Isaac Asimov - Forward the Foundation

Andorin’s fair face turned blotchy red and his good humor finally exploded. “What do you have in mind, then? What are you planning? I’m getting tired of always having to second-guess.”

Namarti raised his hand. “All right. All right. Calm down. I meant no harm. But think a bit, will you? Who destroyed Joranum? Who destroyed our hopes ten years ago? It was that mathematician. And it is he who rules the Empire now with his idiotic talk about psychohistory. Cleon is nothing. It is Hari Seldon we must destroy. It is Hari Seldon whom I’ve been turning into an object of ridicule with these constant breakdowns. The miseries they entail are placed at his doorstep. It is all being interpreted as his inefficiency, his incapacity.” There was a trace of spittle in the corners of Namarti’s mouth. “When he’s cut down, there will be a cheer from the Empire that will drown out every holovision report for hours. It won’t even matter if they know who did it.” He raised his hand and let it drop, as if he were plunging a knife into someone’s heart. “We will be looked upon as heroes of the Empire, as saviors. —Eh? Eh? Do you think your youngster can cut down Hari Seldon?”

Andorin had recovered his sense of equanimity—at least outwardly.

“I’m sure he would,” he said with forced lightness. “For Cleon, he might have some respect; the Emperor has a mystical aura about him, as you know.” (He stressed the “you” faintly and Namarti scowled.) “He would have no such feelings about Seldon.”

Inwardly, however, Andorin was furious. This was not what he wanted. He was being betrayed.

Manella brushed the hair out of her eyes and smiled up at Raych. “I told you it wouldn’t cost you any credits.”

Raych blinked and scratched at his bare shoulder. “But are you going to ask me for some now?”

She shrugged and smiled rather impishly. “Why should I?”

“Why shouldn’t you?”

“Because I’m allowed to take my own pleasure sometimes.”

“With me?”

“There’s no one else here.”

There was a long pause and then Manella said soothingly, “Besides, you don’t have that many credits anyway. How’s the job?”

Raych said, “Ain’t much but better than nothing. Lots better. Did you tell that guy to get me one?”

Manella shook her head slowly. “You mean Gleb Andorin? I didn’t tell him to do anything. I just said he might be interested in you.”

“Is he going to be annoyed because you and I—”

“Why should he? None of his business. And none of yours , either.”

“What’s he do? I mean, what does he work at?”

“I don’t think he works at anything. He’s rich. He’s a relative of the old Mayors.”

“Of Wye?”

“Right. He doesn’t like the Imperial government. None of those old Mayor people do. He says Cleon should—”

She stopped suddenly and said, “I’m talking too much. Don’t you go repeating anything I say.”

“Me? I ain’t heard you say nothing at all. And I ain’t going to.”

“All right.”

“But what about Andorin? Is he high up in Joranumite business? Is he an important guy there?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Don’t he ever talk about that kind of stuff?”

“Not to me.”

“Oh,” said Raych, trying not to sound annoyed.

Manella looked at him shrewdly. “Why are you so interested?”

“I want to get in with them. I figure I’ll get higher up that way. Better job. More credits. You know.”

“Maybe Andorin will help you. He likes you. I know that much.”

“Could you make him like me more?”

“I can try. I don’t know why he shouldn’t. I like you. I like you more than I like him.”

“Thank you, Manella. I like you, too. —A lot.” He ran his hand down the side of her body and wished ardently that he could concentrate more on her and less on his assignment.

“Gleb Andorin,” said Hari Seldon wearily, rubbing his eyes.

“And who is he?” asked Dors Venabili, her mood as cold as it had been every day since Raych had left.

“Until a few days ago I never heard of him,” said Seldon. “That’s the trouble with trying to run a world of forty billion people. You never hear of anyone, except for the few who obtrude themselves on your notice. With all the computerized information in the world, Trantor remains a planet of anonymities. We can drag up people with their reference numbers and their statistics, but whom do we drag up? Add twenty-five million Outer Worlds and the wonder is that the Galactic Empire has remained a working phenomenon for all these millennia. Frankly I think it has existed only because it very largely runs itself. And now it is finally running down.”

“So much for philosophizing, Hari,” said Dors. “Who is this Andorin?”

“Someone I admit I ought to have known about. I managed to cajole the security establishment into calling up some files on him. He’s a member of the Wyan Mayoralty family—the most prominent member, in fact—so the security people have kept tabs on him. They think he has ambitions but is too much of a playboy to do anything about them.”

“And is he involved with the Joranumites?”

Seldon made an uncertain gesture. “I’m under the impression that the security establishment knows nothing about the Joranumites. That may mean that the Joranumites no longer exist or that, if they do, they are of no importance. It may also mean that the security establishment just isn’t interested. Nor is there any way in which I can force it to be interested. I’m only thankful the officers give me any information at all. And I am the First Minister.”

“Is it possible that you’re not a very good First Minister?” said Dors, dryly.

“That’s more than possible. It’s probably been generations since there’s been an appointee less suited to the job than myself. But that has nothing to do with the security establishment. It’s a totally independent arm of the government. I doubt that Cleon himself knows much about it, though, in theory, the security officers are supposed to report to him through their director. Believe me, if we only knew more about the security establishment, we’d be trying to stick its actions into our psychohistorical equations, such as they are.”

“Are the security officers on our side, at least?”

“I believe so, but I can’t swear to it.”

“And why are you interested in this what’s-his-name?”

“Gleb Andorin. Because I received a roundabout message from Raych.”

Dors’s eyes flashed. “Why didn’t you tell me? Is he all right?”

“As far as I know, but I hope he doesn’t try any further messages. If he’s caught communicating, he won’t be all right. In any case, he has made contact with Andorin.”

“And the Joranumites, too?”

“I don’t think so. It would sound unlikely, for the connection is not something that would make sense. The Joranumite movement is predominantly lower-class—a proletarian movement, so to speak. And Andorin is an aristocrat of aristocrats. What would he be doing with the Joranumites?”

“If he’s of the Wyan Mayoralty family, he might aspire to the Imperial throne, might he not?”

“They’ve been aspiring for generations. You remember Rashelle, I trust. She was Andorin’s aunt.”

“Then he might be using the Joranumites as a stepping-stone, don’t you think?”

“If they exist. And if they do—and if a stepping-stone is what Andorin wants—I think he’d find himself playing a dangerous game. The Joranumites—if they exist—would have their own plans and a man like Andorin may find he’s simply riding a greti—”