TO TRANTOR

Devers bent over the little dead globe, watching for a tiny sign of life. The directional control was slowly and thoroughly sieving space with its jabbing tight sheaf of signals.

Barr watched patiently from his seat on the low cot in the corner. He asked, “No more signs of them?”

“The Empire boys? No.” The Trader growled the words with evident impatience. “We lost the scuppers long ago. Space! With the blind jumps we took through hyperspace, it’s lucky we didn’t land up in a sun’s belly. They couldn’t have followed us even if they outranged us, which they didn’t.”

He sat back and loosened his collar with a jerk. “I don’t know what those Empire boys have done here. I think some of the gaps are out of alignment.”

“I take it, then, you’re trying to get to the Foundation.”

“I’m calling the Association—or trying to.”

“The Association? Who are they?”

“Association of Independent Traders. Never heard of it, huh? Well, you’re not alone. We haven’t made our splash yet!”

For a while there was a silence that centered about the unresponsive Reception Indicator, and Barr said, “Are you within range?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t but a small notion where we are, going by dead reckoning. That’s why I have to use directional control. It could take years, you know.”

“Might it?”

Barr pointed; and Devers jumped and adjusted his earphones. Within the little murky sphere there was a tiny glowing whiteness.

For half an hour, Devers nursed the fragile, groping thread of communication that reached through hyperspace to connect two points that laggard light would take five hundred years to bind together.

Then he sat back, hopelessly. He looked up, and shoved the earphones back.

“Let’s eat, doc. There’s a needle-shower you can use if you want to, but go easy on the hot water.”

He squatted before one of the cabinets that lined one wall and felt through the contents. “You’re not a vegetarian, I hope?”

Barr said, “I’m omnivorous. But what about the Association? Have you lost them?”

“Looks so. It was extreme range, a little too extreme. Doesn’t matter, though. I got all that counted.”

He straightened, and placed the two metal containers upon the table. “Just give it five minutes, doc, then slit it open by pushing the contact. It’ll be plate, food, and fork—sort of handy for when you’re in a hurry, if you’re not interested in such incidentals as napkins. I suppose you want to know what I got out of the Association.”

“If it isn’t a secret.”

Devers shook his head. “Not to you. What Riose said was true.”

“About the offer of tribute?”

“Uh-huh. They offered it, and had it refused. Things are bad. There’s fighting in the outer suns of Loris.”

“Loris is close to the Foundation?”

“Huh? Oh, you wouldn’t know. It’s one of the original Four Kingdoms. You might call it part of the inner line of defense. That’s not the worst. They’ve been