"All right, Grandpa." She cheered up as soon as the matter of the dream was dismissed and off she went to join the festivities.
Seldon went to search for Manella. It took him an extraordinarily long time to find her, since, at every step, he was stopped, greeted, and conversed with.
Finally he saw her in the distance. Muttering, "Pardon me- Pardon me-There's someone I must-Pardon me-," he worked his way over to her with considerable trouble.
"Manella," he said and drew her off to one side, smiling mechanically in all directions.
"Yes, Hari," she said. "Is something wrong?"
"It's Wanda's dream."
"Don't tell me she's still talking about it."
"Well, it's still bothering her. Listen, we have lemonade at the party, haven't we?"
"Of course, the children adore it. I've added a couple of dozen different Mycogenian taste buds to very small glasses of different shapes and the children try them one after the other to see which taste best. The adults have been drinking it, too. I have. Why don't you taste it, Hari? It's great."
"I'm thinking. If it wasn't a dream, if the child really heard two men speak of lemonade death-" He paused, as though ashamed to continue.
Manella said, "Are you thinking that someone poisoned the lemonade? That's ridiculous. By now every child in the place would be sick or dying."
"I know," muttered Seldon. "I know."
He wandered off and almost didn't see Dors when he passed her. She seized his elbow.
"Why the face?" she said. "You look concerned."
"I've been thinking of Wanda's lemonade death."
"So have I, but I can't make anything of it so far."
"I can't help but think of the possibility of poisoning."
"Don't. I assure you that every bit of food that came into this party has been molecularly checked. I know you'll think that's my typical paranoia, but my task is guarding you and that is what I must do."
"And everything is-"
"No poison. I promise you."
Seldon smiled, "Well, good. That's a relief. I didn't really think-"
"Let's hope not," said Dors dryly. "What concerns me far more than this myth of poison is that I have heard that you're going to be seeing that monster Tennar in a few days."
"Don't call him a monster, Dors. Be careful. We're surrounded by ears and tongues."
Dors immediately lowered her voice. "I suppose you're right. Look 'round. All these smiling faces-and yet who knows which of our friends will be reporting back to the head and his henchmen when the night is over? Ah, humans! Even after all these thousands of centuries, to think that such base treachery still exists. It seems to me to be so unnecessary. Yet I know the harm it can do. That is why I must go with you, Hari."
"Impossible, Dors. It would just complicate matters for me. I'll go Myself and I'll have no trouble."
"You would have no idea how to handle the General."
Seldon looked grave. "And you would? You sound exactly like Elar. He, too, is convinced that I am a helpless old fool. He, too, wants to come with me-or, rather, to go in my place. I wonder how many people on Trantor are willing to take my place," he added with clear sarcasm. "Dozens? Millions?"
12
For ten years the Galactic Empire had been without an Emperor, but there was no indication of that fact in the way the Imperial Palace grounds were operated. Millennia of custom made the absence of an Emperor meaningless.
It meant, of course, that there was no figure in Imperial robes to preside over formalities of one sort or another. No Imperial voice gave orders; no Imperial wishes made themselves known; no Imperial gratifications or annoyances made themselves felt; no Imperial pleasures warmed either Palace; no Imperial sicknesses cast them in gloom. The Emperor's own quarters in the Small Palace were empty-the Imperial family did not exist.
And yet the army of gardeners kept the grounds in perfect condition. An army of service people kept the buildings in top shape. The Emperor's bed-never slept in-was made with fresh sheets every day; the rooms were cleaned; everything worked as it always worked; and the entire Imperial staff, from top to bottom, worked as they had always worked. The top officials gave commands as they would have done if the Emperor had lived, commands that they knew the Emperor would have given. In many cases, in particular in the higher echelons, the personnel were the same as those who had been there on Cleon's last day of life. The new personnel who had been taken on were carefully molded and trained into the traditions they would have to serve.
It was as though the Empire, accustomed to the rule of an Emperor, insisted on this "ghost rule" to hold the Empire together.
The junta knew this-or, if they didn't, they felt it vaguely. In ten years none of those military men who had commanded the Empire had moved into the Emperor's private quarters in the Small Palace. Whatever these men were, they were not Imperial and they knew they had no rights there. A populace that endured the loss of liberty would not endure any sign of irreverence to the Emperor-alive or dead.
Even General Tennar had not moved into the graceful structure that had housed the Emperors of a dozen different dynasties for so long. He had made his home and office in one of the structures built on the outskirts of the grounds-eyesores, but eyesores that were built like fortresses, sturdy enough to withstand a siege, with outlying buildings in which an enormous force of guards was housed.
Tennar was a stocky man, with a mustache. It was not a vigorous overflowing Dahlite mustache but one that was carefully clipped and fitted to the upper lip, leaving a strip of skin between the hair and the line of the lip. It was a reddish mustache and Tennar had cold blue eyes. He had probably been a handsome man in his younger days, but his face was pudgy now and his eyes were slits that expressed anger more often than any other emotion.