Prelude to Foundation - Isaac Asimov [117]
"If all that keeps the peace, Sire, there is much to be said for it. And your reign proceeds well."
"You know why-because I have you at my side. My only real gift is that I am aware of your importance." He looked at Demerzel slyly. "My son need not be my heir. He is not a talented boy. What if I make you my heir?"
Demerzel said freezingly, "Sire, that is unthinkable. I would not usurp the throne. I would not steal it from your rightful heir. Besides, if I have displeased you, punish me justly. Surely, nothing I have done or could possibly do deserves the punishment of being made Emperor."
Cleon laughed. "For that true assessment of the value of the Imperial throne, Demerzel, I abandon any thought of punishing you. Come now, let us talk about something. I would sleep, but I am not yet ready for the ceremonies with which they put me to bed. Let us talk."
"About what, Sire?"
"About anything. -About that mathematician and his psychohistory. I think about him every once in a while, you know. I thought of him at dinner tonight. I wondered: What if a psychohistorical analysis would predict a method for making it possible to be an Emperor without endless ceremony?"
"I somehow think, Sire, that even the cleverest psychohistorian could not manage that."
"Well, tell me the latest. Is he still hiding among those peculiar baldheads of Mycogen? You promised you would winkle him out of there."
"So I did, Sire, and I moved in that direction, but I regret that I must say that I failed."
"Failed?" The Emperor allowed himself to frown. "I don't like that. "
"Nor 1, Sire. I planned to have the mathematician be encouraged to commit some blasphemous act-such acts are easy to commit in Mycogen, especially for an outsider-one that would call for severe punishment. The mathematician would then be forced to appeal to the Emperor and, as a result, we would get him. I planned it at the cost of insignificant concessions on our part-important to Mycogen, totally unimportant to us--and I meant to play no direct role in the arrangement. It was to be handled subtly."
"I dare say," said Cleon, "but it failed. Did the Mayor of Mycogen
"He is called the High Elder, Sire."
"Do not quibble over titles. Did this High Elder refuse?"
"On the contrary, Sire, he agreed and the mathematician, Seldon, fell into the trap neatly."
"Well then?"
"He was allowed to leave unharmed."
"Why?" said Cleon indignantly.
"Of this I am not certain, Sire, but I suspect we were outbid."
"By whom? By the Mayor of Wye?"
"Possibly, Sire, but I doubt that. I have Wye under constant surveillance. If they had gained the mathematician, I would know it by now."
The Emperor was not merely frowning. He was clearly enraged. "Demerzel, this is bad. I am greatly displeased. A failure like this makes me wonder if you are perhaps not the man you once were. What measures shall we take against Mycogen for this clear defiance of the Emperor's wishes?"
Demerzel bowed low in recognition of the storm unleashed, but he said in steely tones, "It would be a mistake to move against Mycogen now, Sire. The disruption that would follow would play into the hands of Wye."
"But we must do something. "
"Perhaps not, Sire. It is not as bad as it may seem."
"How can it be not as bad as it seems?"
"You'll remember, Sire, that this mathematician was convinced that psychohistory was impractical."
"Of course I remember that, but that doesn't matter, does it? For our purposes?"
"Perhaps not. But if it were to become practical, it would serve our purposes to an infinitely great extent, Sire. And from what I have been able to find out, the mathematician is now attempting to make psychohistory practical. His blasphemous attempt in Mycogen was, I understand, part of an attempt at solving the problem of psychohistory. In that case, it may pay us, Sire, to leave him to himself. It will serve us better to pick him up when he is closer to