"Astonishing! How did you manage all this, Seldon?" There was a distinct note of admiration in Cleon's voice.
Seldon said, "Well, it seemed reasonable to suppose-"
"Never mind," said Cleon abruptly. "I don't suppose you'll tell me the truth or that I would understand you if you did, but I'll tell you this much. Demerzel is leaving office. This last crisis has proved to be too much for him and I agree with him that it is time for him to retire. But I can't do without a First Minister and, from this moment onward, you are he."
"Sire!" exclaimed Seldon in mingled astonishment and horror.
"First Minister Hari Seldon." said Cleon calmly. "The Emperor wishes it."
25
"Don't be alarmed," said Demerzel. "It was my suggestion. I've been here too long and the succession of crises has reached the point where the consideration of the Three Laws paralyzes me. You are the logical successor."
"I am not the logical successor," said Seldon hotly. "What do I know about running an Empire? The Emperor is foolish enough to believe that I solved this crisis by psychohistory. Of course I didn't."
"That doesn't matter, Hari. If he believes you have the psychohistorical answer, he will follow you eagerly and that will make you a Good First Minister."
"He may follow me straight into destruction."
"I feel that your good sense-or intuition-will keep you on target... with or without psychohistory."
"But what will I do without you-Daneel?"
"Thank you for calling me that. I am Demerzel no more, only Daneel. As to what you will do without me - Suppose you try to put into practice some of Joranum's ideas of equality and social justice? He may not have meant them-he may have used them only as ways of capturing allegiance-but they are not bad ideas in themselves. And find ways of having Raych help you in that. He clung to you against his own attraction to Joranum's ideas and he must feel torn and half a traitor. Show him he isn't. In addition, you can work all the harder on psychohistory, for the Emperor will be there with you, heart and soul."
"But what will you do, Daneel?"
"I have other things in the Galaxy to which I must attend. There is still the Zeroth Law and I must labor for the good of humanity, insofar as I can determine what that might be. And, Hari-"
"Yes, Daneel."
"You still, have Dors."
Seldon nodded. "Yes, I still have Dors." He paused for a moment before grasping Daneel's firm hand with his own. "Good-bye, Daneel."
"Good-bye, Hari," Daneel replied.
And with that, the robot turned, his heavy First Minister's robe rustling as he walked away, head up, back ramrod straight, along the Palace hallway.
Seldon stood there for a few minutes after Daneel had gone, lost in thought. Suddenly he began moving in the direction of the First Minister's apartment. Seldon had one more thing to tell Daneel-the most important thing of all.
Seldon hesitated in the softly lit hallway before entering. But the room was empty. The dark robe was draped over a chair. The First Minister's chambers echoed Hari's last words to the robot: "Good-bye, my friend." Eto Demerzel was gone; R. Daneel Olivaw had vanished.
Part II
Cleon I
CLEON I-... Though often receiving panegyrics for being the last Emperor under whom the First Galactic Empire was reasonably united and reasonably prosperous, the quarter-century reign of Cleon I was one of continuous decline. This cannot be viewed as his direct responsibility, for the Decline of the Empire was based on political and economic factors too strong for anyone to deal with at the time. He was fortunate in his selection of First Ministers-Eto Demerzel and then Hari Seldon, in whose development of psychohistory the Emperor never lost faith. Cleon and Seldon, as the objects of the final Joranumite Conspiracy, with its bizarre climax-
Encyclopedia Galactica
1
Mandell Gruber was a happy man. He seemed so to Hari Seldon, certainly. Seldon stopped his morning constitutional to watch him.
Gruber, perhaps in his late forties, a few years younger than Seldon, was a bit gnarled from his continuing work in the Imperial Palace grounds, but he had a cheerful, smoothly shaven face, topped by a pink skull, not much of which was hidden by his thin sandy hair. He whistled softly to himself as he inspected the leaves of the bushes for any signs of insect infestation.
He was not the Chief Gardener, of course. The Chief Gardener of the Imperial Palace grounds was a high functionary who had a palatial office in one of the buildings of the enormous Imperial complex, with an army of men and women under him. The chances are he did not inspect the Palace grounds more often than once or twice a year.
Gruber was but one of that army. His title, Seldon knew, was Gardener First-Class and it had been well earned, with thirty years of faithful service.
Seldon called to him as he paused on the perfectly level crushed gravel walk, "Another marvelous day, Gruber."
Gruber looked up and his eyes twinkled. "Yes, indeed, First Minister, and it's sorry I am for those who be cooped up indoors."
"You mean as I am about to be."
"There's not much about you, First Minister, for people to sorrow over, but if you're disappearing into those buildings on a day like this, it's a bit of sorrow that we fortunate few can feel for you."
"I thank you for your sympathy, Gruber, but you know we have forty billion Trantorians under the dome. Are you sorry for all of them?"
"Indeed, I am. I am grateful I am not of Trantorian extraction myself so that I could qualify as a gardener. There be few of us on this world that work in the open, but here I be, one of the fortunate few."'