Astounding Science Fiction (UK Edition) — page 38: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE WEDGE By ISAAC ASIMOV Gold’s funny stuff. Perfectly useless, so far as prac- tical work goes, but the men of the Foundation could make it do things in the psychological-political field. “Never let your sense of morals prevent you from doing what is right!” —Salvor Hardin. LATHAN DEVERS was completely a-lather when the call reached his receiver—which proves that the old bromide about tele- messages and the bathtub holds true even in the dark, hard space of the Galactic Periphery. Luckily that part of a free-lance trade ship which is not given over to miscellane- ous merchandise is extremely snug. So much so, that the shower, hot water included, is located in a two-by-four cubby, ten feet from the control panels, Devers heard the staccato rattle of the receiver quite plainly. Dripping suds and a curse, he stepped out to adjust the vocal, and three hours later a second trade ship was alongside, and a grinning youngster entered through the air tube between the ships. Devers rattled his best chair forward and perched himself on the pilot-swivel. ‘“What’ve you been doing, Gorm?” he asked, darkly. “Chased me all the way from the Foundation?” Les Gorm broke out a cigarette, and shook his head definitely, “Me? Not a chance. I’m just the sucker who happened to land on Glyptal IV the day after the mail. So they sent me out after you with this.” The tiny, gleaming sphere changed hands, and Gorm ::dded, “It’s confidential. Super- secret. Can’: be trusted to the sub-ether, and all that. Or so I gather. At least, it’s a Personal Capsule, and won’t open for anyone but you.” Devers regardei the capsule distaste- fully, “I can see that. And I never knew one of these to hold good news, either.” It opened in his haftd and the thin, transparent tape unrolled stiffly. His eyes swept the message quickly, for when the last of the tape had emerged, the first was already brown and crinkled. In a minute 36 and a half it had turned black and, mole- cule by molecule, fallen apart.” Devers grunted hollowly, “Oh, Galaxy!’’ Les Gorm said quietly, “Can I help somehow? Or is it too secret?” “Tt will bear telling, since you’re of the Guild. I’ve got to go to Askone.” “That place? How come?” ‘““They’ve imprisoned a trader. But keep it to yourself.” Gorm’s expression jolted into anger, “Imprisoned! That’s against the Conven- tion.” “So is interference with local politics.” “Oh! Is that what he did?” Gorm medi- tated. ““Who’s the trader? Anyone I know?” “No!” said Devers sharply, and Gorm accepted the implication and asked no further questions. Devers was up and staring darkly out ihe visiplate. He mumbled strong expressions at that part of the misty lens-form that was the body of the Galaxy, then said loudly, ‘“‘Damnedest mess! I’m way behind quota.” Light broke on Gorm’s intellect, ey friend, Askone is a closed area.’ “That’s right. You can’t sell as much as a penknife on Askone. They won’t buy atomic gadgets of any sort. With my quota dead on its feet, it’s murder to go there.” “Can’t get out of it?” Devers shook his head absently, “I know the fellow involved. Can’t walk out on a friend. What of it? I am in the hands of the Galactic Spirit, and walk cheerfully in the way he points out.” Gorm said blankly, “Huh?” Devers looked at him, and laughed shortly, “I forgot. You never read the ‘Book of the Spirit,’ did you?” “Never heard of it?’ said Gorm, curtly. “Well, you would if you'd had a re ligious training.” “Religious training? For the priesthood?” Gorm was profoundly shocked. “Afraid so. It’s my dark shame and secret. T was too much for the Revered conmicbooao S (©