“No, I'm sure he doesn't. He's never worked at anything but unskilled labor. He's operating a hauler right now, and I think that he had to be taught how to do that. Still, if we can get him in as a gardener's helper, if he just knows how to hold a pair of shears, then we've got it.”

“Got what?”

“Got someone who can approach anyone we wish, and do so without raising the flutter of a suspicion, and get close enough to strike. I'm telling you he simply exudes a kind of honorable stupidity, a kind of foolish virtue, that inspires confidence.”

“And he'll do what we tell him to do?”

“Absolutely.”

“How did you meet this person?”

“It wasn't I. It was Manella who really spotted him.”

“Who?”

“Manella. Manella Dubanqua.”

“Oh. That friend of yours.” Namarti's face twisted into a look of prissy disapproval.

“She's the friend of many people,” said Andorin tolerantly. “That's one of the things that makes her so useful. She can weigh a man quickly and with very little to go on. She talked to this fellow, because he attracted her at sight, and I assure you Manella is not one to be attracted by anything other than the bottom-line, so you see this man is rather unusual. She talked to this fellow-his name is Planchet, by the way-and then told me ‘I have a live one for you, Gleb.’ -I'll trust her on the matter of live ones any day.”

Namarti said slyly, “And what do you think this wonderful tool of yours would do once he had the run of the grounds, eh, Andorin?”

Andorin took a deep breath. “What else? If we do everything right, he will dispose of our dear Emperor, Cleon, first of that Name, for us.”

Namarti's face blazed into anger. “What? Are you mad? Why should we want to kill Cleon? He's our hold on the government. He's the facade behind which we can rule. He's our passport to legitimacy. Where are your brains? We need him as a figurehead. He won't interfere with us and we'll be stronger for his existence.”

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 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 not 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 needn't cost much in the way of money.”

Raych blinked and scratched at his bare shoulder. “Actually, it didn't cost me nothing-unless you ask for something 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.”

There was a long pause and then Manella said soothingly, “Besides, you don't have much money 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 if he does, either.”

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

“I don't think he works at anything. He's got money. He's a relative of the old mayors.”

“Of Wye?”

“Right. He doesn't like the 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 about this guy, 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.

She 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 money. 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 task.

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

“And who is he?” asked Dors Venabili, her mood as black 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 serial 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 Venabili. “Who is this Andorin?”

“Someone I admit I ought to have known about. I managed to cajole the Imperial Guard into calling up their files on him. He's a member of the Wyan mayoralty family; the most prominent member, in fact, so prominent that the I.G. has 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 I.G. knows nothing about the Joranumites. That means that the Joranumites don't exist, or that, if they do, they are of no importance. It may also mean that the I.G. just isn't interested. Nor is there any way in which I can force them to be interested; I'm only thankful they 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 Venabili dryly.

“That's more than possible. It's been generations since there's been one less suited to the job than I. But that has nothing to do with the Imperial Guard. Despite their name, they're a totally independent arm of the government. I doubt that Cleon himself knows much about them, though, in theory, they're supposed to report directly to him. Believe me, if we only knew more about the I.G. we'd be trying to stick them into our psychohistorical equations, such as they are.”