When Haut Rodric spoke it was in a voice quite different from what it had been till then:
"You have nuclear power?"
"Certainly.
What's unusual in that?
I imagine nuclear power is fifty thousand years old now. Why shouldn't we have it?
Except that it's a little difficult to get plutonium."
"Yes… Yes."
The envoy paused and added uncomfortably:
"Well, gentlemen, we'll pursue the subject tomorrow.
You'll excuse me-"
Pirenne looked after him and gritted through his teeth:
"That insufferable, dull-witted donkey!
That-"
Hardin broke in: "Not at all.
He's merely the product of his environment.
He doesn't understand much except that 'I have a gun and you haven't.’"
Pirenne whirled on him in exasperation.
"What in space did you mean by the talk about military bases and tribute?
Are you crazy?"
"No. I merely gave him rope and let him talk.
You'll notice that he managed to stumble out with Anacreon's real intentions - that is, the parceling up of Terminus into landed estates.
Of course, I don't intend to let that happen."
"You don't intend. You don't.
And who are you?
And may I ask what you meant by blowing off your mouth about our nuclear-power plant?
Why, it's just the thing that would make us a military target."
"Yes," grinned Hardin.
"A military target to stay away from.
Isn't it obvious why I brought the subject up?
It happened to confirm a very strong suspicion I had had."
"And that was what?"
"That Anacreon no longer has a nuclear-power economy.
If they had, our friend would undoubtedly have realized that plutonium, except in ancient tradition is not used in power plants.
And therefore it follows that the rest of the Periphery no longer has nuclear power either. Certainly Smyrno hasn't, or Anacreon wouldn't have won most of the battles in their recent war.
Interesting, wouldn't you say?"
"Bah!"
Pirenne left in fiendish humor, and Hardin smiled gently.
He threw his cigar away and looked up at the outstretched Galaxy.
"Back to oil and coal, are they?" he murmured - and what the rest of his thoughts were he kept to himself. 3.
When Hardin denied owning the Journal, he was perhaps technically correct, but no more.
Hardin had been the leading spirit in the drive to incorporate Terminus into an autonomous municipality-he had been elected its first mayor-so it was not surprising that, though not a single share of Journal stock was in his name, some sixty percent was controlled by him in more devious fashions.
There were ways.
Consequently, when Hardin began suggesting to Pirenne that he be allowed to attend meetings of the Board of Trustees, it was not quite coincidence that the Journal began a similar campaign.
And the first mass meeting in the history of the Foundation was held, demanding representation of the City in the "national" government.
And, eventually, Pirenne capitulated with ill grace.
Hardin, as he sat at the foot of the table, speculated idly as to just what it was that made physical scientists such poor administrators.
It might be merely that they were too used to inflexible fact and far too unused to pliable people.
In any case, there was Tomaz Sutt and Jord Fara on his left; Lundin Crast and Yate Fulham on his fight; with Pirenne, himself, presiding.
He knew them all, of course, but they seemed to have put on an extra-special bit of pomposity for the occasion.
Hardin had dozed through the initial formalities and then perked up when Pirenne sipped at the glass of water before him by way of preparation and said: