Foundation Fear Read Free Page B

wainscoting.
    Silence. The Emperor was never waiting for anyone, of course. The gloomy chamber gave back
     no echoes, as though the walls absorbed everything.
    Indeed, they probably did. No doubt every Imperial conversation went into several ears.
     There might be eavesdroppers halfway across the Galaxy.
    A light, moving. Down a crackling grav column came Cleon. “Hari! So happy you could come.”
    Since refusing a summons by the Emperor was traditionally grounds for execution, Hari
     could barely suppress a wry smile. “My honor to serve, sire.”
    “Come, sit.”
    Cleon moved heavily. Rumor had it that his appetite, already legendary, had begun to
     exceed even the skills of his cooks and physicians. “We have much to discuss.”
    The Emperor's constant attendant glow served to subtly enhance him with its nimbus. The
     contrast was mild, serving to draw him out from a comparative surrounding gloom. The
     room's embedded intelligences tracked his eyes and shed added light where his gaze fell,
     again with delicate emphasis, subtly applied. The soft touch of his regard yielded a
     radiance which guests scarcely noticed, but which acted subconsciously, adding to their
     awe. Hari knew this, yet the effect still worked; Cleon looked masterful, regal.
    “I fear we have hit a snag,” Cleon said.
    “Nothing you cannot master, I am sure, sire.”
    Cleon shook his head wearily. “Now don't you, too, go on about my prodigious powers. Some
     ... elements -- ” he drew the word out with dry disdain “ -- object to your appointment.”
    “I see.” Hari kept his face blank, but his heart leaped.
    “Do not be glum! I do want you for my First Minister.”
    “Yes, sire.”
    “But I am not, despite commonplace assumption, utterly free to act.”
    “I realize that many others are better qualified -- ”
    “In their own eyes, surely.”
    “ -- and better trained, and -- ”
    “And know nothing of psychohistory.”
    “Demerzel exaggerated the utility of psychohistory.”
    “Nonsense. He suggested your name to me.”
    “You know as well as I that he was exhausted, not in his best frame of -- ”
    “His judgment was impeccable for decades.” Cleon eyed Hari. “One would almost think you
     were trying to avoid appointment as First Minister.”
    “No, sire, but -- ”
    “Men -- and women, for that matter -- have killed for far less.”
    “And been killed once they got it.”
    Cleon chuckled. “True enough. Some First Ministers do get self-important, begin to scheme
     against their Emperor -- but let us not dwell upon the few failures of our system.”
    Hari recalled Demerzel saying, “The succession of crises has reached the point where the
     consideration of the Three Laws of Robotics paralyzes me.” Demerzel had been unable to
     make choices because there were no good ones left. Every possible move hurt someone,
     badly. So Demerzel, a supreme intelligence, a clandestine humaniform robot, had suddenly
     left the scene. What chance did Hari have?
    “I will assume the position, of course,” Hari said quietly, “if necessary.”
    “Oh, it's necessary. If possible, you mean. Factions on the High Council oppose you. They
     demand a full discussion.”
    Hari blinked, alarmed. “Will I have to debate?”
    “ -- and then a vote.”
    “I had no idea the Council could intervene.”
    “Read the Codes. They do have that power. Typically they do not use it, bowing to the
     superior wisdom of the Emperor.” A dry little laugh. “Not this time.”
    “If it would make it easier for you, I could absent myself while the discussion -- ”
    “Nonsense! I want to use you to counter them.”
    “I haven't any ideas how to -- ”
    “I'll scent out the issues; you advise me on answers. Division of labor, nothing could be
     simpler.”
    “Um.” Demerzel had said confidently, “If he believes you have the psychohistorical answer,
     he will follow you eagerly and that will make you a good First Minister.”