Chapter Text
The moment the four had arrived on Trantor, the tentacles of the First Speaker’s trained mind reached out to Bayta’s, to influence her to perform the only action which could safeguard the Second Foundation. And Seldon’s Plan. And everything he and his allies had learned to cherish ever since their recruitment.
As soon as the tendrils of his mind touched hers, he backed off in shock: someone else had already occupied the place.
And from that moment on, they knew they were done for. That an immense sacrifice had to be made.
Bayta’s finger never pulled that trigger. The psychologist was not silenced in time. Metal and flesh disintegrated.
The most skilled and valuable Second Foundationers took refuge on a distant planet, a planet no one would ever suspect could be the home and hideout of the remnants of the Second Foundation. To save everyone would have been impossible: Trantor was already surrounded by the Mule’s ships, surveying the old imperial capital from a long – but constant distance.
A swarm of spaceships fleeing the planet would have raised a signal. So a select few escaped and vowed not to let the Plan shatter to pieces.
This was the greatest sacrifice throughout the Second Foundation’s existence. But, as the First Speaker and leader of the organization, he swore it would also be the last.
* * *
Reports on Drosma flooded the Mule’s personal inbox. Colonel Han Pritcher and the other military leaders weren’t doing any better.
The Mule, freshly styled as the First Citizen of the Union of Worlds, was the incontestable ruler of the Galaxy now. But the tasks linked to such a high position were unexpectedly urgent, varied and, above all, numerous. Luckily for him, he had a close circle of subordinates – the most gifted minds in military and scientific fields – to help him through; all converted, loyal to their core, competent.
A vibration overlapping a long beep followed by two shorter ones rang out from the First Citizen’s lap top for the nth time that day, announcing an other report on Drosma.
Drosma. The atom-world. Its seven coveted asteroid belts embraced the planet like electron shells around a nucleus. They weren’t ordinary asteroid belts: the constituent asteroids fluctuated in rotation speed, while the seven rings themselves sometimes shifted angles.
Drosma. One of the most wanted mining worlds. Its diameter exceeded by 8% the average diameter of a planet of its caliber, not enough to hinder human life. However, what the planet was known for were its Drosium ores.
Drosium (element code Dr-192):
A rare, high-density ferrous metal native almost exclusively to the seven asteroid rings of Drosma. Known for its unmatched resistance to kinetic impact, it is the primary structural component in military-class hulls and deep-space dreadnoughts. Despite its value, local miners see little profit - the metal has become a symbol of both wealth and oppression.
Yes, each general of a decent galactic army knew the definition of Drosium from the Encyclopedia Galactica by heart. As well as the long history of the planet’s galactic ping pong: conquered by one power, only for an even greedier one to snatch it and exploit it for its own interest, the last one of the afore mentioned being the Foundation.
The Foundation’s fall brought about waves of rebellious joy all over the planet, a joy which remained nonetheless short-lived, as the Drosmians realized someone else would replace the Foundation.
And they weren’t pleased. What was left of the Foundation ships was attacked and destroyed by angry natives. The Mule’s black ships, which had started to descend on Drosma two weeks before, were also assaulted by much smaller mining ships, mostly during night time.
“Can’t we do something about these attacks Pritcher?” the Mule asked.
“It is what I’ve been working on, Sir. The rebels are numerous, but poorly organized. If we attack on a large scale, we suffer unnecessary losses. What I am trying to do now is identify the leaders of the riots. If we eliminate and replace them with our own, the production should continue as usual.”
“Good, good,” the Mule replied. “We should hurry up, we need that Drosium in our hands rather sooner than later.”
He stood up from the table and strolled to one of the curved windows around a top most floor of Kalgan’s cylindrical Military Headquarters Tower. Thanks to the Wide-Angle glass, the panorama presented more than the eyed would normally see, creating a fish-eye lens effect which embraced Kalgan’s horizon.
An azure ocean glittering in the sunset kissed the pink-purple sky. The stripe of sand which never heated up despite the Kalgan sunlight was obscured by stylish villas along a high cliff. And behind these lied the glass buildings where money was made: banks, currency exchange offices, stock exchange centers.
All watched over by the Kalgan’s Military Headquarters Tower. The palace of the former Kalgan warlord – and current Terminus viceroy – was not ready yet. Some adjustments still needed to be made before the Mule moved in.
All his.
* * *
Somewhere in a modest rectangular room normally too small to host all the survivors, the First Speaker sat in front of them and slowly surveyed the four rows of people, all seated, all tense.
Words are futile devices for the ones possessing their gift, but, for facilitating the understanding of their communication, thoughts will temporarily be converted into words.
“We need a volunteer.”
A murmur passed through the attendees. Emotional circuits could be traced inside the windowless room, bursting from one mind to an other, triggering an answer which then bounced back to the first mind, or split in many directions to other participants.
If emotions had colors and anxiety was red, everyone would drown in blood.
“Speaker,” someone from the last row intervened. “You promised we wouldn’t have to die any more. You promised our escape would be the last sacrifice.”
“But who said anything about dying? If the plan succeeds, and I have no reason to believe otherwise, no life would be lost. And for this, one must dare come forward.”
Just when the doubtful interlocutor was preparing to protest again, the equivalent of a raised hand and confident voice broke through the general murmur and all eyes turned to him.
“I will do it.”
It was no one’s surprise that the young man known as Bail Channis volunteered. If anything, it would have been a shock if he hadn’t. The First Speaker swiftly analyzed the well built blond man from head to toe and nodded: “Very well. Your training will start immediately.”
* * *
Inside the same circular bureau on one of the top most floors of Kalgan’s Military Headquarters Tower, information analysts and army strategists sat on rows of desks, each with their own lap top in front. The Mule oversaw the tableau from the last row, with only Pritcher by his side.
The sovereign of the ever expanding Union of Worlds rejoiced the fact that his forces managed to capture almost all leaders of the Drosmian space miners rebellion. They sat in their cells waiting for either the Conversion of their superiors, or for their own – on a case by case basis.
At that moment a report on one of the few protesters still roaming the Drosmian skies freely filled his screen and he read with increased curiosity.
Lana Cantemyth. Born 273 FE in the mining town Astafel. Her father is a miner in one of the many Drosium planetary mines, her mother a stay-at-home and long term unemployed woman, due to the job scarcity on Drosma in most fields unrelated to Drosium working and processing.
At school she excels in no particular field, other than skipping classes and engaging in minor incidents. Highly intelligent, she manages not to fail classes by knowing when to do the bare minimum.
In 286 FE her life changes drastically. While in one of the abandoned parks on the outskirts of Astafel, she claims to have been harassed by a teenager whom she stabs to death. In court she insists her act was one of self defense, however she loses the case and is sentenced to 5 years in juvenile penitentiary only to expiate the remaining 15 years of punishment in an adult penitentiary.
To escape the bullying and violence typical of such a delinquent environment on an economically underdeveloped planet she skips school and spends all her time in the Drosium workrooms associated to the juvenile penitentiary. By the time she is 18 she already is a skilled Drosium miner, showcasing an unmatched talent and determination in piloting a mining ship and operating a small-to-medium Drosium asteroid mine.
Unwilling to let her potential go to waste, the mayor of her province gives Cantemyth a choice when she comes of age: she either goes to adult penitentiary, or works as a space miner on the Drosium mines situated in the Drosma asteroid belts, in exchange only for food and shelter, as Drosmian convicts have no right to a wage.
During the next five years Cantemyth’s work as a space miner is highly appreciated and within only four years she climbs the ranks becoming a team leader.
The Mule scrolled up again to Lana’s photo.
A twenty three years young woman stared back at him: pale skin, sharp chin, high check bones, large almond-shaped brown eyes; her dark hair barely reached her shoulders and gave the faint impression of broom fibers, probably having been cut by herself. On a mining spaceship beauty standards didn’t mean much. Yet she would have been cute, if it weren’t for her glare apparently used to carve a hole through the viewer.
“What about her, Pritcher?”
* * *
“You’re getting there, but you are not subtle enough,” the First Speaker said.
The same windowless rectangular room now offered more than enough space for two men. They sat on old wooden chairs, the only ones they could get their hands on, facing each other in absolute silence.
“Remember, the tampered would probably never know they were tampered with. But their closest entourage would.”
Channis, the blonde young man in his mid twenties, tried the mock-up of a tampering on the First Speaker again.
A human mind was an intricate fabric, each thought and emotion a string of a different color. If you pulled a string here, a hole emerged in an other place. That hole could mean a negligible behavioral change attributed to natural mood swings, or severe psychological trauma.
The aim was a hole so small it wouldn’t reflect in the behavior of the subject; an other option was to spread out the underlying strings, so that they covered the hole on the upper level. There were many ways to do the same thing, but what mattered was the result: he had to pass the behavioral interviews for one of the Intelligence Agent positions newly opened on Kalgan.
Only then he could influence the course of actions.
Channis brushed a hand through his carefully dressed locks and tried again. Faster and with more caution this time.
And the verdict was quickly delivered: “Much better. I think you can start preparing the job application documentation,” the First Speaker smiled.
Channis jumped in pure joy.
“I can’t wait, Speaker! It will be an amazing opportunity for me.” And then he added with a small smirk: “Plus I’ve heard Kalgan women are not bad at all.”
* * *
In the same circular bureau watching over Kalgan City a curved display ranging from floor to ceiling reigned. The screen transmitted images of a space chase in the Drosmian night sky, amongst the asteroids making out one of the seven asteroid belts of Drosma.
The Mule and his closest collaborators watched with interest as four sleek, supple black pursue ships of the Mule’s fleet hunted down one bulky mining ship. The black ships were faster and more agile than the mining ship which, with its heavy mining tools trailer welded to its starboard, looked like a jalopy from pre-Foundation times.
But a jalopy with excellent knowledge of the most difficult routes and best hiding places in the belt. The mining ship allured its pursuers in an area rich in small asteroids and, gaining some 70 meters advance from its closest pursuer, hid behind an asteroid only four times larger than itself.
In the next second, the asteroid rich in Drosium sent hundreds of brown-golden splinters with the familiar greenish irisations typical only to Drosium in the black ships, causing two of them to explode. Which was no surprise, since the kinetic resistance of the desired metal exceeded that of the sleek chasers.
A silvery blue explosion flashed in the circular bureau, intermittently lighting the faces of the audience for a few seconds.
“Sir, she has zero consideration for her own planet’s resources, let alone for the Union’s!” a man intervened. “I ask for permission to eliminate her.”
“Permission not granted,” the Mule replied and further ignored his subordinate’s protests.
The mining ship almost caused its two chasers to collide thanks to a series of complex curves and sinusoids among a row of small asteroids. But soon the target decreased its speed, probably due to its fuel supplies running out.
As such, it was easy for the black ships to catch up. The target stopped to a halt.
“So she finally surrenders?” the same talkative subordinate asked no one in particular.
The mining ship turned 90 degrees and, with its starboard trailer facing its closest pursuer, expelled a 25 meters long cylindrical mining well with a sharp drill at its end straight into the less fortunate black ship. Of course the drill was brown-gold with greenish irisations. Of course its victim was not.
A second sequence of silvery blue flashes ignited in the watch tower.
“Call the remaining ship back,” the Mule said. “Pritcher, I want her!”
“Excuse me, Sir?”
“On the team! I want her on the team. You think you can arrange that?”
“Of course. It won’t be an easy task, but certainly,” Pritcher responded. “We will employ a Drosium net. It will be impossible for her to escape.”
* * *
In the windowless room the last preparations were being made before throwing the bait.
“How are the interviews going?” the First Speaker asked.
“Excellent, to no surprise,” Channis responded. “I have the Kalgan recruiters right where I want them. Just two more interviews and the Intelligence Agent position on Kalgan is mine. The recruiters are so stupid I tell you, the Mule should clean that department up.”
“Alright. Keep me updated. And never let your guard down.”
* * *
The doors silently slid open and, half walking half being pushed, Lana entered. The extent was most probably a temporary military outpost: a small rectangular area filled with boxes, weapons and unidentified lying objects.
A loser behind an improvised desk made of boxes and crammed with papers stood up.
“I will not obey him!" she almost spat out the words in his direction, as the arms holding her yielded their firm grip of her wrists ever so slightly.
"You don’t have much of a choice,” her interlocutor replied indifferently.
“And what are you, his jester or something?”
He sighed: “No, I climbed the corporate ladder.”
She studied him more thoroughly now. And, by all the Gods of the galaxy, he looked like he hadn’t slept in days and had just gotten out of bed. He had the sort of face you didn’t forget easily: sharp features, the kind which could cut glass; hair apparently solidified in its uncombed shape; slender, to the point of looking unhealthy; an aquiline nose which could use some plastic surgery; and eyes-
“Your papers,” he interrupted, a bony hand pointing to a pile of documents on the improvised desk.
She glanced in the indicated direction and asked cautiously:
“And if I refuse to sign them?”
“Please don’t make this harder than absolutely necessary. You’ll find that the salary is not bad.”
Something caught Lana: “Salary?”
“Yes, haven’t you seen one before? We discourage slavery.”
Afraid he might notice her amusement and in an effort to save what was left of her pride, she looked down to the documents.
“And… If I sign this… ”
“Yes?” the former jester who had apparently been promoted to head of HR asked encouragingly.
“What next? Will I be converted?”
“Apparently, you already were. The Mule needs no eye contact for this.”
“What?” she gasped. “But how do you know?”
“You stopped kicking and frowning at everyone. Did it hurt?”
She touched her forehead and closed her eyes to hide her bafflement.
“No, I was just imagining it otherwise. Are you converted too?”
* * *
Meter by meter. That’s how it worked. Inside her mining ship, Lana surveyed the asteroid she chose to exploit. It was a medium sized one, because this kind was the most profitable: the small ones weren’t so rich in Drosium and flying over a large one meant wasting time detecting the actual metal deposit; not to mention the deposit itself could be diluted and not worth the work. The medium sized asteroids were the goldmine for someone whose salary was directly proportional to the prize.
Luckily, as a team leader she had the luxury of choosing her own trophy.
Searching for the deposit was the boring part, the part where she let her mind wander. The reddish brown irregular ground slid underneath her ship and the monotonous humming of the engines calmed her mind.
Kalgan was an amazing place. So different from anything she had known so far. How she would have loved to explore that world, the world which ruled the galaxy! But her criminal file hindered her; as a convict, she wasn’t allowed to travel outside the Drosmian asteroid belts unless solicited by her direct supervisor – or the Mule himself.
And she never dared ask anyone for special permission: asking for favors was a prerogative of the weak.
Or maybe she could ask the weird HR guy out! If he accepted, he would ask the Mule for permission papers, his boss would surely approve! After all, the head of HR seemed to do all the work. He was involved in every single project, there was nothing that man didn’t know. She could swear he was the brain behind everything. Probably another one of those people worked to the bone by the Mule. She shrugged. Wasn’t she one as well?
Before fully realizing that leisure traveling wasn’t the only reason her thoughts wandered to the head of HR, the Drosium detection signal filled her cabin.
She snapped out of it. She hastily pushed buttons and pulled levers and the ship stopped in mid air. The massive trailer attached to the ship’s starboard thrust the portable shaft with its Drosium drill into the asteroid’s ground and the ship vibrated as the drill carved deeper and deeper.
At 50 meters depth it stopped. Now it was time to fill the shaft with a toxic mixture of Koralyne-7, Threxylate and a couple of other chemicals with impossible to pronounce names: these would break the underground layers of rock and metal into a much softer mass. After that, it was time to sprinkle the ground around the shaft with Narthium Flux, the substance which magically softened the asteroid’s surface.
What followed was drilling until the soil was nothing but a heterogeneous mass of Drosium and impurities, sift the chaff from the wheat and bring the prize to one of the many Drosium processing plants on Drosma.
And cash her money.
* * *
“Speaker,” Channis asked vexed, “could you not kill that living skeleton? Or say we – all of us – used our powers against him at the same time. Could we not do it?”
The First Speaker shook his head mildly amused at the zeal of his much younger colleague.
“Do you think we wouldn’t if we could?” His eyes flickered with hostility and grief. “But, as things are, we are too few to pull it through. This is why we rely on old ways. Primitive as they are, they never fail.”
* * *
And that’s when it had struck her.
Lana was clutching the small Drosium plated lightning bolt in her fist, ready to hand it over before being asked to. That was why they had summoned her, right?
They had to believe her! Otherwise it would be back to jail for her. Not only a criminal, but also a thief from a planet no one cared about. Not even the Mule would still keep her.
And here they came, the slender guy with sad eyes, definitely Head of HR, accompanied by a tall man from the military. Their hurried pace meant trouble.
Before Sad-Eyes could utter a word, Lana blurted:
“I know what this is about and I apologize!”
She held out the Drosium hued lightning bolt before startled eyes.
“In all honesty, I did not intend to take it away. I only lifted it from a shelf in the mining company reception to have a closer look. And with the trainings and everything going on that day, I simply forgot to put it back.”
A raised bony hand shattered her concern of having talked too fast:
“Don’t worry about it, you can keep it. The reason you were called is that you may be eligible for a mission and we would like you to take some tests. Nothing serious, only a computer simulation of flying a mining ship in the areas with the highest asteroid density in the Drosma belts in unexpected conditions – for example, when the belts change angles or the asteroids’ shifting speed fluctuates. Results will not be rated or impact your career in any way, so please don’t stress about it. Also, the reason you know nothing about it is that the tests are of an unannounced nature. Please blame the mining company for this.”
Don’t worry about it?
So he knew?
She could put two and two together.
Of course, let the tests begin, and please don’t look into my mind now.
* * *
The dimly lit dance floor reigned in the middle of the club, surrounded by tables and groups of people, laughing and talking.
The invitation to the New Year party dedicated to the Union’s most valuable workers had hit Lana’s inbox two weeks before. And, this being her first year in the Mule’s service, she decided to give it a try.
But Kalgan could be as lonely as it was lovely.
The beats of a popular dance hit reverberated in her chest, as she strolled around the dance floor, a plate full of vegetables in aspic in one hand, a glass of kiwi cider in the other.
A roar of laughter diverted her attention. She turned towards its source. A blonde young man about her age, dressed in seemingly expensive clothes, entertained a small group of people through terrible jokes.
“And you know what I told him?”
The guy looked familiar, she must have seen him around the premises at some point.
“He needed the food more than I do, so he might as well keep it!”
Two men laughed, a few smiled awkwardly, the rest fell silent. But that didn’t stop the fashion freak from continuing.
Lana turned away before anyone at the table noticed her. She knew whom the jokes were about. She contemplated her plate, but suddenly all she needed was a bag.
She emptied her glass, left the plate on the nearest unoccupied table and headed towards the exit.
What was she doing here? A mining ship would have been a much more pleasant environment. In the darkness of the sky, surrounded by asteroids and distant stars, there were no imbeciles laughing about what they did not understand.
Who did she expect to find here anyway? The one who sent her the invitation never showed up.
* * *
“Are you sure she is the right one, Channis?”
“Speaker, I have analyzed each footage of the Drosmian rebel captures. Her resistance was unmatched. And she was the only one who killed her pursuers with what seems to have been no hesitation. Her hatred will be unequalled when the time comes.”
“Very well, then. You have done a great job. She will be our weapon. And you will be the trigger.”
* * *
The doors to the Mule’s office silently slid open, revealing Lana’s slender figure in a space miner’s uniform. She froze in the doorway, not in fear – no, that was something she knew not of, but in the lack of any idea how to react. He smiled.
“Mis. Cantemyth, but please step inside, don’t stay in the doorway.”
A little smile lit her mien and her eyes darted downwards for a twinkling, but only for a twinkling, after which she looked him directly in the eyes.
She took a seat before him. She was Converted, so spilling the secret wasn’t an issue. It was only expected from someone like her to figure it out. He shouldn’t have shown himself to her, but he couldn’t turn back time now.
“I can see you are surprised. But try to take things as they are. Do you want water? Coffee? No?”
“No Sir,” came the plain answer. “My only surprise is that I imagined the First Citizen... otherwise.”
“How exactly?” He braced himself for an answer he wouldn’t like.
“Well, older.”
“Older?”
“Yes Sir, I mean, with all due respect, I suspect you are not even thirty and I always had this image in my mind of a galactic leader being over sixty. At least they used to be like that on Drosma.”
“I am twenty eight. But the reason I called you is not to discuss my age. You must remember the simulations you took part in to evaluate your ability to fly in the Drosma asteroid belts under unusual conditions. Yes? You scored the highest. Even so, I would have really preferred not to choose you for this mission. But due to circumstances outside of anyone’s control, I must ask you to help the Union.
You must have heard about the Second Foundation?”
“Of course. But Sir, you destroyed it one year ago. Weren’t they on Trantor?”
“Well yes.” And then the Mule’s words were liquid indignation which he tried to hide behind a professional attitude, but his frustration showed through nonetheless.
“Reports have come that a fraction of them managed to escape and establish a headquarter on no other planet than Drosma, under the Great Node: the continent-sized area where four of the seven asteroid belts overlap, the place most pilots find impossible to navigate through.
Here is where you come into play. You will accompany one of our agents who knows the exact location of their hideout. Bail Channis is his name. He will fly a Union ship until the asteroid belt, since mining ships can’t do Jumps. There, you will both embark on your own mining ship, which, as I have been told, is parked on an asteroid. Channis will guide you to their headquarter. You are then to bomb them. How do you find this?”
“I have no issue in doing it Sir. I am always glad to serve the Union. But, with all due respect...” She bit her lip and glanced to her side. “Are you sure they are on Drosma and that this is not just another of those conspiracy theories floating around?”
“I am positive about this!”
Otherwise what was the charming twenty five years old Channis doing here? The youngest Intelligence Agent the Union had ever seen, passing all tests failed by many of the most experienced agents? Tampering with the recruiters’ minds, confident no one would notice? Desperate to convince the Mule of the Second Foundation’s whereabouts?
And why was he rendering the most valuable space miners unable to pass the simulations? Why was the circle closing in on her?
He would play dumb for now. See where all this led to. Hopefully to the last confrontation.
“I cannot send a fleet above the Great Node. On one hand, it would raise suspicion. We don’t want to alarm the population, they were extremely hostile when I took over and I can’t Convert everyone on the planet. On the other hand it couldn’t pass through the asteroid belts without blowing out asteroids and we can’t afford Drosium losses.
But we will be following you from a safe distance and you will have a blaster with permission to use in self defense.
What is your answer?”
“The same as before Sir. You can count on me. But...”
“Yes, please, voice all your concerns.”
“Are you sure my colleague is trustworthy?”
“I have no reasons to doubt it.”
A small claw tightened against his chest as he lied. But he needn’t concern her with unnecessary worries. And he would keep an eye on her. He would keep her safe.
“Oh, before I forget!”
The Mule pulled out a drawer and extracted some documents, which he carefully placed in front of Lana.
“What is this, Sir?”
“Read for yourself.”
Her eyes scanned each page of the six pages stack, more hurriedly as she approached the end of the documentation. Towards the end she had to clutch onto the papers to stop her hands from shaking. She raised teary eyes to her superior:
“Oh … My … God! I can’t believe it. My sentence is cancelled! I can travel anywhere without being arrested! Thank you so much, Sir. I always wanted to visit the Kalgan beaches and the ship factories on Terminus. And to just fly anywhere I want to without authorities chasing me! Thank you!”
“Not a problem. I apologize for not doing it earlier, I know it was self-defense. But I was caught up in all sorts of things. Well, enjoy your next holiday.”
“I will. You know Sir, on Drosma we have the habit of hugging a person if they have helped us so tremendously- ”
“Please, keep it professional,” the Mule gently cut her off. “Are you sure you don’t want some Anacreonian coffee? It is out of this galaxy I swear.”
* * *
The last session before finally embarking on a Union ship to take the Second Foundation by surprise was never ending. The worst part wasn’t the fact that day had turned into dusk, nor her hunger or tiredness.
Oh no. It was the self-conceited fashion freak who allegedly knew the Second Foundation whereabouts and believed the mission revolved around him. “Channis”, a nickname she would give each person she couldn’t stand, ever since meeting the guy for the first time.
“Channis,” Pritcher intervened. “If you are done stating your conclusions, I suggest we end the meeting here. It has been a long day for all of us.”
Thank you Pritcher, always reliable. Someone had to say this.
Lana still didn’t understand the fuss for seeking out the Second Foundation, given that most of it was annihilated one year ago and the runaways were probably few. Wasn’t there a better use of the Union’s resources?
But she trusted the Mule. He had ended her inner agony by admitting he knew she knew his identity. And had set her free. And she liked him more than she liked to admit.
“Of course, of course,” Channis replied, probably with a smile which blinded the First Citizen facing him.
Sun glasses, First Citizen! Or else Mr. Nail Polish will hurt your dark eyes.
“I must express my gratitude for fixing the tiny bathroom issue of our small ship. It emanated an unpleasant odor.
Not as unpleasant as your stupid perfume though.
And it would have turned our voyage into a troublesome quest.
One additional bathroom for the gentleman! He probably spends half a day there.
I am sure Ms. Cantemyth and I will collaborate in a professional manner.
Only if you shut up once in a while.
Unless, of course, she feels uneasy when travelling with a male companion.
Where is the male companion?
Maybe we could even speak of a promotion on return?
You can become his jester. But you won’t last given how boring you are.
I am just joking, Sir. I want to express my gratitude for being chosen for this mission.”
Is he done?
“Excellent,” the Mule stood up signaling the emotional torture was over. “You will embark the day after tomorrow, 10 A.M. Kalgan time. We will be keeping in touch.”
Oh, how could she forget to mention the technical revision papers for her mining ship’s coupling lock?
“Excuse me Sir,” she raised her hand and spoke, as all eyes turned to her, the one who didn’t say a word the whole time. “May I have one more minute of your time?”
“Of course,” the Mule answered. “You’ve been refraining from laughing for the last thirty minutes, I wonder how you managed.”
A flutter of butterflies flooded her body from her stomach to her finger tips and her lungs stood stone-still for a moment, as it happened each time he addressed her less formally.
Please don’t look into my mind now. Please.