Raych stared at his father in frustration and then said, in a low and despairing tone, “All right, Dad.”

Seldon said, “I will get someone to supervise your disguise and then you will go to Wye by air. -Buck up, Raych, it's not the end of the world.”

Raych smiled wanly, and Seldon watched him leave, a deeply troubled look on his face. A mustache could easily be regrown, but a son could not. Seldon was perfectly well aware that he was sending Raych into danger.

We all have our small illusions and Cleon I, Emperor of the Galaxy, King of Trantor, and a wide collection of other titles that, on rare occasions, could be called out in a long sonorous roll, was convinced that he was a person of democratic spirit.

It always angered him when he was warned off a course of action by Demerzel, or, later, by Seldon, on the grounds that such action would be looked on as tyrannical or despotic.

He was not a tyrant or despot by disposition, he was certain; he only wanted to take firm and decisive action.

He spoke many times with nostalgic approval of the days when Emperors could mingle freely with their subjects, but now, of course when their history of coups and assassinations, actual or attempted, had become a dreary fact of life, the Emperor had had to be shut off from the world.

It is doubtful that Cleon, who had never in his life met with people except under the most constricted of conditions, would really have felt at home in off-hand encounters with strangers, but he always imagined he would enjoy it. He was grateful, therefore, for a rare chance of talking to one of the underlings on the grounds, to smile, and to doff the trappings of Imperial rule for a few minutes. It made him feel democratic.

There was this gardener whom Seldon had spoken of, for instance. It would be fitting, rather a pleasure, to reward him belatedly for his loyalty and bravery, and to do so himself rather than leaving it to some functionary.

He therefore arranged to meet him in the spacious rose garden which, at this time, was in full bloom. That would be appropriate, Cleon thought, but, of course, they would have to bring the gardener there first. It was unthinkable for the Emperor to be made to wait. It is one thing to be democratic; quite another to be inconvenienced.

The gardener was waiting for him among the roses, his eyes wide, his lips trembling. It occurred to Cleon that it was possible no one had told the fellow the exact reason for the meeting. Well, he would reassure him in kindly fashion-except that, now he came to think of it, he could not remember the fellow's name.

He turned to one of the officials at his side, and said, “What is the gardener's name?”

“Sire, it is Mandell Gruber. He has been a gardener here for twenty-two years.”

The Emperor nodded, and said, “Ah, Gruber. How glad I am to meet a worthy and hard-working gardener.”

“Sire,” mumbled Gruber, his teeth chattering. “I am not a man of many talents, but it is always my best I try to do on behalf of your gracious self.”

“Of course, of course,” said the Emperor, wondering if the gardener suspected him of sarcasm. These men of the lower classes lacked the finer feelings that came with refinement and manners. It was what always made any attempt at democratic display difficult.

Cleon said, “I have heard from my First Minister of the loyalty with which you once came to his aid, and your skill in taking care of the grounds. The First Minister tells me that he and you are quite friendly.”

“Sire, the First Minister is most gracious to me, but I know my place. I never speak to him unless he speaks first.”

“Quite, Gruber. That shows good feeling on your part, but the First Minister, like myself, is a man of democratic impulses, and I trust his judgment of people.”

Gruber bowed low.

The Emperor said, “As you know, Gruber, the Chief Gardener, Malcomber, is quite old and longs to retire. The responsibilities are becoming greater than he can bear.”

“Sire, the Chief Gardener is much respected by all the gardeners. May he be spared for many years so that we can all come to him for the benefit of his wisdom and judgment.”

“Well said, Gruber,” said the Emperor carelessly, “but you very well know that that is just mumbo-jumbo. He is not going to be spared, at least not with the strength and wit necessary for the position. He himself requests retirement within the year and I have granted him that. It remains to find a replacement.”

“Oh, Sire, there are fifty men and women in this grand place who could be Chief Gardener.”

“I dare say,” said the Emperor, “But my choice has fallen upon you.” The Emperor smiled graciously. This was the moment he had been waiting for. Gruber would now, he expected, fall to his knees in an ecstasy of gratitude.

He did not, and the Emperor frowned.

Gruber said, “Sire, it is an honor that is too great for me, entirely.”

“Nonsense,” said Cleon, offended that his judgment should be called into question. “It is about time that your virtues are recognized. You will no longer have to be exposed to weather of all kinds at all times of the year. You will have the Chief Gardener's office, a fine place, which I will have redecorated for you, and where you can bring your family-You do have a family, don't you, Gruber?”

“Yes, Sire. A wife, and two daughters. And a son-in-law.”

“Very good. You will be very comfortable and you will enjoy your new life, Gruber. You will be indoors, Gruber, and out of the weather, like a true Trantorian.”

“Sire, consider that I am an Anacreonian by upbringing-”

“I have considered, Gruber. All worlds are alike to the Emperor. It is done. The new job is what you deserve.”

He nodded his head and stalked off. Cleon was satisfied with this latest show of his benevolence. Of course, he could have used a little more gratitude from the fellow, a little more appreciation, but at least it was done.

And it was much easier to have this done than to settle the matter of the failing infrastructure.

Cleon had, in a moment of testiness, declared that whenever a breakdown could be attributed to human error, the human being in question should forthwith be executed.

“A few executions,” he said, “and it's remarkable how careful everyone will become.”

“I'm afraid, Sire,” Seldon had said, “that this would be considered despotic behavior and would not accomplish what you wish. It would probably force the workers to go on strike and if you try to force them back to work, there would then be an insurrection, and if you try to replace them with soldiers, you will find they do not know how to control the machinery, so that breakdowns will begin to take place much more frequently.”

It was no wonder that Cleon turned to the matter of appointing a Chief Gardener with relief.

As for Gruber, he gazed after the departing Emperor with chill horror. He was going to be taken from the freedom of the open air and condemned to the constriction of four walls.

– Yet how could one refuse the Emperor?