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 b.u.t.ter-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?

12

Raych did his best to size up his new companion, without allowing his own face to lose its smooth naivete. 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 partic.i.p.ation 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?"

"Is that what you call it?" Raych let his head sink, as if in deep thought. "I feel more at home as a Joranumite."

"Of course, as a Dahlite-"

"I just lived there awhile."

"-you're all for people's equalities and such things. The Dahlites, being an oppressed group, would naturally think in that fashion."

"I hear that Wye is pretty strong in Joranumite thinking. They're not oppressed."

"Different reason. The old Wye Mayors always wanted to be Emperors. Did you know that?"

Raych shook his head.

"Eighteen years ago," said the man, "Mayor Rash.e.l.le nearly carried through a coup in that direction. So the Wyans are rebels, not so much Joranumite as anti-Cleon."

Raych said, "I don't know nothing about that. I ain't against the Emperor."

"But you are for popular representation, aren't you? Do you think that some sort of elected a.s.sembly could run the Galactic Empire without bogging down in politics and partisan bickering? Without paralysis?"

Raych said, "Huh? I don't understand."

"Do you think a great many people could come to some decision quickly in times of emergency? Or would they just sit around and argue?"

"I don't know, but it doesn't seem right that just a few people should have all the say over all the worlds."

"Are you willing to fight for your beliefs? Or do you just like to talk about them?"

"No one asked me to do any fighting," said Raych.

"Suppose someone did. How important do you think your beliefs about democracy-or Joranumite philosophy-are?"

"I'd fight for them-if I thought it would do any good."

"There's a brave lad. So you came to Wye to fight for your beliefs."

"No," said Raych uncomfortably, "I can't say I did. I came to look for a job, sir. It ain't easy to find no jobs these days-and I ain't got no credits. A guy's gotta live."

"I agree. What's your name?"

The question shot out without warning, but Raych was ready for it. "Planchet, sir."

"First or last name?"

"Only name, as far as I know."

"You have no credits and, I gather, very little education."

"Afraid so."

"And no experience at any specialized job?"

"I ain't worked much, but I'm willing."

"All right. I'll tell you what, Planchet." He took a small white triangle out of his pocket and pressed it in such a way as to produce a printed message on it. Then he rubbed his thumb across it, freezing it. "I'll tell you where to go. You take this with you and it may get you a job."

Raych took the card and glanced at it. The signals seemed to fluoresce, but Raych could not read them. He looked at the other man warily. "What if they think I stole it?"

"It can't be stolen. It has my sign on it and now it has your name."

"What if they ask me who you are?"

"They won't. -You say you want a job. There's your chance. I don't guarantee it, but there's your chance." He gave him another card. "This is where to go." Raych could read this one.

"Thank you," he mumbled.

The man made little dismissing gestures with his hand.

Raych rose and left-and wondered what he was getting into.

13

Up and down. Up and down. Up and down.

Gleb Andorin watched Gambol Deen Namarti trudging up and down. Namarti was obviously unable to sit still under the driving force of the violence of his pa.s.sion.

Andorin thought: He's not the brightest man in the Empire or even in the movement, not the shrewdest, certainly not the most capable of rational thought. He has to be held back constantly-but he's driven as none of the rest of us are. We would give up, let go, but he won't. Push, pull, prod, kick. -Well, maybe we need someone like that. We must have someone like that or nothing will ever happen.

Namarti stopped, as though he felt Andorin's eyes boring into his back. He turned around and said, "If you're going to lecture me again on Kaspalov, don't bother."

Andorin shrugged lightly. "Why bother lecturing you? The deed is done. The harm-if any-has been done."

"What harm, Andorin? What harm? If I had not done it, then we would have been harmed. The man was on the edge of being a traitor. Within a month, he would have gone running "

"I know. I was there. I heard what he said."

"Then you understand there was no choice. No choice. You don't think I liked to have an old comrade killed, do you? I had no choice."

"Very well. You had no choice."

Namarti resumed his tramping, then turned again. "Andorin, do you believe in G.o.ds?"

Andorin stared, "In what?"

"In G.o.ds."

"I never heard the word. What is it?"

Namarti said, "It's not Galactic Standard. Supernatural influences. How's that?"

"Oh, supernatural influences. Why didn't you say so? No, I don't believe in that sort of thing. By definition, something is supernatural if it exists outside the laws of nature and nothing exists outside the laws of nature. Are you turning into a mystic?" Andorin asked it as though he were joking, but his eyes narrowed with sudden concern.

Namarti stared him down. Those blazing eyes of his could stare anyone down. "Don't be a fool. I've been reading about it. Trillions of people believe in supernatural influences."

"I know," said Andorin. "They always have."

"They've done so since before the beginning of history. The word 'G.o.ds' is of unknown origin. It is, apparently, a hangover from some primeval language of which no trace any longer exists, except that word. -Do you know how many different varieties of beliefs there are in various kinds of G.o.ds?"