12.

Raych did his best to size up his new companion, without allowing his own face to lose its smooth naivete. The man had sharp eyes and his right hand clenched almost threateningly into a fist as it rested on the table.

Raych looked owlishly at the other, and waited.

Again, the man said, “I understand you call yourself a Joranumite.”

Raych did his best to look uneasy. It was not difficult. He said, “Why do you ask, mister?”

“Because I don't think you're old enough.”

“I'm old enough. I used to listen to JoJo Joranum's speeches.”

“Can you quote them?”

Raych shrugged. “No, but I got the idea.”

“You're a brave young man to talk openly about being a Joranumite. Some people don't like that.”

“I'm told there are lots of Joranumites in Wye.”

“That may be. Is that why you came here?”

“I'm looking for a job. Maybe another Joranumite would help me.”

“There are Joranumites in Dahl, too. Where are you from?”

There was no question that he recognized Raych's accent. That could not be disguised.

He said, “I was born in Millimaru, but I lived mostly in Dahl when I was growing up.”

“Doing what?”

“Nothing much. Going to school some.”

“And why are you a Joranumite?”

Raych let himself heat up a bit. He couldn't have lived in downtrodden, discriminated-against Dahl without having obvious reasons for being a Joranumite. He said, “Because I think there should be a more representative government in the Empire; more participation by the people; and more equality among the sectors and the worlds. Doesn't anyone with brains and a heart think that?”

“And you want to see the Emperorship abolished?”

Raych paused. One could get away with a great deal in the way of subversive statements, but anything overtly anti-Emperor was stepping outside the bounds. He said, “I ain't saying that. I believe in the Emperor, but ruling a whole Empire is too much for one man.”

“It isn't one man. There's a whole Imperial bureaucracy. What do you think of Hari Seldon, the First Minister?”

“Don't think nothing about him. Don't know about him.”

“All you know is that people should be more represented in the affairs of government. Is that right?”

Raych allowed himself to look confused. “That's what JoJo Joranum used to say. I don't know what you call it. I heard someone once call it ‘democracy,’ but I don't know what that means.”

“Democracy is something they have on some worlds; something they call ‘democracy.’ I don't know that those worlds are run better than other worlds. So you're a democrat?”

“Is that what you call it?” Raych let his head sink as if in deep thought. “I feel more at home as a Joranumite.”

“Of course, as a Dahlite-”

“I just lived there a while.”

“-You're all for people's equalities and such things. The Dahlites, being an oppressed group, would naturally think in that fashion.”

“I hear that Wye is pretty strong in Joranumite thinking. They're not oppressed.”

“Different reason. The old Wye Mayors always wanted to be Emperors. Did you know that?”

Raych shook his head.

“Eighteen years ago,” said the man, “Mayor Rashelle nearly carried through a coup in that direction. So the Wyans are rebels; not so much Joranumite as anti-Cleon.”

Raych said, “I don't know nothing about that. I ain't against the Emperor.”

“But you are for popular representation, aren't you? Do you think that some sort of elected assembly could run the Galactic Empire without bogging down in politics and partisan bickering? Without paralysis?”

Raych said, “Huh? I don't understand.”

“Do you think a great many people could come to some decision quickly in times of emergency? Or would they just sit around and argue?”

“I don't know, but it doesn't seem right that just a few people should have all the say over all the worlds.”

“Are you willing to fight for your beliefs? Or do you just like to talk about them?”

“No one asked me to do any fighting,” said Raych.

“Suppose someone did. How important do you think your beliefs about democracy-or Joranumite philosophy-are?”

“I'd fight for them-if I thought it would do any good.”

“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.”