[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
file:///F|/rah/Isaac%20Asimov/Foundation.txt (92 of 146) [1/14/03 9:33:41 PM]
file:///F|/rah/Isaac%20Asimov/Foundation.txt they will not innovate and their
internal economy is entirely non-nuclear.
That is what we must change."
"How were you going to do it?"
"By breaking the resistance at one point. To put it simply, if I could sell a
penknife with a force-field blade to a nobleman, it would be to his
interest to force laws that would allow him to use it. Put that baldly, it
sounds silly, but it is sound, psychologically. To make strategic sales, at
strategic points, would be to create a pro-nucleics faction at court."
"And they send you for that purpose, while I'm only here to ransom you and
leave, while you keep on trying? Isn't that sort of tail-backward?"
"In what way?" said Gorov, guardedly.
"Listen," Ponyets was suddenly exasperated, "you're a diplomat, not a
trader, and calling you a trader won't make you one. This case is for one
who's made a business of selling and I'm here with a full cargo stinking
into uselessness, and a quota that won't ever be met, it looks like."
Page 77
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
"You mean you're going to risk your life on something that isn't your
business?" Gorov smiled thinly.
Ponyets said, "You mean that this is a matter of patriotism and traders
aren't patriotic?"
"Notoriously not. Pioneers never are."
"All right. I'll grant that. I don't scoot about space to save the
Foundation or anything like that. But I'm out to make money, and this is my
chance. If it helps the Foundation at the same time, all the better. And
I've risked my life on slimmer chances."
Ponyets rose, and Gorov rose with him, "What are you going to do?"
The trader smiled, "Gorov, I don't know not yet. But if the crux of the
matter is to make a sale, then I'm your man. I'm not a boaster as a general
thing, but there's one thing I'll always back up. I've never ended up below
quota yet."
The door to the cell opened almost instantly when he knocked, and two
guards fell in on either side.
4.
"A show!" said the Grand Master, grimly. He settled himself well into his
furs, and one thin hand grasped the iron cudgel he used as a cane.
"And gold, your Veneration."
"And gold," agreed the Grand Master, carelessly.
Ponyets set the box down and opened it with as fine an appearance of
confidence as he could manage. He felt alone in the face of universal
hostility; the way he had felt out in space his first year. The semicircle of
bearded councilors who faced him down, stared unpleasantly. Among them was
Pherl, the thin-faced favorite who sat next to the Grand Master in stiff
hostility. Ponyets had met him once already and marked him
immediately as prime enemy, and, as a consequence, prime victim.
Outside the hall, a small army awaited events. Ponyets was effectively
file:///F|/rah/Isaac%20Asimov/Foundation.txt (93 of 146) [1/14/03 9:33:41 PM]
file:///F|/rah/Isaac%20Asimov/Foundation.txt isolated from his ship; he
lacked any weapon, but his attempted bribe; and
Gorov was still a hostage.
He made the final adjustments on the clumsy monstrosity that had cost him a
week of ingenuity, and prayed once again that the lead-lined quartz would
stand the strain.
"What is it?" asked the Grand Master.
"This," said Ponyets, stepping back, "is a small device I have constructed
myself."
"That is obvious, but it is not the information I want. Is it one of the
black-magic abominations of your world?"
"It is nuclear in nature, admitted Ponyets, gravely, "but none of you need
touch it, or have anything to do with it. It is for myself alone, and if it
contains abominations, I take the foulness of it upon myself."
The Grand Master had raised his iron cane at the machine in a threatening
gesture and his lips moved rapidly and silently in a purifying invocation.
The thin-faced councilor at his right leaned towards him and his straggled
red mustache approached the Grand Master's ear. The ancient Askonian
petulantly shrugged himself free.
"And what is the connection of your instrument of evil and the gold that
may save your countryman's life?"
"With this machine," began Ponyets, as his hand dropped softly onto the
central chamber and caressed its hard, round flanks, "I can turn the iron
you discard into gold of the finest quality. It is the only device known to
man that will take iron the ugly iron, your Veneration, that props up the
chair you sit in and the walls of this building and change it to shining,
heavy, yellow gold."
Ponyets felt himself botching it. His usual sales talk was smooth, facile
Page 78
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
and plausible; but this limped like a shot-up space wagon. But it was the
content, not the form, that interested the Grand Master.
"So? Transmutation? Men have been fools who have claimed the ability. They
have paid for their prying sacrilege."
"Had they succeeded?"
"No." The Grand Master seemed coldly amused. "Success at producing gold
would have been a crime that carried its own antidote. It is the attempt
plus the failure that is fatal. Here, what can you do with my staff?" He
pounded the floor with it.
"Your Veneration will excuse me. My device is a small model, prepared by
myself, and your staff is too long."
The Grand Master's small shining eye wandered and stopped, "Randel, your
buckles. Come, man, they shall be replaced double if need be."
The buckles passed down the line, hand to hand. The Grand Master weighed
them thoughtfully.
"Here," he said, and threw them to the floor.
Ponyets picked them up. He tugged hard before the cylinder opened, and his
eyes blinked and squinted with effort as he centered the buckles carefully on
the anode screen. Later, it would be easier but there must be no
file:///F|/rah/Isaac%20Asimov/Foundation.txt (94 of 146) [1/14/03 9:33:41 PM]
file:///F|/rah/Isaac%20Asimov/Foundation.txt failures the first time.
The homemade transmuter crackled malevolently for ten minutes while the
odor of ozone became faintly present. The Askonians backed away, muttering,
and again Pherl whispered urgently into his ruler's ear. The Grand Master's
expression was stony. He did not budge.
And the buckles were gold.
Ponyets held them out to the Grand Master with a murmured, "Your
Veneration!" but the old man hesitated, then gestured them away. His stare
lingered upon the transmuter.
Ponyets said rapidly, "Gentlemen, this is pure gold. Gold through and
through. You may subject it to every known physical and chemical test, if
you wish to prove the point. It cannot be identified from
naturally-occurring gold in any way. Any iron can be so treated. Rust will
not interfere, not will a moderate amount of alloying metals "
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]