Forward the Foundation

Andorin's face hardened suddenly, an instant conversion from friendly interest to stern decision. He said, "You must kill."

Raych gathered all his strength. "No. I ain't gonna kill nobody. That's final."

Andorin said, "Planchet, you will do as you are told."

"Not murder."

"Even murder."

"How you gonna make me?"

"I shall simply tell you to."

Raych felt dizzy. What made Andorin so confident?

He shook his head. "No."

Andorin said, "We've been feeding you, Planchet, ever since you left Wye. I made sure you ate with me. I supervised your diet. Especially the meal you just ate."

Raych felt the horror rise within him. He suddenly understood. "Desperance!"

"Exactly," said Andorin. "You're a sharp devil, Planchet."

"It's illegal."

"Yes, of course. So's murder."

Raych knew about desperance. It was a chemical modification of a perfectly harmless tranquilizer. The modified form, however, did not produce tranquillity but despair. It had been outlawed because of its use in mind control, though there were persistent rumors that the Imperial Guard used it.

Andorin said, as though it were not hard to read Raych's mind, "It's called desperance because that's an old word meaning 'hopelessness.' I think you're feeling hopeless."

"Never," whispered Raych.

"Very resolute of you, but you can't fight the chemical. And the more hopeless you feel, the more effective the drug."

"No chance."

"Think about it, Planchet. Namarti recognized you at once, even without your mustache. He knows you are Raych Seldon and, at my direction, you are going to kill your father."

Raych muttered, "Not before I kill you."

He rose from his chair. There should be no problem at all in this. Andorin might be taller, but he was slender and clearly no athlete. Raych would break him in two with one arm-but he swayed as he rose. He shook his head, but it wouldn't clear.

Andorin rose, too, and backed away. He drew his right hand from where it had been resting within his left sleeve. He was holding a weapon.

He said pleasantly, "I came prepared. I have been informed of your prowess as a Heliconian Twister and there will be no hand-to-hand combat."

He looked down at his weapon. "This is not a blaster," he said. "I can't afford to have you killed before you accomplish your task. It's a neuronic whip. Much worse, in a way. I will aim at your left shoulder and, believe me, the pain will be so excruciating that the world's greatest stoic would not be able to endure it."

Raych, who had been advancing slowly and grimly, stopped abruptly. He had been twelve years old when he had had a taste-a small one-of a neuronic whip. Once struck, no one ever forgets the pain, however long he lives, however full of incidents his life is.

Andorin said, "Moreover, I will use full strength so that the nerves in your upper arms will be stimulated first into unbearable pain and then damaged into uselessness. You will never use your left arm again. I will spare the right so you can handle the blaster. Now if you sit down and accept matters, as you must, you may keep both arms. Of course, you must eat again so your desperance level increases. Your situation will only worsen."

Raych felt the drug-induced despair settle over him and that despair served, in itself, to deepen the effect. His vision was turning double and he could think of nothing to say.

Raych only knew that he would have to do what Andorin would tell him to do. He had played the game and he had lost.

23

"No!" Hari Seldon was almost violent. "I don't want you out there, Dors."

Dors Venabili stared back at him with an expression as firm as his own. "Then I won't let you go, either, Hari."

"I must be there."

"It is not your place. It is the Gardener First-Class who must greet these new people."

"So it is. But Gruber can't do it. He's a broken man."

"He must have an assistant of some sort. Or let the old Chief Gardener do it. He holds the office till the end of the year."

"The old Chief Gardener is too ill. Besides"-Seldon hesitated-"there are ringers among the gardeners. Trantorians. They're here, for some reason. I have the names of every one of them."

"Have them taken into custody, then. Every last one of them. It's simple. Why are you making it so complex?"

"Because we don't know why they're here. Something's up. I don't see what twelve gardeners can do, but-No, let me rephrase that. I can see a dozen things they can do, but I don't know which one of those things they've planned. We will, indeed, take them into custody, but I must know more about everything before it's done.