Second Foundation

Jole Turbor was saying: "I am perfectly aware, admiral, of the serious possibilities involved here, but I tell you that if I can be allowed to speak to him for a few minutes, I may be able to settle the current uncertainty."

"Is there any reason why you can't question him before me?"

Turbor pursed his lips and looked stubborn. "Admiral," he said, "while I have been attached to your ships, the Third Fleet has received an excellent press. You may station men outside the door, if you like, and you may return in five minutes. But, meanwhile, humor me a bit, and your public relations will not suffer. Do you understand me?"

He did.

Then Turbor in the isolation that followed, turned to Palver, and said, "Quickly - what is the name of the girl you abducted."

And Palver could simply stare round-eyed, and shake his head.

"No nonsense," said Turbor. "If you do not answer, you will be a spy and spies are blasted without trial in war time."

"Arcadia Darell!" gasped Palver.

"Well! All right, then. Is she safe?"

Palver nodded.

"You had better be sure of that, or it won't be well for you."

"She is in good health, perfectly safe," said Palver, palely.

The admiral returned, "Well?"

"The man, sir, is not a spy. You may believe what he tells you. I vouch for him."

"That so?" The admiral frowned. "Then he represents an agricultural co-operative on Trantor that wants to make a trade treaty with Terminus for the delivery of grains and potatoes. Well, all right, but he can't leave now."

"Why not?" asked Palver, quickly.

"Because we're in the middle of a battle. After it is over - assuming we're still alive - we'll take you to Terminus."

The Kalganian fleet that spanned through space detected the Foundation ships from an incredible distance and were themselves detected. Like little fireflies in each other's Grand Detectors, they closed in across the emptiness.

And the Foundation's admiral frowned and said, "This must be their main push. Look at the numbers." Then, "They won't stand up before us, though; not if Cenn's detachment can be counted on."

Commander Cenn had left hours before - at the first detection of the coming enemy. There was no way of altering the plan now. It worked or it didn't, but the admiral felt quite comfortable. As did the officers. As did the men.

Again watch the fireflies.

Like a deadly ballet dance, in precise formations, they sparked.

The Foundation fleet edged slowly backwards. Hours passed and the fleet veered slowly off, teasing the advancing enemy slightly off course, then more so.

In the minds of the dictators of the battle plan, there was a certain volume of space that must be occupied by the Kalganian ships. Out from that volume crept the Foundationers; into it slipped the Kalganians. Those that passed out again were attacked, suddenly and fiercely. Those that stayed within were not touched.

It all depended on the reluctance of the ships of Lord Stettin to take the initiative themselves - on their willingness to remain where none attacked.

Captain Dixyl stared frigidly at his wrist watch. It was 1310, "We've got twenty minutes," he said.

The lieutenant at his side nodded tensely, "It looks all right so far, captain. We've got more than ninety percent of them boxed. If we can keep them that way-"

"Yes! If-"

The Foundation ships were drifting forward again - very slowly. Not quick enough to urge a Kalganian retreat and just quickly enough to discourage a Kalganian advance. They preferred to wait.

And the minutes passed.

At 1325, the admiral's buzzer sounded in seventy-five ships of the Foundation's line, and they built up to a maximum acceleration towards the front-plane of the Kalganian fleet, itself three hundred strong. Kalganian shields flared into action, and the vast energy beams flicked out. Every one of the three hundred concentrated in the same direction, towards their mad attackers who bore down relentlessly, uncaringly and-

At 1330, fifty ships under Commander Cenn appeared from nowhere, in one single bound through hyperspace to a calculated spot at a calculated time - and were spaced in tearing fury at the unprepared Kalganian rear.

The trap worked perfectly.

The Kalganians still had numbers on their side, but they were in no mood to count. Their first effort was to escape and the formation once broken was only the more vulnerable, as the enemy ships bumbled into one another's path.

After a while, it took on the proportions of a rat hunt.

Of three hundred Kalganian ships, the core and pride of their fleet, some sixty or less, many in a state of near-hopeless disrepair, reached Kalgan once more. The Foundation loss was eight ships out of a total of one hundred twenty-five.

Preem Palver landed on Terminus at the height of the celebration. He found the furore distracting, but before he left the planet, he had accomplished two things, and received one request.