Haut Rodric's eyebrows lifted.
"And your leader - the man I am to meet?"
"You mean Dr. Pirenne?
Yes! He is the Chairman of the Board of Trustees - and a personal representative of the Emperor."
"Doctor?
No other title?
A scholar?
And he rates above the civil authority?"
"Why, certainly," replied Hardin, amiably.
"We're all scholars more or less.
After all, we're not so much a world as a scientific foundation - under the direct control of the Emperor."
There was a faint emphasis upon the last phrase that seemed to disconcert the sub-prefect.
He remained thoughtfully silent during the rest of the slow way to Cyclopedia Square.
If Hardin found himself bored by the afternoon and evening that followed, he had at least the satisfaction of realizing that Pirenne and Haut Rodric - having met with loud and mutual protestations of esteem and regard - were detesting each other's company a good deal more.
Haut Rodric had attended with glazed eye to Pirenne's lecture during the "inspection tour" of the Encyclopedia Building.
With polite and vacant smile, he had listened to the latter's rapid patter as they passed through the vast storehouses of reference films and the numerous projection rooms. It was only after he had gone down level by level into and through the composing departments, editing departments, publishing departments, and filming departments that he made the first comprehensive statement.
"This is all very interesting," he said, "but it seems a strange occupation for grown men.
What good is it?"
It was a remark, Hardin noted, for which Pirenne found no answer, though the expression of his face was most eloquent.
The dinner that evening was much the mirror image of the events of that afternoon, for Haut Rodric monopolized the conversation by describing - in minute technical detail and with incredible zest - his own exploits as battalion head during the recent war between Anacreon and the neighboring newly proclaimed Kingdom of Smyrno.
The details of the sub-prefect's account were not completed until dinner was over and one by one the minor officials had drifted away.
The last bit of triumphant description of mangled spaceships came when he had accompanied Pirenne and Hardin onto the balcony and relaxed in the warm air of the summer evening.
"And now," he said, with a heavy joviality, "to serious matters."
"By all means," murmured Hardin, lighting a long cigar of Vegan tobacco - not many left, he reflected - and teetering his chair back on two legs.
The Galaxy was high in the sky and its misty lens shape stretched lazily from horizon to horizon.
The few stars here at the very edge of the universe were insignificant twinkles in comparison.
"Of course," said the sub-prefect, "all the formal discussions - the paper signing and such dull technicalities, that is - will take place before the - What is it you call your Council?"
"The Board of Trustees," replied Pirenne, coldly.
"Queer name!
Anyway, that's for tomorrow.
We might as well clear away some of the underbrush, man to man, right now, though. Hey?"
"And this means-" prodded Hardin.
"Just this. There's been a certain change in the situation out here in the Periphery and the status of your planet has become a trifle uncertain.
It would be very convenient if we succeeded in coming to an understanding as to how the matter stands.
By the way, mayor, have you another one of those cigars?"
Hardin started and produced one reluctantly.
Anselm haut Rodric sniffed at it and emitted a clucking sound of pleasure.
"Vegan tobacco!
Where did you get it?"
"We received some last shipment.
There's hardly any left.
Space knows when we'll get more - if ever."
Pirenne scowled.
He didn't smoke - and, for that matter, detested the odor.
"Let me understand this, your eminence.
Your mission is merely one of clarification?"
Haut Rodric nodded through the smoke of his first lusty puffs.
"In that case, it is soon over.
The situation with respect to the Encyclopedia Foundation is what it always has been."
"Ah! And what is it that it always has been?"