I'll be back considerably before then."
Lee looked uncertain.
"But that 'successfully concluded.'
That's bull!"
"Highly confusing bull.
Here's the airport!"
The waiting spaceship bulked somberly in the dimness.
Hardin stamped through the snow toward it and at the open air lock turned about with outstretched hand.
"Good-by, Lee.
I hate to leave you in the frying pan like this, but there's not another I can trust.
Now please keep out of the fire."
"Don't worry.
The frying pan is hot enough. I'll follow orders."
He stepped back, and the air lock closed. 6.
Salvor Hardin did not travel to the planet Anacreon - from which planet the kingdom derived its name - immediately.
It was only on the day before the coronation that he arrived, after having made flying visits to eight of the larger stellar systems of the kingdom, stopping only long, enough to confer with the local representatives of the Foundation.
The trip left him with an oppressive realization of the vastness of the kingdom.
It was a little splinter, an insignificant fly speck compared to the inconceivable reaches of the Galactic Empire of which it had once formed so distinguished a part; but to one whose habits of thought had been built around a single planet, and a sparsely settled one at that, Anacreon's size in area and population was staggering.
Following closely the boundaries of the old Prefect of Anacreon, it embraced twenty-five stellar systems, six of which included more than one inhabited world.
The population of nineteen billion, though still far less than it had been in the Empire's heyday was rising rapidly with the increasing scientific development fostered by the Foundation.
And it was only now that Hardin found himself floored by the magnitude of that task.
Even in thirty years, only the capital world had been powered.
The outer provinces still possessed immense stretches where nuclear power had not yet been re-introduced.
Even the progress that had been made might have been impossible had it not been for the still workable relics left over by the ebbing tide of Empire.
When Hardin did arrive at the capital world, it was to find all normal business at an absolute standstill. In the outer provinces there had been and still were celebrations; but here on the planet Anacreon, not a person but took feverish part in the hectic religious pageantry that heralded the coming-of-age of their god-king, Lepold.
Hardin had been able to snatch only half an hour from a haggard and harried Verisof before his ambassador was forced to rush off to supervise still another temple festival.
But the half-hour was a most profitable one, and Hardin prepared himself for the night's fireworks well satisfied.
In all, he acted as an observer, for he had no stomach for the religious tasks he would undoubtedly have had to undertake if his identity became known.
So, when the palace's ballroom filled itself with a glittering horde of the kingdom's very highest and most exalted nobility, he found himself hugging the wall, little noticed or totally ignored.
He had been introduced to Lepold as one of a long line of introducees, and from a safe distance, for the king stood apart in lonely and impressive grandeur, surrounded by his deadly blaze of radioactive aura.
And in less than an hour this same king would take his seat upon the massive throne of rhodium-iridium alloy with jewel-set gold chasings, and then, throne and all would rise maestically into the air, skim the ground slowly to hover before the great window from which the great crowds of common folk could see their king and shout themselves into near apoplexy.
The throne would not have been so massive, of course, if it had not had a shielded nuclear motor built into it.
It was past eleven.
Hardin fidgeted and stood on his toes to better his view.
He resisted an impulse to stand on a chair.
And then he saw Wienis threading through the crowd toward him and he relaxed.
Wienis' progress was slow.
At almost every step, he had to pass a kindly sentence with some revered noble whose grandfather had helped Lepold's grandfather brigandize the kingdom and had received a dukedom therefor.
And then he disentangled himself from the last uniformed peer and reached Hardin. His smile crooked itself into a smirk and his black eyes peered from under grizzled brows with glints of satisfaction in them.
"My dear Hardin," he said, in a low voice, "you must expect to be bored, when you refuse to announce your identity."
"I am not bored, your highness.
This is all extremely interesting.
We have no comparable spectacles on Terminus, you know."
"No doubt.
But would you care to step into my private chambers, where we can speak at greater length and with considerably more privacy?"
"Certainly."
With arms linked, the two ascended the staircase, and more than one dowager duchess stared after them in surprise and wondered at the identity of this insignificantly dressed and uninteresting-looking stranger on whom such signal honor was being conferred by the prince regent.
In Wienis' chambers, Hardin relaxed in perfect comfort and accepted with a murmur of gratitude the glass of liquor that had been poured out by the regent's own hand.
"Locris wine, Hardin," said Wienis, "from the royal cellars.
The real thing - two centuries in age.