Cleon, Emperor of the Galaxy, was walking hurriedly through the arcade that led from his private quarters in the Small Palace to the offices of the rather tremendous staff that lived in the various annexes of the Imperial Palace, which served as the nerve center of the Empire.
    Several of his personal attaches walked after him, with looks of the deepest concern on their faces. The Emperor did not walk to others. He summoned them and they came to him. If he did walk, he never showed signs of haste or emotional trauma. How could he? He was the Emperor and, as such, far more a symbol of all the worlds than a human being.
    Yet now he seemed to be a human being. He motioned everyone aside with an impatient wave of his right hand. In his left hand he held a gleaming hologram.
    "The First Minister," he said in an almost strangled voice, not at all like the carefully cultivated tones he had painstakingly assumed along with the throne. "Where is he?"
    And all the high functionaries who were in his way fumbled and gasped and found it impossible to manage coherence. He brushed past them angrily, making them all feel, undoubtedly, as though they were living through a waking nightmare.
    Finally he burst into Demerzel's private office, panting slightly, and shouted-literally shouted- "Demerzel!"
    Demerzel looked up with a trace of surprise and rose smoothly to his feet, for one did not sit in the presence of the Emperor unless specifically invited to. "Sire?" he said.
    And the Emperor slammed the hologram down on Demerzel's desk and said, "What is this? Will you tell me that?"
    Demerzel looked at what the Emperor had given him. It was a beautiful hologram, sharp and alive. One could almost hear the little boy-perhaps ten years old-speaking the words that were included in the caption: "I don't want no robot in charge of running the Empire."
    Demerzel said quietly, "Sire, I have received this, too."
    "And who else has?"
    "I am under the impression, Sire, that it is a flier that is being widely spread over Trantor."
    "Yes, and do you see the person at whom that brat is looking?" He tapped his Imperial forefinger at it. "Isn't that you?"
    "The resemblance is striking, Sire."
    "Am I wrong in supposing that the whole intent of this flier, as you call it, is to accuse you of being a robot?"
    "That does seem to be its intention, Sire."
    "And stop me if I'm wrong, but aren't robots the legendary mechanical human beings one finds in-in thrillers and children's stories?"
    "The Mycogenians have it as an article of faith, Sire, that robots-"
    "I'm not interested in the Mycogenians and their articles of faith. Why are they accusing you of being a robot?"
    "Merely a metaphorical............