Isaac Asimov - Forward the Foundation

It seemed to Raych that he must make himself conspicuous. He must show an interest in Kaspalov’s death and then someone would get interested in him and pick him up. It was dangerous, but if he could make himself sound harmless enough, they might not attack him immediately.

Well—

Raych looked at his timeband. There would be people enjoying their predinner aperitifs in the bar. He might as well join them and see what would happen—if anything.

In some respects, Wye could be quite puritanical. (This was true of all the sectors, though the rigidity of one sector might be completely different from the rigidity of another.) Here, the drinks were not alcoholic but were synthetically designed to stimulate in other ways. Raych did not like the taste, finding himself utterly unused to it, but it meant that he could sip his drink slowly and look around.

He caught the eye of a young woman several tables away and had difficulty in looking away. She was attractive and it was clear that Wye’s ways were not puritanical in every fashion.

After a few moments, the young woman smiled slightly and rose. She drifted toward Raych’s table, while Raych watched her speculatively. He could scarcely (he thought with marked regret) afford a side adventure just now.

She stopped for a moment when she reached Raych and then let herself slide smoothly into an adjacent chair.

“Hello,” she said. “You don’t look like a regular here.”

Raych smiled. “I’m not. Do you know all the regulars?”

“Just about,” she said, unembarrassed. “My name is Manella. What’s yours?”

Raych was more regretful than ever. She was quite tall, taller than he himself was without his heels—something he always found attractive—had a milky complexion, and long, softly wavy hair that had distinct glints of dark red in it. Her clothing was not too garish and she might, if she had tried a little harder, have passed as a respectable woman of the not-too-hardworking class.

Raych said, “My name doesn’t matter. I don’t have many credits.”

“Oh. Too bad.” Manella made a face. “Can’t you get a few?”

“I’d like to. I need a job. Do you know of any?”

“What kind of job?”

Raych shrugged. “I don’t have any experience in anything fancy, but I ain’t proud.”

Manella looked at him thoughtfully. “I’ll tell you what, Mr. Nameless. Sometimes it doesn’t take any credits at all.”

Raych froze at once. He had been successful enough with women, but with his mustache—his mustache. What could she see in his baby face?

He said, “Tell you what. I had a friend living here a couple of weeks ago and I can’t find him. Since you know all the regulars, maybe you know him. His name is Kaspalov.” He raised his voice slightly. “Kaspal Kaspalov.”

Manella stared at him blankly and shook her head. “I don’t know anybody by that name.”

“Too bad. He was a Joranumite and so am I.” Again, a blank look. “Do you know what a Joranumite is?”

She shook her head. “N-no. I’ve heard the word, but I don’t know what it means. Is it some kind of job?”

Raych felt disappointed.

He said, “It would take too long to explain.”

It sounded like a dismissal and, after a moment of uncertainty, Manella rose and drifted away. She did not smile and Raych was a little surprised that she had remained as long as she did.

(Well, Seldon had always insisted that Raych had the capacity to inspire affection—but surely not in a businesswoman of this sort. For them, payment was the thing.)

His eyes followed Manella automatically as she stopped at another table, where a man was seated by himself. He was of early middle age, with butter-yellow hair, slicked back. He was very smooth-shaven, but it seemed to Raych that he could have used a beard, his chin being too prominent and a bit asymmetric.

Apparently Manella had no better luck with this beardless one. A few words were exchanged and she moved on. Too bad, but surely it was impossible for her to fail often. She was unquestionably desirable.

Raych found himself thinking, quite involuntarily, of what the upshot would be if he, after all, could—And then Raych realized that he had been joined by someone else. It was a man this time. It was, in fact, the man to whom Manella had just spoken. He was astonished that his own preoccupation had allowed him to be thus approached and, in effect, caught by surprise. He couldn’t very well afford this sort of thing.

The man looked at him with a glint of curiosity in his eyes. “You were just talking to a friend of mine.”

Raych could not help smiling broadly. “She’s a friendly person.”

“Yes, she is. And a good friend of mine. I couldn’t help overhearing what you said to her.”

“Wasn’t nothing wrong, I think.”

“Not at all, but you called yourself a Joranumite.”

Raych’s heart jumped. His remark to Manella had hit dead-center after all. It had meant nothing to her, but it seemed to mean something to her “friend.”

Did that mean he was on the road now? Or merely in trouble?

Raych did his best to size up his new companion, without allowing his own face to lose its smooth naïveté. The man had sharp greenish eyes and his right hand clenched almost threateningly into a fist as it rested on the table.

Raych looked owlishly at the other and waited.

Again, the man said, “I understand you call yourself a Joranumite.”

Raych did his best to look uneasy. It was not difficult. He said, “Why do you ask, mister?”

“Because I don’t think you’re old enough.”

“I’m old enough. I used to watch Jo-Jo Joranum’s speeches on holovision.”

“Can you quote them?”

Raych shrugged. “No, but I got the idea.”

“You’re a brave young man to talk openly about being a Joranumite. Some people don’t like that.”

“I’m told there are lots of Joranumites in Wye.”

“That may be. Is that why you came here?”

“I’m looking for a job. Maybe another Joranumite would help me.”

“There are Joranumites in Dahl, too. Where are you from?”

There was no question that he recognized Raych’s accent. That could not be disguised.

He said, “I was born in Millimaru, but I lived mostly in Dahl when I was growing up.”

“Doing what?”

“Nothing much. Going to school some.”

“And why are you a Joranumite?”

Raych let himself heat up a bit. He couldn’t have lived in downtrodden, discriminated-against Dahl without having obvious reasons for being a Joranumite. He said, “Because I think there should be more representative government in the Empire, more participation by the people, and more equality among the sectors and the worlds. Doesn’t anyone with brains and a heart think that?”

“And you want to see the Emperorship abolished?”

Raych paused. One could get away with a great deal in the way of subversive statements, but anything overtly anti-Emperor was stepping outside the bounds. He said, “I ain’t saying that. I believe in the Emperor, but ruling a whole Empire is too much for one man.”

“It isn’t one man. There’s a whole Imperial bureaucracy. What do you think of Hari Seldon, the First Minister?”

“Don’t think nothing about him. Don’t know about him.”

“All you know is that people should be more represented in the affairs of government. Is that right?”

Raych allowed himself to look confused. “That’s what Jo-Jo Joranum used to say. I don’t know what you call it. I heard someone once call it ‘democracy,’ but I don’t know what that means.”

“Democracy is something that some worlds have tried. Some still do. I don’t know that those worlds are run better than other worlds. So you’re a democrat?”