Foundation by Isaac Asimov

at that?”
    “Well, of course, there would be the matter of supporting the protecting forces.”
    Hardin’s chair came down on all four, and his elbows went forward on his knees. “Now we’re getting to the nub. Let’s put it into language. Terminus is to be a protectorate and to pay tribute.”
    “Not tribute. Taxes. We’re protecting you. You pay for it.”
    Pirenne banged his hand on the chair with sudden violence. “Let me speak, Hardin. Your eminence, I don’t care a rusty half-credit coin for Anacreon, Smyrno, or all your local politics and petty wars. I tell you this is a State-supported tax-free institution.”
    “State-supported? But
we
are the State, Dr. Pirenne, and we’re not supporting.”
    Pirenne rose angrily. “Your eminence, I am the direct representative of—”
    “—his august majesty, the Emperor,” chorused Anselm haut Rodric sourly, “and I am the direct representative of the King of Anacreon. Anacreon is a lot nearer, Dr. Pirenne.”
    “Let’s get back to business,” urged Hardin. “How would you take these so-called taxes, your eminence? Would you take them in kind: wheat, potatoes, vegetables, cattle?”
    The sub-prefect stared. “What the devil? What do we need with those? We’ve got hefty surpluses. Gold, of course. Chromium or vanadium would be even better, incidentally, if you have it in quantity.”
    Hardin laughed. “Quantity! We haven’t even got iron in quantity. Gold! Here, take a look at our currency.” He tossed a coin to the envoy.
    Haut Rodric bounced it and stared. “What is it? Steel?”
    “That’s right.”
    “I don’t understand.”
    “Terminus is a planet practically without metals. We import it all. Consequently, we have no gold, and nothing to pay unless you want a few thousand bushels of potatoes.”
    “Well—manufactured goods.”
    “Without metal? What do we make our machines out of?”
    There was a pause and Pirenne tried again. “This whole discussion is wide of the point. Terminus is not a planet, but a scientific foundation preparing a great encyclopedia. Space, man, have you no respect for science?”
    “Encyclopedias don’t win wars.” Haut Rodric’s brows furrowed. “A completely unproductive world, then—and practically unoccupied at that. Well, you might pay with land.”
    “What do you mean?” asked Pirenne.
    “This world is just about empty and the unoccupied land is probably fertile. There are many of the nobility on Anacreon that would like an addition to their estates.”
    “You can’t propose any such—”
    “There’s no necessity of looking so alarmed, Dr. Pirenne. There’s plenty for all of us. If it comes to what it comes, and you co-operate, we could probably arrange it so that you lose nothing. Titles can be conferred and estates granted. You understand me, I think.”
    Pirenne sneered, “Thanks!”
    And then Hardin said ingenuously: “Could Anacreon supply us with adequate quantities of plutonium for our nuclear-power plant? We’ve only a few years’ supply left.”
    There was a gasp from Pirenne and then a dead silence for minutes. 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