Gendibal answered quickly, as though he had been waiting for the question. “When I entered, the point under discussion was the striking of remarks from the record, remarks made by the First Speaker. I was the only Speaker not in a position to hear those remarks. Let me know what they were and I rather think I will tell you the motive for delaying me.”
The First Speaker said, “I had stated—and it was something to which Speaker Delarmi and others took serious exception—that I had decided, on the basis of intuition and of a most inappropriate use of psychohistorical mathematics, that the entire future of the Plan may rest on the exile of First Foundationer Golan Trevize:”
Gendibal said, “What other Speakers may think is up to them. For my part, I agree with this hypothesis. Trevize is the key. I find his sudden ejection by the First Foundation too curious to be innocent.”
Delarmi said, “Would you care to say, Speaker Gendibal, that Trevize is in the grip of this mystery organization—or that the people who exiled him are? Is perhaps everyone and everything in their control except you and the First Speaker—and me, whom you have declared to be uncontrolled?”
Gendibal said, “These ravings require no answer. Instead let me ask if there is any Speaker here who would like to express agreement on this matter with the First Speaker and myself? You have read, I presume, the mathematical treatment that I have, with the First Speaker's approval, circulated among you.”
There was silence.
“I repeat my request,” said Gendibal. “Anyone?”
There was silence.
Gendibal said, “First Speaker, you now have the motive for delaying me.”
The First Speaker said, “State it explicitly.”
“You have expressed the need to deal with Trevize, with this First Foundationer. It represents an important initiative in policy and if the Speakers had read my treatment, they would have known in a general way what was in the wind. If, nevertheless, they had unanimously disagreed with you—unanimously—then, by traditional self-limitation, you would have been unable to go forward. If even one Speaker backed you, then you would be able to implement this new policy. I was the one Speaker who would back yon, as anyone who had read my treatment would know, and it was necessary that I must, at all costs, be kept from the Table. That trick proved nearly successful, but I am now here and I back the First Speaker. I agree with him and he can, in accordance with tradition, disregard the disagreement of the ten other Speakers.”
Delarmi struck the table with her fist. “The implication is that someone knew in advance what the First Speaker would advise, knew in advance that Speaker Gendibal would support it and that all the rest would not—that someone knew what he could not have known. There is the further implication that this initiative is not to the liking of Speaker Gendibal's paranoia-inspired organization and that they are fighting to prevent it and that, therefore, one or more of us is under the control of that organization:”
“The implication is there,” agreed Gendibal. “Your analysis is masterly.”
“Whom do you accuse?” cried out Delarmi.
“No one. I call upon the First Speaker to take up the matter. It is clear that there is someone in our organization who is working against us. I suggest that everyone working for the Second Foundation should undergo a thorough mental analysis. Everyone, including the Speakers themselves. Even including myself—and the First Speaker.”
The meeting of the Table broke up in greater confusion and greater excitement than any on record.
And when the First Speaker finally spoke the phrase of adjournment, Gendibal—without speaking to anyone—made his way back to his room. He knew well that he had not one friend among the Speakers, that even whatever support the First Speaker could give him would be half-hearted at best.
He could not tell whether he feared for himself or for the entire Second Foundation. The taste of doom was sour in his mouth.
Gendibal did not sleep well. His waking thoughts and his sleeping dreams were alike engaged in quarreling with Delora Delarmi. In one passage of one dream, there was even a confusion between her and the Hamish farmer, Rufirant, so that Gendibal found himself facing an out-of-proportion Delarmi advancing upon him with enormous fists and a sweet smile that revealed needlelike teeth.
He finally woke, later than usual, with no sensation of having rested and with the buzzer on his night table in muted action. He turned over to bring his hand down upon the contact.
“Yes? What is it?”
“Speaker!” The voice was that of the floor proctor, rather less than suitably respectful. “A visitor wishes to speak to you:”
“A visitor?” Gendibal punched his appointment schedule and the screen showed nothing before noon. He pushed the time button; it was 8:31 a.m. He said peevishly, “Who in space and time is it?”
“Will not give a name, Speaker.” Then, with clear disapproval, “One of these Hamishers, Speaker. Arrived at your invitation.” The last sentence was said with even clearer disapproval.
“Let him wait in the reception room till I come down. It will take time.”
Gendibal did not hurry. Throughout the morning ablutions, he remained lost in thought. That someone was using the Hamish to hamper his movements made sense—but he would like to know who that someone was. And what was this new intrusion of the Hamish into his very quarters? A complicated trap of some sort?
How in the name of Seldon would a Hamish farmer get into the University? What reason could he advance? What reason could he really have?
For one fleeting moment, Gendibal wondered if he ought to arm himself. He decided against it almost at once, since he felt contemptuously certain of being able to control any single farmer on the University grounds without any danger to himself—and without any unacceptable marking of a Hamish mind.
Gendibal decided he had been too strongly affected by the incident with Karoll Rufirant the day before.—Was it the very farmer, by the way? no longer under the influence, perhaps—of whatever or whoever it washe might well have come to Gendibal to apologize for what he had done and with apprehension of punishment.—But how would Rufirant know where to go? Whom to approach?
Gendibal swung down the corridor resolutely and entered the waiting room. He stopped in astonishment, then fumed to the proctor, who was pretending to be busy in his glass-walled cubicle.
“Proctor, you did not say the visitor was a woman.”
The proctor said quietly, “Speaker, I said a Hamisher. You did not ask further.”
“Minimal information, Proctor? I must remember that as one of your characteristics.” (And he must check to see if the proctor was a
Delarmi appointee. And he must remember, from now on, to note the functionaries who surrounded him, “Lowlies” whom it was too easy to ignore from the height of his still-new Speakership.) “Are any of the conference rooms available?”
The proctor said, “Number 4 is the only one available, Speaker. It will be free for three hours.” He glanced briefly at the Hamishwoman, then at Gendibal, with blank innocence.
“We will use Number 4, Proctor, and I would advise you to mind your thoughts.” Gendibal struck, not gently, and the proctor's shield closed far too slowly. Gendibal knew well it was beneath his dignity to manhandle a lesser mind, but a person who was incapable of shielding an unpleasant conjecture against a superior ought to learn not to indulge in one. The proctor would have a mild headache for a few hours. It was well deserved.
Her name did not spring immediately to mind and Gendibal was in no mood to delve deeper. She could scarcely expect him to remember, in any case.
He said peevishly, “You are…”
“I be Novi, Master Scowler,” she said in what was almost a gasp. “My previous be Sura, but I be called Novi plain.”