"I suppose so. Forget it.
What matters is that I'm being sent out into the middle of the development of this crisis.
There's no telling what I'll have when I come back, and there is a council election every year."
Twer looked up,
"Are you on the track of anything?"
"No."
"You have definite plans?"
"Not the faintest inkling of one."
"Well-"
"Well, nothing.
Hardin once said:
'To succeed, planning alone is insufficient.
One must improvise as well.'
I'll improvise."
Twer shook his head uncertainly, and they stood, looking at each other.
Mallow said, quite suddenly, but quite matter-of-factly,
"I tell you what, how about coming with me?
Don't stare, man.
You've been a trader before you decided them was more excitement in politics.
Or so I've heard."
"Where are you going? Tell me that."
Towards the Whassallian Rift.
I can't be more specific till we're out in space.
What do you say?"
Suppose Sutt decides he wants me where he can see
"Not likely.
If he's anxious to get rid of me, why not of you as well?
Besides which, no trader would hit space if he couldn't pick his own crew.
I take whom I please."
There was a queer glint in the older man's eyes,
"All right. I'll go."
He held out his hand,
"It'll be my first trip in three years."
Mallow grasped and shook the other's hand,
"Good!
All fired good!
And now I've got to round up the boys.
You know where the Far Star docks, don 't you?
Then show up tomorrow.
Good-by." 4.
Korell is that frequent phenomenon in history: the republic whose ruler has every attribute of the absolute monarch but the name.
It therefore enjoyed the usual despotism unrestrained even by those two moderating influences in the legitimate monarchies: regal "honor" and court etiquette.
Materially, its prosperity was low. The day of the Galactic Empire had departed, with nothing but silent memorials and broken structures to testify to it.
The day of the Foundation had not yet come - and in the fierce determination of its ruler, the Commdor Asper Argo, with his strict regulation of the traders and his stricter prohibition of the missionaries, it was never coming.
The spaceport itself was decrepit and decayed, and the crew of the Far Star were drearily aware of that. The moldering hangars made for a moldering atmosphere and Jaim Twer itched and fretted over a game of solitaire.
Hober Mallow said thoughtfully, "Good trading material here."
He was staring quietly out the viewport.
So far, there was little else to be said about Korell.
The trip here was uneventful.
The squadron of Korellian ships that had shot out to intercept the Far Star had been tiny, limping relics of ancient glory or battered, clumsy hulks.