"In that case, my dear Rashelle, you must listen more closely. I can well imagine they have cold you that I have proven that psychohistorical predictions are conceivable, but surely they must also have cold you that they are not practical."
"I can't believe chat, Hari. The very next day, you were called into an audience with that pseudo-Emperor, Cleon."
"The pseudo-Emperor?" murmured Dors ironically.
"Why yes," said Rashelle as though she was answering a serious question. "Pseudo-Emperor. He has no true claim to the throne."
"Rashelle," said Seldon, brushing that aside a bit impatiently, "I told Cleon exactly what I have just told you and he let me go."
Now Rashelle did nor smile. A small edge crept into her voice. "Yes, he let you go the way the cat in the fable lets a mouse go. He has been pursuing you ever since-in Streeling, in Mycogen, in Dahl. He would pursue you here if he dared. But come now-our serious talk is too serious. Let us enjoy ourselves. Let us have music."
And at her words, there suddenly sounded a soft but joyous instrumental melody. She leaned toward Raych and said softly, "My boy, if you are not at ease with the fork, use your spoon or your fingers. I won't mind."
Raych said, "Yes, mum," and swallowed hard, but Dors caught his eye and her lips silently mouthed: "Fork."
He remained with his fork.
Dors said, "The music is lovely, Madam"-she pointedly rejected the familiar form of address "but it must not he allowed to distract us. There is the thought in my mind that the pursuer in all those places might have been in the employ of the Wye Sector. Surely, you would not be so well acquainted with events if Wye were not the prime mover."
Rashelle laughed aloud. "Wye has its eyes and ears everywhere, of course, but we were not the pursuers. Had we been, you would have been picked up without fail-as you were in Dahl finally when, indeed, we were the pursuers. When, however, there is a pursuit that fails, a grasping hand that misses, you may be sure that it is Demerzel."
"Do you think so little of Demerzel?" murmured Dors.
"Yes. Does that surprise you? We have beaten him."
"You? Or the Wye Sector?"
"The sector, of course, but insofar as Wye is the victor, then I am the victor."
"How strange," said Dors. "There seems to be a prevalent opinion throughout Trantor that the inhabitants of Wye have nothing to do with victory, with defeat, or with anything else. It is felt that there is but one will and one fist in Wye and that is that of the Mayor. Surely, you-or any other Wyan-weigh nothing in comparison."
Rashelle smiled broadly. She paused to look at Raych benevolently and to pinch his cheek, then said, "If you believe that our Mayor is an autocrat and that there is but one will that sways Wye, then perhaps you are right. But, even so, I can still use the personal pronoun, for my will is of account."
"Why yours?" said Seldon. "Why not?" said Rashelle as the servers began clearing the table. "1 am the Mayor of Wye."
86.
It was Raych who was the first to react to the statement. Quite forgetting the cloak of civility that sat upon him so uncomfortably, he laughed raucously and said, "Hey, lady, ya can't be Mayor. Mayors is guys."
Rashelle looked at him good-naturedly and said in a perfect imitation of his tone of voice, "Hey, kid, some Mayors is guys and some Mayors is dames. Put that under your lid and let it bubble."
Raych's eyes protruded and he seemed stunned. Finally he managed to say, "Hey, ya talk regular, lady."
"Sure thing. Regular as ya want," said Rashelle, still smiling.
Seldon cleared his throat and said, "That's quite an accent you have, Rashelle."
Rashelle tossed her head slightly. "I haven't had occasion to use it in many years, but one never forgets. I once had a friend, a good friend, who was a Dahlite-when I was very young." She sighed. "He didn't speak that way, of course-he was quite intelligentbut he could do so if he wished and he taught me. It was exciting to talk so with him. It created a world that excluded our surroundings. It was wonderful. It was also impossible. My father made chat plain. And now along comes this young rascal, Raych, to remind me of those long-ego days. He has the accent, the eyes, the impudent cast of countenance, and in six years or so he will be a delight and terror to the young women. Won't you, Raych?"
Raych said, "I dunno, lady-uh, mum."
"I'm sure you will and you will come to look very much like my . . . old friend and it will be much more comfortable for me not to see you then. And now, dinner's over and it's time for you to go to your room, Raych. You can watch holovision for a while if you wish. I don't suppose you read."
Raych reddened. "I'm gonna read someday. Master Seldon says I'm gonna."
"Then I'm sure you will."
A young woman approached Raych, curtsying respectfully in Rashelle's direction. Seldon had not seen the signal that had summoned her.
Raych said, "Can't I stay with Master Seldon and Missus Venabili?"
"You'll see them later," said Rashelle gently, "but Master and Missus and I have to Talk right now-so you must go."
Dors mouthed a firm "Go!" at Raych and with a grimace the boy slid out of his chair and followed the attendant.
Rashelle turned to Seldon and Dors once Raych was gone and said, "The boy will be safe, of course, and treated well. Please have no fears about that. And I will be safe too. As my woman approached just now, so will a dozen armed men-and much more rapidly-when summoned. I want you to understand that."
Seldon said evenly, "We are in no way thinking of attacking you, Rashelle-or must I now say, 'Madam Mayor'?"
"Still Rashelle. I am given to understand that you are a wrestler of sorts, Hari, and you, Dors, are very skillful with the knives we have removed from your room. I don't want you to rely uselessly on your skills, since I want Hari alive, unharmed, and friendly."
"It is quite well understood, Madam Mayor," said Dors, her lack of friendship uncompromised, "that the ruler of Wye, now and for the past forty years, is Mannix, Fourth of that Name, and that he is still alive and in full possession of his faculties. Who, then, are you really?"
"Exactly who I say I am, Dors. Mannix IV is my father. He is, as you say, still alive and in possession of his faculties. In the eyes of the Emperor and of all the Empire, he is Mayor of Wye, but he is weary of the strains of power and is willing, at last, to let them slip into my hands, which are just as willing to receive them. I am his only child and I was brought up all my life to rule. My father is therefore Mayor in law and name, but I am Mayor in fact. h is to me, now, that the armed forces of Wye have sworn allegiance and in Wye that is all that counts."
Seldon nodded. "Let it be as you say. But even so, whether it is Mayor Mannix IV or Mayor Rashelle I-it is the First, I supposethere is no purpose in your holding me. I have told you that I don't have a workable psychohistory and I do not think that either I or anyone else will ever have one. I have cold chat to the Emperor. I am of no use either to you or to him."
Rashelle said, "How naive you are. Do you know the history of the Empire?"
Seldon shook his head. "I have recently come to wish that I knew it much better."
Dors said dryly, "1 know Imperial history quite well, though the preImperial age is my specialty, Madam Mayor. But what does it matter whether we do or do not?"
"If you know your history, you know that the House of Wye is ancient and honorable and is descended from the Dacian dynasty."
Dors said, "The Dacians ruled five thousand years ago. The number of their descendants in the hundred and fifty generations that have lived and died since then may number half the population of the Galaxy-if all genealogical claims, however outrageous, are accepted."
"Our genealogical claims, Dr. Venabili"-Rashelle's tone of voice was, for the first time, cold and unfriendly and her eyes flashed like steel-"are not outrageous. They are fully documented. The House of Wye has maintained itself consistently in positions of power through all those generations and there have been occasions when we have held
the Imperial throne and have ruled as Emperors."
"The history book-films," said Dors, "usually refer to the Wye rulers as 'anti-Emperors,' never recognized by the bulk of the Empire."
"It depends on who writes the history book-films. In the future, we wilt, for the throne which has been ours will be ours again."
"To accomplish that, you must bring about civil war."
"There won't be much risk of that," said Rashelle. She was smiling again. "That is what I must explain to you because I want Dr. Seldon's help in preventing such a catastrophe. My father, Mannix 1V, has been a man of peace all his life. He has been loyal to whomever it might be that ruled in the Imperial Palace and he has kept Wye a prosperous and strong pillar of the Trantorian economy for the good of all the Empire."
"I don't know that the Emperor has ever trusted him any the more for all that," said Dors.
"I'm sure that is so," said Rashelle calmly, "for the Emperors that have occupied the Palace in my father's time have known themselves to be usurpers of a usurping line. Usurpers cannot afford to trust the true rulers. And yet my father has kept the peace. He has, of course, developed and trained a magnificent security force to maintain the peace, prosperity, and stability of the sector and the Imperial authorities have allowed this because they wanted Wye peaceful, prosperous, stable-and loyal."
"But is it loyal?" said Dors.
"To the true Emperor, of course," said Rashelle, "and we have now reached the stage where our strength is such that we can take over the government quickly-in a lightning stroke, in fact-and before one can say 'civil war' there will be a true Emperor-or Empress, if you prefer-and Trantor will be as peaceful as before."
Dors shook her head. "May I enlighten you? As a historian?"
"I am always willing to listen." And she inclined her head ever so slightly toward Dors.
"Whatever size your security force may be, however well-trained and wellequipped, they cannot possibly equal in size and strength the Imperial forces backed by twenty-five million worlds."
"Ah, but you have put your finger on the usurper's weakness, Dr. Venabili. There are twenty-five million worlds, with the Imperial forces scattered over them. Those forces are thinned out over incalculable space, under uncounted officers, none of them particularly ready for any action outside their own Provinces, many ready for action in their own interest rather than in the Empire's. Our forces, on the other hand, are all here, all on Trantor. We can act and conclude before the distant generals and admirals can get it through their heads that they are needed."
"But that response will come-and with irresistible force."
"Are you certain of that?" said Rashelle. "We will be in the Palace. Trantor will be ours and at peace. Why should the Imperial forces stir when, by minding their own business, each petty military leader can have his own world to rule, his own Province?"
"But is that what you want?" asked Seldon wonderingly. "Are you telling me that you look forward to ruling over an Empire that will break up into splinters?"
Rashelle said, "That is exactly right. I would rule over Trantor, over its outlying space settlements, over the few nearby planetary systems that are part of the Trantorian Province. I would much rather be Emperor of Trantor than Emperor of the Galaxy."
"You would be satisfied with Trantor only," said Dors in tones of the deepest disbelief.
"Why not?" said Rashelle, suddenly ablaze. She leaned forward eagerly, both hands pressed palms-down on the table. "That is what my father has been planning for forty years. He is only clinging to life now to witness its fulfillment. Why do we need millions of worlds, distant worlds that mean nothing to us, that weaken us, that draw our forces far away from us into meaningless cubic parsecs of space, that drown us in administrative chaos, that ruin us with their endless quarrels and problems when they are all distant nothings as far as we are concerned? Our own populous world-our own planetary city-is Galaxy enough for us. We have all we need to support ourselves. As for the rest of the Galaxy, let it splinter. Every petty militarist can have his own splinter. They needn't fight. There will be enough for all."
"But they will fight, just the same," said Dors. "Each will refuse to be satisfied with his Province. Each will feat that his neighbor is not satisfied with his Province. Each will feel insecure and will dream of Galactic rule as the only guarantee of safety. This is certain, Madam Empress of Nothing. There will be endless wars into which you and Trantor will be inevitably drawn-to the ruin of all."
Rashelle said with clear contempt, "So it might seem, if one could see no farther than you do, if one relied on the ordinary lessons of history."
"What is there to see farther?" retorted Dors. "What is one to rely on beyond the lessons of history?"
"What lies beyond?" said Rashelle. "Why, he.'"
And her arm shot outward, her index finger jabbing toward Seldon.
"Me?" said Seldon. "I have already told you that psychohistory-"
Rashelle said, "Do not repeat what you have already said, my good Dr. Seldon. We gain nothing by that. -Do you think, Dr. Venabili, that my father was never aware of the danger of endless civil war? Do you think he did not bend his powerful mind to thinking of some way to prevent that? He has been prepared at any time these last ten years to take over the Empire in a day. It needed only the assurance of security beyond victory."
"Which you can't have," said Dors.
"Which we had the moment we heard of Dr. Seldon's paper at the Decennial Convention. I saw at once that that was what we needed. My father was too old to see the significance at once. When I explained it, however, he saw it too and it was then that he formally transferred his power to me. So it is to you, Hari, that I owe my position and to you I will owe my greater position in the future."
"I keep telling you that it cannot-" began Seldon with deep annoyance.
"It is not important what can or cannot be done. What is important is what people will or will not believe can be done. They will believe you, Hari, when you tell them the psychohistoric prediction is that Trantor can rule itself and that the Provinces can become Kingdoms that will live together in peace."
"I will make no such prediction," said Seldon, "in the absence of true psychohistory. I won't play the charlatan. If you want something like that, you say it."
"Now, Hari. They won't believe me. It's you they will believe. The great mathematician. Why not oblige them?"
"As it happens," said Seldom "the Emperor also thought to use me as a source of self-serving prophecies. I refused to do it for him, so do you think I will agree to do it for you?"
Rashelle was silent for a while and when she spoke again her voice had lost its intense excitement and became almost coaxing.
"Hari," she said, "think a little of the difference between Cleon and myself. What Cleon undoubtedly wanted from you was propaganda to preserve his throne. h would be useless to give him that, for the throne can't be preserved. Don't you know that the Galactic Empire is in a state of decay, that it cannot endure for much longer? Trantor itself is slowly sliding into ruin because of the ever-increasing weight of administering twenty-five million worlds. What's ahead of us is breakup and civil war, no matter what you do for Cleon."
Seldon said, "I have heard something like this said. It may even be true, but what then?"
"Well then, help it break into fragments without any war. Help me take Trantor. Help me establish a firm government over a realm small enough to 6e ruled efficiently. Let me give freedom to the rest of the Galaxy, each portion to go its own way according to its own customs and cultures. The Galaxy will become a working whole again through the free agencies of trade, tourism, and communication and the fate of cracking into disaster under the present rule of force that barely holds it together will be averted. My ambition is moderate indeed; one world, not millions; peace, not war; freedom, not slavery. Think about it and help me."
Seldon said, "Why should the Galaxy believe me any more than they would believe you? They don't know me an
d which of our fleet commanders will be impressed by the mere word 'psychohistory'?"
"You won't be believed now, but I don't ask for action now. The House of Wye, having waited thousands of years, can wait thousands of days more. Cooperate with me and I will make your name famous. I will make the promise of psychohistory glow through all the worlds and at the proper time, when I judge the movement to be the chosen moment, you will pronounce your prediction and we will strike. Then, in a twinkling of history, the Galaxy will exist under a New Order that will render it stable and happy for eons. Come now, Hari, can you refuse me?"
* * *
Overthrow
THALUS, EMMER- . . . A sergeant in the armed security forces of the Wye Sector of ancient Trantor . . .
. . . Aside from these totally unremarkable vital statistics, nothing is known of the man except that on one occasion he held the fate of the Galaxy in his fist.
ENCYCLOPEDIA GALACTICA
87.
Breakfast the next morning was served in an alcove near the rooms of the captured three and it was luxurious indeed. There certainly was a considerable variety to the food and more than enough of everything.
Seldon sat at the breakfast table with a mound of spicy sausages before him, totally ignoring Dors Venabili's gloomy predictions concerning stomachs and colic.
Raych said, "The dame . . . the Madam Mayor said when she came to see me last night-"
"She came to see you?" said Seldon.
"Yeah. She said she wanted to make sure I was comfortable. She said when she had a chance she would take me to a zoo."
"A zoo?" Seldon looked at Dors. "What kind of zoo can they have on Trantor? Cats and dogs?"
"There are some aboriginal animals," said Dors, "and I imagine they import some aboriginals from other worlds and there are also the shared animals that all the worlds have-other worlds having more than Trantor, of course. As a matter of fact, Wye has a famous zoo, probably the best on the planet after the Imperial Zoo itself."