“No, but he said he would be going to the Imperial sector.”
“Did he? Does he often tell you things like that?”
“You know how it is, Planchet. When a fellow's in bed with you, he talks a lot.”
“I know,” said Raych, who was himself careful not to. “What else does he say?”
“Why do you ask?” She frowned a bit. “He always asks about you, too. I noticed that about men. They're curious about each other. Why is that, do you suppose?”
“What do you tell him about me?”
“Not much. Just you're a nice kid and you're a very decent sort. Naturally, I don't tell him I like you better than I like him. That would hurt his feelings-and it might hurt me, too.”
Raych was getting dressed. “So it's good-bye, then.”
“For a while, I suppose. Gleb may change his mind. Of course, I'd like to go to the Imperial sector, if he'd take me. I've never been there.”
Raych almost slipped, but he managed to cough, then said, “I've never been there, either.”
“It's got the biggest buildings and the nicest places and the fanciest restaurants, and that's where the rich people live. I'd like to meet some rich people.”
Raych said, “I suppose there's not much to be gotten out of a person like me.”
“You're all right. You can't think of money all the time, but, by the same token, you've got to think of it some of the time. Especially since I think Gleb is getting tired of me.”
Raych felt compelled to say, “No one could get tired of you,” and then found, a little to his own confusion, that he meant it.
Manella said, “That's what men always say, but you'd be surprised. Anyway, it's been good, you and I, Planchet. Take care of yourself and, who knows, we may see each other again.”
Raych nodded and found himself at a loss for words. There was no way in which he could say or do anything to express his feelings.
With a wrench, he turned his mind in other directions. He had to find out what the Namarti people were planning. If they were separating him from Manella, the crisis must be rapidly approaching. All he had to go on was that queer question about gardening.
Nor could he get any further information back to Seldon. He had been kept under close scrutiny since his meeting with Namarti; and all avenues of communication were cut off-surely another indication of an approaching crisis.
But if he were to find out what was going on only after it was done, and if he could communicate the news only after it was no longer news, he would have failed.
19.
Hari Seldon was not having a good day. He had not heard from Raych since his first communique; he had no idea what was happening.
Aside from his natural concern for Raych's safety (surely he would hear if something really bad had happened) there was his uneasiness over what might be planned.
It would have to be subtle. A direct attack on the Palace itself was totally out of the question. Security there was far too tight. But if so, what else could be planned that would be sufficiently effective?
The whole thing was keeping him awake at night and distracted by day.
The signal-light flashed.
“First Minister. Your two o'clock appointment, sir-”
“What two o'clock appointment is this?”
“The gardener, Mandell Gruber. He has the necessary certification.”
Seldon remembered. “Yes. Send him in.”
This was no time to see Gruber, but he had agreed to it in a moment of weakness-the man had seemed distraught. A First Minister should not have moments of weakness, but Seldon had been Seldon long before he had become First Minister.
“Come in, Gruber,” he said, kindly.
Gruber stood before him, head ducking mechanically, eyes darting this way and that. Seldon was quite certain the gardener had never been in any room as magnificent as this one, and he had the bitter urge to say: Do you like it? Please take it. I don't want it.
But he only said, “What is it, Gruber? Why are you so unhappy?”
There was no immediate answer; Gruber merely smiled vacantly.
Seldon said, “Sit down, man. Right there in that chair.”
“Oh, no, First Minister. It would not be fitting. I'll get it dirty.”
“If you do, it will be easy to clean. Do as I say. -Good! Now just sit there a minute or two and gather your thoughts. Then, when you are ready, tell me what's the matter.”
Gruber sat silent for a moment, then the words came out in a panting rush. “First Minister. It is Chief Gardener I am to be. The blessed Emperor himself told me so.”
“Yes, I have heard of that, but that surely isn't what is troubling you. Your new post is a matter of congratulations and I do congratulate you. I may even have contributed to it, Gruber. I have never forgotten your bravery at the time they tried to kill me, and you can be sure I mentioned it to His Imperial Majesty. It is a suitable reward, Gruber, and you would deserve the promotion in any case for it is quite clear from your record that you are fully qualified for the post. So now that that's out of the way, tell me what is troubling you.”
“First Minister, it is the very post and promotion that is troubling me. It is something I cannot manage for I am not qualified.”
“We are convinced you are.”
Gruber grew agitated. “And is it in an office I will have to sit? I can't sit in an office. I could not go out in the open air and work with the plants and animals. I would be in prison, First Minister.”
Seldon's eyes opened wide. “No such thing, Gruber. You needn't stay in the office longer than you have to. You could wander about the grounds freely, supervising everything. You will have all the outdoors you want and you will merely spare yourself the hard work.”
“I want the hard work, First Minister, and it's no chance at all they will let me come out of the office. I have watched the present Chief Gardener. He couldn't leave his office, though he wanted to ever so. There is too much administration, too much bookkeeping. Sure, if he wants to know what is going on, we must go to his office to tell him. He watches things on holovision” (this, with infinite contempt) “as though you can tell anything about growing, living things from images. It is not for me, First Minister.”
“Come, Gruber, be a man. It's not all that bad. You'll get used to it. You'll work your way in slowly.”
Gruber shook his head. “First off-at the very first-I will have to deal with the new gardeners. I'll be buried.” Then, with sudden energy, “It is a job I do not want and must not have, First Minister.”
“Right now, Gruber, perhaps you don't want the job, but you are not alone. I'll tell you that right now I wish I were not First Minister. This job is too much for me. I even have a notion that there are times when the Emperor himself is tired of his Imperial robes. We're all in this galaxy to do our work, and the work isn't always pleasant.”
“I understand that, First Minister, but the Emperor must be Emperor, for he was born to that. And you must be First Minister for there is no one else who can do the job. But in my case, it is just Chief Gardener we are ruminating upon. There are fifty gardeners in the place who could do it as well as I could and who wouldn't mind the office. You say that you spoke to the Emperor about how I tried to help you. Can't you speak to him again, and explain that if he wants to reward me for what I did, he can leave me as I am?”
Seldon leaned back in his chair and said solemnly, “Gruber, I would do that for you if I could, but I've got to explain something to you and I can only hope that you will understand it. The Emperor, in theory, is absolute ruler of the Empire. In actual fact, there is very little he can do. I run the Empire. I run the Empire right now much more than he does and there is very little I can do, too. There are millions and billions of people at all levels of government, all making decisions, all making mistakes, some acting wisely and heroically, some acting foolishly and thievishly. There's no controlling them. Do you understand me, Gruber?”
“I do, but what has this to do with my case?”