Gendibal said grimly, “I am flattered that Speaker Delarmi should feel that she…”

And Delarmi broke into an open laugh and looked at Gendibal with what was almost true affection. He had fallen into the trap and looked foolish for having done so. The Table would not forget that.

She said, “Speaker Gendibal, I would not have the impertinence to attempt to share in this task. it is yours and yours alone, as the post of First Speaker will be yours and yours alone. I would not have thought you wanted me with you. Really, Speaker, at my age, I no longer think of myself as a charmer…”

There were smiles around the Table and even the First Speaker tried to hide one.

Gendibal felt the stroke and labored not to compound the loss by failing to match her lightness. It was labor lost.

He said, as unsavagely as he could, “Then what is it you would suggest? It was not in my thoughts, I assure you, that you would wish to accompany me. You are at your best at the Table and not in the hurly-burly of Galactic affairs, I know.”

“I agree, Speaker Gendibal, I agree,” said Delarmi. “My suggestion, however, refers back to your role as Hamish trader. To make it indisputably authentic, what better companion need you ask but a Hamishwoman?”

“A Hamishwoman?” For a second time in rapid succession, Gendibal was caught by surprise and the Table enjoyed it.

“The Hamishwoman,” Delarmi went on. “The one who saved you from a beating. The one who gazes at you worshipfully. The one whose mind you probed and who then, quite unwittingly, saved you a second time from considerably more than a beating. I suggest you take her.”

Gendibal's impulse was to refuse, but he knew that she expected that. It would mean more enjoyment for the Table. It was clear now that the First Speaker, anxious to strike out at Delarmi, had made a mistake by naming Gendibal his successor—or, at the very least, that Delarmi had quickly converted it into one.

Gendibal was the youngest of the Speakers. He had angered the Table and had then avoided conviction by them. In a very real way, he had humiliated them. None could see him as the heir apparent without resentment.

That would have been hard enough to overcome, but now they would remember how easily Delarmi had twitched him into ridicule and how much they had enjoyed it. She would use that to convince them, all too easily, that he lacked the age and experience for the role of First Speaker. Their united pressure would force the First Speaker into changing his decision while Gendibal was off on his mission. Or, if the First Speaker held fast, Gendibal would eventually find himself with an office that would be forever helpless in the face of united opposition.

He saw it all in an instant and was able to answer as though with out hesitation.—

He said, “Speaker Delarmi, I admire your insight. I had thought to surprise you all. It was indeed my intention to take the Hamishwoman, though not quite for the very good reason you suggest. It was for her mind that I wished to take her with me. You have all examined that mind. You saw it for what it was: surprisingly intelligent but, more than that, clear, simple, utterly without guile. No touch upon it by others would go unnoticed, as I'm sure you all concluded.

“I wonder if it occurred to you, then, Speaker Delarmi, that she would serve as an excellent early-warning system. I would detect the first symptomatic presence of mentalism by way of her mind, earlier, I think, than by way of mine.”

There was a kind of astonished silence at that, and he said, lightly. “Ah, none of you saw that. Well well, not important! And I will take my leave now. There's no time to lose.”

“Wait,” said Delarmi, her initiative lost a third time. “What do you intend to do?”

Gendibal said with a small shrug. “Why go into details? The less the Table knows, the less the Anti-Mules are likely to attempt to disturb it.”

He said it as though the safety of the Table was his prime concern. He filled his mind with that, and let it show.

It would flatter them. More than that, the satisfaction it would bring might keep them from wondering whether, in fact, Gendibal knew exactly what it was he intended to do.

The First Speaker spoke to Gendibal alone that evening.

“You were right,” he said. “I could not help brushing below the surface of your mind. I saw you considered the announcement a mistake and it was. It was my eagerness to wipe that eternal smile off her face and to strike back at the casual way in which she so frequently usurps my role.”

Gendibal said gently, “It might have been better if you had told me privately and had then waited for my return to go further.”

“That would not have allowed me to strike out at her.—Poor motivation for a First Speaker, I know.”

“This won't stop her, First Speaker. She will still intrigue for the post and perhaps with good reason. I'm sure there are some who would argue that I should have refused your nomination. It would not be hard to argue that Speaker Delarmi has the best mind at the Table and would make the best First Speaker.”

“The best mind at the Table, not away from it,” grumbled Shandess. “She recognizes no real enemies, except for other Speakers. She ought never to have been made a Speaker in the first place.—See here, shall I forbid you to take the Hamishwoman? She maneuvered you into that, I know.”

“No no, the reason I advanced for taking her is a true one. She will be an early-warning system and I am grateful to Speaker Delarmi for pushing me into realizing that. The woman will prove very useful, I'm convinced.”

“Good, then. By the way, I wasn't lying, either. I am truly certain that you will accomplish whatever is needed to end this crisis—if you can trust my intuition.”

“I think I can trust it, for I agree with you. I promise you that whatever happens, I will return better than I receive. I will come back to be First Speaker, whatever the Anti-Mules—or Speaker Delarmi—can do.”

Gendibal studied his own satisfaction even as he spoke. Why was he so pleased, so insistent, on this one-ship venture into space? Ambition, of course. Preem Palver had once done just this sort of thing

–and he was going to show that Stor Gendibal could do it, too. No one could withhold the First Speakership from him after that. And yet was there more than ambition? The lure of combat? The generalized desire for excitement in one who had been confined to a hidden patch on a backward planet all his adult life?—He didn't entirely know, but he knew he was desperately intent on going.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

SAYSHELL

Janov Pelorat watched, for the first time in his life, as the bright star graduated into an orb after what Trevize had called a “micro-Jump.” The fourth planet—the habitable one and their immediate destination, Sayshell—then grew in size and prominence more slowly—over a period of days.

A map of the planet had been produced by the computer and was displayed on a portable screening device, which Pelorat held in his lap.

Trevize—with the aplomb of someone who had, in his time, touched down upon several dozen worlds—said, “Don't start watching too hard too soon, Janov. We have to go through the entry station first and that can be tedious.”

Pelorat looked up. “Surely that's just a formality.”

“It is. But it can still be tedious.”

“But it's peacetime.”

“Of course. That means we'll be passed through. First, though, there's a little matter of the ecological balance. Every planet has its own and they don't want it upset. So they make a natural point of checking the ship for undesirable organisms, or infections. It's a reasonable precaution.”

“We don't have such things, it seems to me.”

“No, we don't and they'll find that out. Remember, too, that Sayshell is not a member of the Foundation Federation, so there's certain to be some leaning over backward to demonstrate their independence.”