"Wait, wait, children," he said. "Now stand back."

He pulled a small computerized robot from his pocket and placed it on the floor. In an Empire without robots, this was something that he could expect to be eye-popping. It had the shape of a small furry animal, but it also had the capacity to change shapes without warning (eliciting squeals of children's laughter each time) and when it did so, the sounds and motions it made changed as well.

"Watch it," said Seldon, "and play with it, and try not to break it. Later on, there'll be one for each of you."

He slipped out into the hallway leading back to the main hall and realized, as he did so, that Wanda was following him.

"Grandpa," she said.

Well, of course, Wanda was different. He swooped down and lifted her high in the air, turned her over, and put her down.

"Are you having a good time, Wanda?" he asked.

"Yes," she said, "but don't go into that room."

"Why not, Wanda? It's my room. It's the office where I work."

"It's where I had my bad dream."

"I know, Wanda, but that's all over, isn't it?" He hesitated, then he led Wanda to one of the chairs lining the hallway. He sat down and placed her on his lap.

"Wanda," he said, "are you sure it was a dream?"

"I think it was a dream."

"Were you really sleeping?"

"I think I was."

She seemed uncomfortable talking about it and Seldon decided to let it go. There was no use pushing her any further.

He said, "Well, dream or not, there were two men and they talked of lemonade death, didn't they?"

Wanda nodded reluctantly.

Seldon said, "You're sure they said lemonade?"

Wanda nodded again.

"Might they have said something else and you thought they said lemonade?"

"Lemonade is what they said."

Seldon had to be satisfied with that. "Well, run off and have a good time, Wanda. Forget about the dream."

"All right, Grandpa." She cheered up as soon as the matter of the dream was dismissed and off she went to join the festivities.

Seldon went to search for Manella. It took him an extraordinarily long time to find her, since, at every step, he was stopped, greeted, and conversed with.

Finally he saw her in the distance. Muttering, "Pardon me- Pardon me- There's someone I must- Pardon me-," he worked his way over to her with considerable trouble.

"Manella," he said and drew her off to one side, smiling mechanically in all directions.

"Yes, Hari," she said. "Is something wrong?"

"It's Wanda's dream."

"Don't tell me she's still talking about it."

"Well, it's still bothering her. Listen, we have lemonade at the party, haven't we?"

"Of course, the children adore it. I've added a couple of dozen different Mycogenian taste buds to very small gla.s.ses of different shapes and the children try them one after the other to see which taste best. The adults have been drinking it, too. I have. Why don't you taste it, Hari? It's great."

"I'm thinking. If it wasn't a dream, if the child really heard two men speak of lemonade death-" He paused, as though ashamed to continue.

Manella said, "Are you thinking that someone poisoned the lemonade? That's ridiculous. By now every child in the place would be sick or dying."

"I know," muttered Seldon. "I know."

He wandered off and almost didn't see Dors when he pa.s.sed her. She seized his elbow.

"Why the face?" she said. "You look concerned."

"I've been thinking of Wanda's lemonade death."

"So have I, but I can't make anything of it so far."

"I can't help but think of the possibility of poisoning."

"Don't. I a.s.sure you that every bit of food that came into this party has been molecularly checked. I know you'll think that's my typical paranoia, but my task is guarding you and that is what I must do."

"And everything is-"

"No poison. I promise you."

Seldon smiled, "Well, good. That's a relief. I didn't really think-"

"Let's hope not," said Dors dryly. "What concerns me far more than this myth of poison is that I have heard that you're going to be seeing that monster Tennar in a few days."

"Don't call him a monster, Dors. Be careful. We're surrounded by cars and tongues."

Dors immediately lowered her voice. "I suppose you're right. Look ;round. All these smiling faces-and yet who knows which of our friends' will be reporting back to the head and his henchmen when the night is over? Ah, humans! Even after all these thousands of centuries, to think that such base treachery still exists. It seems to me to be so unnecessary. Yet I know the harm it can do. That is why I must go with you, Hari."

"Impossible, Dors. It would just complicate matters for me. I'll go Myself and I'll have no trouble."

"You would have no idea how to handle the General."

Seldon looked grave. "And you would? You sound exactly like Elar. He, too, is convinced that I am a helpless old fool. He, too, wants to come with me-or, rather, to go in my place. -I wonder how many people on Trantor are willing to take my place," he added with clear sarcasm. "Dozens? Millions?"

12

For ten years the Galactic Empire had been without an Emperor, but there was no indication of that fact in the way the Imperial Palace grounds were operated. Millennia of custom made the absence of an Emperor meaningless.

It meant, of course, that there was no figure in Imperial robes to preside over formalities of one sort or another. No Imperial voice gave orders; no Imperial wishes made themselves known; no Imperial gratifications or annoyances made themselves felt; no Imperial pleasures warmed either Palace; no Imperial sicknesses cast them in gloom. The Emperor's own quarters in the Small Palace were empty-the Imperial family did not exist.

And yet the army of gardeners kept the grounds in perfect condition. An army of service people kept the buildings in top shape. The Emperor's bed-never slept in-was made with fresh sheets every day; the rooms were cleaned; everything worked as it always worked; and the entire Imperial staff, from top to bottom, worked as they had always worked. The top officials gave commands as they would have done if the Emperor had lived, commands that they knew the Emperor would have given. In many cases, in particular in the higher echelons, the personnel were the same as those who had been there on Cleon's last day of life. The new personnel who had been taken on were carefully molded and trained into the traditions they would have to serve.

It was as though the Empire, accustomed to the rule of an Emperor, insisted on this "ghost rule" to hold the Empire together.

The junta knew this-or, if they didn't, they felt it vaguely. In ten years none of those military men who had commanded the Empire had moved into the Emperor's private quarters in the Small Palace. Whatever these men were, they were not Imperial and they knew they had no rights there. A populace that endured the loss of liberty would not endure any sign of irreverence to the Emperor-alive or dead.

Even General Tennar had not moved into the graceful structure that had housed the Emperors of a dozen different dynasties for so long. He Hid made his home and office in one of the structures built on the outskirts of the grounds-eyesores, but eyesores that were built like fortresses, st.u.r.dy enough to withstand a siege, with outlying buildings in which an enormous force of guards was housed.

Tennar was a stocky man, with a mustache. It was not a vigorous overflowing Dahlite mustache but one that was carefully clipped and fitted to the upper lip, leaving a strip of skin between the hair and the line of the lip. It was a reddish mustache and Tennar had cold blue eyes. He had probably been a handsome man in his younger days, but his face was pudgy now and his eyes were slits that expressed anger more often than any other emotion.

So he said angrily-as one would, who felt himself to be absolute master of millions of worlds and yet who dared not call himself an Emperor-to Hender Linn, "I can establish a dynasty of my own." He hooked around with a scowl. "This is not a fitting place for the master of the Empire."

Linn said softly, "To be master is what is important. Better to be a master in a cubicle than a figurehead in a palace."

"Best yet, to be master in a palace. Why not?"

Linn bore the t.i.tle of colonel, but it is quite certain that he had never engaged in any military action. His function was that of telling Tennar what he wanted to hear-and of carrying his orders, unchanged, to others. On occasion-if it seemed safe-he might try to steer Tennar into more prudent courses.

Linn was well known as "Tennar's lackey" and knew that was how he was known. It did not bother him. As lackey, he was safe-and he had seen the downfall of those who had been too proud to be lackeys.

The time might, of course, come when Tennar himself would be buried in the ever-changing junta panorama, but Linn felt, with a certain amount of philosophy, that he would be aware of it in time and save himself. -Or he might not. There was a price for everything.

"No reason why you can't found a dynasty, General," said Linn. Many others have done it in the long Imperial history. Still, it takes lime. The people are slow to adapt. It is usually only the second or even third of the dynasty who is fully accepted as Emperor."

"I don't believe that. I need merely announce myself as new Em1wror. Who will dare quarrel with that? My grip is tight."

"So it is, General. Your power is unquestioned on Trantor and in most of the Inner Worlds, yet it is possible that many in the farther Outer Worlds will not just yet-accept a new Imperial dynasty."

"Inner Worlds or Outer Worlds, military force rules all. That is an old Imperial maxim."

"And a good one," said Linn, "but many of the provinces have armed forces of their own, nowadays, that they may not use on your behalf. These are difficult times."

"You counsel caution, then."

"I always counsel caution, General."

"And someday you may counsel it once too often."

Linn bent his head. "I can only counsel what seems to me to be good and useful to you, General."

"As in your constant harping to me about this Hari Seldon."

"He is your greatest danger, General."

"So you keep saying, but I don't see it. He's just a college professor."

Linn said, "So he is, but he was once First Minister."

"I know, but that was in Cleon's time. Has he done anything since? With times being difficult and with the governors of the provinces being fractious, why is a professor my greatest danger?"

"It is sometimes a mistake," said Linn carefully (for one had to be careful in educating the General), "to suppose that a quiet un.o.btrusive man can be harmless. Seldon has been anything but harmless to those he has opposed. Twenty years ago the Joranumite movement almost destroyed Cleon's powerful First Minister, Eto Demerzel."

Tennar nodded, but the slight frown on his face betrayed his effort to remember the matter.

"It was Seldon who destroyed Joranum and who succeeded Demerzel as First Minister. The Joranumite movement survived, however, and Seldon engineered its destruction, too, but not before it succeeded in bringing about the a.s.sa.s.sination of Cleon."

"But Seldon survived that, didn't he?"

"You are perfectly correct. Seldon survived."

"That is strange. To have permitted an Imperial a.s.sa.s.sination should have meant death for a First Minister."

"So it should have. Nevertheless, the junta has allowed him to live. It seemed wiser to do so."

"Why?"

Linn sighed internally. "There is something called psychohistory, General."

"I know nothing about that," said Tennar flatly.

Actually he had a vague memory of Linn trying to talk to him on a number of occasions concerning this strange collection of syllables. He had never wanted to listen and Linn had known better than to push the matter. Tennar didn't want to listen now, either, but there seemed to be a hidden urgency in Linn's words. Perhaps, Tennar thought, he had now better listen.

"Almost no one knows anything about it," said Linn, "yet there are a few-uh-intellectuals, who find it of interest."

"And what is it?"

"It is a complex system of mathematics."

Tennar shook his head. "Leave me out of that, please. I can count my military divisions. That's all the mathematics I need."

"The story is," said Linn, "that psychohistory may make it possible to predict the future."

The General's eyes bulged. "You mean this Seldon is a fortune- "Not in the usual fashion. It is a matter of science."

"I don't believe it."

"It is hard to believe, but Seldon has become something of a cult figure here on Trantor-and in certain places in the Outer Worlds. Now psychohistory-if it can be used to predict the future or if even people merely think it can be so used-can be a powerful tool with which to uphold the regime. I'm sure you have already seen this, General. One need merely predict our regime will endure and bring forth peace and prosperity for the Empire. People, believing this, will help make it a self-fulfilling prophecy. On the other hand, if Seldon wishes the reverse, he can predict civil war and ruin. People will believe that, too, and that would destabilize the regime."