Hari Seldon kept his face expressionless and bent his head just sufficiently to allow a sense of reasonable courtesy. He had taken the trouble to look up a variety of holographs of Joranum, but, as is often the case, the real thing, unguarded, shifting constantly in response to changing conditions, is never quite the same as a holograph-however carefully prepared. Perhaps, thought Seldon, it is the response of the viewer to the "real thing" that makes it different.
    Joranum was a tall man-as tall as Seldon, at any rate-but larger in other directions. It was not due to a muscular physique, for he gave the impression of softness, without quite being fat. A rounded face, a thick head of hair that was sandy rather than yellow, light blue eyes. He wore a subdued coverall and his face bore a half-smile that gave the illusion of friendliness, while making it clear, somehow, that it was only an illusion.
    "Professor Seldon"-his voice was deep and under strict control, an orator's voice-"I am delighted to meet you. It is kind of you to permit this meeting. I trust you are not offended that I have brought a companion, my right-hand man, with me, although I have not cleared that with you in advance. He is Gambol Deen Namarti-three names, you notice. I believe you have met him."
    "Yes, I have. I remember the incident well." Seldon looked at Namarti with a touch of the sardonic. At the previous encounter, Namarti had been speaking at the University Field. Seldon viewed him carefully now-under relaxed conditions. Namarti was of moderate height, with a thin face, sallow complexion, dark hair, and a wide mouth. He did not have Joranum's half-smile or any noticeable expression-except for a sense of cautious wariness.
    "My friend Dr. Namarti-his degree is in ancient literature-has come at his own request," said Joranum, his smile intensifying a bit, "to apologize."
    Joranum glanced quickly at Namarti-and Namarti, his lips tightening just at first, said in a colorless voice, "I am sorry, Professor, for what happened at the Field. I was not quite aware of the strict rules governing University rallies and I was a little carried away by my own enthusiasm."
    "Understandably so," said Joranum. "Nor was he entirely aware of your identity. I think we may all now forget the matter."
    "I assure you, gentlemen," said Seldon, "that I have no great desire to remember it. This is my son, Raych Seldon, so you see I have a companion, too."
    Raych had grown a mustache, black and abundant-the masculine mark of the Dahlite. He had had none when he first met Seldon eight years before, when he was a street boy, ragged and hungry. He was short but lithe and sinewy and his expression was the haughty one he had adopted in order to add a few spiritual inches to his physical height.
    "Good morning, young man," said Joranum.
    "Good morning, sir," said Raych.
    "Please sit down, gentlemen," said Seldon. "May I offer you something to eat or drink?"
    Joranum held up his hands in polite refusal. "No, sir. This is not a social call." He seated himself in the place indicated. "Though I hope there will be many such calls in the future."
    "If this is to be about business, then let's begin."
    "The news reached me, Professor Seldon, of the little incident that you have so kindly agreed to forget and I wondered why you took the chance of doing what you did. It was a risk, you must admit."
    "I didn't think so, actually."
    "But I did. So I took the liberty of finding out everything I could about you, Professor Seldon. You're an interesting man. From Helicon, I discovered."
    "Yes, that's where I was born. The records are clear."
    "And you've been here on Trantor for eight years."
    "That is also a matter of public record."
    "And you made yourself quite famous at the start by delivering a mathematical paper on-what do you call it?-psychohistory?"
    Seldon shook his head very slightly. How often he had regretted that indiscretion. Of course, he had had no idea at the time that it was an indiscretion. He said, "A youthful enthusiasm. It came to nothing."
    "Is that so?" Joranum looked around him with an air of pleased surprise. "Yet here you are, the head of the Mathematics Department at one of Trantor's greatest Universities, and only forty years old, I believe. -I'm forty-two, by the way, so I don't look upon you as very old at all. You must be a very competent mathematician to be in this position."
    Seldon shrugged. "I wouldn't care to make a judgment in that matter."
    "Or you must have powerful friends."
    "We would all like to have powerful friends, Mr. Joranum, but I think you will find none here. University professors rarely have powerful friends or, I sometimes think, friends of any kind." He smiled.
    And so did Joranum. "Wouldn't you consider the Emperor a powerful friend, Professor Seldon?"
    "I certainly would, but what has that to do with me?"
    "I am under the impression that the Emperor is a friend of yours."
    "I'm sure the records will show, Mr. Joranum, that I had an audience with His Imperial Majesty eight years ago. It lasted perhaps an hour or less and I saw no signs of any great friendliness in him at the time. Nor have I spoken to him since--or even seen him-except on holovision, of course."
    "But, Professor, it is not necessary to see or speak to the Emperor to have him as a powerful friend. It is sufficient to see or speak to Eto Demerzel, the Emperor's First Minister. Demerzel is your protector and, since he is, we may as well say the Emperor is."
    "Do you find First Minister Demerzel's supposed protection of me anywhere in the records? Or anything at all in the records from which you can deduce that protection?"
    "Why search the records when it is well known that there is a connection between the two of you. You know it and I know it. Let us............