Foundation and Chaos

35.

Brann walked through the main storage wing of the warehouse with surprising speed for a man of his size. The dark spaces and huge tiers of storage racks loomed and made their footsteps sound like the beats of distant drums. Klia kept up with some difficulty, but did not mind; she had not had much exercise in days, and looked upon this assignment as both a break in the routine and a possible avenue of escape.

Being with Brann was pleasant enough, so long as she did not think about her emotional reaction to him, and how inappropriate it was. She wrinkled her nose at the dusty ghosts of hundreds of unfamiliar smells.

“The most popular imports come from Anacreon and Memphio,” Brann said. He paused beside a shadowy equipment alcove to check out a loader/transport. “There are some very wealthy artisan families that live off sales to Trantor alone. Everybody wants Anacreon folk-dolls-I hate them, myself. We also import games and entertainments from Kalgan-of the sort frowned upon by the Commission censors.”

Klia walked beside Brann. The transport glided on floater fields a discreet two meters behind them, lowering small rubber wheels when it wanted to turn sharply or stop.

“We’re going to deliver four crates of dolls to the Trantor Exchange, and some other items to the Agora of Vendors.” These were the two most popular shopping areas in Streeling, well-known around the hemisphere. Well-heeled Greys and meritocrats traveled from thousands of kilometers-some, thousands of light years-just to spend several days browsing among the myriad of shops in each area. The Agora of Vendors boasted of inns spaced at hundred-shop intervals for tired travelers.

The baronial and other noble families of the gentry class had their own means of satisfying acquisitive urges, and, of course, citizens usually lived in quarters too small to allow for the accumulation of many goods.

When Klia had been very young, her mother and father had participated in a communal Dahl bauble exchange, where they borrowed one or two objects considered decorative (and fairly useless) for several days or weeks and then returned them. That seemed satisfactory enough, for those fascinated with material goods; actually owning or even collecting offworld objects seemed ludicrous to Klia.

“This means Plussix trusts me enough to let me go outside, doesn’t it?” Klia said.

Brann looked down on her, his face serious. “This isn’t some mindwipe cult, Klia.”

“How do I know that? What is it, then-a social club for misfit persuaders?”

“You sound pretty unhappy,” Brann said. “But you-”

“Is there anyplace on Trantor where anyone can be happy? Look at all this junk-a substitute for happiness, don’t you think?” She waved her hands at the plastic and scrapwood crates stacked high over their heads.

“I wouldn’t know,” Brann said. “I was going to say, you sound unhappy, but I’ll bet you can’t think of anyplace else to go.”

“Maybe that’s why I’m unhappy,” Klia said in a dark undertone. “I certainly feel like a misfit. Maybe I do belong here.”

Brann turned away with a small grunt and ordered the transport to remove a crate from the third tier. It planted its undercarriage firmly on the floor, then raised its body on pneumatic cylinders and deftly tugged at the crate with mechanical arms.

“Kallusin said we might be able to travel all over,” Klia said. “If we turn out to be loyal, is that…I mean, do you know of anyone who’s left? Been assigned elsewhere?”

Brann shook his head. “Of course, I don’t know everybody. I haven’t been here that long. There are other warehouses.”

Klia had not known this. She filed the fact away, and wondered if Plussix was orchestrating some sort of huge latent underground movement-a rebellion, perhaps. A rebellious merchant broker? It seemed ludicrous-and perhaps the more convincing because of that. But what would he rebel against-the very classes who clamored for his goods? Or the noble and baronial families…who did not?

“We have what we need,” Brann said when the transport carried three crates from three different aisles. “Let’s go.”

“What about the police-the ones searching for me-for us?”

“Plussix says they’re not looking for anybody now,” Brann said.

“And how does he know?”

Brann shook his head. “All I know is, he’s never wrong. Not one of us has ever been taken by the police.”

“Famous last words,” Klia said, but she once again trotted to keep up with him.

Outside the warehouse, the daylight of the dome ceil glowed brightly. She emerged from the cavernous interior to a brighter, larger interior-the only other kind of life she had ever known.