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build these days are worth anything. I don't think there's a man in the Galaxy today who can build a
first-rate hyperatomic motor.
I knew that, said the Siwennian. His eyes were thoughtful and introspective. I didn't know thatyou
knew it. So his Imperial Majesty can spare no ships. Psycho-history could have predicted that; in fact, it
probably did. I should say that Hari Seldon's dead hand wins the opening round.
Riose answered sharply, I have enough ships as it is. Your Seldon wins nothing. Should the situation
turn more serious, then more shipswill be available. As yet, the Emperor does not know all the story.
Indeed? What haven't you told him?
Obviously your theories. Riose looked sardonic. The story is, with all respect to you, inherently
improbable. If developments warrant; if events supply me with proof, then, but only then, would I make
out the case of mortal danger.
And in addition, Riose drove on, casually, the story, unbolstered by fact, has a flavor oflese majeste
that could scarcely be pleasant to His Imperial Majesty.
The old patrician smiled. You mean that telling him his august throne is in danger of subversion by a
parcel of ragged barbarians from the ends of the universe is not a warning to be believed or appreciated.
Then you expect nothing from him.
Unless you count a special envoy as something.
And why a special envoy?
It's an old custom. A direct representative of the crown is present on every military campaign which is
under government auspices.
Really? Why?
It's a method of preserving the symbol of personal Imperial leadership in all campaigns. It's gained a
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secondary function of insuring the fidelity of generals. It doesn't always succeed in that respect.
You'll find that inconvenient, general. Extraneous authority, I mean.
I don't doubt that, Riose reddened faintly, but it can't be helped
The receiver at the general's hand glowed warmly, and with an unobtrusive jar, the cylindered
communication popped into its slot. Riose unrolled it, Good! This is it!
Ducem Barr raised a mildly questioning eyebrow.
Riose said, You know we've captured one of these Trader people. Alive and with his ship intact.
I've heard talk of it.
Well, they've just brought him in, and we'll have him here in a minute. You keep your seat, patrician. I
want you here when I'm questioning him. It's why I asked you here today in the first place. You may
understand him where I might miss important points.
The door signal sounded and a touch of the general's toe swung the door wide. The man who stood on
the threshold was tall and bearded, wore a short coat of a soft, leathery plastic, with an attached hood
shoved back on his neck. His hands were free, and if he noticed the men about him were armed, he did
not trouble to indicate it.
He stepped in casually, and looked about with calculating eyes. He favored the general with a
rudimentary wave of the hand and a half nod.
Your name? demanded Riose, crisply.
Lathan Devers. The trader hooked his thumbs into his wide and gaudy belt. Are you the boss here?
You are a trader of the Foundation?
That's right. Listen, if you're the boss, you'd better tell your hired men here to lay off my cargo.
The general raised his head and regarded the prisoner coldly. Answer questions. Do not volunteer
orders.
All right. I'm agreeable. But one of your boys blasted a two-foot hole in his chest already, by sticking
his fingers where he wasn't supposed to.
Riose shifted his gaze to the lieutenant in charge. Is this man telling the truth? Your report, Vrank, had it
that no lives were lost.
None were, sir, the lieutenant spoke stiffly, apprehensively, at the time. There was later some
disposition to search the ship, there having arisen a rumor that a woman was aboard. Instead, sir, many
instruments of unknown nature were located, instruments which the prisoner claims to be his stock in
trade. One of them flashed on handling, and the soldier holding it died.
The general turned back to the trader. Does your ship carry atomic explosives?
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Galaxy, no. What for? That fool grabbed a atomic puncher, wrong end forward and set at maximum
dispersion. You're not supposed to do that. Might as well point a neut-gun at your head. I'd have
stopped him, if five men weren't sitting on my chest.
Riose gestured at the waiting guard, You go. The captured ship is to be sealed against all intrusion. Sit
down, Devers.
The trader did so, in the spot indicated, and withstood stolidly the hard scrutiny of the Imperial general
and the curious glance of the Siwennian patrician.
Riose said, You're a sensible man, Devers.
Thank you. Are you impressed by my face, or do you want something? Tell you what, though. I'm a
good business man.
It's about the same thing. You surrendered your ship when you might have decided to waste our
ammunition and have yourself blown to electron-dust. It could result in good treatment for you, if you
continue that sort of outlook on life.
Good treatment is what I mostly crave, boss.
Good, and co-operation is what I mostly crave. Riose smiled, and said in a low aside to Ducem Barr,
I hope the word crave means what I think it does. Did you ever hear such a barbarous jargon?
Devers said blandly, Right. I check you. But what kind of co-operation are you talking about, boss? To
tell you straight, I don't know where I stand. He looked about him, Where's this place, for instance,
and what's the idea?
Ah, I've neglected the other half of the introductions. I apologize. Riose was in good humor. That
gentleman is Ducem Barr, Patrician of the Empire. I am Bel Riose, Peer of the Empire, and General of
the Third Class in the armed forces of His Imperial Majesty.
The trader's jaw slackened. Then, The Empire? I mean the old Empire they taught us about at school?
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