The Wye Sector had a tradition of opposition to the Entun Dynasty of Cleon I that had been ruling the Empire for over two centuries. The opposition dated back to a time when the line of Mayors of Wye had contributed members who had served as Emperor. The Wyan Dynasty had neither lasted long nor had it been conspicuously successful, but the people and rulers of Wye found it difficult to forget that they had once been—however imperfectly and temporarily—supreme. The brief period when Rashelle, as the self-appointed Mayor of Wye, had challenged the Empire, eighteen years earlier, had added both to Wye’s pride and to its frustration.

All this made it reasonable that the small band of leading conspirators should feel as safe in Wye as they would feel anywhere on Trantor.

Five of them sat around a table in a room in a rundown portion of the sector. The room was poorly furnished but well shielded.

In a chair which, by its marginal superiority in quality to the others, sat the man who might well be judged to be the leader. He had a thin face, a sallow complexion, and a wide mouth with lips so pale as to be nearly invisible. There was a touch of gray in his hair, but his eyes burned with an inextinguishable anger.

He was staring at the man seated exactly opposite him—distinctly older and softer, his hair almost white, his plump cheeks tending to quiver when he spoke.

The leader said sharply, “Well? It is quite apparent that you have done nothing. Explain that!”

The older man said, “I am an old Joranumite, Namarti. Why do I have to explain my actions?”

Gambol Deen Namarti, once the right-hand man of Laskin “Jo-Jo” Joranum, said, “There are many old Joranumites. Some are incompetent, some are soft, some have forgotten. Being an old Joranumite may mean no more than that one is an old fool.”

The older man sat back in his chair. “Are you calling me an old fool? Me? Kaspal Kaspalov? I was with Jo-Jo when you had not yet joined the party, when you were a ragged nothing in search of a cause.”

“I am not calling you a fool,” said Namarti sharply. “I say simply that some old Joranumites are fools. You have a chance now to show me that you are not one of them.”

“My association with Jo-Jo—”

“Forget that. He’s dead!”

“I should think his spirit lives on.”

“If that thought will help us in our fight, then his spirit lives on. But to others—not to us. We know he made mistakes.”

“I deny that.”

“Don’t insist on making a hero out of a mere man who made mistakes. He thought he could move the Empire by the strength of oratory alone, by words—”

“History shows that words have moved mountains in the past.”

“Not Joranum’s words, obviously, because he made mistakes. He hid his Mycogenian origins far too clumsily. Worse, he let himself be tricked