Foundation

If you live long enough, time can be a weapon.

Steady cycles of cryosleep have kept me alive for more than three centuries,

and in my time, I've watched the Foundation grow

and Empire decline faster than anyone could've predicted.

Except Hari Seldon.

It's been 152 years since the Second Crisis.

Foundation now controls the entire Outer Reach and is pushing into the middle band,

a string of independent planets once owned by Empire.

The most important of these is Kalgan.

The pleasure planet.

Both Empire and Foundation know if they control Kalgan,

the rest of the middle band will follow, and the galaxy could be theirs.

But someone else knows this too.

Someone that's haunted my dreams for years.

And the minute the Mule makes himself known,

nothing will ever be the same again.

Anything on radar?

- - Gravity signatures?

Not as yet, sir. No unregistered vehicles in orbit.

Son of a whore said eight bells.

Eight bells or the pup dies.

Where is he?

It's his balladeer.

A clown said to herald his arrival.

It sets my teeth on edge.

Life-form. On foot.

Alone?

And unarmed.

Archduke Bellarion.

You are the Mule?

I am.

A strange sobriquet.

Well, my parents considered me stubborn.

Where is my daughter?

Your runtling is quite safe.

She'll be released when I have what I want.

Name your ransom.

Surrender Kalgan.

Its navy, its coffers.

Install me as the new warlord.

Well… …Kalgan is an independent buffer state

between the Imperium and the Foundation.

Any act of aggression, even by a pirate,

would trigger a military response from both.

Yes, well…

…I intend to consume the Imperium along with the Foundation.

You see, I have a very large appetite…

one only a galaxy can satisfy.

And you were a fool to approach without an army.

I require no army.

I have talents, you see.

I can compel people.

I can worm my way into people's minds.

Convert enemies into allies, hate into love.

Take your flagship.

I'm planting a notion in your wing commander's mind.

He's thinking, "Hey, why don't I fire on my fellow ships?"

Then I'm suggesting that each of the other ships' captains do the same.

Nothing hectic,

just a little nudge.

Kill him. Shoot him, man.

I infected your airmen.

Do you think I haven't infected your infantry?

You don't want to do that, Bellarion.

You love me.

Nothing would make you happier than installing me as the new lord of Kalgan.

But I need your signet ring first.

Please, if you would.

Hmm.

I like it.

You can shoot yourself now.

Nothing hectic.

And in your own time, of course.

After Empire lost control of the Spacers during the Second Crisis,

they've been forced to use jump gates to travel across the galaxy,

slowing their sphere of influence and accelerating their decline.

The Cleonic Dynasty no longer commands the stars,

or even their own Galactic Council.

They've drifted farther and farther away from the center of power.

And the weight of it all falls on the shoulders of each new Cleon.

They're forced to ask themselves,

"Will I be the last?

Will the dream of Cleon I die with me?

Or will I be the one who saves it?"

Seldon Crisis?

The Third Crisis. Yes. Soon.

But there is something new.

That's an inflection point, isn't it?

When did it appear?

It wasn't evident when I consulted the Radiant yesterday.

Should we hold off on our session?

Could that make a difference?

A single meeting with the Galactic Council,

no matter how important it might feel to you or I,

would never be enough to tip the scales of psychohistory.

No,

this is something more seismic.

So what do we do then?

We proceed as planned.

There's nothing else we can do.

I'll never get used to this.

It's like the world is inside out.

The Galactic Council is as old as Empire,

representing each sector of Empire's holdings throughout the galaxy.

When the Emperor is strong, they are agreeable.

When an Emperor is weak, they are less so.

Who are they?

Fire wheat farmers.

The Foundation has imposed heavy tariffs on their grain worlds.

Council has no jurisdiction over the Foundation.

That doesn't mean we can't bring pressure to bear on Seldon's children.

Set us down.

Empire!

As the Council remains deadlocked,

custom dictates our esteemed triumvirate weigh in before a final vote.

In Day's absence, Brother Dawn will now address the assembly.

Councilors, if you saw the demonstration outside,

you will understand why I am less than fresh.

I'm told this soil comes from one of the many breadbasket planets

that has passed from the Empire's care to the Foundation's

over the last hundred years.

Now, while the Empire has resized to a sustainable 6,342 worlds,

we have allowed the Foundation to grow to over 800

and they've assumed responsibility for many of our fertile planets.

Empire kept these breadbaskets productive for millennia,

but under the farseeing Foundation, what has been the result?

The Foundation's corruption and greed has turned the soil sterile.

And when crops die, people die.

Luckily, there is a faction within the Foundation with the will to help.

Their own alliance of Traders, the so-called Merchant Princes.

They're hoping to break free of the Foundation's chokehold,

but they lack funds and supplies.

You're not emperor yet.

True, Councilor Gorov.

I'm ten days short.

But I know some things already.

A splintered Foundation is to our benefit.

If we help the Traders, we can weaken the Foundation from within

and start clawing back the planets that used to be ours.

Starting with the breadbaskets.

I've already been in touch with Randu Mallow,

- our Trader liaison and-- -

Yes, Councilor Tarisk?

You're toying with a damn delicate balance of power, Empire.

Yes, I am.

And it is precisely our task to preserve it.

The Foundation knows which fights they're ready for and which they aren't.

We could record a formal vote via signum at this time,

if Emperor Day were here.

Emperor Day is, um, unavoidably occupied on Trantor.

I could come back in ten days and reintroduce the motion,

along with a referendum on a new Presider.

Or we can settle this.

Now.

The Council will vote now.

Thank you.

That was deftly handled.

And Dusk always advised walking out without waiting.

We're gonna lose a lot of wisdom when he's gone.

Better that than to risk his public decline, I assure you.

Did he also tell you to supply the Traders with dirt to throw at you?

No, that was me.

I do hope it was as sterile as promised.

I'll never understand why Day renounced all this.

Any change in the math?

Better?

Worse?

No change.

But I am looking into it.

I heard you were in here.

Of course. How'd the Council go?

They do enjoy their oversight.

Oh, look. There he is.

Seventeen.

The one who botched the Enclosure with General Riose.

Cost us all those Spacers.

Everyone says those naval losses over Terminus under Cleon XVII

are why they asserted no authority, but that's only part of it.

Yes, uh, I know.

It's our genetic drift and the legacy bequeathed us by the tampering.

At any rate, uh, I convinced the Council to fall in line.

The Traders will be supplied.

And Empire stays erect.

Well, I'm glad someone can.

- Yes. -

And the Foundation will be kept busy for years chasing its own rebellious tail.

All the other business was incidental.

Kalgan's fallen to piracy.

Brother Day will be sad. He loves a gambling trip.

I heard about that.

Well, that's a meaty prize that'll soon be grabbed up.

And this new pirate calls himself the Mule?

Won't keep it for long, will he?

What a life that must be though.

Sleeping among the stars,