"You can't propose any such–"

 

 "There's no necessity of looking so alarmed, Dr. Pirenne. There's plenty for all of us. If it comes to what it comes, and you co-operate, we could probably arrange it so that you lose nothing. Titles can be conferred and estates granted. You understand me, I think."

 

 Pirenne sneered, "Thanks!"

 

 And then Hardin said ingenuously: "Could Anacreon supply us with adequate quantities of plutonium for our nuclear-power plant? We've only a few years' supply left."

 

 There was a gasp from Pirenne and then a dead silence for minutes. When Haut Rodric spoke it was in a voice quite different from what it had been till then:

 

 "You have nuclear power?"

 

 "Certainly. What's unusual in that? I imagine nuclear power is fifty thousand years old now. Why shouldn't we have it? Except that it's a little difficult to get plutonium."

 

 "Yes ... Yes." The envoy paused and added uncomfortably: "Well, gentlemen, we'll pursue the subject tomorrow. You'll excuse me–"

 

 Pirenne looked after him and gritted through his teeth: "That insufferable, dull-witted donkey! That–"

 

 Hardin broke in: "Not at all. He's merely the product of his environment. He doesn't understand much except that 'I have a gun and you haven't.’"

 

 Pirenne whirled on him in exasperation. "What in space did you mean by the talk about military bases and tribute? Are you crazy?"

 

 "No. I merely gave him rope and let him talk. You'll notice that he managed to stumble out with Anacreon's real intentions – that is, the parceling up of Terminus into landed estates. Of course, I don't intend to let that happen."

 

 "You don't intend. You don't. And who are you? And may I ask what you meant by blowing off your mouth about our nuclear-power plant? Why, it's just the thing that would make us a military target."

 

 "Yes," grinned Hardin. "A military target to stay away from. Isn't it obvious why I brought the subject up? It happened to confirm a very strong suspicion I had had."

 

 "And that was what?"

 

 "That Anacreon no longer has a nuclear-power economy. If they had, our friend would undoubtedly have realized that plutonium, except in ancient tradition is not used in power plants. And therefore it follows that the rest of the Periphery no longer has nuclear power either. Certainly Smyrno hasn't, or Anacreon wouldn't have won most of the battles in their recent war. Interesting, wouldn't you say?"

 

 "Bah!" Pirenne left in fiendish humor, and Hardin smiled gently.

 

 He threw his cigar away and looked up at the outstretched Galaxy. "Back to oil and coal, are they?" he murmured – and what the rest of his thoughts were he kept to himself.

 

  

 

 3.

 

 When Hardin denied owning theJournal, he was perhaps technically correct, but no more. Hardin had been the leading spirit in the drive to incorporate Terminus into an autonomous municipality-he had been elected its first mayor-so it was not surprising that, though not a single share ofJournal stock was in his name, some sixty percent was controlled by him in more devious fashions.

 

 There were ways.

 

 Consequently, when Hardin began suggesting to Pirenne that he be allowed to attend meetings of the Board of Trustees, it was not quite coincidence that theJournal began a similar campaign. And the first mass meeting in the history of the Foundation was held, demanding representation of the City in the "national" government.

 

 And, eventually, Pirenne capitulated with ill grace.

 

 Hardin, as he sat at the foot of the table, speculated idly as to just what it was that made physical scientists such poor administrators. It might be merely that they were too used to inflexible fact and far too unused to pliable people.

 

 In any case, there was Tomaz Sutt and Jord Fara on his left; Lundin Crast and Yate Fulham on his fight; with Pirenne, himself, presiding. He knew them all, of course, but they seemed to have put on an extra-special bit of pomposity for the occasion.

 

 Hardin had dozed through the initial formalities and then perked up when Pirenne sipped at the glass of water before him by way of preparation and said:

 

 "I find it very gratifying to be able to inform the Board that since our last meeting, I have received word that Lord Dorwin, Chancellor of the Empire, will arrive at Terminus in two weeks. It may be taken for granted that our relations with Anacreon will be smoothed out to our complete satisfaction as soon as the Emperor is informed of the situation. "

 

 He smiled and addressed Hardin across the length of the table. "Information to this effect has been given theJournal. "

 

 Hardin snickered below his breath. It seemed evident that Pirenne's desire to strut this information before him had been one reason for his admission into the sacrosanctum.

 

 He said evenly: "Leaving vague expressions out of account, what do you expect Lord Dorwin to do?"

 

 Tomaz Sutt replied. He had a bad habit of addressing one in the third person when in his more stately moods.

 

 "It is quite evident," he observed, "that Mayor Hardin is a professional cynic. He can scarcely fail to realize that the Emperor would be most unlikely to allow his personal rights to be infringed."

 

 "Why? What would he do in case they were?"

 

 There was an annoyed stir. Pirenne said, "You are out of order," and, as an afterthought, "and are making what are near-treasonable statements, besides."

 

 "Am I to consider myself answered?"

 

 "Yes! If you have nothing further to say–"

 

 "Don't jump to conclusions. I'd like to ask a question. Besides this stroke of diplomacy – which may or may not prove to mean anything – has anything concrete been done to meet the Anacreonic menace?"

 

 Yate Fulham drew one hand along his ferocious red mustache. "You see a menace there, do you?"

 

 "Don't you?"

 

 "Scarcely"– this with indulgence. "The Emperor–"

 

 "Great space!" Hardin felt annoyed. "What is this? Every once in a while someone mentions 'Emperor' or 'Empire' as if it were a magic word. The Emperor is thousands of parsecs away, and I doubt whether he gives a damn about us. And if he does, what can he do? What there was of the imperial navy in these regions is in the hands of the four kingdoms now and Anacreon has its share. Listen, we have to fight with guns, not with words.

 

 "Now, get this. We've had two months' grace so far, mainly because we've given Anacreon the idea that we've got nuclear weapons. Well, we all know that that's a little white lie. We've got nuclear power, but only for commercial uses, and darn little at that. They're going to find that out soon, and if you think they're going to enjoy being jollied along, you're mistaken."

 

 "My dear sir–"

 

 "Hold on: I'm not finished." Hardin was warming up. He liked this. "It's all very well to drag chancellors into this, but it would be much nicer to drag a few great big siege guns fitted for beautiful nuclear bombs into it. We've lost two months, gentlemen, and we may not have another two months to lose. What do you propose to do?"

 

 Said Lundin Crast, his long nose wrinkling angrily: "If you're proposing the militarization of the Foundation, I won't hear a word of it. It would mark our open entrance into the field of politics. We, Mr. Mayor, are a scientific foundation and nothing else."

 

 Added Sutt: "He does not realize, moreover, that building armaments would mean withdrawing men – valuable men – from the Encyclopedia. That cannot be done, come what may."

 

 "Very true," agreed Pirenne. "The Encyclopedia first – always."

 

 Hardin groaned in spirit. The Board seemed to suffer violently from Encyclopedia on the brain,

 

 He said icily: "Has it ever occurred to this Board that it is barely possible that Terminus may have interests other than the Encyclopedia?"

 

 Pirenne replied: "I do not conceive, Hardin, that the Foundation can haveany interest other than the Encyclopedia."

 

 "I didn't say the Foundation; I saidTerminus. I'm afraid you don't understand the situation. There's a good million of us here on Terminus, and not more than a hundred and fifty thousand are working directly on the Encyclopedia. To the rest of us, this ishome. We were born here. We're living here. Compared with our farms and our homes and our factories, the Encyclopedia means little to us. We want them protected–"

 

 He was shouted down.

 

 "The Encyclopedia first," ground out Crast. "We have a mission to fulfill."

 

 "Mission, hell," shouted Hardin. "That might have been true fifty years ago. But this is a new generation."

 

 "That has nothing to do with it," replied Pirenne. "We are scientists."

 

 And Hardin leaped through the opening. "Are you, though? That's a nice hallucination, isn't it? Your bunch here is a perfect example of what's been wrong with the entire Galaxy for thousands of years. What kind of science is it to be stuck out here for centuries classifying the work of scientists of the last millennium? Have you ever thought of working onward, extending their knowledge and improving upon it? No! You're quite happy to stagnate. The whole Galaxy is, and has been for space knows how long. That's why the Periphery is revolting; that's why communications are breaking down; that's why petty wars are becoming eternal; that's why whole systems are losing nuclear power and going back to barbarous techniques of chemical power.

 

 "If you ask me," he cried,"the Galactic Empire is dying!"

 

 He paused and dropped into his chair to catch his breath, paying no attention to the two or three that were attempting simultaneously to answer him.

 

 Crast got the floor. "I don't know what you're trying to gain by your hysterical statements, Mr. Mayor. Certainly, you are adding nothing constructive to the discussion. I move, Mr. Chairman, that the speaker's remarks be placed out of order and the discussion be resumed from the point where it was interrupted."

 

 Jord Fara bestirred himself for the first time. Up to this point Fara had taken no part in the argument even at its hottest. But now his ponderous voice, every bit as ponderous as his three-hundred-pound body, burst its bass way out.

 

 "Haven't we forgotten something, gentlemen?"

 

 "What?" asked Pirenne, peevishly.

 

 "That in a month we celebrate our fiftieth anniversary." Fara had a trick of uttering the most obvious platitudes with great profundity.

 

 "What of it?"

 

 "And on that anniversary," continued Fara, placidly, "Hari Seldon's Vault will open. Have you ever considered what might be in the Vault?"

 

 "I don't know. Routine matters. A stock Speech of congratulations, perhaps. I don't think any significance need be placed on the Vault – though theJournal "– and he glared at Hardin, who grinned back –"did try to make an issue of it. I put a stop to that."

 

 "Ah," said Fara, "but perhaps you are wrong. Doesn't it strike you" – he paused and put a finger to his round little nose –"that the Vault is opening at a very convenient time?"

 

 "Very inconvenient time, you mean," muttered Fulham. "We've got some other things to worry about."

 

 "Other things more important than a message from Hari Seldon? I think not." Fara was growing more pontifical than ever, and Hardin eyed him thoughtfully. What was he getting at?

 

 "In fact," said Fara, happily, "you all seem to forget that Seldon was the greatest psychologist of our time and that he was the founder of our Foundation. It seems reasonable to assume that he used his science to determine the probable course of the history of the immediate future. If he did, as seems likely, I repeat, he would certainly have managed to find a way to warn us of danger and, perhaps, to point out a solution. The Encyclopedia was very dear to his heart, you know."

 

 An aura of puzzled doubt prevailed. Pirenne hemmed. "Well, now, I don't know. Psychology is a great science, but-there are no psychologists among us at the moment, I believe. It seems to me we're on uncertain ground."

 

 Fara turned to Hardin. "Didn't you study psychology under Alurin?"

 

 Hardin answered, half in reverie: "Yes, I never completed my studies, though. I got tired of theory. I wanted to be a psychological engineer, but we lacked the facilities, so I did the next best thing – I went into politics. It's practically the same thing."

 

 "Well, what do you think of the Vault?"

 

 And Hardin replied cautiously, "I don't know."

 

 He did not say a word for the remainder of the meeting even though it got back to the subject of the Chancellor of the Empire.

 

 In fact, he didn't even listen. He'd been put on a new track and things were falling into place-just a little. Little angles were fitting together – one or two.

 

 And psychology was the key. He was sure of that.

 

 He was trying desperately to remember the psychological theory he had once learned – and from it he got one thing right at the start.

 

 A great psychologist such as Seldon could unravel human emotions and human reactions sufficiently to be able to predict broadly the historical sweep of the future.

 

 And what would that mean?

 

  

 

 4.

 

 Lord Dorwin took snuff. He also had long hair, curled intricately and, quite obviously, artificially, to which were added a pair of fluffy, blond sideburns, which he fondled affectionately. Then, too, he spoke in overprecise statements and left out all the r's.

 

 At the moment, Hardin had no time to think of more of the reasons for the instant detestation in which he had held the noble chancellor. Oh, yes, the elegant gestures of one hand with which he accompanied his remarks and the studied condescension with which he accompanied even a simple affirmative.

 

 But, at any rate, the problem now was to locate him. He had disappeared with Pirenne half an hour before – passed clean out of sight, blast him.

 

 Hardin was quite sure that his own absence during the preliminary discussions would quite suit Pirenne.

 

 But Pirenne had been seen in this wing And on this floor. It was simply a matter of trying every door. Halfway down, he said, "Ah!" and stepped into the darkened room. The profile of Lord Dorwin's intricate hair-do was unmistakable against the lighted screen.

 

 Lord Dorwin looked up and said: "Ah, Hahdin. You ah looking foah us, no doubt?" He held out his snuffbox – overadorned and poor workmanship at that, noted Hardinand was politely refused whereat he helped himself to a pinch and smiled graciously.

 

 Pirenne scowled and Hardin met that with an expression of blank indifference.

 

 The only sound to break the short silence that followed was the clicking of the lid of Lord Dorwin's snuffbox. And then he put it away and said:

 

 "A gweat achievement, this Encyclopedia of yoahs, Hahdin. A feat, indeed, to rank with the most majestic accomplishments of all time."

 

 "Most of us think so, milord. It's an accomplishment not quite accomplished as yet, however."

 

 "Fwom the little I have seen of the efficiency of yoah Foundation, I have no feahs on that scoah." And he nodded to Pirenne, who responded with a delighted bow.

 

 Quite a love feast, thought Hardin. "I wasn't complaining about the lack of efficiency, milord, as much as of the definite excess of efficiency on the part of the Anacreonians – though in another and more destructive direction."

 

 "Ah, yes, Anacweon." A negligent wave of the hand. "I have just come from theah. Most bahbawous planet. It is thowoughly inconceivable that human beings could live heah in the Pewiphewy. The lack of the most elementawy wequiahments of a cultuahed gentleman; the absence of the most fundamental necessities foah comfoht and convenience – the uttah desuetude into which they–"

 

 Hardin interrupted dryly: "The Anacreonians, unfortunately, have all the elementary requirements for warfare and all the fundamental necessities for destruction."

 

 "Quite, quite." Lord Dorwin seemed annoyed, perhaps at being stopped midway in his sentence. "But we ahn't to discuss business now, y'know. Weally, I'm othahwise concuhned. Doctah Piwenne, ahn't you going to show me the second volume? Do, please."

 

 The lights clicked out and for the next half-hour Hardin might as well have been on Anacreon for all the attention they paid him. The book upon the screen made little sense to him, nor did he trouble to make the attempt to follow, but Lord Dorwin became quite humanly excited at times. Hardin noticed that during these moments of excitement the chancellor pronounced his r's.

 

 When the lights went on again, Lord Dorwin said: "Mahvelous. Twuly mahvelous. You ah not, by chance, intewested in ahchaeology, ah you, Hahdin?"

 

 "Eh?" Hardin shook himself out of an abstracted reverie. "No, milord, can't say I am. I'm a psychologist by original intention and a politician by final decision."

 

 "Ah! No doubt intewesting studies. 1, myself, y'know" – he helped himself to a giant pinch of snuff –"dabble in ahchaeology."

 

 "Indeed?"

 

 "His lordship," interrupted Pirenne, "is most thoroughly acquainted with the field."

 

 "Well, p'haps I am, p'haps I am," said his lordship complacently. "Ihave done an awful amount of wuhk in the science. Extwemely well-read, in fact. I've gone thwough all of Jawdun, Obijasi, Kwomwill ... oh, all of them, y'know."

 

 "I've heard of them, of course," said Hardin, "but I've never read them."

 

 "You should some day, my deah fellow. It would amply repay you. Why, I cutainly considah it well wuhth the twip heah to the Pewiphewy to see this copy of Lameth. Would you believe it, my Libwawy totally lacks a copy. By the way, Doctah Piwenne, you have not fohgotten yoah pwomise to twansdevelop a copy foah me befoah I leave?"

 

 "Only too pleased."

 

 "Lameth, you must know," continued the chancellor, pontifically, "pwesents a new and most intwesting addition to my pwevious knowledge of the 'Owigin Question."'

 

 "Which question?" asked Hardin.

 

 "The 'Owigin Question.' The place of the owigin of the human species, y'know. Suahly you must know that it is thought that owiginally the human wace occupied only one planetawy system."

 

 "Well, yes, I know that."

 

 "Of cohse, no one knows exactly which system it is – lost in the mists of antiquity. Theah ah theawies, howevah. Siwius, some say. Othahs insist on Alpha Centauwi, oah on Sol, oah on 61 Cygni – all in the Siwius sectah, you see."

 

 "And what does Lameth say?"

 

 "Well, he goes off along a new twail completely. He twies to show that ahchaeological wemains on the thuhd planet of the Ahctuwian System show that humanity existed theah befoah theah wah any indications of space-twavel."

 

 "And that means it was humanity's birth planet?"

 

 "P'haps. I must wead it closely and weigh the evidence befoah I can say foah cuhtain. One must see just how weliable his obsuhvations ah."

 

 Hardin remained silent for a short while. Then he said, "When did Lameth write his book?"

 

 "Oh – I should say about eight hundwed yeahs ago. Of cohse, he has based it lahgely on the pwevious wuhk of Gleen."

 

 "Then why rely on him? Why not go to Arcturus and study the remains for yourself?"

 

 Lord Dorwin raised his eyebrows and took a pinch of snuff hurriedly. "Why, whatevah foah, my deah fellow?"

 

 "To get the information firsthand, of course."

 

 "But wheah's the necessity? It seems an uncommonly woundabout and hopelessly wigmawolish method of getting anywheahs. Look heah, now, I've got the wuhks of all the old mastahs – the gweat ahchaeologists of the past. I wigh them against each othah – balance the disagweements – analyze the conflicting statements – decide which is pwobably cowwect – and come to a conclusion. That is the scientific method. At least" – patronizingly –"asI see it. How insuffewably cwude it would be to go to Ahctuwus, oah to Sol, foah instance, and blundah about, when the old mastahs have covahed the gwound so much moah effectually than we could possibly hope to do."

 

 Hardin murmured politely, "I see."

 

 "Come, milord," said Pirenne, "think we had better be returning."

 

 "Ah, yes. P'haps we had."

 

 As they left the room, Hardin said suddenly, "Milord, may I ask a question?"

 

 Lord Dorwin smiled blandly and emphasized his answer with a gracious flutter of the hand. "Cuhtainly, my deah fellow. Only too happy to be of suhvice. If I can help you in any way fwom my pooah stoah of knowledge-"

 

 "It isn't exactly about archaeology, milord."

 

 "No?"

 

 "No. It's this: Last year we received news here in Terminus about the meltdown of a power plant on Planet V of Gamma Andromeda. We got the barest outline of the accident – no details at all. I wonder if you could tell me exactly what happened."

 

 Pirenne's mouth twisted. "I wonder you annoy his lordship with questions on totally irrelevant subjects."

 

 "Not at all, Doctah Piwenne," interceded the chancellor. "It is quite all wight. Theah isn't much to say concuhning it in any case. The powah plant did undergo meltdown and it was quite a catastwophe, y'know. I believe wadiatsen damage. Weally, the govuhnment is sewiously considewing placing seveah westwictions upon the indiscwiminate use of nucleah powah – though that is not a thing for genewal publication, y'know."

 

 "I understand," said Hardin. "But what was wrong with the plant?"

 

 "Well, weally," replied Lord Dorwin indifferently, "who knows? It had bwoken down some yeahs pweviously and it is thought that the weplacements and wepaiah wuhk wuh most infewiah. It is so difficult these days to find men who weally undahstand the moah technical details of ouah powah systems." And he took a sorrowful pinch of snuff.

 

 "You realize," said Hardin, "that the independent kingdoms of the Periphery had lost nuclear power altogether?"

 

 "Have they? I'm not at all suhpwised. Bahbawous planets– Oh, but my deah fellow, don't call them independent. They ahn't, y'know. The tweaties we've made with them ah pwoof positive of that. They acknowledge the soveweignty of the Empewah. They'd have to, of cohse, oah we wouldn't tweat with them."

 

 "That may be so, but they have considerable freedom of action."

 

 "Yes, I suppose so. Considewable. But that scahcely mattahs. The Empiah is fah bettah off, with the Pewiphewy thwown upon its own wesoahces – as it is, moah oah less. They ahn't any good to us, y'know. Most bahbawous planets. Scahcely civilized."

 

 "They were civilized in the past. Anacreon was one of the richest of the outlying provinces. I understand it compared favorably with Vega itself."

 

 "Oh, but, Hahdin, that was centuwies ago. You can scahcely dwaw conclusion fwom that. Things wah diffewent in the old gweat days. We ahn't the men we used to be, y'know. But, Hahdin, come, you ah a most puhsistent chap.

 

 I've told you I simply won't discuss business today. Doctah Piwenne did pwepayah me foah you. He told me you would twy to badgah me, but I'm fah too old a hand foah that. Leave it foah next day. And that was that.

 

  

 

 5.

 

 This was the second meeting of the Board that Hardin had attended, if one were to exclude the informal talks the Board members had had with the now-departed Lord Dorwin. Yet the mayor had a perfectly definite idea that at least one other, and possibly two or three, had been held, to which he had somehow never received an invitation.

 

 Nor, it seemed to him, would he have received notification of this one had it not been for the ultimatum.

 

 At least, it amounted to an ultimatum, though a superficial reading of the visigraphed document would lead one to suppose that it was a friendly interchange of greetings between two potentates.

 

 Hardin fingered it gingerly. It started off floridly with a salutation from "His Puissant Majesty, the King of Anacreon, to his friend and brother, Dr. Lewis Pirenne, Chairman of the Board of Trustees, of the Encyclopedia Foundation Number One," and it ended even more lavishly with a gigantic, multicolored seal of the most involved symbolism.

 

 But it was an ultimatum just the same.

 

 Hardin said: "It turned out that we didn't have much time after all – only three months. But little as it was, we threw it away unused. This thing here gives us a week. What do we do now?"

 

 Pirenne frowned worriedly. "There must be a loophole. It is absolutely unbelievable that they would push matters to extremities in the face of what Lord Dorwin has assured us regarding the attitude of the Emperor and the Empire."

 

 Hardin perked up. "I see. You have informed the King of Anacreon of this alleged attitude?"

 

 "I did – after having placed the proposal to the Board for a vote and having received unanimous consent."

 

 "And when did this vote take place?"

 

 Pirenne climbed onto his dignity. "I do not believe I am answerable to you in any way, Mayor Hardin."

 

 "All right. I'm not that vitally interested. It's just my opinion that it was your diplomatic transmission of Lord Dorwin's valuable contribution to the situation"– he lifted the comer of his mouth in a sour half-smile –"that was the direct cause of this friendly little note. They might have delayed longer otherwise – though I don't think the additional time would have helped Terminus any, considering the attitude of the Board."

 

 Said Yate Fulham: "And just how do you arrive at that remarkable conclusion, Mr. Mayor?"

 

 "In a rather simple way. It merely required the use of that much-neglected commodity – common sense. You see, there is a branch of human knowledge known as symbolic logic, which can be used to prune away all sorts of clogging deadwood that clutters up human language."

 

 "What about it?" said Fulham.

 

 "I applied it. Among other things, I applied it to this document here. I didn't really need to for myself because I knew what it was all about, but I think I can explain it more easily to five physical scientists by symbols rather than by words."

 

 Hardin removed a few sheets of paper from the pad under his arm and spread them out. "I didn't do this myself, by the way," he said. "Muller Holk of the Division of Logic has his name signed to the analyses, as you can see."

 

 Pirenne leaned over the table to get a better view and Hardin continued: "The message from Anacreon was a simple problem, naturally, for the men who wrote it were men of action rather than men of words. It boils down easily and straightforwardly to the unqualified statement, when in symbols is what you see, and which in words, roughly translated, is, 'You give us what we want in a week, or we take it by force.'"

 

 There was silence as the five members of the Board ran down the line of symbols, and then Pirenne sat down and coughed uneasily.

 

 Hardin said, "No loophole, is there, Dr. Pirenne?"

 

 "Doesn't seem to be."

 

 "All right." Hardin replaced the sheets. "Before you now you see a copy of the treaty between the Empire and Anacreon – a treaty, incidentally, which is signed on the Emperor's behalf by the same Lord Dorwin who was here last week – and with it a symbolic analysis."

 

 The treaty ran through five pages of fine print and the analysis was scrawled out in just under half a page.

 

 "As you see, gentlemen, something like ninety percent of the treaty boiled right out of the analysis as being meaningless, and what we end up with can be described in the following interesting manner:

 

 "Obligations of Anacreon to the Empire:None!

 

 "Powers of the Empire over Anacreon:None!"

 

 Again the five followed the reasoning anxiously, checking carefully back to the treaty, and when they were finished, Pirenne said in a worried fashion, "That seems to be correct."

 

 "You admit, then, that the treaty is nothing but a declaration of total independence on the part of Anacreon and a recognition of that status by the Empire?"

 

 "It seems so."

 

 "And do you suppose that Anacreon doesn't realize that, and is not anxious to emphasize the position of independence – so that it would naturally tend to resent any appearance of threats from the Empire? Particularly when it is evident that the Empire is powerless to fulfill any such threats, or it would never have allowed independence."

 

 "But then," interposed Sutt, "how would Mayor Hardin account for Lord Dorwin's assurances of Empire support? They seemed –" He shrugged. "Well, they seemed satisfactory."

 

 Hardin threw himself back in the chair. "You know, that's the most interesting part of the whole business. I'll admit I had thought his Lordship a most consummate donkey when I first met him – but it turned out that he was actually an accomplished diplomat and a most clever man. I took the liberty of recording all his statements."

 

 There was a flurry, and Pirenne opened his mouth in horror.

 

 "What of it?" demanded Hardin. "I realize it was a gross breach of hospitality and a thing no so-called gentleman would do. Also, that if his lordship had caught on, things might have been unpleasant; but he didn't, and I have the record, and that's that. I took that record, had it copied out and sent that to Holk for analysis, also."

 

 Lundin Crast said, "And where is the analysis?"

 

 "That," replied Hardin, "is the interesting thing. The analysis was the most difficult of the three by all odds. When Holk, after two days of steady work, succeeded in eliminating meaningless statements, vague gibberish, useless qualifications – in short, all the goo and dribble – he found he had nothing left. Everything canceled out."

 

 "Lord Dorwin, gentlemen, in five days of discussiondidn't say onedamned thing, and said it so you never noticed.There are the assurances you had from your precious Empire."

 

 Hardin might have placed an actively working stench bomb on the table and created no more confusion than existed after his last statement. He waited, with weary patience, for it to die down.

 

 "So," he concluded, "when you sent threats – and that's what they were – concerning Empire action to Anacreon, you merely irritated a monarch who knew better. Naturally, his ego would demand immediate action, and the ultimatum is the result-which brings me to my original statement. We have one week left and what do we do now?"

 

 "It seems," said Sutt, "that we have no choice but to allow Anacreon to establish military bases on Terminus."

 

 "I agree with you there," replied Hardin, "but what do we do toward kicking them off again at the first opportunity?"

 

 Yate Fulham's mustache twitched. "That sounds as if you have made up your mind that violence must be used against them."

 

 "Violence," came the retort, "is the last refuge of the incompetent. But I certainly don't intend to lay down the welcome mat and brush off the best furniture for their use."

 

 "I still don't like the way you put that," insisted Fulham. "It is a dangerous attitude; the more dangerous because we have noticed lately that a sizable section of the populace seems to respond to all your suggestions just so. I might as well tell you, Mayor Hardin, that the board is not quite blind to your recent activities."

 

 He paused and there was general agreement. Hardin shrugged.

 

 Fulham went on: "If you were to inflame the City into an act of violence, you would achieve elaborate suicide – and we don't intend to allow that. Our policy has but one cardinal principle, and that is the Encyclopedia. Whatever we decide to do or not to do will be so decided because it will be the measure required to keep that Encyclopedia safe."

 

 "Then," said Hardin, "you come to the conclusion that we must continue our intensive campaign of doing nothing."

 

 Pirenne said bitterly: "You have yourself demonstrated that the Empire cannot help us; though how and why it can be so, I don't understand. If compromise is necessary–"

 

 Hardin had the nightmarelike sensation of running at top speed and getting nowhere. "There is no compromise! Don't you realize that this bosh about military bases is a particularly inferior grade of drivel? Haut Rodric told us what Anacreon was after – outright annexation and imposition of its own feudal system of landed estates and peasant-aristocracy economy upon us. What is left of our bluff of nuclear power may force them to move slowly, but they will move nonetheless."

 

 He had risen indignantly, and the rest rose with him except for Jord Fara.

 

 And then Jord Fara spoke. "Everyone will please sit down. We've gone quite far enough, I think. Come, there's no use looking so furious, Mayor Hardin; none of us have been committing treason."

 

 "You'll have to convince me of that!"

 

 Fara smiled gently. "You know you don't mean that. Let me speak!"

 

 

 His little shrewd eyes were half closed, and the perspiration gleamed on the smooth expanse of his chin. "There seems no point in concealing that the Board has come to the decision that the real solution to the Anacreonian problem lies in what is to be revealed to us when the Vault opens six days from now."

 

 

 "Is that your contribution to the matter?"

 

 "Yes."

 

 "We are to do nothing, is that fight, except to wait in quiet serenity and utter faith for thedeus ex machina to pop out of the Vault?"

 

 "Stripped of your emotional phraseology, that's the idea."

 

 "Such unsubtle escapism! Really, Dr. Fara, such folly smacks of genius. A lesser mind would be incapable of it."

 

 Fara smiled indulgently. "Your taste in epigrams is amusing, Hardin, but out of place. As a matter of fact, I think you remember my line of argument concerning the Vault about three weeks ago."

 

 "Yes, I remember it. I don't deny that it was anything but a stupid idea from the standpoint of deductive logic alone. You said – stop me when I make a mistake – that Hari Seldon was the greatest psychologist in the System; that, hence, he could foresee the right and uncomfortable spot we're in now; that, hence, he established the Vault as a method of telling us the way out."

 

 "You've got the essence of the idea."

 

 "Would it surprise you to hear that I've given considerable thought to the matter these last weeks?"

 

 "Very flattering. With what result?"

 

 "With the result that pure deduction is found wanting. Again what is needed is a little sprinkling of common sense."

 

 "For instance?"

 

 "For instance, if he foresaw the Anacreonian mess, why not have placed us on some other planet nearer the Galactic centers? It's well known that Seldon maneuvered the Commissioners on Trantor into ordering the Foundation established on Terminus. But why should he have done so? Why put us out here at all if he could see in advance the break in communication lines, our isolation from the Galaxy, the threat of our neighbors – and our helplessness because of the lack of metals on Terminus? That above all! Or if he foresaw all this, why not have warned the original settlers in advance that they might have had time to prepare, rather than wait, as he is doing, until one foot is over the cliff, before doing so?

 

 "And don't forget this. Even though he could foresee the problemthen, we can see it equally wellnow. Therefore, if he could foresee the solutionthen, we should be able to see itnow. After all, Seldon was not a magician. There are no trick methods of escaping from a dilemma that he can see and we can't."

 

 "But, Hardin," reminded Fara, "we can't!"

 

 "But you haven'ttried. You haven't tried once. First, you refused to admit that there was a menace at all! Then you reposed an absolutely blind faith in the Emperor! Now you've shifted it to Hari Seldon. Throughout you have invariably relied on authority or on the past – never on yourselves."

 

 His fists balled spasmodically. "It amounts to a diseased attitude – a conditioned reflex that shunts aside the independence of your minds whenever it is a question of opposing authority. There seems no doubt ever in your minds that the Emperor is more powerful than you are, or Hari Seldon wiser. And that's wrong, don't you see?"

 

 For some reason, no one cared to answer him.

 

 Hardin continued: "It isn't just you. It's the whole Galaxy. Pirenne heard Lord Dorwin's idea of scientific research. Lord Dorwin thought the way to be a good archaeologist was to read all the books on the subject – written by men who were dead for centuries. He thought that the way to solve archaeological puzzles was to weigh the opposing authorities. And Pirenne listened and made no objections. Don't you see that there's something wrong with that?"

 

 Again the note of near-pleading in his voice. Again no answer.

 

 He went on: "And you men and half of Terminus as well are just as bad. We sit here, considering the Encyclopedia the all-in-all. We consider the greatest end of science. is the classification of past data. It is important, but is there no further work to be done? We're receding and forgetting, don't you see? Here in the Periphery they've lost nuclear power. In Gamma Andromeda, a power plant has undergone meltdown because of poor repairs, and the Chancellor of the Empire complains that nuclear technicians are scarce. And the solution? To train new ones? Never! Instead they're to restrict nuclear power."

 

 And for the third time: "Don't you see? It's Galaxywide. It's a worship of the past. It's a deterioration – astagnation!"

 

 He stared from one to the other and they gazed fixedly at him.

 

 Fara was the first to recover. "Well, mystical philosophy isn't going to help us here. Let us be concrete. Do you deny that Hari Seldon could easily have worked out historical trends of the future by simple psychological technique?"

 

 "No, of course not," cried Hardin. "But we can't rely on him for a solution. At best, he might indicate the problem, but if ever there is to be a solution, we must work it out ourselves. He can't do it for us."

 

 Fulham spoke suddenly. "What do you mean – 'indicate the problem'? Weknow the problem."

 

 Hardin whirled on him. "You think you do? You think Anacreon is all Hari Seldon is likely to be worried about. I disagree! I tell you, gentlemen, that as yet none of you has the faintest conception of what is really going on."

 

 "And you do?" questioned Pirenne, hostilely.

 

 "I think so!" Hardin jumped up and pushed his chair away. His eyes were cold and hard. "If there's one thing that's definite, it is that there's something smelly about the whole situation; something that is bigger than anything we've talked about yet. Just ask yourself this question: Why was it that among the original population of the Foundation not one first-class psychologist was included, except Bor Alurin? Andhe carefully refrained from training his pupils in more than the fundamentals."

 

 A short silence and Fara said: "All right. Why?"

 

 "Perhaps because a psychologist might have caught on to what this was all about – and too soon to suit Hari Seldon. As it is, we've been stumbling about, getting misty glimpses of the truth and no more. And that is what Hari Seldon wanted."

 

 He laughed harshly. "Good day, gentlemen!"

 

 He stalked out of the room.

 

  

 

 6.

 

 Mayor Hardin chewed at the end of his cigar. It had gone out but he was past noticing that. He hadn't slept the night before and he had a good idea that he wouldn't sleep this coming night. His eyes showed it.

 

 He said wearily, "And that covers it?"

 

 "I think so." Yohan Lee put a hand to his chin. "How does it sound?"

 

 "Not too bad. It's got to be done, you understand, with impudence. That is, there is to be no hesitation; no time to allow them to grasp the situation. Once we are in a position to give orders, why, give them as though you were born to do so, and they'll obey out of habit. That's the essence of a coup."

 

 "If the Board remains irresolute for even –"

 

 "The Board? Count them out. After tomorrow, their importance as a factor in Terminus affairs won't matter a rusty half-credit."

 

 Lee nodded slowly. "Yet it is strange that they've done nothing to stop us so far. You say they weren't entirely in the dark."

 

 "Fara stumbles at the edges of the problem. Sometimes he makes me nervous. And Pirenne's been suspicious of me since I was elected. But, you see, they never had the capacity of really understanding what was up. Their whole training has been authoritarian. They are sure that the Emperor, just because he is the Emperor, is all-powerful. And they are sure that the Board of Trustees, simply because it is the Board of Trustees acting in the name of the Emperor, cannot be in a position where it does not give the orders. That incapacity to recognize the possibility of revolt is our best ally."

 

 He heaved out of his chair and went to the water cooler. "They're not bad fellows, Lee, when they stick to their Encyclopedia – and we'll see that that's where they stick in the future. They're hopelessly incompetent when it comes to ruling Terminus. Go away now and start things rolling. I want to be alone."

 

 He sat down on the comer of his desk and stared at the cup of water.

 

 Space! If only he were as confident as he pretended! The Anacreonians were landing in two days and what had he to go on but a set of notions and half-guesses as to what Had Seldon had been driving at these past fifty years? He wasn't even a real, honest-to-goodness psychologist – just a fumbler with a little training trying to outguess the greatest mind of the age.

 

 If Fara were fight; if Anacreon were all the problem Hari Seldon had foreseen; if the Encyclopedia were all he was interested in preserving – then what pricecoup d'état?

 

 He shrugged and drank his water.

 

  

 

 7.

 

 The Vault was furnished with considerably more than six chairs, as though a larger company had been expected. Hardin noted that thoughtfully and seated himself wearily in a comer just as far from the other five as possible.

 

 The Board members did not seem to object to that arrangement. They spoke among themselves in whispers, which fell off into sibilant monosyllables, and then into nothing at all. Of them all, only Jord Fara seemed even reasonably calm. He had produced a watch and was staring at it somberly.

 

 Hardin glanced at his own watch and then at the glass cubicle – absolutely empty – that dominated half the room. It was the only unusual feature of the room, for aside from that there was no indication that somewhere a computer was splitting off instants of time toward that precise moment when a muon stream would flow, a connection be made and–

 

 The lights went dim!

 

 They didn't go out, but merely yellowed and sank with a suddenness that made Hardin jump. He had lifted his eyes to the ceiling lights in startled fashion, and when he brought them down the glass cubicle was no longer empty.

 

 A figure occupied it ‚ a figure in a wheel chair!

 

 It said nothing for a few moments, but it closed the book upon its lap and fingered it idly. And then it smiled, and the face seemed all alive.

 

 It said, "I am Hari Seldon." The voice was old and soft.

 

 Hardin almost rose to acknowledge the introduction and stopped himself in the act.

 

 The voice continued conversationally: "As you see, I am confined to this chair and cannot rise to greet you. Your grandparents left for Terminus a few months back in my time and since then I have suffered a rather inconvenient paralysis. I can't see you, you know, so I can't greet you properly. I don't even know how many of you there are, so all this must be conducted informally. If any of you are standing, please sit down; and if you care to smoke, I wouldn't mind." There was a light chuckle. "Why should I? I'm not really here."

 

 Hardin fumbled for a cigar almost automatically, but thought better of it.

 

 Hari Seldon put away his book – as if laying it upon a desk at his side – and when his fingers let go, it disappeared.

 

 He said: "It is fifty years now since this Foundation was established – fifty years in which the members of the Foundation have been ignorant of what it was they were working toward. It was necessary that they be ignorant, but now the necessity is gone.

 

 "The Encyclopedia Foundation, to begin with, is a fraud, and always has been!"

 

 There was a sound of a scramble behind Hardin and one or two muffled exclamations, but he did not turn around.

 

 Hari Seldon was, of course, undisturbed. He went on: "It is a fraud in the sense that neither I nor my colleagues care at all whether a single volume of the Encyclopedia is ever published. It has served its purpose, since by it we extracted an imperial charter from the Emperor, by it we attracted the hundred thousand humans necessary for our scheme, and by it we managed to keep them preoccupied while events shaped themselves, until it was too late for any of them to draw back.

 

 "In the fifty years that you have worked on this fraudulent project – there is no use in softening phrases – your retreat has been cut off, and you have now no choice but to proceed on the infinitely more important project that was, and is, our real plan.

 

 "To that end we have placed you on such a planet and at such a time that in fifty years you were maneuvered to the point where you no longer have freedom of action. From now on, and into the centuries, the path you must take is inevitable. You will be faced with a series of crises, as you are now faced with the first, and in each case your freedom of action will become similarly circumscribed so that you will be forced along one, and only one, path.

 

 "It is that path which our psychology has worked out – and for a reason.

 

 "For centuries Galactic civilization has stagnated and declined, though only a few ever realized that. But now, at last, the Periphery is breaking away and the political unity of the Empire is shattered. Somewhere in the fifty years just past is where the historians of the future will place an arbitrary line and say: 'This marks the Fall of the Galactic Empire.'

 

 "And they will be right, though scarcely any will recognize that Fall for additional centuries.

 

 "And after the Fall will come inevitable barbarism, a period which, our psychohistory tells us, should, under ordinary circumstances, last for thirty thousand years. We cannot stop the Fall. We do not wish to; for Imperial culture has lost whatever virility and worth it once had. But we can shorten the period of Barbarism that must follow – down to a single thousand of years.

 

 "The ins and outs of that shortening, we cannot tell you; just as we could not tell you the truth about the Foundation fifty years ago. Were you to discover those ins and outs, our plan might fail; as it would have, had you penetrated the fraud of the Encyclopedia earlier; for then, by knowledge, your freedom of action would be expanded and the number of additional variables introduced would become greater than our psychology could handle.

 

 "But you won't, for there are no psychologists on Terminus, and never were, but for Alurin – and he was one of us.

 

 "But this I can tell you: Terminus and its companion Foundation at the other end of the Galaxy are the seeds of the Renascence and the future founders of the Second Galactic Empire. And it is the present crisis that is starting Terminus off to that climax.

 

 "This, by the way, is a rather straightforward crisis, much simpler than many of those that are ahead. To reduce it to its fundamentals, it is this: You are a planet suddenly cut off from the still-civilized centers of the Galaxy, and threatened by your stronger neighbors. You are a small world of scientists surrounded by vast and rapidly expanding reaches of barbarism. You are an island of nuclear power in a growing ocean of more primitive energy; but are helpless despite that, because of your lack of metals.

 

 "You see, then, that you are faced by hard necessity, and that action is forced on you. The nature of that action – that is, the solution to your dilemma – is, of course, obvious!"

 

 The image of Hari Seldon reached into open air and the book once more appeared in his hand. He opened it and said:

 

 "But whatever devious course your future history may take, impress it always upon your descendants that the path has been marked out, and that at its end is new and greater Empire!"

 

 And as his eyes bent to his book, he flicked into nothingness, and the lights brightened once more.

 

 Hardin looked up to see Pirenne facing him, eyes tragic and lips trembling.

 

 The chairman's voice was firm but toneless. "You were right, it seems. If you will see us tonight at six, the Board will consult with you as to the next move."

 

 They shook his hand, each one, and left, and Hardin smiled to himself. They were fundamentally sound at that; for they were scientists enough to admit that they were wrong – but for them, it was too late.

 

 He looked at his watch. By this time, it was all over. Lee's men were in control and the Board was giving orders no longer.

 

 The Anacreonians were landing their first spaceships tomorrow, but that was all right, too. In six months,they would be giving orders no longer.

 

 In fact, as Hari Seldon had said, and as Salvor Hardin had guessed since the day that Anselm haut Rodric had first revealed to him Anacreon's lack of nuclear power – the solution to this first crisis was obvious.

 

 Obvious as all hell!

 

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

 PART III

 

 THE MAYORS

 

 1.

 

 THE FOUR KINGDOMS

 –The name given to those portions of the Province of Anacreon which broke away from the First Empire in the early years of the Foundational Era to form independent and short-lived kingdoms. The largest and most powerful of these was Anacreon itself which in area...

 

... Undoubtedly the most interesting aspect of the history of the Four Kingdoms involves the strange society forced temporarily upon it during the administration of Salvor Hardin....

 

 ENCYCLOPEDIA GALACTICA

 

 A deputation!

 

 That Salvor Hardin had seen it coming made it none the more pleasant. On the contrary, he found anticipation distinctly annoying.

 

 Yohan Lee advocated extreme measures. "I don't see, Hardin," he said, "that we need waste any time. They can't do anything till next election – legally, anyway – and that gives us a year. Give them the brush-off."

 

 Hardin pursed his lips. "Lee, you'll never learn. In the forty years I've known you, you've never once learned the gentle art of sneaking up from behind."

 

 "It's not my way of fighting," grumbled Lee.

 

 "Yes, I know that. I suppose that's why you're the one man I trust." He paused and reached for a cigar. "We've come a long way, Lee, since we engineered our coup against the Encyclopedists way back. I'm getting old. Sixty-two. Do you ever think how fast those thirty years went?"

 

 Lee snorted. "I don't feel old, and I'm sixty-six."

 

 "Yes, but I haven't your digestion." Hardin sucked lazily at his cigar. He had long since stopped wishing for the mild Vegan tobacco of his youth. Those days when the planet, Terminus, had trafficked with every part of the Galactic Empire belonged in the limbo to which all Good Old Days go. Toward the same limbo where the Galactic Empire was heading. He wondered who the new emperor was – or if there was a new emperor at all – or any Empire. Space! For thirty years now, since the breakup of communications here at the edge of the Galaxy, the whole universe of Terminus had consisted of itself and the four surrounding kingdoms.

 

 How the mighty had fallen!Kingdoms! They were prefects in the old days, all part of the same province, which in turn had been part of a sector, which in turn had been part of a quadrant, which in turn had been part of the allembracing Galactic Empire. And now that the Empire had lost control over the farther reaches of the Galaxy, these little splinter groups of planets became kingdoms – with comic-opera kings and nobles, and petty, meaningless wars, and a life that went on pathetically among the ruins.

 

 A civilization falling. Nuclear power forgotten. Science fading to mythology – until the Foundation had stepped in. The Foundation that Hari Seldon had established for just that purpose here on Terminus.

 

 Lee was at the window and his voice broke in on Hardin's reverie. "They've come," he said, "in a late-model ground car, the young pups." He took a few uncertain steps toward the door and then looked at Hardin.

 

 Hardin smiled, and waved him back. "I've given orders to have them brought up here."

 

 "Here! What for? You're making them too important."

 

 "Why go through all the ceremonies of an official mayor's audience? I'm getting too old for red tape. Besides which, flattery is useful when dealing with youngsters – particularly when it doesn't commit you to anything." He winked. "Sit down, Lee, and give me your moral backing. I'll need it with this young Sermak."

 

 "That fellow, Sermak," said Lee, heavily, "is dangerous. He's got a following, Hardin, so don't underestimate him."

 

 "Have I ever underestimated anybody?"

 

 "Well, then, arrest him. You can accuse him of something or other afterward."

 

 Hardin ignored that last bit of advice. "There they are, Lee." In response to the signal, he stepped on the pedal beneath his desk, and the door slid aside.

 

 They filed in, the four that composed the deputation, and Hardin waved them gently to the armchairs that faced his desk in a semicircle. They bowed and waited for the mayor to speak first.

 

 Hardin flicked open the curiously carved silver lid of the cigar box that had once belonged to Jord Fara of the old Board of Trustees in the long-dead days of the Encyclopedists. It was a genuine Empire product from Santanni, though the cigars it now contained were home-grown. One by one, with grave solemnity, the four of the deputation accepted cigars and lit up in ritualistic fashion.

 

 Sef Sermak was second from the right, the youngest of the young group – and the most interesting with his bristly yellow mustache trimmed precisely, and his sunken eyes of uncertain color. The other three Hardin dismissed almost immediately; they were rank and file on the face of them. It was on Sermak that he concentrated, the Sermak who had already, in his first term in the City Council, turned that sedate body topsy-turvy more than once, and it was to Sermak that he said:

 

 "I've been particularly anxious to see you, Councilman, ever since your very excellent speech last month. Your attack on the foreign policy of this government was a most capable one."

 

 Sermak's eyes smoldered. "Your interest honors me. The attack may or may not have been capable, but it was certainly justified."

 

 "Perhaps! Your opinions are yours, of course. Still you are rather young."

 

 Dryly. "It is a fault that most people are guilty of at some period of their life. You became mayor of the city when you were two years younger than I am now."

 

 Hardin smiled to himself. The yearling was a cool customer. He said, "I take it now that you have come to see me concerning this same foreign policy that annoys you so greatly in the Council Chamber. Are you speaking for your three colleagues, or must I listen to each of you separately?" There were quick mutual glances among the four young men, a slight flickering of eyelids.

 

 Sermak said grimly, "I speak for the people of Terminus – a people who are not now truly represented in the rubberstamp body they call the Council."

 

 "I see. Go ahead, then!"

 

 "It comes to this, Mr. Mayor. We are dissatisfied–"

 

 "By 'we' you mean 'the people,' don't you?"

 

 Sermak stared hostilely, sensing a trap, and replied coldly, "I believe that my views reflect those of the majority of the voters of Terminus. Does that suit you?"

 

 "Well, a statement like that is all the better for proof, but go on, anyway. You are dissatisfied."

 

 "Yes, dissatisfied with the policy which for thirty years had been stripping Terminus defenseless against the inevitable attack from outside."

 

 "I see. And therefore? Go on, go on."

 

 "It's nice of you to anticipate. And therefore we are forming a new political party; one that will stand for the immediate needs of Terminus and not for a mystic 'manifest destiny' of future Empire. We are going to throw you and your lick-spittle clique of appeasers out of City Hall-and that soon."

 

 "Unless? There's always an 'unless,' you know."

 

 "Not much of one in this case: Unless you resign now. I'm not asking you to change your policies – I wouldn't trust you that far. Your promises are worth nothing. An outright resignation is all we'll take."

 

 "I see." Hardin crossed his legs and teetered his chair back on two legs. "That's your ultimatum. Nice of you to give me warning. But, you see, I rather think I'll ignore it."

 

 "Don't think it was a warning, Mr. Mayor. It was an announcement of principles and of action. The new party has already been formed, and it will begin its official activities tomorrow. There is neither room nor desire for compromise, and, frankly, it was only our recognition of your services to the City that induced us to offer the easy way out. I didn't think you'd take it, but my conscience is clear.

 

 The next election will be a more forcible and quite irresistible reminder that resignation is necessary."

 

 He rose and motioned the rest up.

 

 Hardin lifted his arm. "Hold on! Sit down!"

 

 Sef Sermak seated himself once more with just a shade too much alacrity and Hardin smiled behind a straight face. In spite of his words, he was waiting for an offer.

 

 Hardin said, "In exactly what way do you want our foreign policy changed? Do you want us to attack the Four Kingdoms, now, at once, and all four simultaneously?"

 

 "I make no such suggestion, Mr. Mayor. It is our simple proposition that all appeasement cease immediately. Throughout your administration, you have carried out a policy of scientific aid to the Kingdoms. You have given them nuclear power. You have helped rebuild power plants on their territories. You have established medical clinics, chemical laboratories and factories."

 

 "Well? And your objection?"

 

 "You have done this in order to keep them from attacking us. With these as bribes, you have been playing the fool in a colossal game of blackmail, in which you have allowed Terminus to be sucked dry – with the result that now we are at the mercy of these barbarians."

 

 "In what way?"

 

 "Because you have given them power, given them weapons, actually serviced the ships of their navies, they are infinitely stronger than they were three decades ago. Their demands are increasing, and with their new weapons, they will eventually satisfy all their demands at once by violent annexation of Terminus. Isn't that the way blackmail usually ends?"

 

 "And your remedy?"

 

 "Stop the bribes immediately and while you can. Spend your effort in strengthening Terminus itself – and attack first!"

 

 Hardin watched the young fellow's little blond mustache with an almost morbid interest. Sermak felt sure of himself or he wouldn't talk so much. There was no doubt that his remarks were the reflection of a pretty huge segment of the population, pretty huge.

 

 

 His voice did not betray the slightly perturbed current of his thoughts. If was almost negligent. "Are you finished?"

 

 "For the moment."

 

 "Well, then, do you notice the framed statement I have on the wall behind me? Read it, if you will!"

 

 Sermak's lips twitched. "It says: 'Violence is the last refuge of the incompetent.' That's an old man's doctrine, Mr. Mayor."

 

 "I applied it as a young man, Mr. Councilman – and successfully. You were busily being born when it happened, but perhaps you may have read something of it in school."

 

 He eyed Sermak closely and continued in measured tones, "When Hari Seldon established the Foundation here, it was for the ostensible purpose of producing a great Encyclopedia, and for fifty years we followed that will-of-the-wisp, before discovering what he was really after. By that time, it was almost too late. When communications with the central regions of the old Empire broke down, we found ourselves a world of scientists concentrated in a single city, possessing no industries, and surrounded by newly created kingdoms, hostile and largely barbarous. We were a tiny island of nuclear power in this ocean of barbarism, and an infinitely valuable prize.

 

 "Anacreon, then as now, the most powerful of the Four Kingdoms, demanded and later actually established a military base upon Terminus, and the then rulers of the City, the Encyclopedists, knew very well that this was only a preliminary to taking over the entire planet. That is how matters stood when I ... uh ... assumed actual government. What would you have done?"

 

 Sermak shrugged his shoulders. "That's an academic question. Of course, I know what you did."

 

 "I'll repeat it, anyway. Perhaps you don't get the point. The temptation was great to muster what force we could and put up a fight. It's the easiest way out, and the most satisfactory to self-respect – but, nearly invariably, the stupidest. You would have done it; you and your talk of 'attack first.' What I did, instead, was to visit the three other kingdoms, one by one; point out to each that to allow the secret of nuclear power to fall into the hands of Anacreon was the quickest way of cutting their own throats; and suggest gently that they do the obvious thing. That was all. One month after the Anacreonian force had landed on Terminus, their king received a joint ultimatum from his three neighbors. In seven days, the last Anacreonian was off Terminus.

 

 Now tell me, where was the need for violence?"

 

 The young councilman regarded his cigar stub thoughtfully and tossed it into the incinerator chute. "I fail to see the analogy. Insulin will bring a diabetic to normal without the faintest need of a knife, but appendicitis needs an operation. You can't help that. When other courses have failed, what is left but, as you put it, the last refuge? It's your fault that we're driven to it."

 

 "I? Oh, yes, again my policy of appeasement. You still seem to lack grasp of the fundamental necessities of our position. Our problem wasn't over with the departure of the Anacreonians. They had just begun. The Four Kingdoms were more our enemies than ever, for each wanted nuclear power-and each was kept off our throats only for fear of the other three. We are balanced on the point of a very sharp sword, and the slightest sway in any direction – If, for instance, one kingdom becomes too strong; or if two form a coalition – You understand?"

 

 "Certainly. That was the time to begin all-out preparations for war."

 

 "On the contrary. That was the time to begin all-out prevention of war. I played them one against the other. I helped each in turn. I offered them science, trade, education, scientific medicine. I made Terminus of more value to them as a flourishing world than as a military prize. It worked for thirty years."

 

 "Yes, but you were forced to surround these scientific gifts with the most outrageous mummery. You've made half religion, half balderdash out of it. You've erected a hierarchy of priests and complicated, meaningless ritual."

 

 Hardin frowned. "What of that? I don't see that it has anything to do with the argument at all. I started that way at first because the barbarians looked upon our science as a sort of magical sorcery, and it was easiest to get them to accept it on that basis. The priesthood built itself and if we help it along we are only following the line of least resistance. It is a minor matter."

 

 "But these priests are in charge of the power plants. That is not a minor matter."

 

 "True, butwe have trained them. Their knowledge of their tools is purely empirical; and they have a firm belief in the mummery that surrounds them."

 

 "And if one pierces through the mummery, and has the genius to brush aside empiricism, what is to prevent him from learning actual techniques, and selling out to the most satisfactory bidder? What price our value to the kingdoms, then?"

 

 "Little chance of that, Sermak. You are being superficial. The best men on the planets of the kingdoms are sent here to the Foundation each year and educated into the priesthood. And the best of these remain here as research students. If you think that those who are left, with practically no knowledge of the elements of science, or worse, still, with the distorted knowledge the priests receive, can penetrate at a bound to nuclear power, to electronics, to the theory of the hyperwarp – you have a very romantic and very foolish idea of science. It takes lifetimes of training and an excellent brain to get that far."

 

 Yohan Lee had risen abruptly during the foregoing speech and left the room. He had returned now and when Hardin finished speaking, he bent to his superior's ear. A whisper was exchanged and then a leaden cylinder. Then, with one short hostile look at the deputation, Lee resumed his chair.

 

 Hardin turned the cylinder end for end in his hands, watching the deputation through his lashes. And then he opened it with a hard, sudden twist and only Sermak had the sense not to throw a rapid look at the rolled paper that fell out.

 

 "In short, gentlemen," he said, "the Government is of the opinion that it knows what it is doing."

 

 He read as he spoke. There were the lines of intricate, meaningless code that covered the page and the three penciled words scrawled in one comer that carried the message. He took it in at a glance and tossed it casually into the incinerator shaft.

 

 "That," Hardin then said, "ends the interview, I'm afraid. Glad to have met you all. Thank you for coming." He shook hands with each in perfunctory fashion, and they filed out.

 

 Hardin had almost gotten out of the habit of laughing, but after Sermak and his three silent partners were well out of earshot, he indulged in a dry chuckle and bent an amused look on Lee.

 

 "How did you like that battle of bluffs, Lee?"

 

 Lee snorted grumpily. "I'm not sure thathe was bluffing. Treat him with kid gloves and he's quite liable to win the next election, just as he says."

 

 "Oh, quite likely, quite likely – if nothing happens first."

 

 "Make sure they don't happen in the wrong direction this time, Hardin. I tell you this Sermak has a following. What if he doesn't wait till the next election? There was a time when you and I put things through violently, in spite of your slogan about what violence is."

 

 Hardin cocked an eyebrow. "Youare pessimistic today, Lee. And singularly contrary, too, or you wouldn't speak of violence. Our own little putsch was carried through without loss of life, you remember. It was a necessary measure put through at the proper moment, and went over smoothly, painlessly, and all but effortlessly. As for Sermak, he's up against a different proposition. You and I, Lee, aren't the Encyclopedists.We stand prepared. Order your men onto these youngsters in a nice way, old fellow. Don't let them know they're being watched – but eyes open, you understand."

 

 Lee laughed in sour amusement. "I'd be a fine one to wait for your orders, wouldn't I, Hardin? Sermak and his men have been under surveillance for a month now."

 

 The mayor chuckled. "Got in first, did you? All right. By the way," he observed, and added softly, "Ambassador Verisof is returning to Terminus. Temporarily, I hope."

 

 There was a short silence, faintly horrified, and then Lee said, "Was that the message? Are things breaking already?"

 

 "Don't know. I can't tell till I hear what Verisof has to say. They may be, though. After all, theyhave to before election. But what are you looking so dead about?"

 

 "Because I don't know how it's going to turn out. You're too deep, Hardin, and you're playing the game too close to your chest."

 

 "Even you?" murmured Hardin. And aloud, "Does that mean you're going to join Sermak's new party?"

 

 Lee smiled against his will. "All right. You win. How about lunch now?"

 

  

 

 2.

 

 There are many epigrams attributed to Hardin – a confirmed epigrammatist – a good many of which are probably apocryphal. Nevertheless, it is reported that on a certain occasion, he said:

 

 "It pays to be obvious, especially if you have a reputation for subtlety."

 

 Poly Verisof had had occasion to act on that advice more than once for he was now in the fourteenth year of his double status on Anacreon – a double status the upkeep of which reminded him often and unpleasantly of a dance performed barefoot on hot metal.

 

 To the people of Anacreon he was high priest, representative of that Foundation which, to those "barbarians," was the acme of mystery and the physical center of this religion they had created – with Hardin's help – in the last three decades. As such, he received a homage that had become horribly wearying, for from his soul he despised the ritual of which he was the center.

 

 But to the King of Anacreon – the old one that had been, and the young grandson that was now on the throne – he was simply the ambassador of a power at once feared and coveted.

 

 On the whole, it was an uncomfortable job, and his first trip to the Foundation in three years, despite the disturbing incident that had made it necessary, was something in the nature of a holiday.

 

 And since it was not the first time he had had to travel in absolute secrecy, he again made use of Hardin's epigram on the uses of the obvious.

 

 He changed into his civilian clothes – a holiday in itself – and boarded a passenger liner to the Foundation, second class. Once at Terminus, he threaded his way through the crowd at the spaceport and called up City Hall at a public visiphone.

 

 He said, "My name is Jan Smite. I have an appointment with the mayor this afternoon."

 

 The dead-voiced but efficient young lady at the other end made a second connection and exchanged a few rapid words, then said to Verisof in dry, mechanical tone, "Mayor Hardin will see you in half an hour, sir," and the screen went blank.

 

 Whereupon the ambassador to Anacreon bought the latest edition of the Terminus CityJournal, sauntered casually to City Hall Park and, sitting. down on the first empty bench he came to, read the editorial page, sport section and comic sheet while waiting. At the end of half an hour, he tucked the paper under his arm, entered City Hall and presented himself in the anteroom.

 

 In doing all this he remained safely and thoroughly unrecognized, for since he was so entirely obvious, no one gave him a second look.

 

 Hardin looked up at him and grinned. "Have a cigar! How was the trip?"

 

 Verisof helped himself. "Interesting. There was a priest in the next cabin on his way here to take a special course in the preparation of radioactive synthetics – for the treatment of cancer, you know –"

 

 "Surely, he didn't call it radioactive synthetics, now?"

 

 "I guessnot! It was the Holy Food to him."

 

 The mayor smiled. "Go on."

 

 "He inveigled me into a theological discussion and did his level best to elevate me out of sordid materialism."

 

 "And never recognized his own high priest?"

 

 "Without my crimson robe? Besides, he was a Smyrnian. It was an interesting experience, though. It is remarkable, Hardin, how the religion of science has grabbed hold. I've written an essay on the subject – entirely for my own amusement; it wouldn't do to have it published. Treating the problem sociologically, it would seem that when the old Empire began to rot at the fringes, it could be considered that science, as science, had failed the outer worlds. To be reaccepted it would have to present itself in another guise and it has done just that. It works out beautifully."

 

 "Interesting!" The mayor placed his arms around his neck and said suddenly, "Start talking about the situation at Anacreon!"

 

 The ambassador frowned and withdrew the cigar from his mouth. He looked at it distastefully and put it down. "Well, it's pretty bad."

 

 "You wouldn't be here, otherwise."

 

 "Scarcely. Here's the position. The key man at Anacreon is the Prince Regent, Wienis. He's King Lepold's uncle."

 

 "I know. But Lepold is coming of age next year, isn't he? I believe he'll be sixteen in February."

 

 "Yes." Pause, and then a wry addition. "If he lives. The king's father died under suspicious circumstances. A needle bullet through the chest during a hunt. It was called an accident."

 

 

 "Hmph. I seem to remember Wienis the time I was on Anacreon, when we kicked them off Terminus. It was before your time. Let's see now. If I remember, he was a dark young fellow, black hair and a squint in his right eye. He had a funny hook in his nose."

 

 "Same fellow. The hook and the squint are still there, but his hair's gray now. He plays the game dirty. Luckily, he's the most egregious fool on the planet. Fancies himself as a shrewd devil, too, which mades his folly the more transparent."

 

 "That's usually the way."

 

 "His notion of cracking an egg is to shoot a nuclear blast at it. Witness the tax on Temple property he tried to impose just after the old king died two years ago. Remember?"

 

 Hardin nodded thoughtfully, then smiled. "The priests raised a howl."

 

 "They raised one you could hear way out to Lucreza. He's shown more caution in dealing with the priesthood since, but he still manages to do things the hard way. In a way, it's unfortunate for us; he has unlimited self-confidence."

 

 "Probably an over-compensated inferiority complex. Younger sons of royalty get that way, you know."

 

 "But it amounts to the same thing. He's foaming at the mouth with eagerness to attack the Foundation. He scarcely troubles to conceal it. And he's in a position to do it, too, from the standpoint of armament. The old king built up a magnificent navy, and Wienis hasn't been sleeping the last two years. In fact, the tax on Temple property was originally intended for further armament, and when that fell through he increased the income tax twice."

 

 "Any grumbling at that?"

 

 "None of serious importance. Obedience to appointed authority was the text of every sermon in the kingdom for weeks. Not that Wienis showed any gratitude."

 

 "All right. I've got the background. Now what's happened?"

 

 "Two weeks ago an Anacreonian merchant ship came across a derelict battle cruiser of the old Imperial Navy. It must have been drifting in space for at least three centuries."

 

 Interest flickered in Hardin's eyes. He sat up. "Yes, I've heard of that. The Board of Navigation has sent me a petition asking me to obtain the ship for purposes of study. It is in good condition, I understand."

 

 "In entirely too good condition," responded Verisof, dryly. "When Wienis received your suggestion last week that he turn the ship over to the Foundation, he almost had convulsions."

 

 "He hasn't answered yet."

 

 "He won't – except with guns, or so he thinks. You see, he came to me on the day I left Anacreon and requested that the Foundation put this battle cruiser into fighting order and turn it over to the Anacreonian navy. He had the infernal gall to say that your note of last week indicated a plan of the Foundation's to attack Anacreon. He said that refusal to repair the battle cruiser would confirm his suspicions; and indicated that measures for the self-defense of Anacreon would be forced upon him. Those are his words. Forced upon him! And that's why I'm here."

 

 Hardin laughed gently.

 

 Verisof smiled and continued, "Of course, he expects a refusal, and it would be a perfect excuse – in his eyes – for immediate attack."

 

 "I see that, Verisof. Well, we have at least six months to spare, so have the ship fixed up and present it with my compliments. Have it renamed the Wienis as a mark of our esteem and affection."

 

 He laughed again.

 

 And again Verisof responded with the faintest trace of a smile, "I suppose it's the logical step, Hardin – but I'm worried."

 

 "What about?"

 

 "It's a ship! They couldbuild in those days. Its cubic capacity is half again that of the entire Anacreonian navy. It's got nuclear blasts capable of blowing up a planet, and a shield that could take a Q-beam without working up radiation. Too much of a good thing, Hardin –"

 

 

 "Superficial, Verisof, superficial. You and I both know that the armament he now has could defeat Terminus handily, long before we could repair the cruiser for our own use. What does it matter, then, if we give him the cruiser as well? You know it won't ever come to actual war."

 

 "I suppose so. Yes." The ambassador looked up. "But Hardin –"

 

 "Well? Why do you stop? Go ahead."

 

 "Look. This isn't my province. But I've been reading the paper." He placed the Journal on the desk and indicated the front page. "What's this all about?"

 

 Hardin dropped a casual glance. "'A group of Councilmen are forming a new political party."'

 

 "That's what it says." Verisof fidgeted. "I know you're in better touch with internal matters than I am, but they're attacking you with everything short of physical violence. How strong are they?"

 

 "Damned strong. They'll probably control the Council after next election."

 

 "Not before?" Verisof looked at the mayor obliquely. "There are ways of gaining control besides elections."

 

 "Do you take me for Wienis?"

 

 "No. But repairing the ship will take months and an attack after that is certain. Our yielding will be taken as a sign of appalling weakness and the addition of the Imperial Cruiser will just about double the strength of Wienis' navy. He'll attack as sure as I'm a high priest. Why take chances? Do one of two things. Either reveal the plan of campaign to the Council, or force the issue with Anacreon now!"

 

 Hardin frowned. "Force the issue now? Before the crisis comes? It's the one thing I mustn't do. There's Hari Seldon and the Plan, you know."

 

 Verisof hesitated, then muttered, "You're absolutely sure, then, that there is a Plan?"

 

 "There can scarcely be any doubt," came the stiff reply. "I was present at the opening of the Time Vault and Seldon's recording revealed it then."

 

 "I didn't mean that, Hardin. I just don't see how it could be possible to chart history for a thousand years ahead. Maybe Seldon overestimated himself." He shriveled a bit at Hardin's ironical smile, and added, "Well, I'm no psychologist,"

 

 "Exactly. None of us are. But I did receive some elementary training in my youth – enough to know what psychology is capable of, even if I can't exploit its capabilities myself. There's no doubt but that Seldon did exactly what he claims to have done. The Foundation, as he says, was established as a scientific refuge – the means by which the science and culture of the dying Empire was to be preserved through the centuries of barbarism that have begun, to be rekindled in the end into a second Empire."

 

 Verisof nodded, a trifle doubtfully. "Everyone knows that's the way things aresupposed to go. But can we afford to take chances? Can we risk the present for the sake of a nebulous future?"

 

 "We must – because the future isn't nebulous. It's been calculated out by Seldon and charted. Each successive crisis in our history is mapped and each depends in a measure on the successful conclusion of the ones previous. This is only the second crisis and Space knows what effect even a trifling deviation would have in the end."

 

 "That's rather empty speculation."

 

 "No!Hari Seldon said in the Time Vault, that at each crisis our freedom of action would become circumscribed to the point where only one course of action was possible."

 

 "So as to keep us on the straight and narrow?"

 

 "So as to keep us from deviating, yes. But, conversely, as long asmore than one course of action is possible, the crisis has not been reached. Wemust let things drift so long as we possibly can, and by space, that's what I intend doing."

 

 Verisof didn't answer. He chewed his lower lip in a grudging silence. It had only been the year before that Hardin had first discussed the problem with him – the real problem; the problem of countering Anacreon's hostile preparations. And then only because he, Verisof, had balked at further appeasement.

 

 Hardin seemed to follow his ambassador's thoughts. "I would much rather never to have told you anything about this."

 

 "What makes you say that?" cried Verisof, in surprise.

 

 "Because there are six people now – you and I, the other three ambassadors and Yohan Lee – who have a fair notion of what's ahead; and I'm damned afraid that it was Seldon's idea to have no one know."

 

 "Why so?"

 

 "Because even Seldon's advanced psychology was limited. It could not handle too many independent variables. He couldn't work with individuals over any length of time; any more than you could apply kinetic theory of gases to single molecules. He worked with mobs, populations of whole planets, and onlyblind mobs who do not possess foreknowledge of the results of their own actions."

 

 "That's not plain."

 

 "I can't help it. I'm not psychologist enough to explain it scientifically. But this you know. There are no trained psychologists on Terminus and no mathematical texts on the science. It is plain that he wanted no one on Terminus capable of working out the future in advance. Seldon wanted us to proceed blindly – and therefore correctly – according to the law of mob psychology. As I once told you, I never knew where we were heading when I first drove out the Anacreonians. My idea had been to maintain balance of power, no more than that. It was only afterward that I thought I saw a pattern in events; but I've done my level best not to act on that knowledge. Interference due to foresight would have knocked the Plan out of kilter."

 

 Verisof nodded thoughtfully. "I've heard arguments almost as complicated in the Temples back on Anacreon. How do you expect to spot the fight moment of action?"

 

 "It's spotted already. You admit that once we repair the battle cruiser nothing will stop Wienis from attacking us. There will no longer be any alternative in that respect."

 

 "Yes

 

 "All right. That accounts for the external aspect. Meanwhile, you'll further admit that the next election will see a new and hostile Council that will force action against Anacreon. There is no alternative there."

 

 "Yes."

 

 "And as soon as all the alternatives disappear, the crisis has come. Just the same – I get worried."

 

 He paused, and Verisof waited. Slowly, almost reluctantly, Hardin continued, "I've got the idea – just a notion – that the external and internal pressures were planned to come to a head simultaneously. As it is, there's a few months difference. Wienis will probably attack before spring, and elections are still a year off."

 

 "That doesn't sound important."

 

 "I don't know. It may be due merely to unavoidable errors of calculation, or it might be due to the fact that I knew too much. I tried never to let my foresight influence my action, but how can I tell? And what effect will the discrepancy have? Anyway," he looked up, "there's one thing I've decided."

 

 "And what's that?"

 

 "When the crisis does begin to break, I'm going to Anacreon. I want to be on the spot ... Oh, that's enough, Verisof. It's getting late. Let's go out and make a night of it. I want some relaxation."

 

 

 "Then get it right here,' said Verisof. "I don't want to be recognized, or you know what this new party your precious Councilmen are forming would say. Call for the brandy."

 

 And Hardin did – but not for too much.

 

  

 

 3.

 

 In the ancient days when the Galactic Empire had embraced the Galaxy, and Anacreon had been the richest of the prefects of the Periphery, more than one emperor had visited the Viceregal Palace in state. And not one had left without at least one effort to pit his skill with air speedster and needle gun against the feathered flying fortress they call the Nyakbird.

 

 The fame of Anacreon had withered to nothing with the decay of the times. The Viceregal Palace was a drafty mass of ruins except for the wing that Foundation workmen had restored. And no Emperor had been seen in Anacreon for two hundred years.

 

 But Nyak hunting was still the royal sport and a good eye with the needle gun still the first requirement of Anacreon's kings.

 

 Lepold I, King of Anacreon and – as was invariably, but untruthfully added – Lord of the Outer Dominions, though not yet sixteen had already proved his skill many times over. He had brought down his first Nyak when scarcely thirteen; had brought down his tenth the week after his accession to the throne; and was returning now from his forty-sixth.

 

 "Fifty before I come of age," he had exulted. "Who'll take the wager?"

 

 But Courtiers don't take wagers against the king's skill. There is the deadly danger of winning. So no one did, and the king left to change his clothes in high spirits.

 

 "Lepold!"

 

 The king stopped mid-step at the one voice that could cause him to do so. He turned sulkily.

 

 Wienis stood upon the threshold of his chambers and beetled at his young nephew.

 

 "Send them away," he motioned impatiently. "Get rid of them."

 

 The king nodded curtly and the two chamberlains bowed and backed down the stairs. Lepold entered his uncle's room.

 

 Wienis stared at the king's hunting suit morosely. "You'll have more important things to tend to than Nyak hunting soon enough."

 

 He turned his back and stumped to his desk. Since he had grown too old for the rush of air, the perilous dive within wing-beat of the Nyak, the roll and climb of the speedster at the motion of a foot, he had soured upon the whole sport.

 

 Lepold appreciated his uncle's sour-grapes attitude and it was not without malice that he began enthusiastically, "But you should have been with us today, uncle. We flushed one in the wilds of Sarnia that was a monster. And game as they come. We had it out for two hours over at least seventy square miles of ground. And then I got to Sunwards – he was motioning graphically, as though he were once more in his speedster –"and dived torque-wise. Caught him on the rise just under the left wing at quarters. It maddened him and he canted athwart. I took his dare and veered a-left, waiting for the plummet. Sure enough, down he came. He was within wing-beat before I moved and then –"

 

 "Lepold!"

 

 "Well!– I got him."

 

 "I'm sure you did. Nowwill you attend?"

 

 The king shrugged and gravitated to the end table where he nibbled at a Lera nut in quite an unregal sulk. He did not dare to meet his uncle's eyes.

 

 Wienis said, by way of preamble, "I've been to the ship today."

 

 "What ship?"

 

 "There is only one ship.The ship. The one the Foundation is repairing for the navy. The old Imperial cruiser. Do I make myself sufficiently plain?"

 

 "That one? You see, I told you the Foundation would repair it if we asked them to. It's all poppycock, you know, that story of yours about their wanting to attack us. Because if they did, why would they fix the ship? It doesn't make sense, you know."

 

 "Lepold, you're a fool!"

 

 The king, who had just discarded the shell of the Lera nut and was lifting another to his lips, flushed.

 

 "Well now, look here," he said, with anger that scarcely rose above peevishness, "I don't think you ought to call me that. You forget yourself. I'll be of age in two months, you know."

 

 "Yes, and you're in a fine position to assume regal responsibilities. If you spent half the time on public affairs that you do on Nyak hunting, I'd resign the regency directly with a clear conscience."

 

 "I don't care. That has nothing to do with the case, you know. The fact is that even if you are the regent and my uncle, I'm still king and you're still my subject. You oughtn't to call me a fool and you oughtn't to sit in my presence, anyway. You haven't asked my permission. I think you ought to be careful, or I might do something about it pretty soon."

 

 Wienis' gaze was cold. "May I refer to you as 'your majesty'?"

 

 "Yes."

 

 "Very well! You are a fool, your majesty!"

 

 His dark eyes blazed from beneath his grizzled brows and the young king sat down slowly. For a moment, there was sardonic satisfaction in the regent's face, but it faded quickly. His thick lips parted in a smile and one hand fell upon the king's shoulder.

 

 "Never mind, Lepold. I should not have spoken harshly to you. It is difficult sometimes to behave with true propriety when the pressure of events is such as – You understand?" But if the words were conciliatory, there was something in his eyes that had not softened.

 

 Lepold said uncertainly, "Yes. Affairs of State are deuced difficult, you know." He wondered, not without apprehension, whether he were not in for a dull siege of meaningless details on the year's trade with Smyrno and the long, wrangling dispute over the sparsely settled worlds on the Red Corridor.

 

 Wienis was speaking again. "My boy, I had thought to speak of this to you earlier, and perhaps I should have, but I know that your youthful spirits are impatient of the dry detail of statecraft."

 

 Lepold nodded. "Well, that's all right–"

 

 His uncle broke in firmly and continued, "However, you will come of age in two months. Moreover, in the difficult times that are coming, you will have to take a full and active part. You will beking henceforward, Lepold."

 

 Again Lepold nodded, but his expression was quite blank.

 

 "There will be war, Lepold."

 

 "War! But there's been truce with Smyrno–"

 

 "Not Smyrno. The Foundation itself."

 

 "But, uncle, they've agreed to repair the ship. You said–"

 

 His voice choked off at the twist of his uncle's lip.

 

 "Lepold" – some of the friendliness had gone –"we are to talk man to man. There is to be war with the Foundation, whether the ship is repaired or not; all the sooner, in fact, since it is being repaired. The Foundation is the source of power and might. All the greatness of Anacreon; all its ships and its cities and its people and its commerce depend on the dribbles and leavings of power that the Foundation have given us grudgingly. I remember the time – I, myself – when the cities of Anacreon were warmed by the burning of coal and oil. But never mind that; you would have no conception of it."

 

 "It seems," suggested the king timidly, "that we ought to be grateful–"

 

 "Grateful?" roared Wienis. "Grateful that they begrudge us the merest dregs, while keeping space knows what for themselves – and keeping it with what purpose in mind? Why, only that they may some day rule the Galaxy."

 

 His hand came down on his nephew's knee, and his eyes narrowed. "Lepold, you are king of Anacreon. Your children and your children's children may be kings of the universe – if you have the power that the Foundation is keeping from us!"

 

 "There's something in that." Lepold's eyes gained a sparkle and his back straightened. "After all, what right have they to keep it to themselves? Not fair, you know. Anacreon counts for something, too."

 

 "You see, you're beginning to understand. And now, my boy, what if Smyrno decides to attack the Foundation for its own part and thus gains all that power? How long do you suppose we could escape becoming a vassal power? How long would you hold your throne?"

 

 Lepold grew excited. "Space, yes. You're absolutely right, you know. We must strike first. It's simply self-defense."

 

 Wienis' smile broadened slightly. "Furthermore, once, at the very beginning of the reign of your grandfather, Anacreon actually established a military base on the Foundation's planet, Terminus – a base vitally needed for national defense. We were forced to abandon that base as a result of the machinations of the leader of that Foundation, a sly cur, a scholar, with not a drop of noble blood in his veins. You understand, Lepold? Your grandfather was humiliated by this commoner. I remember him! He was scarcely older than myself when he came to Anacreon with his devil's smile and devil's brain – and the power of the other three kingdoms behind him, combined in cowardly union against the greatness of Anacreon."

 

 Lepold flushed and the sparkle in his eyes blazed. "By Seldon, if I had been my grandfather, I would have fought even so."

 

 "No, Lepold. We decided to wait – to wipe out the insult at a fitter time. It had been your father's hope, before his untimely death, that he might be the one to – Well, well!" Wienis turned away for a moment. Then, as if stifling emotion, "He was my brother. And yet, if his son were–"

 

 "Yes, uncle, I'll not fail him. I have decided. It seems only proper that Anacreon wipe out this nest of troublemakers, and that immediately."

 

 "No, not immediately. First, we must wait for the repairs of the battle cruiser to be completed. The mere fact that they are willing to undertake these repairs proves that they fear us. The fools attempt to placate us, but we are not to be turned from our path, are we?"

 

 And Lepold's fist slammed against his cupped palm.

 

 "Not while I am king in Anacreon."

 

 Wienis' lip twitched sardonically. "Besides which we must wait for Salvor Hardin to arrive."

 

 "Salvor Hardin!" The king grew suddenly round-eyed, and the youthful contour of his beardless face lost the almost hard lines into which they had been compressed.

 

 "Yes, Lepold, the leader of the Foundation himself is coming to Anacreon on your birthday – probably to soothe us with buttered words. But it won't help him."

 

 "Salvor Hardin!" It was the merest murmur.

 

 Wienis frowned. "Are you afraid of the name? It is the same Salvor Hardin, who on his previous visit, ground our noses into the dust. You're not forgetting that deadly insult to the royal house? And from a commoner. The dregs of the gutter."

 

 "No. I guess not. No, I won't. I won't! We'll pay him back – but...but – I'm afraid – a little."

 

 The regent rose. "Afraid? Of what? Of what, you young–" He choked off.

 

 "It would be...uh...sort of blasphemous, you know, to attack the Foundation. I mean–" He paused.

 

 "Go on."

 

 Lepold said confusedly, "I mean, if there were really a Galactic Spirit, he...uh...it mightn't like it. Don't you think?

 

 "No, I don't," was the hard answer. Wienis sat down again and his lips twisted in a queer smile. "And so you

 

 really bother your head a great deal over the Galactic Spirit, do you? That's what comes of letting you run wild. You've been listening to Verisof quite a bit, I take it."

 

 "He's explained a great deal–"

 

 "About the Galactic Spirit?"

 

 

 "Yes."

 

 "Why, you unweaned cub, he believes in that mummery a good deal less than I do, and I don't believe in it at all. How many times have you been told that all this talk is nonsense?"

 

 "Well, I know that. But Verisof says–"

 

 "Pay no heed to Verisof. It's nonsense."

 

 There was a short, rebellious silence, and then Lepold said, "Everyone believes it just the same. I mean all this talk about the Prophet Hari Seldon and how he appointed the Foundation to carry on his commandments that there might some day be a return of the Galactic Paradise: and how anyone who disobeys his commandments will be destroyed for eternity. They believe it. I've presided at festivals, and I'm sure they do."

 

 "Yes,they do; but we don't. And you may be thankful it's so, for according to this foolishness, you are king by divine right – and are semi-divine yourself. Very handy. It eliminates all possibilities of revolts and insures absolute obedience in everything. And that is why, Lepold, you must take an active part in ordering the war against the Foundation. I am only regent, and quite human. You are king, and more than half a god – to them."

 

 "But I suppose I'm not really," said the king reflectively.

 

 "No, not really," came the sardonic response, "but you are to everyone but the people of the Foundation. Get that? To everyone but those of the Foundation. Once they are removed there will be no one to deny you the godhead. Think of that!"

 

 "And after that we will ourselves be able to operate the power boxes of the temples and the ships that fly without men and the holy food that cures cancer and all the rest? Verisof said only those blessed with the Galactic Spirit could–"

 

 "Yes, Verisof said! Verisof, next to Salvor Hardin, is your greatest enemy. Stay with me, Lepold, and don't worry about them. Together we will recreate an empire-not just the kingdom of Anacreon-but one comprising every one of the billions of suns of the Empire. Is that better than a wordy 'Galactic Paradise'?"

 

 "Ye-es."

 

 "Can Verisof promise more?"

 

 "No."

 

 "Very well." His voice became peremptory. "I suppose we may consider the matter settled." He waited for no answer. "Get along. I'll be down later. And just one thing, Lepold."

 

 The young king turned on the threshold.

 

 Wienis was smiling with all but his eyes. "Be careful on these Nyak hunts, my boy. Since the unfortunate accident to your father, I have had the strangest presentiments concerning you, at times. In the confusion, with needle guns thickening the air with darts, one can never tell. You will be careful, I hope. And you'll do as I say about the Foundation, won't you?"

 

 Lepold's eyes widened and dropped away from those of his uncle. "Yes – certainly."

 

 "Good!" He stared after his departing nephew, expressionlessly, and returned to his desk.

 

 And Lepold's thoughts as he left were somber and not unfearful. Perhaps it would be best to defeat the Foundation and gain the power Wienis spoke of. But afterward, when the war was over and he was secure on his throne– He became acutely conscious of the fact that Wienis and his two arrogant sons were at present next in line to the throne.

 

 But he was king. And kings could order people executed.

 

 Even uncles and cousins.

 

  

 

 4.

 

 Next to Sermak himself, Lewis Bort was the most active in rallying those dissident elements which had fused into the now-vociferous Action Party. Yet he had not been one of the deputation that had called on Salvor Hardin almost half a year previously. That this was so was not due to any lack of recognition of his efforts; quite the contrary. He was absent for the very good reason that he was on Anacreon's capital world at the time.

 

 He visited it as a private citizen. He saw no official and he did nothing of importance. He merely watched the obscure comers of the busy planet and poked his stubby nose into dusty crannies.

 

 He arrived home toward the end of a short winter day that had started with clouds and was finishing with snow and within an hour was seated at the octagonal table in Sermak's home.

 

 His first words were not calculated to improve the atmosphere of a gathering already considerably depressed by the deepening snow-filled twilight outside..

 

 "I'm afraid," he said, "that our position is what is usually termed, in melodramatic phraseology, a 'Lost Cause.'"

 

 "You think so?" said Sermak, gloomily.

 

 "It's gone past thought, Sermak. There's no room for any other opinion."

 

 "Armaments–" began Dokor Walto, somewhat officiously, but Bort broke in at once.

 

 "Forget that. That's an old story." His eyes traveled round the circle. "I'm referring to the people. I admit that it was my idea originally that we attempt to foster a palace rebellion of some sort to install as king someone more favorable to the Foundation. It was a good idea. It still is. The only trifling flaw about it is that it is impossible. The great Salvor Hardin saw to that."

 

 Sermak said sourly, "If you'd give us the details, Bort–"

 

 "Details! There aren't any! It isn't as simple as that. It's the whole damned situation on Anacreon. It's this religion the Foundation has established. It works!"

 

 "Well!"

 

 "You've got tosee it work to appreciate it. All you see here is that we have a large school devoted to the training of priests, and that occasionally a special show is put on in some obscure comer of the city for the benefit of pilgrims and that's all. The whole business hardly affects us as a general thing. But on Anacreon–"

 

 Lem Tarki smoothed his prim little Vandyke with one finger, and cleared his throat. "What kind of religion is it? Hardin's always said that it was just a fluffy flummery to get them to accept our science without question. You remember, Sermak, he told us that day–"

 

 "Hardin's explanations," reminded Sermak, "don't often mean much at face value. But what kind of a religion is it, Bort?"

 

 Bort considered. "Ethically, it's fine. It scarcely varies from the various philosophies of the old Empire. High moral standards and all that. There's nothing to complain about from that viewpoint. Religion is one of the great civilizing influences of history and in that respect, it's fulfilling–"

 

 "We know that," interrupted Sermak, impatiently. "Get to the point."

 

 "Here it is." Bort was a trifle disconcerted, but didn't show it. "The religion – which the Foundation has fostered and encouraged, mind you – is built on on strictly authoritarian lines. The priesthood has sole control of the instruments of science we have given Anacreon, but they've learned to handle these tools only empirically. They believe in this religion entirely, and in the... uh... spiritual value of the power they handle. For instance, two months ago some fool tampered with the power plant in the Thessalekian Temple – one of the large ones. He contaminated the city, of course. It was considered divine vengeance by everyone, including the priests."

 

 "I remember. The papers had some garbled version of the story at the time. I don't see what you're driving at."

 

 "Then, listen," said Bort, stiffly. "The priesthood forms a hierarchy at the apex of which is the king, who is regarded as a sort of minor god. He's an absolute monarch by divine right, and the people believe it, thoroughly, and the priests, too. You can't overthrow a king like that.Now do you get the point?"

 

 "Hold on," said Walto, at this point. "What did you mean when you said Hardin's done all this? How does he come in?"

 

 Bort glanced at his questioner bitterly. "The Foundation has fostered this delusion assiduously. We've put all our scientific backing behind the hoax. There isn't a festival at which the king does not preside surrounded by a radioactive aura shining forth all over his body and raising itself like a coronet above his head. Anyone touching him is severely burned. He can move from place to place through the air at crucial moments, supposedly by inspiration of divine spirit. He fills the temple with a pearly, internal light at a gesture. There is no end to these quite simple tricks that we perform for his benefit; but even the priests believe them, while working them personally."

 

 "Bad!" said Sermak, biting his lip.

 

 "I could cry – like the fountain in City Hall Park," said Bort, earnestly, "when I think of the chance we muffed. Take the situation thirty years ago, when Hardin saved the Foundation from Anacreon – At that time, the Anacreonian people had no real conception of the fact that the Empire was running down. They had been more or less running their own affairs since the Zeonian revolt, but even after communications broke down and Lepold's pirate of a grandfather made himself king, they never quite realized the Empire had gone kaput.

 

 "If the Emperor had had the nerve to try, he could have taken over again with two cruisers and with the help of the internal revolt that would have certainly sprung to life. And wewe could have done the same; but no, Hardin established monarch worship. Personally, I don't understand it. Why? Why? Why?"

 

 "What," demanded Jaim Orsy, suddenly, "does Verisof do? There was a day when he was an advanced Actionist. What's he doing there? Is he blind, too?"

 

 "I don't know," said Bort, curtly. "He's high priest to them. As far as I know, he does nothing but act as adviser to the priesthood on technical details. Figurehead, blast him, figurehead!"

 

 There was silence all round and all eyes turned to Sermak. The young party leader was biting a fingernail nervously, and then said loudly, "No good. It's fishy!"

 

 He looked around him, and added more energetically, "Is Hardin then such a fool?"

 

 "Seems to be," shrugged Bort.

 

 "Never! There's something wrong. To cut our own throats so thoroughly and so hopelessly would require colossal stupidity. More than Hardin could possibly have even if he were a fool, which I deny. On the one hand, to establish a religion that would wipe out all chance of internal troubles. On the other hand, to arm Anacreon with all weapons of warfare. I don't see it."

 

 "The matteris a little obscure, I admit," said Bort, "but the facts are there. What else can we think?"

 

 Walto said, jerkily, "Outright treason. He's in their pay."

 

 But Sermak shook his head impatiently. "I don't see that, either. The whole affair is as insane and meaningless – Tell me, Bort, have you heard anything about a battle cruiser that the Foundation is supposed to have put into shape for use in the Anacreon navy?"

 

 "Battle cruiser?"

 

 "An old Imperial cruiser–"

 

 "No, I haven't. But that doesn't mean much. The navy yards are religious sanctuaries completely inviolate on the part of the lay public. No one ever hears anything about the fleet.

 

 "Well, rumors have leaked out. Some of the Party have brought the matter up in Council. Hardin never denied it, you know. His spokesmen denounced rumor mongers and let it go at that. It might have significance."

 

 "It's of a piece with the rest," said Bort. "if true, it's absolutely crazy. But it wouldn't be worse than the rest."

 

 "I suppose," said Orsy, "Hardin hasn't any secret weapon waiting. That might–"

 

 "Yes," said Sermak, viciously, "a huge jack-in-the-box that will jump out at the psychological moment and scare old Wienis into fits. The Foundation may as well blow itself out of existence and save itself the agony of suspense if it has to depend on any secret weapon."

 

 "Well," said Orsy, changing the subject hurriedly, "the question comes down to this: How much time have we left? Eli, Bort?"

 

 "All fight. It is the question. But don't look at me; I don't know. The Anacreonian press never mentions the Foundation at all. Right now, it's full of the approaching celebrations and nothing else. Lepold is coming of age next week, you know."

 

 "We have months then." Walto smiled for the first time that evening. "That gives us time–"

 

 "That gives us time, my foot," ground out Bort, impatiently. "The king's a god, I tell you. Do you suppose he has to carry on a campaign of propaganda to get his people into fighting spirit? Do you suppose he has to accuse us of aggression and pull out all stops on cheap emotionalism? When the time comes to strike, Lepold gives the order and the people fight. Just like that. That’s the damnedness of the system. You don’t question a god. He may give the order tomorrow for all I know; and you can wrap tobacco round that and smoke it."

 

 

 Everyone tried to talk at once and Sermak was slamming the table for silence, when the front door opened and Levi Norast stamped in. He bounded up the stairs, overcoat on, trailing snow.

 

 

 "Look at that!" he cried, tossing a cold, snow-speckled newspaper onto the table. "The visicasters are full of it, too."

 

 

 The newspaper was unfolded and five heads bent over it.

 

 

 Sermak said, in a hushed voice, "Great Space, he’s going to Anacreon!Going to Anacreon!"

 

 

 "Itis treason," squeaked Tarki, in sudden excitement. "I’ll be damned if Walto isn’t right. He’s sold us out and now he’s going there to collect his wage."

 

 

 Sermak had risen. "We’ve no choice now. I’m going to ask the Council tomorrow that Hardin be impeached. And ifthat fails–"

 

 

  

 

 5.

 

 The snow had ceased, but it caked the ground deeply now and the sleek ground car advanced through the deserted streets with lumbering effort. The murky gray light of incipient dawn was cold not only in the poetical sense but also in a very literal way – and even in the then turbulent state of the Foundation's politics, no one, whether Actionist or pro-Hardin found his spirits sufficiently ardent to begin street activity that early.

 

 Yohan Lee did not like that and his grumblings grew audible. "It's going to look bad, Hardin. They're going to say you sneaked away."

 

 "Let them say it if they wish. I've got to get to Anacreon and I want to do it without trouble. Now that's enough, Lee."

 

 Hardin leaned back into the cushioned seat and shivered slightly. It wasn't cold inside the well-heated car, but there was something frigid about a snow-covered world, even through glass, that annoyed him.

 

 He said, reflectively, "Some day when we get around to it we ought to weather-condition Terminus. It could be done."

 

 "I," replied Lee, "would like to see a few other things done first. For instance, what about weather-conditioning Sermak? A nice, dry cell fitted for twenty-five centigrade all year round would be just fight."

 

 "And then I'd reallyneed bodyguards," said Hardin, "and not just those two," He indicated two of Lee's bully-boys sitting up front with the driver, hard eyes on the empty streets, ready hands at their atom blasts. "You evidently want to stir up civil war."