ONE MAN AND THE MULE

There was no sign in any of Channis’ actions that he was aware of any subtle change in the attitude of Pritcher and in their relations to each other. He leaned back on the hard wooden bench and spread-eagled his feet out in front of him.

“What did you make of the governor?”

Pritcher shrugged: “Nothing at all. He certainly seemed no mental genius to me. A very poor specimen of the Second Foundation, if that’s what he was supposed to be.”

“I don’t think he was, you know. I’m not sure what to make of it. Suppose you were a Second Foundationer,” Channis grew thoughtful, “what would you do? Suppose you had an idea of our purpose here. How would you handle us?”

“Conversion, of course.”

“Like the Mule?” Channis looked up, sharply. “Would we know if they had converted us? I wonder—And what if they were simply psychologists, but very clever ones?”

“In that case, I’d have us killed rather quickly.”

“And our ship? No.” Channis wagged a forefinger. “We’re playing against a bluff, Pritcher, old man. It can only be a bluff. Even if they have emotional control down pat, we—you and I—are only fronts. It’s the Mule they must fight, and they’re being just as careful of us as we are of them. I’m assuming that they know who we are.”

Pritcher stared coldly: “What do you intend doing?”

“Wait.” The word was bitten off. “Let them come to us. They’re worried, maybe about the ship, but probably about the Mule. They bluffed with the governor. It didn’t work. We stayed pat. The next person they’ll send will be a Second Foundationer, and he’ll propose a deal of some sort.”

“And then?”

“And then we make the deal.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Because you think it will double-cross the Mule? It won’t.”

“No, the Mule could handle your double-crosses, any you could invent. But I still don’t think so.”

“Because you think then we couldn’t double-cross the Foundationers?”

“Perhaps not. But that’s not the reason.”

Channis let his glance drop to what the other held in his fist, and said grimly: “You mean that’s the reason.”

Pritcher cradled his blaster, “That’s right. You are under arrest.”

“Why?”

“For treason to the First Citizen of the Union.”

Channis’ lips hardened upon one another: “What’s going on?”

“Treason! As I said. And correction of the matter, on my part.”

“Your proof? Or evidence, assumptions, daydreams? Are you mad?”

“No. Are you? Do you think the Mule sends out unweaned youngsters on ridiculous swashbuckling missions for nothing? It was queer to me at the time. But I wasted time in doubting myself. Why should he send you? Because you smile and dress well? Because you’re twenty-eight?”

“Perhaps because I can be trusted. Or aren’t you in the market for logical reasons?”

“Or perhaps because you can’t be trusted. Which is logical enough, as it turns out.”

“Are we matching paradoxes, or is this all