he had ordered troops in radiation suits to scour the surface of the planet with instruments of detection, ensuring no one had burrowed underground.

The woman, Bayta, became his. It was an easy thing to adjust the emotions of her and her husband, so that Toran did not care that she left him, and she fell completely in love with the Mule. He had desired to retain a tiny portion of the true affection Bayta had felt for him, but it was simpler to convert her altogether.

To his disgust, the Mule had discovered that he was infertile. Great teams of former Foundation scientists worked with unlimited funds to find a solution, and one had been found. An heir with at least some of the Mule's abilities was absolutely essential, if his empire were to last beyond his own life span, which was also projected to be short. Scientists had found it more difficult to find a solution to his limited lifespan, but they worked on it still.

Now, the Mule sat upon his throne, First Citizen of the new Galactic Empire. The forces of the both the first and second Foundations were crushed, and those who had opposed him were now his most loyal and ardent supporters – or dead. To be sure, not all the members of the Second Foundation were eliminated, for the Mule was not foolish enough to believe they had all been on Trantor during its surface bombardment. The ones who remained concerned him, but they were a minimal threat. Even so, his agents hunted them always.

Centuries before, a man named Hari Seldon had invented a science called Psychohistory. That science allowed future events to be predicted through mathematics, at least on a grand scale. Psychohistory was useless at predicting individual actions or even those of groups of relatively small scale. Seldon had predicted the fall of the first Galactic Empire that had lasted for many thousands of years. His plan called for the setting up of two foundations. One would be a physical foundation that would establish itself on the far side of the galaxy, and it would focus on physical science and technology, growing in strength as the old Galactic Empire continued to decay. That was the First Foundation, known to the galaxy as simply The Foundation.

The Second Foundation had been set up in secret, its existence unrevealed even to those of the First Foundation. It was composed of psychologists with significant mental powers. These were not ordinary psychologists, but they were men and women capable of mental telepathy and limited mind control. Their task had been to ensure the First Foundation remained on track to become the second Galactic Empire. They studied and modified Seldon's original plan, and they used their mental powers of persuasion within the First Foundation to that end. Hari Seldon's plan had called for that to take a thousand years.

The Mule smiled. Seldon's ghost should be thankful. The Mule had accomplished in a mere few centuries what would have taken the Foundation and the secretive Second Foundation a thousand years. The thirty thousand years of darkness and chaos that Hari Seldon had originally feared would follow the fall of the first Galactic Empire had lasted a mere few centuries.

The Mule arose from his seat and walked to the great windows in his throne room. The night sky shown with stars all around, and all of them owed allegiance to the deformed man gazing upon them. Still, it was not enough. Bitter memories of his younger years churned within him, and he transformed them into desire – a desire for conquest and complete domination. All would adore him, for they would have no choice.

Thanks to the scientists from the former Foundation, newer, more advanced ships had been developed, and computer technology had achieved quantum leaps. Multitudes of those newer ships had been dispatched to all corners of the galaxy, even to the unstable core with its collection of black holes. General Han Pritcher, once another bitter enemy of the Mule and servant of the Foundation, was due within the hour. His scouts had discovered something of keen interest in the vicinity of the mass of black holes. Ships of the old Galactic Empire had not ventured there, since they did not possess the technology to do so safely. That was no longer a concern for the Mule.

-----

"I don't see how that is possible," said the officer in a matter of fact voice. He stood behind the man engaging him, whose face had previously been buried in a terminal. The station was embedded within the rock face of Kessel. The young man before the officer was not an idiot; the officer was certain of that. His men comprised small enough a crew that the officer had found sufficient time to study the records of each, at least in some detail. The size of the station also called for the billet of an Imperial captain, which was the rank attached upon the tunic of the officer.

"I understand, sir, but nevertheless the readings are correct," replied the man at the terminal. Unlike the captain, the man wore no rank, but he was a non-commissioned officer with years of training and experience behind him. Like the captain, he too had been dubious of the initial readings, but then he had personally checked the terminals and run diagnostics of the instruments. The relays were functioning normally, and the readings were consistent. Near the mass of black holes closest to Kessel, sensors had obviously detected a small ship, but only for a short while. Then it had vanished, as though it had never been there in the first place.

"How could a ship, especially one so small, jump into hyperspace without our detecting it?" demanded the captain.

"I don't think it entered hyperspace, sir."

"Then where did it go?"

"I don't know, sir."

"Did it take readings prior to … disappearing?"

"If it did, then we did not detect any scans from it, sir."

"Perhaps it is some form of CIS technology we were unaware of."

"It did not come close to matching anything I've seen of the CIS, sir."

"Well, I cannot report this as it stands. We need something more!"

"Sir, we have the physical dimensions of the object and some power signature readings."

"But we don't know where it went!"

The officer sighed and pondered what he would put in his report. As it was, the report would be full of holes, and his higher headquarters would endlessly badger him with questions, perhaps even ordering him to report in person. The captain enjoyed the solitude of his assignment. He had been an officer in the old Republic, before Palpatine announced the formation of the Empire four years ago. He had been involved in brutal campaigns and terrific space battles, and he now looked forward to retirement. He had no further military or political aspirations, and thus he had remained at his current rank for many years more than others of his rank.

What was that object that had appeared and disappeared so suddenly? He had fervently hoped that instrument or computer malfunctions would reveal the report to be inaccurate, but that hope was now dashed. His men were good at what they did, and so the readings were accurate. But no hyperspace readings were odd, and a ship so small should not have had an energy signature like that, nor did ships of that size possess a cloaking device. He shook his head and made his way toward his small office. This was going to be a long day.

-----

"Is there any further hope of restoring it?"

"Yes, but it is nearly mathematically impossible outside of the most extreme measures."

"You had something else to say."

"The agents of the Mule have discovered something unexpected."

"Does the Mule suspect anything?"

"Unlikely, but it is not impossible."

"Indeed. To underestimate the Mule proved disastrous for us, and for the galaxy."

The room was plain and dark. One weak source of light bathed faces of the two men speaking, flickering in the darkness. A three-dimensional projection of the Prime Radiant shone between the men as they spoke, though they did not exactly speak. Much of their conversation was in the form of slight facial changes, shifts in thought patterns, and other cues to which they were sensitive. Their conversations were short, so that a great deal could be said in a very small amount of time. Often, the men did not speak at all, but rather they projected their thoughts and emotions, which were readily understood by each other. These were men of what was left of the Second Foundation.

Hari Seldon and his team had designed the Prime Radiant centuries before, and it was the tool the Second Foundation had used to chart the course of the First Foundation toward establishing the second Galactic Empire. That was supposed to have taken a thousand years, assuming no major deviations to the plan. But then nobody had accounted for the Mule.

Members of the Second Foundation still existed, but they were scant and scattered. They were careful not to remain in one place for too long, but rather they lived as galactic nomads and traders. Indeed, anyone who met them thought they were traders and treated them accordingly. The Mule's ruthless attack on Trantor had been devastating, and the survivors numbered now barely more than a hundred men and women.

Still, Hari Seldon's plan existed, and the survivors of the Second Foundation had not given up all hope, yet. They still had the Prime Radiant, and to their knowledge the Mule did not. The Prime Radiant contained an enormous amount of information. It had to, for it contained a projection of history out to a thousand years, including multiple variations. The projection was unattractive to the men in the room, for it now indicated that the plan was almost unsalvageable. The Mule sat upon his throne on the planet of Kalgan, his incredible mutant powers bending an entire galaxy to his will. The planet Terminus, once home to the powerful First Foundation now lie under his sway, and their brilliant scientists and workers in technology were his in totality.

"What have they found?" asked the First Speaker. His title denoted him as the senior member of the Second Foundation, and it allowed him little more than what its name denoted. He was always allowed to speak first.

"We do not yet know, but our agent informed us of great alarm and surprise among scouts returning from the core."

"Indeed," the First Speaker raised an eyebrow. By tradition, the First Speaker was an older man, at least in his mid-forties. The destruction of Trantor's surface had forced an end to that tradition, as older men no longer existed within the Second Foundation. First Speaker Prattok was only thirty-two. Most of the other survivors were considerably younger, but they showed maturity for their age. Their survival depended upon it.

Both men continued in conversation, though few actual words were exchanged. As always they diligently studied the numbers projecting forth from the Prime Radiant, searching for means to return the current timeline to Seldon's plan. Optimism for a return had been dim for a long time now, but perhaps there was at last some shred of hope.

[Simon_Jester]

...I'd like to make some suggestions, because I think it could use some work.

For one thing, you really don't need to italicize every proper noun in the story the first time you use it. That's not a normal writing style. It makes no sense to say: "He had been an officer in the old Republic, before Palpatine announced the formation of the Empire four years ago.

There are a few grammatical errors here and there: the Mule ordering Trantor "raised" instead of "razed;" once you wrote "Harry Seldon..." but it's not to the level of being painful- just something that merits a closer proofreading.

Those are relatively small, simple issues, but there are thre major problems I see:

-You've got a LOT of exposition. The Foundation novels are part of science fiction's bedrock; it is very easy to look up all this stuff, so you don't need to explain it so much. For example:

Centuries before, a man named Hari Seldon had invented a science called Psychohistory. That science allowed future events to be predicted through mathematics, at least on a grand scale. Psychohistory was useless at predicting individual actions or even those of groups of relatively small scale. Seldon had predicted the fall of the first Galactic Empire that had lasted for many thousands of years. His plan called for the setting up of two foundations. One would be a physical foundation that would establish itself on the far side of the galaxy, and it would focus on physical science and technology, growing in strength as the old Galactic Empire continued to decay. That was the First Foundation, known to the galaxy as simply The Foundation.

You could remove this entire paragraph without losing anything as far as I'm concerned. Of course, I've already read the books... but I could look all this stuff up by googling "asimov foundation" and checking out the Wikipedia article, too.

The problem with this exposition is that when you combine it with the vitally necessary exposition to explain how this timeline diverges from the canon (with the Mule stopping Bayta from killing Ebling Mis, and defeating the Second Foundation)... you've got way too much exposition and precious little actual novelty.

-You're introducing actual technological progress to the Mule's empire in the form of more advanced computers and such:

Thanks to the scientists from the former Foundation, newer, more advanced ships had been developed, and computer technology had achieved quantum leaps. Multitudes of those newer ships had been dispatched to all corners of the galaxy, even to the unstable core with its collection of black holes. General Han Pritcher, once another bitter enemy of the Mule and servant of the Foundation, was due within the hour. His scouts had discovered something of keen interest in the vicinity of the mass of black holes. Ships of the old Galactic Empire had not ventured there, since they did not possess the technology to do so safely. That was no longer a concern for the Mule.

See, that's kind of ahistorical; at this point the Foundation(s) hadn't advanced the technical level of galactic civilization beyond what the old Empire had managed to achieve. It hurts the flavor- the whole point of the Foundation setting is that the Empire is in decline, that nothing is as good as it used to be, and that (at least for now) the Foundation is dedicated to preserving that technological legacy, not expanding on it.

A similar problem arises when talking about Foundation scientists finding a way around the Mule's sterility and trying to find ways to extend his life span: the whole point of the character is that despite his awesome achievements, he's a flash in the pan compared to the Foundations. This is partly a problem because it invokes an unrealistically progressive technological environment in the Foundation, and partly because it affects the Mule's characterization; more on that below.

-You've tremendously shaken up the character of the Mule: in person he is much harder and colder than I remember him. That's logical given his experiences, but as a result you've lost the characterization Asimov created for him: the ugly little man who desperately wants to be loved, conquering the galaxy with psychic powers and hiding behind a screen of rumor and myth to conceal his own inferiority complex.

Now, that can be a good thing if you take it in the right directions, but you really, really need to make sure you develop the character properly. The Mule needs to have motivations, internal thoughts and attitudes, and so on that make sense.

[jegs2]

Thank you for the review. Your point was taken regarding itallicizing of words needlessly, so I removed them (except for a few). The mis-spellings you found were also corrected.

Thought on your other points, and have chosen to leave the story as is. It is primarily written for fanfiction.net, though I post here too, since I've been part of the board for so long and started my first fanfic here. Conducting a search of Foundation-related stories on fanfiction.net, I found very few. There seem to be about 12 million Harry Potter fanfics and other such tripe, but kids these days seem not to know about Asimov's Foundation stories. That in mind, I included a lot of information in my initial chapter regarding all things Foundation. Most are well-aware of the Star Wars universe (those who would want to read fan fiction anyway), so I felt no need for much explanation there. Moreover, Asimov himself included descriptions in his follow-on books that to readers having read the prior books would have found unnecessary - so this is kind of in the sprit of what he would have done, with my own artistic licence thrown in.

Regarding the Mule, I intended my version of his character to be darker for this cross-over. That will set conditions for what he does later (and has already done). His decision to take Bayta from her husband is such an example. That is obviously out of character for the "standard" Mule. Thanks to my darker version of the Mule, Foundation technology is greatly accelerated and he has found a longer lifespan (though at a cost, but let's not spoil the story). My darker Mule has used similar methods on former Foundation scientists that he did with Ebling Mis at the Great Library on Trantor (the whole accelerate the mind through "hunches" thing). That enabled faster technology development and scientific breakthroughs - at the cost of a few dozen or hundred shortened lifespans for scientists and technology experts. There are other aspects that have yet to come into play, but I won't spoil the story further.

[Sarevok]

You make a splendid writter jegs. For a moment there I thought I was reading something written as an "official" published extention to Asimovs works. Its not the plot but your prose and the way you phrase things and describe the characters that grips me.

[Simon_Jester]

I'm not sure I like it as much as Sarevok, but it's pretty good, yeah.

Regarding the Mule, I intended my version of his character to be darker for this cross-over. That will set conditions for what he does later (and has already done). His decision to take Bayta from her husband is such an example. That is obviously out of character for the "standard" Mule. Thanks to my darker version of the Mule, Foundation technology is greatly accelerated and he has found a longer lifespan (though at a cost, but let's not spoil the story). My darker Mule has used similar methods on former Foundation scientists that he did with Ebling Mis at the Great Library on Trantor (the whole accelerate the mind through "hunches" thing). That enabled faster technology development and scientific breakthroughs - at the cost of a few dozen or hundred shortened lifespans for scientists and technology experts. There are other aspects that have yet to come into play, but I won't spoil the story further.

Ah. That actually makes some sense; you might want to make it explicit that one of the things he's capable of is supercharging the intellect of his minions.

[Samuel]

It hurts the flavor- the whole point of the Foundation setting is that the Empire is in decline, that nothing is as good as it used to be, and that (at least for now) the Foundation is dedicated to preserving that technological legacy, not expanding on it.

The Foundation consistently invented new technology that the Empire at its peak could not match. And that was just 75 years after it broke away!

A similar problem arises when talking about Foundation scientists finding a way around the Mule's sterility and trying to find ways to extend his life span: the whole point of the character is that despite his awesome achievements, he's a flash in the pan compared to the Foundations. This is partly a problem because it invokes an unrealistically progressive technological environment in the Foundation, and partly because it affects the Mule's characterization; more on that below.

I thought the problem was that he would procede to enslave the universe under a superhuman ruling class.

[Simon_Jester]

It hurts the flavor- the whole point of the Foundation setting is that the Empire is in decline, that nothing is as good as it used to be, and that (at least for now) the Foundation is dedicated to preserving that technological legacy, not expanding on it.

The Foundation consistently invented new technology that the Empire at its peak could not match. And that was just 75 years after it broke away!

Hmm.

OK, maybe I'm flat wrong about this, but I could have sworn that the Foundation was mostly just duplicating things the Empire could do at its peak... but that peak was millenia ago, so no extant examples of the technology remain and people are amazed to see them. Could you give an example or two?

A similar problem arises when talking about Foundation scientists finding a way around the Mule's sterility and trying to find ways to extend his life span: the whole point of the character is that despite his awesome achievements, he's a flash in the pan compared to the Foundations. This is partly a problem because it invokes an unrealistically progressive technological environment in the Foundation, and partly because it affects the Mule's characterization; more on that below.

I thought the problem was that he would procede to enslave the universe under a superhuman ruling class.

That's just a story problem. We don't know if the Mule's ability will breed true, though it might very well.

I was more talking about characterization and how this interacts with the themes of Asimov's work, not so much about the practical consequences of what happens in the story.

[Samuel]

OK, maybe I'm flat wrong about this, but I could have sworn that the Foundation was mostly just duplicating things the Empire could do at its peak... but that peak was millenia ago, so no extant examples of the technology remain and people are amazed to see them. Could you give an example or two?

All the technology the traders used. It was explicatly stated that the Emperor did not have anything remotely equivalent and implied that the Empire never had technology that miniturized. Also, the Empire did not start to technologically regress until after Hari Seldon's birth- Danial mentions that the last Emperor had a new gravity based technology used for lifts.

The Big and the Little/the Merchant Princes is the source for this, but I don't have it on me right now. Do you have a copy of The General/Dead Hand? I remember the trader bluffing about how the Foundtion had the secrets of transmutation... and in The Traders our protagonist managed to fix up a portable transmuter out of spare parts in a week.

That's just a story problem. We don't know if the Mule's ability will breed true, though it might very well.

The second foundation has the same capabilities and they presumably breed true.

[Simon_Jester]

I'm sorry; I don't have any of the Foundation novels. I'll take your word for it, though, so I drop the objection you were responding too.

As for the Second Foundation breeding true, the extent to which their abilities are genetic is... questionable, I'd say. Some of it probably is, based on Forward the Foundation, but none of them have powers to the extent of the Mule's and none of them got such power in one generation. The fact that it took them centuries of development of mental science to figure out mind control powers suggests that much of what they can do they learned to do, and therefore there's no question of it breeding true or not.

[jegs2]

Chapter 2

The name was difficult to get used to, and so the officer yet struggled with it. In his opinion (which few seemed to care about), naming conventions should hold, despite whatever political element was in power.

"Imperial Center," he sneered at the air in front of his desk with obvious contempt. The air said nothing back to him. He pressed the space on his terminal that subsequently sent the message to which he had recently been subjected to the nether-regions of cyberspace. What kind of moron had the time to waste on picking apart correspondence based on minutia like this?

He absently reached up to brush the dark-brown hair on his head, what there was of it. Much like the clone troopers with whom he had served during the Clone Wars, Major Merdon Voss kept his hair cropped so closely that he appeared nearly bald from a distance. The morning was young, and he was already in a sour mood. He was tempted to send a scathing reply to the idiot that had scolded him for the use of Coruscant in the place of Imperial Center, but he knew it would accomplish nothing constructive. Sighing softly, Voss opened the next message.

Voss was assigned to a section within Imperial Intelligence that was responsible for monitoring the Outer Rim, thus messages considered to be of intelligence value relating to that area of the Empire were parsed into his section's system. He was by no means the only major within his section, and his assigned area fell within an area covering between the Perlemian trade route and the Baxel Sector. Usually, that meant monitoring the considerable activity within Hutt space. Their slimy paws were on just about everything.

This message concerned activity around Kessel, and specifically the area in vicinity to the Maw Cluster. The report told of a small ship that had been spotted in the area and then disappeared. Well, that was ridiculous; the report was missing a great deal of pertinent data. Voss was poised to reply, demanding more information from the station commander on Kessel, but then he stopped. He had heard of the officer before. Voss pulled up the commander's file.

Captain Jaktorz' record glowed upon the terminal. His image revealed him to be an older officer. Voss scrolled through the man's personal data file. The captain had served over 20 years on active duty, stretching well back into the time of the old Republic. The record revealed multiple combat-related meritorious citations. Voss lifted an eyebrow. The captain had apparently come under suspicion of lending aid and comfort to Jedi after they turned on their own clone troopers. The officer had been under the direct command of a Jedi general at the time, so that was unsurprising. According to the document in question, insufficient evidence had been uncovered to find him guilty, but his career had all but halted. He was apparently now just biding his time, so he could retire into civilian life.

Voss grunted. Were it not for one politically dumb mistake, the captain would certainly outrank him by now, well on his way to becoming a senior officer. Instead, he had been placed on some remote rock in the galaxy's backwater to babysit a small crew of analysts. Even so, his record indicated a capable and knowledgeable officer who took initiative when necessary and executed assigned missions to standard. He activated another portion of his terminal and extended the microphone closer to his face.

"This is Captain Jaktorz, Kessel Monitoring Station."

"Major Voss here, captain, Corusca …. err … Imperial Center."

"Yes sir, what can I do for you?"

"Regarding the report you transmitted recently, your station monitored a small ship in the vicinity of The Maw. I noticed you detected no hyperspace capability, or propulsion means of any kind on the vessel."

"That is correct, sir."

"Have you managed to conduct any further analysis since you transmitted the report?"

"All we have, sir, is a better description of the vessel's dimensions and power signature. I can transmit the updated information now if you would like."

"Please, and captain?"

"Sir."

"I would like your own thoughts on this too. We've not seen anything like this before, at least not within that area of space."

"Yes sir. I will include my own subjective analysis with the data."

"Thank you, captain."

"Of course, sir. Will there be anything else?"

"No, that should be sufficient."

Voss terminated the link and activated a different portion his terminal. He entered a complex query fitting the description of the ship in question. The results would not come quickly, for the Imperial databases were huge, and scanning them took a considerable amount of time. Nevertheless, he also knew that a message would detail the results of his query once information was discovered, or not. The Imperial presence in that area was relatively thin, so Voss felt it feasible to notify the local sector fleet just in case any other mystery ships decided to pop into space.

-----

The mansion was a replica. The original had ceased to exist a long time ago. Lighting in the area was plentiful, and it provided the illusion of a sunny day, though no sunlight made its way in. Most of the time, the area was quiet. Today was no different. The figure of a man sat in a chair next to the mansion and stared at a far wall of rock. It was rock cut from the moon of Earth.

Earth hung nearby in space, but it was a radioactive and dead planet, as it had been for centuries. Radioactivity had so increased over time that the last of humanity upon its surface now called another planet their home, and not even microbes survived on its surface. Indeed, most of humanity was not even aware of the existence of Earth.

The figure of a man seated and staring in silent contemplation was no man. He was a robot. But few would be able to discern the difference between him and any other man. Though he looked and often acted human, he lived by a different set of rules than those of humanity. R. Daneel Olivaw was bound by the dictates of the four robotic laws:

• A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.
  
  A robot must obey any orders given to it by human beings, except where such orders would conflict with the First Law.
  
  A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Law.

Those were the original three laws of robotics, but Daneel was now also constrained by what was termed the Zeroth Law, which stated that a robot must not act only in the interest of individual humans, but of all of humanity. Those laws were ever present in his mind, and they limited his interference, though his capabilities were considerable.

Upon the moon habitat with Daneel were many others like him, but none of them as old as he. For twenty thousand years, Daneel had played the role of guardian for humanity. He had even been first minister to the emperor during the first Galactic Empire. He had worked directly with Hari Seldon to help him develop Psychohistory, and subsequent generations of men had worked to advance both the Foundation and Second Foundations down the road to Second Empire.

Then came the Mule. Daneel was caught in a quandary. He could decide to directly assist in the overthrow of the Mule and reestablishment of the Foundations, but could he do so without bringing greater harm upon humanity? For his failings, the Mule had successfully reestablished a galactic empire, albeit outside the bounds of Seldon's Plan. Indeed, even the Mule paid at least lip service to Seldon's Plan, announcing that he himself was the fulfillment of it.

Robots were dispatched throughout the galaxy, and Daneel was always in contact with them. No human being had bothered to come to Earth or its star system in a very long time, since information on its mere existence was sparse. What little information did exist about it was in the form of tales and legends ranging from super beings that destroyed any approaching ships to being the radioactive wasteland it was. Nobody but Daneel and his robots knew of the moon base, and they were its sole inhabitants. The robots worked to eliminate all traces of Earth from archives throughout the galaxy. From this one place, they could be free of direct human interference, working tirelessly to protect humanity from itself.

The Seldon Plan was disastrously off-track, and to him it seemed impossible to set to rights. However, recent reports had been unexpected. While Daneel was certainly forward-looking enough to envision other galaxies with life, he believed mankind to be possibly thousands of years away from developing extragalactic travel. He had ignored the core of his own galaxy though. The Mule had not.

He scanned reports on his hand-held terminal. Through this interface, he could send instructions and monitor progress reports from throughout the galaxy – thisgalaxy. One of his agents was en route to the stabilized wormhole the Mule had located. The ships available to him were not as advanced as those available to the Mule, but they were sufficiently capable vessels. Daneel felt a sadness when he recalled learning of the dozens of scientists and technicians who had their lives cut short under the ministrations of the Mule. He had demonstrated his willingness to repeat the mental tactics that had once cut short the life of Ebling Mis. Worse, the men who were now dead had done so unwittingly but quite willingly under the powerful influence of the Mule. Daneel was relatively certain his people would not be detected, but it was imperative they get through that wormhole.

-----

A man strode steadfastly toward the imposing heights of the palace. The area about the palace was empty of personnel, but then it always was. The man he was summoned to meet had no need of guards. In the back of his mind was a silent memory that loomed, always just out of reach. He had not always been loyal to the Mule. He knew that, but he could not determine why. Disloyalty was now all but inconceivable. The Mule had spoken to him once about it, explaining to him that he had been converted. The term held no negative connotations for him – it seemed necessary, just, and right. A faint memory of severe anger and hate toward the man to whom he now swore fealty was now only a faded nightmare - a sort of grimy reflection upon a dark mirror.

He saw the door ahead that lead to the chambers of the Mule. He knew the Mule was aware of his presence and had been for some time. General Han Pritcher entered the room. The Mule was standing at one of the long windows, gazing outward. Pritcher stopped and waited.

"I read your report."

"Sir," replied Pritcher.

One of the practices the Mule had held consistent was his title of First Citizen, along with the honorific of Sir. He took no more grandiose title for himself, even now that his domain was no less than that of the emperors of the old Galactic Empire. Unlike the emperors of old, the Mule did not cut a dashing figure. His lanky and too-long limbs, short torso and long nose, and soft brown eyes cut a non-threatening appearance.

"My senior military staff gave me their recommendation," said the Mule as he remained gazing out the window. He turned to face Pritcher, "But you already know what it is."

"Yes sir."

"Do you concur with their assessment?"

"It seems reasonable."

"That isn't what I asked."

"No sir, I do not."

"What would you recommend, Pritcher?"

"We need to conduct reconniassance, sir."

"What of detection by those on the other side?"

"I'm counting on it, sir."

The Mule raised his eyebrows, and he probed lightly into his general's mind. Ah yes, that might well work, but then how would the natives of that other galaxy react?

"I see, Pritcher. Fascinating. My advisors also report that the one ship we sent through was most likely detected."

"Yes sir."

"What of readings from them?"

"Minimal. We did detect what was likely a sensor beam of some sort."

"Then they are aware of the wormhole?"

"I don't think they were, sir. The readings we did manage to take indicated the area was awash in a mass of energies, produced by what appeared to be a number of black holes. Frankly, I am surprised we detected anything at all, much less the sensor in question."

"That could prove a challenge for our ships equipped with gravitic drives."

"Yes sir, but most of our newer ships have nuclear engines as well."

"I don't want any ships with gravitic drives going through that wormhole, Pritcher."

"Yes sir."

"Execute what you planned."

"Yes sir."

-----

Martin was in a good mood today. For years he had made a good living as a trader, transporting wares across the galaxy, and over the years he had done well for himself. It mattered little to him what political hack was in charge of the galaxy, so long as he could make good credits. When he was younger, he recalled the Foundation being the dominant government in the galaxy, and it was from them that he garnered the most goods for trade. Success had allowed him to afford better ships over time, and his vessels had state-of-the-art equipment aboard. Not that he could obtain the new gravitic ships, but those were mostly military anyway. In fact, he knew of no non-military ships that used the mysterious gravitic drive.

His ships were armed, but only lightly so, since they were designed to fight off only bandits and pirates. They were roomy enough to carry a great many wares, and they had a decent fuel capacity. Overall, they were more than capable of fulfilling their function, and his crews were well trained and well compensated. Martin walked over to the captain.

"Captain Beck, are we nearly there?"

"Sir, we will arrive in approximately fifteen minutes."

Martin gazed through the forward view ports. They were not windows, but were instead displays, but they were intended to provide the same view that windows would have done. Martin thought of them as windows.

The government of the First Citizen had provided permission for him to be the first civilian fleet to enter this strange new galaxy. Martin rubbed his hands together quickly. He was both nervous and excited. He envisioned a giant new customer base, all clamoring for his wares. Of course, they would have a completely different system for monetary payment, but certainly they would have their own fine wares with which to offer trade, and those would necessarily prove to be exotic and exiting in his own native galaxy. His seven-ship fleet would bring much to the table for trade.

"We've reentered normal space," said the captain.

The view outside now included a considerable fleet of military ships, ranging in size from small craft to giant vessels of war over three kilometers in length. Martin also spotted several fixed installations under construction next to what had to be the wormhole. Were those trading posts?

"Civilian fleet, we are monitoring your approach. Maintain your course for the coordinates provided, and do not attempt to veer off course," announced a cold voice over the communications system. Martin had no intention of doing otherwise.

The fleet of ships maneuvered slowly toward the wormhole, and Martin eyed his captain nervously. From what he had been led to believe, the military had already been on the other side of that thing, so he assumed they had established relations with whoever was there. Even so, he had ordered greetings programmed in Galactic Standard to be transmitted on multiple frequencies as soon as his fleet came in contact with the folks over there.

"Our communication systems are in order?"

"Yes sir."

He gazed into the "windows" as the vortex of the wormhole grew larger. He could almost feel the multiple guns on the military ships tracking him, and he swallowed a lump in his throat. As the ship in the lead of his fleet drew toward the threshold of the vortex, it suddenly vanished.

"Is it safe?" cried Martin, knowing instinctively that the question was moot by now. The captain turned to stare at him with a blank expression. He then felt time seem to slow, and the captain's face appeared to elongate. He was saying something in reply, but it looked to be in slow motion, and he heard nothing. Just as soon as it started, it was over, and Martin found himself gazing at unfamiliar stars.

"… told us it was, sir."

"Come again?"

"I said, the military told us the wormhole was safe, and here we are. I'm reading an unidentified ship ahead, sir."

"Send the message."

"It's already being done, sir."

-----

"Yes sir, we are registering seven of them."

"Armament?"

"Unknown, sir. They appear to be beam weapons of some kind, but I cannot determine their range or yield."

"Can you tell me whether or not they are active?"

"Yes sir. They appear inactive right now. Nor does it appear that the ships have shields, but perhaps they just are powered down right now."

"Understood. Maintain an active firing solution all the same. Have you seen anything like that before?"

"No sir. They look like scaled-down versions of Mon Calamari cruise liners to me, but we have nothing that matches them on the database. They do somewhat fit the report of the one ship that appeared and then vanished in the vicinity a short time ago, though those ships are larger. We are receiving a transmission."

"Put it on speaker."

Aboard the Imperial Star Destroyer Ash, a voice in an unknown language filled the air. Several crewmen looked about in puzzlement. The captain wrinkled his brow.

"They are not speaking Basic, sir," said the deck officer unnecessarily.

"Very observant; bring me the protocol droid."

The deck officer signaled a nearby crewman, who left the bridge. The strange ships continued transmitting gibberish.

"Cut it off," said the captain to the communications officer. The gibberish ceased. He studied the ships through the viewing plates on the bridge. They were an odd assortment of vessels, none of them the same size.

"Sir, we completed a preliminary scan of those ships," said an officer who had just alighted from one of the bridge pits.

"What did you find?"

"They all appear to be using some form of nuclear engine, and the vessels appear to possess shields, though they are at the moment inactive. They are armed, and the weapon systems appear to be comprised of low-yield energy beams. Their own scanning equipment is rudimentary in comparison to our own. Our assessment is that the combined firepower of those ships would pose no threat to this ship."

"Interesting. That doesn't quite fit with what was reported from the first contact in this area. What hyperdrive systems are aboard the ships?"

"Our scans have been unable to determine that, sir."

"I want to learn more about them. Transmit a message that they are to stand down and prepare for boarding. Tractor one of the closer ships into our main hangar."

"Sir, based on the language in which they were transmitting, they may not understand our intent."

"If the ship we select resists capture, neutralize it. Do the same with any others that attempt to either interfere or escape. Prepare a boarding team"

"Yes sir."

-----

"Sir, our ship is being pulled toward that alien ship!" shouted the captain of the lead ship, "We can't break free! Should we power up weapons?"

Martin was aghast and unable to speak. He watched in horror as one of his lead ships moved toward the larger alien ship, though its engines were clearly not active. What was this all about? Were they not receiving his messages of greeting? He didn't know what to do.

"Do not activate your weapons or shields," barked Captain Beck, gently pushing his employer aside.

"But they are pulling us toward them with, uh, I don't know how!"

"Let them. From what I can see, we have no way to resist them, and we are too close to those black holes to make a hyperspace jump. Even if we could, we don't know anything about this galaxy or have any star charts for it."

Captain Beck glanced at his console. He knew the other ship captains were rocked by events, and he himself was just barely maintaining his composure. He watched as one of the contacts indicating one of the trail ships began to turn in order to reenter the wormhole.

"Do not attempt to turn around or go anywhere. Stay in formation!" shouted Captain Beck into his console, "We don't know what that ship will..."

Bright blue bolts flashed from the large alien ship and lanced to the rear of Beck's vessel. They slammed into the ship that was attempting to make for the wormhole. As the blue lightening danced about the ship's hull, its internal systems sputtered and died, and inertia continued to carry it forward in a lopsided drift, away from the other ships.

"Damn it!" shouted Captain Beck, "I said do not break formation! Power down all engines, and keep your weapon systems inactive. Do not make any more moves to provoke them."

Martin's face was pale, and he appeared to be on the verge of going into shock. He was clearly out of his element. Martin had dealt with space pirates before, but these were no mere pirates. Beck signaled to one of his crewmen and motioned toward Martin. The crewman gently led Martin off the bridge. Beck had been a crewman within the Foundation Navy during the conquest of the Mule, so he was somewhat more accustomed to the reality of combat situations. He relied upon that experience now to seize and retain command and control of the small Trader fleet.

Beck watched through the view plates as the lead ship was pulled into a large underbelly hangar on the alien ship. He checked his console, and he saw that the message of greeting was still being broadcast in a continuous loop. He decided to mute the shrill transmissions from the hapless ship. Hearing those over loudspeaker would do his crew no good.

[jegs2]

Chapter 3

R. Robert Flynn was ancient, though he was not so old as the one who directed them all from the moon base in the legendary home system containing planet few knew of as Earth. For more than ten thousand years, Robert had roamed the galaxy, executing missions for R. Daneel Olivaw. During that time he had faced multiple challenges, and he had been in danger of being permanently shut down on more than one occasion. During none of those times had he felt any real fear. His positronic brain was very complex, and it was sufficiently capable of emulating emotions that Robert knew no differently, and so emotions were as real to him as they would be to any other human.

Even so, Robert felt the emulation of fear creeping into him now. Aboard this ship, he was known as a member of the trader crew. Here, he was the first officer, second in command to the ship's captain. Like Daneel, Robert had been specially programmed to detect and manipulate emotions of human beings, although his abilities were nowhere near as powerful as those of Daneel. Even so, the overwhelming sense of fear throughout the small ship's bridge was palpable to him now. It was easy to understand why, and he had his own reasons to be afraid.

The view screens on the bridge showed the growing image of a very large, wedge-shaped star ship, and they were being pulled steadily toward it. Like the rest of the crew, Robert could not see what was pulling their ship, nor could their instruments detect it. That in itself was frightening. The view screens had magnified several aspects of the larger wedge-shaped ship pulling them in, and Robert saw large gun emplacements menacingly tracking his ship, while other gun emplacements remained steadfastly oriented on the remainder of the trader fleet. One such emplacement had recently belched forth brilliant blue beams that quickly incapacitated a trader ship that attempted to flee, that ship still floating dead in space. For all Robert knew, all the men aboard that vessel were now dead. The view screen showed that their own ship was moving toward a massive opening within the belly of the larger ship.

"Should we open fire, captain?" queried a nervous man seated at a nearby panel.

"Space, no!" cried Captain Ethers.

Robert concurred silently with that assessment. Doubtless, the ship pulling them in would lace them with more of those horrible blue beams were they to do something so rash, or perhaps even worse. The view screen was now completely swallowed up by the larger ship, and Robert heard the sound of something large clamping onto his ship, and felt it reverberate throughout. Men on the bridge looked up and about them nervously.

"What was that?" asked another man, his face a mask of stark terror.

"Who knows!" replied Robert, "all we can do is wait."

A console on the captain's chair crackled to life.

"Captain, something is going on with our outer hatch door!" said a voice from the speaker.

"What do you mean?"

"There is a noise coming from the … wait. Aaah! Something is blasting the door open. There is…"

Everyone on the bridge heard what sounded like a small explosion, followed by blaster fire, only short and more intense in nature. Shouting could also be heard, but it was quickly subdued, replaced by the clanking of what sounded like multiple foot-falls.

"Seldon help us," murmured the captain.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Did it make it back through?"

"Yes sir."

"Well?"

General Pritchard pulled a small data stick out of his vest pocket and inserted it into the terminal. In front of the throne of the Mule sprang up a holographic image of a fleet of seven small trader ships. Floating in space before the fleet and facing it was a rather menacing ship with a wedge-shaped body and a command tower toward the rear.

"Sir, the commander of the trader fleet did broadcast a standard welcoming message on multiple bands as soon as they detected that ship."

They watched as the lead vessel of the fleet lurched toward the alien ship without sub-light engines engaged, and then the trail ship turned to leave. Salvos of blue energy lanced outward from the alien ship and slammed into the hull of the trail ship, leaving it dead in space.

"Interesting," said the Mule.

"Their weapon systems appear formidable, sir, and the power signatures from that salvo alone demonstrate a level considerably beyond those of our own capital warships."

"So it would seem, Pritcher. Did our probe gain anything significant from scans, other than what I can plainly see here?"

"Unfortunately, our scans did not detect much. As you know, the multiple celestial bodies and immense gravitational signatures in that area create significant challenges for us. Even so, the ship in question appears to be shielded. We detected high-energy scans, possibly emitting from those globes you see on top of that command tower."

"Are you sure our probe was not detected?"

"We cannot be certain, sir, but the fact we are seeing this imagery at all attests to the likelihood that it was either not detected, or it was detected too late for that ship to target and immobilize it before it could return through the wormhole."

"I think I may have to depart sooner than I had planned."

The Mule stood and paced away from the holographic image floating before his throne. He clasped his skinny hands behind his back and walked toward the massive windows over-watching the city. Peering outward, his long nose followed his gaze toward the stars. He knew of at least one star out there that did not owe him allegiance. For a long time had he allowed himself to ignore it. Indeed, even ancient Imperial charts did not include it, but the Mule knew it was there. He knew that those upon it yet sensed him, as he in turn sensed them. Together they were powerful, perhaps too powerful even for him. He sneered silently. So long as they left him alone, he would do the same. Let them keep their one world. He had the rest of the galaxy. He peered in the direction of the wormhole, or where he thought it might lie in space. A new galaxy awaited, and this one apparently contained formidable opponents. The Mule smiled at his pale reflection in the tall window. He appreciated a challenge. He turned to face his general.

"We leave tonight."

"Tonight?"

"Is that a problem, Pritcher?"

"Not at all, sir, I will have your ship prepared for immediate launch."

Han Pritcher spun on his heel and made for the exit. The Mule allowed his thoughts to drift. Even were he to depart tonight, it would take several days to reach the wormhole. Much could take place between now and then – much that he might not be able to directly control.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Everything here was ordered. Trees grew in neat rows, though they had not been planted by human hands. The weather was predictable, and everyone knew precisely when the rain would fall. Indeed, the people looked forward to the rainfall, which was never too cold, and they would not think to prevent the rain from soaking into their skin. No weather control satellites were in orbit. All that was in orbit was an orbital reception station for incoming star ships, though no ships had come to visit for centuries. Consciousness permeated the entire land, including animals, plant-life, and even the soil and rock itself. The entire planet was alive, for this was Gaia, as were all upon the surface of the name the world shared.

He is moving.

Nothing was said, and no words were spoken. Nonetheless, the words were heard within his mind. An old man sat in his chair, within his living domicile. His eyes were cast upon living art upon his wall, relishing in its own crude consciousness. The words formed within his mind were from all of Gaia itself, though the genesis of the thought was mostly human in origin. There was no need to query of whom was, "he," for they all knew. Gaia knew. He had left long ago, a self-made outcast with mental powers greater than any of the parts, but not the sum.

The old man closed his eyes and looked. Through Gaia, he too saw the man moving through the depths of space. The misshapen form of a man … a mutant, with an extraordinarily powerful mind, focused on his task at hand. His ship moved with purpose toward the galaxy center. There he would wait. Gaia foresaw this. Much beyond that they could not see. Through his mind, and through Gaia, the old man saw the Mule look up, a frown creasing his face.

Enough!

The Mule roared the word within his mind, sending a psychic shockwave through space toward the world from which he had expelled himself. The old man felt Gaia raise its psychic shield almost reflexively, to ward off the Mule's powerful psychic shout. Yes, just as they could see him, so he could see Gaia, when they probed, though most of the time he chose not to see. Anger and defiance permeated that shout, the Mule sending a clear message: They could not stop him before, and they would not stop him now.

The old man sensed as Gaia broke its connection with its lost son, and he sighed softly to himself. Gaia had not involved itself with the Mule's conquest of this galaxy, for they he/knew/it that he could not live forever, and then life in the galaxy would have gone on as before, albeit in a more chaotic manner. They had been tempted, though even their combined power might have proved insufficient. Had the Mule sent forces, they would have proved futile, and he knew it. No, he would have had to arrive in person, and that seemed to be the one thing he would never do.

But Gaia had sensed something within that new galaxy, even through the wormhole itself. Powerful forces lie on the other side, with deadly technologies of war and industry, combined together on a massive scale. Further, they sensed a being of immense power, perhaps capable of defying the Mule himself. Unlike the Mule, they sensed true malevolency in this being, capable perhaps of bringing terrible destruction and death to this galaxy.

The old man watched the living art upon the living wall as it slowly transitioned colors and patterns, its own consciousness lending to all of Gaia in its own simple way. He smiled wanly and then lent his own mental voice to the collective whole.

We may have to act this time.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Sir, we have secured the ship."

An Imperial stormtrooper stood before Captain Poltz on the bridge of the ISD Ash, ramrod straight, a blaster carbine held at port-arms. While no outer markings identified him as such, Poltz knew the stormtrooper was an army captain, in command of the company that had been tasked with securing the alien ship. He had been following reports of the boarding while simultaneously monitoring the remainder of the alien fleet, so the verbal report from the officer standing in front of him was mostly a formality.

"And the passengers?"

"Two were killed, six stunned, and the remaining twenty were taken into custody, sir."

"Why were two killed, captain?"

"The two were armed and the first two troopers through the breach identified them as imminent threats, sir."

"Unfortunate, but understood. From now on, when dealing with persons in this strange fleet, I want all weapons set to stun only."

"Yes sir."

"Thank you, captain. You may begin tactical questioning. Scan and clear the ship's captain, and then bring him here to the bridge. I wish to question him in person."

"Yes sir."

"Dismissed."

The stormtrooper officer turned and then exited the bridge. Captain Poltz strolled toward the huge view plates, and he looked at the small assortment of ships. With the naked eye, they looked like little more than bright points of light, their small hulls reflecting light from the multiple sources of light within this system. One of those points of light continued to drift away from the others.

"Deck officer."

"Sir?"

"Dispatch a boarding team to secure the ship that was disabled."

"Yes sir."

Within minutes, Captain Poltz saw an assault transport race from beneath his star destroyer, en route to the disabled craft. He hoped they were still alive, knowing that the ion cannons might have disabled life support aboard the craft. He studied the instruments on a nearby panel, reading through reports of the encounter so far. Something caught his attention.

"Deck officer, come over here." The younger officer walked up to him and stood at attention.

"Sir?"

"I want more information about this small craft that disappeared shortly after we disabled that trail star ship."

"Yes sir." The young officer walked down into one of the pits, speaking to some of the analysts. He then came back and resumed his position next to the ship's captain, waiting to be acknowledged.

"Yes?"

"We believe it was possibly a probe, and it entered what might be a wormhole, behind the alien fleet."

"Is this wormhole still in the same place?"

"We believe so, sir."

"Good. Ensure you mark its position. Once that is done, dispatch one of our own probe droids through."

"Yes sir."

Captain Poltz returned his attention to the small fleet before him. By now, the assault transport would have reached the drifting ship. Hopefully, he would get no further reports of fatalities. One could not interrogate dead men. He heard one of the doors of the bridge slide open, along with strange language from a man, obviously both confused and frightened. The captain turned and strode toward the center of the bridge. He noticed some of the men in the crew pits looking at the man in strange clothing. The man was flanked by two stormtroopers, each who held one of the man's arms. He was not in a uniform, so the man was apparently a civilian. He was a bit portly, and his hair was dark, speckled with gray, and balding. He continued uttering nonsense as he looked around the bridge with an air of both awe and concern.

"Silence!" shouted Poltz as he held up his hand. The strange man appeared to understand the meaning of his upheld hand if not his words, and he obediently shut his mouth. Good, thought the captain. At least he didn't seem to be irreparably stupid. Whirring of servo motors and clicking of metallic foot-falls announced the arrival of a darkly-plated protocol droid. As it shuffled mechanically toward the captain and his guest, the civilian started in alarm, pointing at the droid with one of his restrained arms, uttering something else in his native language. Again, Captain Breck held up his hand, and again the strange civilian shut up.

"Protocol droid, ask this man who he is."

The droid turned to the man and said something in another language. The civilian shook his head in confusion, looking back at Breck. The droid tried a different language, and the man responded in his own gibberish, still shaking his head. The droid continued conversing, and a few minutes later, the man became a bit excited, his tone changing. The droid turned to face Poltz.

"Sir, I am fluent in several million forms of communication, and the language this man is using is not in any of my memory banks. I think I have managed to decipher part of his language's construct."

"Well, what did he say?"

The droid looked toward the civilian again, and then he jerked his head back toward Poltz.

"Hello, I think."

"Brilliant. Now, find out who he is, and ask him why he is here."

The protocol droid continued to converse with the man, while the man gazed at the droid with unbroken fascination. Poltz smirked inwardly. It was almost as if the man had never seen a droid before. After approximately ten minutes of discourse between man and droid, the protocol droid returned his attention to Polz.

"Sir, he claims to be a leader of the ship you captured. He said he is here to trade goods with those here who would desire them. He does not understand what laws he has broken to be arrested like this. His name is Bel Moros. That is of course, if I understood him correctly, for although I am fluent in millions of forms of communication, the language syntax and dialect this man is using are quite unfamil…"

"Yes, yes, I know," interrupted Polz, "I want you to ask where he came from."


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He had waited behind all others before entering the scanner within the confines of this strange ship. Robert waited until all surviving crew went through, both to maintain accountability as the senior man remaining and to prevent his own men from discovering what he thought these strange men were likely to discover all too soon. The white armored visage of a stormtrooper ushered him into a small chamber. Robert stepped inside and heard the door swish closed behind him. He watched nervously as a red light filled the room, a voice through speakers providing directions he could not understand. Even so, he did not move, assessing that was the intent behind the spoken directive.

Robert had gauged how long each man had spent in this chamber by monitoring the line of men going through. Already, he detected he had been in longer than the others. The red light changed into a stuttering of various colors, and Robert detected a high-pitched whine. From that, he assumed he was being thoroughly scanned. A voice with a questioning inflection emanated from the speaker within the room. Robert held up his hands and shook his head.

"I'm sorry, but I don't understand you."

The far door to the chamber slid open. Two stormtroopers stood at either side of its entrance, both with their carbines leveled at Robert. A tinny voice came from the one on the right, its inflection suggesting an order. Robert raised his hands in the air and slowly walked forward. As he emerged, one of the white-armored men jabbed him behind the right knee with the butt-stock of his carbine, and Robert collapsed onto his knees. His hands were then forced behind him and manacled with some restraints. He was pulled up by his arms roughly, and questions were shouted at him from one of the armored men. Again, Robert shook his head in confusion.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Sir, we have the incapacitated ship under control. The crew has been neutralized."

Poltz turned to face the deck officer, his voice stern, "Neutralized?"

"Sir, they have been detained, and there were no fatalities."

"Very good, thank you deck officer," said Poltz with an internal sigh of relief. He turned to face the civilian with whom he had been conversing through the protocol droid. This was very taxing.

"Let me get this straight. This man claims to be part of that fleet out there, which is here for the purposes of establishing some sort of trade route?"

"Yes sir," replied the droid.

"He says that there is a galaxy, different from our own, on the other side of that wormhole we recently discovered."

"Yes sir."

"And he is a member of an empire, led by someone calling himself some type of pack animal?"

"Yes sir."

"This 'pack animal' is the emperor of the galaxy on the other side of that wormhole?"

"Yes sir, though he did not seem to indicate him as emperor, but rather as something like biggest citizen."

"Ah, very well then, and he said there is a sizable fleet on the other side, consisting of military ships from that empire?"

"He does not know for certain that they were all military ships, sir, but they all appeared heavily armed, so he believes they were."

"Very well," replied Poltz, "Deck officer!"

"Sir?"

"Escort this man to interrogation. Let us ensure he is not lying."

"Yes sir."

"Work with the protocol droid to devise a message for the remainder of that fleet out there, and then send it to the interrogation room. Inform that fleet that any attempts to move or escape will be met with swift and deadly force, but try not to induce foolish panic.

"Yes sir."

As the civilian leader exited the bridge with his two stormtrooper escorts, another officer entered the bridge.

"Sir."

"Yes?"

"One of the captured crewmen is a droid."

"What of it?"

"It appears human in all respects, and much of its body appears constructed to resemble a human male."

"A possible assassin droid – those are expensive; very well, detain it separately from the others."


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"He is coming back to the bridge now, sir."

Captain Beck watched as Martin reentered the bridge, his wits a bit more under control now. He was still pale, but he appeared in control of himself. Martin stared with terror at the wedge-shaped ship on the view screen.

"It took one of our ships?"

"Yes sir. Approximately 45 minutes ago, it was secured underneath the larger ship in what I deduce to be a hangar."

"Well, what did they do…"

"Sir!" shouted a crewman from a nearby panel, "We've got an incoming transmission from the alien vessel."

"Put it on speaker."

Crackling static over the speakers cleared and was replaced by what sounded like a mechanical voice speaking horribly accented Galactic Standard.

"… and to remain in place you will stay or violent death will consume you in wrath and judgment from big tubes of fire. Your men who by us were recently made to be in cages are now receiving beatings most furiously for information about the land from which came you, but you can prevent bigger beatings for self by doing as told by us most fast. Again, move not or violent death will consume you. End."

"Great Seldon, preserve us!" shrieked Martin, who had all the appearances of a desperate and cornered animal. The captain too had turned as white as a sheet, but he knew he had to maintain order.

"Sir, please calm yourself."

"Those savages mean to murder us all!"

"Sir, you can see that they obviously have an incomplete understanding of Galactic Standard, and it is quite probable that had they intended to blast us from space, they'd have done so by now."

Martin was still breathing quickly, tiny beads of sweat rolling from his forehead, and the wild look in his eyes remained, but he licked his lips and nodded rapidly in understanding.

"Yes … yes, I'm sure you're right. We must remain calm."

Beck turned to one of his crewmen, "Contact the rest of the fleet. Inform them to remain in place, and keep both shields and weapons powered down."

He murmured to himself, "Space, I really don't feel like being blasted into atoms today."