“There's a brave lad. So you came to Wye to fight for your beliefs.”
“No,” said Raych, uncomfortably, “I can't say I did. I came to look for a job, sir. It ain't easy to find no jobs these days-and I ain't got no money. A guy gotta live.”
“I agree. What's your name?”
The question shot out without warning, but Raych was ready for it. “Planchet, sir.”
“First or last name?”
“Only name, as far as I know.”
“You have no money and, I gather, very little education.”
“Afraid so.”
“And no experience at any specialized job?”
“I ain't worked much, but I'm willing.”
“All right. I'll tell you what, Planchet.” He had taken a small, white triangle out of his pocket and pressed it in such a way as to produce a printed message on it. He then rubbed his thumb across it, freezing it. “I'll tell you where to go. You take this with you, and it may get you a job.”
Raych took the card and glanced at it. The signals seemed to fluoresce, but Raych could not read them. He looked at the other out of the corner of his eye.
“What if they think I stole it?”
“It can't be stolen. It has my sign on it, and your name.”
“What if they ask me your name?”
“They won't. -You say you want a job. There's your chance. I don't guarantee it, but there's your chance.” He gave him another card, “This is where to go.” Raych could read this one.
“Thank you,” he mumbled.
The man made little dismissing gestures with his hand.
Raych rose, and left-and wondered what he was getting into.
13.
Up and down. Up and down. Up and down.
Gleb Andorin watched Gambol Deen Namarti trudging up and down. Namarti was obviously unable to sit still under the driving force of the violence of his passion.
Andorin thought: He's not the brightest man in the Empire, or even in the movement, not the shrewdest, certainly not the most capable of rational thought. He has to be held down constantly-but he's driven as none of the rest of us are. We would give up, let go, but he won't. Push, pull, prod, kick. -Well, maybe we need someone like that. We must have someone like that or nothing will ever happen.
Namarti stopped as though he felt Andorin's eyes boring into his back. He turned about and said, “If you're going to lecture me again on Kaspalov, don't bother.”
Andorin shrugged lightly. “Why bother lecturing? The deed is done. The harm, if any, has come to pass.”
“What harm, Andorin? What harm? If I had not done it, then we would have been harmed. The man was on the edge of being a traitor. Within a month, he would have gone running-”
“I know. I was there. I heard what he said.”
“Then you understand there was no choice. No choice. You don't think I liked to have an old comrade killed, do you? I had no choice.”
“Very well. You had no choice.”
Namarti resumed his tramping, then turned again. “Andorin, do you believe in gods?”
Andorin stared. “In what?”
“In gods.”
“I never heard the word. What is it?”
Namarti said, “It's not Galactic Standard. Supernatural influences-how's that?”
“Oh, supernatural influences. Why didn't you say so? No, I don't believe in that sort of thing. By definition, something is supernatural if it exists outside the laws of nature and nothing exists outside the laws of nature. Are you turning mystic?” Andorin asked it as though he were joking, but his eyes narrowed in sudden concern.
Namarti stared him down. Those blazing eyes of his could stare anyone down. “Don't be a fool. I've been reading about it. Trillions of people believe in supernatural influences.”
“I know,” said Andorin. “They always have.”
“They've done so since before the beginning of history. The word ‘gods’ is of unknown origin. It is, apparently, a hangover from some primeval language no trace of which any longer exists, except that word. -Do you know how many different varieties of beliefs there are in various kinds of gods?”
“Approximately as many as the varieties of fools among the galactic population, I should say.”
Namarti ignored that. “Some people think the word dates back to the time when all humanity existed on but a single world.”
“Itself a mythological concept. That's just as lunatic as the notion of supernatural influences. There never was one original human world.”
“There would have to be, Andorin,” said Namarti, annoyed. “Human beings can't have evolved on different worlds and ended as a single species.”
“Even so, there's no effective human world. It can't be located, it can't be defined, so it can't be spoken of sensibly, so it effectively doesn't exist.”
“These gods,” said Namarti, continuing to follow his own line of thought, “are supposed to protect humanity and keep it safe, or at least to care for those portions of humanity that know how to make use of the gods. At a time when there was only one human world, it makes sense to suppose they would be particularly interested in caring for that one tiny world with a few people. They would care for such a world as though they were big brothers, or parents.”
“Very nice of them. I'd like to see them try to handle the entire Empire.”
“What if they could? What if they were infinite?”
“What if the sun were frozen? What's the use of ‘what if'?”
“I'm just speculating. Just thinking. Haven't you ever let your mind wander freely? Do you always keep everything on a leash?”
“I should imagine that's the safest way, keeping it on a leash. What does your wandering mind tell you, Chief?”
Namarti's eyes flashed at the other as though he suspected sarcasm, but Andorin's face remained good-natured and blank.
Namarti said, “What my mind is telling me is this-if there are gods, they must be on our side.”
“Wonderful, if true. Where's the evidence?”
“Evidence? Without the gods, it would just be a coincidence, I suppose, but a very useful one.” Suddenly, Namarti yawned and sat down, looking exhausted.
Good, thought Andorin. His galloping mind has finally wound itself down and he may talk sense now.
“This matter of internal breakdown of the infrastructure-” said Namarti, his voice distinctly lower.
Andorin interrupted. “You know, Chief, Kaspalov was not entirely wrong about this. The longer we keep it up, the greater the chance that Imperial forces will discover the cause. The whole program must, sooner or later, explode in our faces.”
“Not yet. So far, everything is exploding in the Imperial face. The unrest on Trantor is something I can feel.” He raised his hands, rubbing his fingers together. “I can feel it. And we are almost through. We are ready for the next step.”
Andorin smiled humorlessly. “I'm not asking for details, Chief. Kaspalov did, and you had him eliminated. I am not Kaspalov.”
“It's precisely because you're not Kaspalov that I can tell you. And because I know something now I didn't then.”
“I presume,” said Andorin, only half-believing what he was saying, “that you intend a strike on the Imperial Palace grounds themselves.”
Namarti looked up. “Of course. What else is there to do? The problem, however, is how to penetrate the grounds effectively. I have my sources of information there, but they are only spies. I'll need men of action on the spot.”
“To get men of action into the most heavily guarded region in all the galaxy will not be easy.”
“Of course not. That's what has been giving me an unbearable headache till now-and then the gods intervened.”
Andorin said gently (it was taking all his self-restraint to keep him from showing his disgust), “I don't think we need a metaphysical discussion. What has happened-leaving the gods to one side?”
“My information is that his Gracious and ever to be Beloved Emperor, Cleon I, has decided to appoint a new Chief Gardener. This is the first new appointee in nearly a quarter of a century.”
“And if so?”
“Do you see no significance?”
Andorin thought a bit. “I am not a favorite of your gods. I don't see any significance.”