Seldon said between his teeth, “We’re trapped. I should not have let you come, Dors.”

“On the contrary. This is why I’m here, but was it worth your seeing Mother Rittah?”

“If we get out of this, it was.”

Seldon then said in a loud and firm voice, “May we pass?”

One of the men ahead stepped forward. He was fully Seldon’s height of 1.73 meters, but broader in the shoulders and much more muscular. A bit flabby at the waist, though, Seldon noted.

“I’m Marron, “ he said with self-satisfied significance, as though the name ought to have meaning, “and I’m here to tell you we don’t like Outworlders in our district. You want to come in, all right--but if you want to leave, you’ll have to pay.”

“Very well. How much?”

“All you’ve got. You rich Outworlders have credit tiles, right? Just hand them over.”

“No.”

“No point saying no. We’ll just take them.”

“You can’t take them without killing me or hurting me and they won’t work without my voiceprint. My normal voiceprint.”

“That’s not so, Master-see, I’m being polite-we can take them away from you without hurting you very much.”

“How many of you big strong men will it take? Nine? No.” Seldon counted rapidly. “Ten.”

“Just one. Me.”

“With no help?”

‘ Just me.”

“If the rest of you will clear away and give us room, I would like to see you cry it, Marron.”

“You don’t have a knife, Master. You want one?”

“No, use yours to make the fight even. I’ll fight without one.”

Marron looked about at the others and said, “Hey, this puny guy is a sport. He don’t even sound scared. That’s sort of nice. It would be a shame to hurt him. -I tell you what, Master. I’ll take the girl. If you want me to stop, hand over your credit tile and her tile and use your right voices to activate them. If you say no, then after I’m through with the girl . . . and that’ll take some time”-he laughed--”I’ll just have to hurt you.”

“No, “ said Seldon. “Let the woman go. I’ve challenged you to a fight one to one, you with a knife, me without. If you want bigger odds, I’ll fight two of you, but let the woman go.”

“Stop, Hari!” cried out Dors. “If he wants me, let him come and get me. You stay right where you are, Hari, and don’t move.”

“You hear that?” said Marron, grinning broadly. “‘You stay right where you are, Hari, and don’t move.’ I think the little lady wants me. You two, keep him still.”

Each of Seldon’s arms were caught in an iron grip and he felt the sharp point of a knife in his back.

“Don’t move, “ said a harsh whisper in his ear, “and you can watch. The lady will probably like it. Marron’s pretty good at this.”

Dors called out again. “Don’t move, Hari!” She corned to face Marron watchfully, her half-closed hands poised near her belt.

He closed in on her purposefully and she waited till he had come within arm’s length, when suddenly her own arms flashed and Marron found himself facing two large knives.

For a moment, he leaned backward and then he laughed. “The little lady has two knives-knives like the big boys have. And I’ve only got one. But that’s fair enough.” His knife was swiftly out. “I hate to have to cut you, little lady, because it will be more fun for both of us if I don’t. Maybe I can just knock them out of your hands, huh?”

Dors said, “I don’t want to kill you. I’ll do all I can to avoid doing so. Just the same, I call on all to witness, that if I do kill you, it is to protect my friend, as I am honor-bound to do.”

Macron pretended to be terrified. “Oh, please don’t kill me, little lady.” Then he burst into laughter and was joined by the other Dahlites present.

Macron lunged with his knife, quite wide of the mark. He tried it again, then a third time, but Dors never budged. She made no attempt to fend off any motion that was not truly aimed at her.

Macron’s expression darkened. He was trying to make her respond with panic, but he was only making himself seem ineffectual. The next lunge was directly at her and Dors’s left-hand blade moved flashingly and caught his with a force that pushed his arm aside. Her right-hand blade flashed inward and made a diagonal slit in his T-shirt. A thin bloody line smeared the dark-haired skin beneath.

Macron looked down at himself in shock as the onlookers gasped in surprise. Seldon felt the grip on him weaken slightly as the two who held him were distracted by a duel not going quite as they had expected. He tensed himself.

Now Macron lunged again and this time his left hand shot outward to enclose Dors’s right wrist. Again Dors’s left-hand blade caught his knife and held it motionless, while her right hand twisted agilely and drew downward, even as Macron’s left hand closed upon it. It closed on nothing but the blade and when he opened his hand there was a bloody line down the palm.

Dors sprang back and Macron, aware of the blood on his chest and hand, roared out chokingly, “Someone toss me another knife!”

There was hesitation and then one of the onlookers tossed his own knife underhanded. Macron reached for it, but Dors was quicker. Her right-hand blade struck the thrown knife and sent it flying backward, whirling as it went.

Seldon felt the grips on his arms weaken further. He lifted them suddenly, pushing up and forward, and was free. His two captors turned toward him with a sudden shout, but he quickly kneed one in the groin and elbowed the other in the solar plexus and both went down.

He knelt to draw the knives of each and rose as double-armed as Dors. Unlike Dors, Seldon did not know how to handle the blades, but he knew the Dahlites would scarcely be aware of that

Dor said, ‘ Just keep them off, Hari. Don’t attack yet. -Macron, my next stroke will not be a scratch.”

Macron, totally enraged, roared incoherently and charged blindly, attempting by sheer kinetic energy to overwhelm his opponent. Dors, dipping and sidestepping, ducked under his right arm, kicked her foot against his right ankle, and down he crashed, his knife flying.

She then knelt, placed one blade against the back of his neck and the other against his throat, and said, “Yield!”

With another yell, Macron struck out against her with one arm, pushed her to one side, then scrambled to his feet.

He had not yet stood up completely when she was upon him, one knife slashing downward and hacking away a section of his mustache. This time he yowled like a large animal in agony, clapping his hand to his face. When he drew it away, it was dripping blood.

Dors shouted, “It won’t grow again, Macron. Some of the lip went with it. Attack once more and you’re dead meat.”

She waited, but Macron had had enough. He stumbled away, moaning, leaving a trail of blood.

Dors turned toward the others. The two that Seldon had knocked down were still lying there, unarmed and not anxious to get up. She bent down, cut their belts with one of her knives and then slit their trousers.

“This way, you’ll have to hold your pants up when you walk, “ she said.

She stared at the seven men still on their feet, who were watching her with awestruck fascination. “And which of you threw the knife?”

There was silence.

She said, “It doesn’t matter to me. Come one at a time or all together, but each time I slash, someone dies.”

And with one accord, the seven turned and scurried away.

Dors lifted her eyebrows and said to Seldom “This time, at least, Hummin can’t complain that I failed to protect you.”

Seldon said, “I still can’t believe what I saw. I didn’t know you could do anything like that--or talk like that either.”

Dors merely smiled. “You have your talents too. We make a good pair. Here, retract your knife blades and put them into your pouch. I think the news will spread with enormous speed and we can get out of Billibotton without fear of being stopped.”

She was quite right.

Undercover

DAVAN- . . . In the unsettled times marking the final centuries of the First Galactic Empire, the typical sources of unrest arose from the fact that political and military leaders jockeyed for “supreme” power (a supremacy that grew more worthless with each decade). Only rarely was there anything that could be called a popular movement prior to the advent of psychohistory. In this connection, one intriguing example involves Davan, of whom little is actually known, but who may have met with Hari Seldon at one time when . . .

ENCYCLOPEDIA GALACTICA

72.

Both Hari Seldon and Dors Venabili had taken rather lingering baths, making use of the somewhat primitive facilities available to them in the Tisalver household. They had changed their clothing and were in Seldon’s room when Jirad Tisalver returned in the evening. His signal at the door was (or seemed) rather timid. The buzz did not last long.

Seldon opened the door and said pleasantly, “Good evening, Master Tisalver. And Mistress.”

She was standing right behind her husband, forehead puckered into a puzzled frown.

Tisalver said tentatively, as though he was unsure of the situation, “Are you and Mistress Venabili both well?” He nodded his head as though trying to elicit an affirmative by body language.

“Quite well. In and out of Billibotton without trouble and we’re all washed and changed. There’s no smell left.” Seldon lifted his chin as he said it, smiling, tossing the sentence over Tisalver s shoulder to his wife.

She sniffed loudly, as though testing the matter.

Still tentatively, Tisalver said, “I understand there was a knife fight.”

Seldon raised his eyebrows. “Is that the story?”

“You and the Mistress against a hundred thugs, we were cold, and you killed them all. Is that so?” There was the reluctant sound of deep respect in his voice.

“Absolutely not, “ Dors put in with sudden annoyance. “That’s ridiculous. What do you think we are? Mass murderers? And do you think a hundred thugs would remain in place, waiting the considerable time it would take me-us-to kill them all? I mean, think about it.”

“That’s what they’re saying, “ said Casilia Tisalver with shrill firmness. “We can’t have that sort of thing in this house.”

“In the first place, “ said Seldon, “it wasn’t in this house. In the second, it wasn’t a hundred men, it was ten. In the third, no one was killed. There was some altercation back and forth, after which they left and made way for us.”

“They just made way. Do you expect me to believe that, Outworlders?” demanded Mistress Tisalver belligerently.

Seldon sighed. At the slightest stress, human beings seemed to divide themselves into antagonistic groups. He said, “Well, I grant you one of them was cut a little. Not seriously.”

“And you weren’t hurt at all?” said Tisalver. The admiration in his voice was more marked.

“Not a scratch, “ said Seldon. “Mistress Venabili handles two knives excellently well.”

“I dare say, “ said Mistress Tisalver, her eyes dropping to Dors’s belt, “and that’s not what I want to have going on here.”

Dors said sternly, “As long as no one attacks us here, that’s what you won’t have here.”

“But on account of you, “ said Mistress Tisalver, “we have trash from the street standing at the doorway.”

“My love, “ said Tisalver soothingly, “let us not anger--”

“Why?” spat his wife with contempt. “Are you afraid of her knives? I would like to see her use them here.”

“I have no intention of using them here, “ said Dors with a sniff as loud as any that Mistress Tisalver had produced. “What is this trash from the street you’re talking about?”

Tisalver said, “What my wife means is that an urchin from Billibotton-at least, judging by his appearance-wishes to see you and we are not accustomed to that sort of thing in this neighborhood. It undermines our standing.” He sounded apologetic.

Seldon said, “Well, Master Tisalver, we’ll go outside, find out what it’s all about, and send him on his business as quickly--”

“No. Wait, “ said Dors, annoyed. “These are our rooms. We pay for them. We decide who visits us and who does not. If there is a young man outside from Billibotton, he is nonetheless a Dahlite. More important, he’s a Trantorian. Still more important, he’s a citizen of the Empire and a human being. Most important, by asking to see us, he becomes our guest. Therefore, we invite him in to see us.”

Mistress Tisalver didn’t move. Tisalver himself seemed uncertain.

Dors said, “Since you say I killed a hundred bullies in Billibotton, you surely do not think I am afraid of a boy or, for that matter, of you two.” Her right hand dropped casually to her belt.

Tisalver said with sudden energy, “Mistress Venabili, we do not intend to offend you. Of course these rooms are yours and you can entertain whomever you wish here.” He stepped back, pulling his indignant wife with him, undergoing a burst of resolution for which he might conceivably have to pay afterward.

Dors looked after them sternly.

Seldon smiled dryly. “How unlike you, Dors. I thought I was the one who quixotically got into trouble and that you were the calm and practical one whose only aim was to prevent trouble.”

Dors shook her head. “I can’t bear to hear a human being spoken of with contempt just because of his group identification-even by other human beings. It’s these respectable people here who create those hooligans out there.”

“And other respectable people, “ said Seldon, “who create these respectable people. These mutual animosities are as much a part of humanity--”

“Then you’ll have to deal with it in your psychohistory, won’t you?”

“Most certainly-if there is ever a psychohistory with which to deal with anything at all. -Ah, here comes the urchin under discussion. And it’s Raych, which somehow doesn’t surprise me.”

73.

Raych entered, looking about, clearly intimidated. The forefinger of his right hand reached for his upper lip as though wondering when he would begin to feel the first downy hairs there.

He turned to the clearly outraged Mistress Tisalver and bowed clumsily. “Thank ya, Missus. Ya got a lovely place.”

Then, as the door slammed behind him, he turned to Seldon and Dors with an air of easy connoisseurship. “Nice place, guys.”

“I’m glad you like it, “ said Seldon solemnly. “How did you know we were here?”

“Followed ya. How’d ya think? Hey, lady”-he turned to Dors =‘you don’t fight like no dame.”

“Have you watched many dames fight?” asked Dors, amused.

Raych rubbed his nose, “No, never seen none whatever. They don’t carry knives, except little ones to scare kids with. Never scared me.”

“I’m sure they didn’t. What do you do to make dames draw their knives?”

“Nothin’. You just kid around a little. You holler, ‘Hey, lady, lemme-’ “

He thought about it for a moment and said, “Nothin’.”

Dors said, “Well, don’t try that on me.”

“Ya kiddin’? After what ya did to Marron? Hey, lady, where’d you learn to fight that way?”

“On my own world.”

“Could ya teach me?”

“Is that what you came here to see me about?”

“Akchaly, no. I came to bring ya a kind of message.”

“From someone who wants to fight me?”

“No one wants to fight ya, lady. Listen, lady, ya got a reputation now. Everybody knows ya. You just walk down anywhere in old Billibotton and all the guys will step aside and let ya pass and grin and make sure they don’t look cross-eyed at ya. Oh, lady, ya got it made. That’s why he wants to see ya.”

Seldon said, “Raych, just exactly who wants to see us?”

“Guy called Davan.”

“And who is he?”

“Just a guy. He lives in Billibotton and don’t carry no knife.”

“And he stays alive, Raych?”

“He reads a lot and he helps the guys there when they get in trouble with the gov’ment. They kinda leave him alone. He don’t need no knife.”

“Why didn’t he come himself, then?” said Dors. “Why did he send you?”

“He don’t like this place. He says it makes him sick. He says all the people here, they lick the gov’ment’ s--” He paused, looked dubiously at the two Outworlders, and said, “Anyway, he won’t come here. He said they’d let me in cause I was only a kid.” He grinned. “They almost didn’t, did they? I mean that lady there who looked like she was smellin’ somethin’?”

He stopped suddenly, abashed, and looked down at himself. “Ya don’t get much chance to wash where I come from.”

“It’s all right, “ said Dors, smiling. “Where are we supposed to meet, then, if he won’t come here? After all-if you don’t mind we don’t feel like going to Billibotton.”

“I told ya, “ said Raych indignantly. “Ya get free run of Billibotton, I swear. Besides, where he lives no one will bother ya.”

“Where is it?” asked Seldon.

“I can take ya there. It ain’t far.”

“And why does he want to see us?” asked Dors.

“Dunno. But he says like this--” Raych half-closed his eyes in an effort to remember. “‘Tell them I wanna see the man who talked to a Dahlite heatsinker like he was a human being and the woman who beat Marron with knives and didn’t kill him when she mighta done so.’ I think I got it right.”

Seldon smiled. “I think you did. Is he ready for us now?”

“He’s waiting.”

“Then we’ll come with you.” He looked at Dors with a trace of doubt in his eyes.

She said, “All right. I’m willing. Perhaps it won’t be a trap of some sort. Hope springs eternal--”

74.

There was a pleasant glow to the evening light when they emerged, a faint violet touch and a pinkish edge to the simulated sunset clouds that were scudding along. Dahl might have complaints of their treatment by the Imperial rulers of Trantor, but surely there was nothing wrong with the weather the computers spun out for them.

Dors said in a low voice, “We seem to be celebrities. No mistake about that.”

Seldon brought his eyes down from the supposed sky and was immediately aware of a fair-sized crowd around the apartment house in which the Tisalvers lived.

Everyone in the crowd stared at them intently. When it was clear that the two Outworlders had become aware of the attention, a low murmur ran through the crowd, which seemed to be on the point of breaking out into applause.

Dors said, “Now I can see where Mistress Tisalver would find this annoying. I should have been a little more sympathetic.”

The crowd was, for the most part, poorly dressed and it was not hard to guess that many of the people were from Billibotton.

On impulse, Seldon smiled and raised one hand in a mild greeting that was met with applause. One voice, lost in the safe anonymity of the crowd called out, “Can the lady show us some knife tricks?”

When Dors called back, “No, I only draw in anger, “ there was instant laughter.

One man stepped forward. He was clearly not from Billibotton and bore no obvious mark of being a Dahlite. He had only a small mustache, for one thing, and it was brown, not black. He said, “Marlo Tanto of the ‘Trantorian HV News.’ Can we have you in focus for a bit for our nightly holocast?”

“No, “ said Dors shortly. “No interviews.”

The newsman did not budge. “I understand you were in a fight with a great many men in Billibotton--and won.” He smiled. “That’s news, that is.”

“No, “ said Dors. “We met some men in Billibotton, talked to them, and then moved on. That’s all there is to it and that’s all you’re going to get.”

“What’s your name? You don’t sound like a Trantorian.”

“I have no name.”

“And your friend’s name?”

“He has no name.”

The newsman looked annoyed, “Look, lady. You’re news and I’m just trying to do my job.”

Raych pulled at Dors’s sleeve. She leaned down and listened to his earnest whisper.

She nodded and straightened up again. “I don’t think you’re a newsman, Mr. Tanto. What I think you are is an Imperial agent trying to make trouble for Dahl. There was no fight and you’re trying to manufacture news concerning one as a way of justifying an Imperial expedition into Billibotton. I wouldn’t stay here if I were you. I don’t think you’re very popular with these people.”

The crowd had begun to mutter at Dors’s first words. They grew louder now and began to drift, slowly and in a menacing way, in the direction of Tanto. He looked nervously around and began to move away.

Dors raised her voice. “Let him go. Don’t anyone touch him. Don’t give him any excuse to report violence.”

And they parted before him.

Raych said, “Aw, lady, you shoulda let them rough him up.”

“Bloodthirsty boy, “ said Dors, “take us to this friend of yours.”

75.

They met the man who called himself Davan in a room behind a dilapidated diner. Far behind.

Raych led the way, once more showing himself as much at home in the burrows of Billibotton as a mole would be in tunnels underground in Helicon.

It was Dors Venabili whose caution first manifested itself. She stopped and said, “Come back, Raych. Exactly where are we going?”

“To Davan, “ said Raych, looking exasperated. “I told ya.”

“But this is a deserted area. There’s no one living here.” Dors looked about with obvious distaste. The surroundings were lifeless and what light panels were there were did not glower did so only dimly.

“It’s the way Davan likes it, “ said Raych. “He’s always changing around, staying here, staying there. Ya know . . . changing around.”

“Why?” demanded Dors.

“It’s safer, lady.”

“From whom?”

“From the gov’ment”

“Why would the government want Davan?”

“I dunno, lady. Tell ya what. I’ll tell ya where he is and tell ya how to go and ya go on alone-if ya don’t want me to take ya.”

Seldon said, “No, Raych, I’m pretty sure we’ll get lost without you. In fact, you had better wait till we’re through so you can lead us back.”

Raych said at once, “What’s in it f’me? Ya expect me to hang around when I get hungry?”

“You hang around and get hungry, Raych, and I’ll buy you a big dinner. Anything you like.”

“Ya say that now. Mister. How do I know?”

Dors’s hand flashed and it was holding a knife, blade exposed, “You’re not calling us liars, are you, Raych?”

Raych’s eyes opened wide. He did not seem frightened by the threat. He said, “Hey, I didn’t see that. Do it again.”

“I’ll do it afterward-if you’re still here. Otherwise”-Dors glared at him “we’ll track you down.”

“Aw, lady, come on, “ said Raych. “Ya ain’t gonna track me down. Ya ain’t that kind. But I’ll be here.” He struck a pose. “Ya got my word.”

And he led them onward in silence, though the sound of their shoes was hollow in the empty corridors.

Davan looked up when they entered, a wild look that softened when he saw Raych. He gestured quickly toward the two others questioningly.

Raych said, “These are the guys.” And, grinning, he left.

Seldon said, “I am Hari Seldon. The young lady is Dors Venabili.”

He regarded Davan curiously. Davan was swarthy and had the thick black mustache of the Dahlite male, but in addition he had a stubble of beard. He was the first Dahlite whom Seldon had seen who had not been meticulously shaven. Even the bullies of Billibotton had been smooth of cheek and chin.

Seldon said, “What is your name, sir?”

“Davan. Raych must have told you.”

“Your second name.”

“I am only Davan. Were you followed here, Master Seldon?”

“No, I’m sure we weren’t. If we had, then by sound or sight, I expect Raych would have known. And if he had not, Mistress Venabili would have.”

Dors smiled slightly. “You have faith in me, Hari.”

“More all the time, “ he said thoughtfully.

Davan stirred uneasily. “Yet you’ve already been found.”

“Found?”

“Yes, I have heard of this supposed newsman.”

“Already?” Seldon looked faintly surprised. “But I suspect he really was a newsman . . . and harmless. We tatted him an Imperial agent at Raych’s suggestion, which was a good idea. The surrounding crowd grew threatening and we got rid of him.”

“No, “ said Davan, “he was what you called him. My people know the man and he does work for the Empire. --but then you do not do as I do. You do not use a false name and change your place of abode. You go under your own names, making no effort to remain undercover. You are Hari Seldon, the mathematician.”

“Yes, I am, “ said Seldon. “Why should I invent a false name?”

“The Empire wants you, does it not?”

Seldon shrugged. “I stay in places where the Empire cannot reach out to take me.”

“Not openly, but the Empire doesn’t have to work openly. I would urge you to disappear . . . really disappear.”

“Like you . . . as you say, “ said Seldom looking about with an edge of distaste. The room was as dead as the corridors he had walked through. It was musty through and through and it was overwhelmingly depressing.

“Yes, “ said Davan. “You could be useful to us.”

“In what way?”

“You talked to a young man named Yugo Amaryl.”

“Yes, I did.”

“Amaryl tells me that you can predict the future.”

Seldon sighed heavily. He was tired of standing in this empty room. Davan was sitting on a cushion and there were other cushions available, but they did not look clean. Nor did he wish to lean against the mildew-streaked wall.

He said, “Either you misunderstood Amaryl or Amaryl misunderstood me. What I have done is to prove that it is possible to choose staffing conditions from which historical forecasting does not descend into chaotic conditions, but can become predictable within limits. However, what those starting conditions might be I do not know, nor am I sure that those conditions can be found by any one person--or by any number of people-in a finite length of time. Do you understand me?”

‘No.’

Seldon sighed again. “Then let me try once more. It is possible to predict the future, but it may be impossible to find out how to take advantage of that possibility. Do you understand?”

Davan looked at Seldon darkly, then at Dors. “Then you cant predict the future.”

“Now you have the point, Master Davan.”

‘Just call me Davan. But you may be able to learn to predict the future someday.”

“That is conceivable.”

“Then that’s why the Empire wants you.”

“No, “ Seldon raised his finger didactically. “It’s my idea that that is why the Empire is not making an overwhelming effort to get me. They might like to have me if I can be picked up without trouble, but they know that right now I know nothing and that it is therefore not worth upsetting the delicate peace of Trantor by interfering with the local rights of this sector or that. That’s the reason I can move about under my own name with reasonable security.”

For a moment, Davan buried his head in his hands and muttered, “This is madness.” Then he looked up wearily and said to Dors, “Are you Master Seldon’s wife?”

Dors said calmly, “I am his friend and protector.”

“How well do you know him?”

“We have been together for some months.”

“No more?”

“No more.”

“Would it be your opinion he is speaking the truth?”

“I know he is, but what reason would you have to crust me if you do not trust him? If Hari is, for some reason, lying to you, might I not be lying to you equally in order to support him?”

Davan looked from one to the other helplessly. Then he said, “Would you, in any case, help us?”

“Who are ‘us’ and in what way do you need help?”

Davan said, “You see the situation here in Dahl. We are oppressed. You must know that and, from your treatment of Yugo Amaryl, I cannot believe you lack sympathy for us.”

“We are fully sympathetic.”

“And you must know the source of the oppression.”

“You are going to cell me that it’s the Imperial government, I suppose, and I dare say it plays its part. On the other hand, I notice that there is a middle class in Dahl that despises the heatsinkers and a criminal class that terrorizes the rest of the sector.”

Davan’s lips tightened, but he remained unmoved. “Quite true. Quite true. But the Empire encourages it as a matter of principle. Dahl has the potential for making serious trouble. If the heatsinkers should go on strike, Trantor would experience a severe energy shortage almost at once . . . with all that that implies. However,

Dahl’s own upper classes will spend money to hire the hoodlums of Billibotton---and of other places-to fight the heatsinkers and break the strike. It has happened before. The Empire allows some Dahlites to prosper-comparatively-in order to convert them into Imperialist lackeys, while it refuses to enforce the arms-control laws effectively enough to weaken the criminal element

“The Imperial government does this everywhere--and not in Dahl alone. They can’t exert force to impose their will, as in the old days when they ruled with brutal directness. Nowadays, Trantor has grown so complex and so easily disturbed that the Imperial forces must keep their hands off--”

“A form of degeneration, “ said Seldon, remembering Hummin’s complaints.

“What?” said Davan.

“Nothing, “ said Seldon. “Go on.”

“The Imperial forces must keep their hands off, but they find that they can do much even so. Each sector is encouraged to be suspicious of its neighbours. Within each sector, economic and social classes are encouraged to wage a kind of war with each other. The result is that all over Trantor it is impossible for the people to take united action. Everywhere, the people would rather fight each other than make a common stand against the central tyranny and the Empire rules without having to exert force.”

“And what, “ said Dors, “do you think can be done about it?”

“I’ve been trying for years to build a feeling of solidarity among the peoples of Trantor.”

“I can only suppose, “ said Seldon dryly, “that you are finding this an impossibly difficult and largely thankless task.”

“You suppose correctly, “ said Davan, “but the party is growing stronger. Many of our knifers are coming to the realization that knives are best when they are not used on each other. Those who attacked you in the corridors of Billibotton are examples of the unconverted. However, those who support you now, who are ready to defend you against the agent you thought was a newsman, are my people. I live here among them. It is not an attractive way of life, but I am safe here. We have adherents in neighboring sectors and we spread daily.”

“But where do we come in?” asked Dors.

“For one thing, “ said Davan, “both of you are Outworlders, scholars. We need people like you among our leaders. Our greatest strength is drawn from the poor and the uneducated because they suffer the most, but they can lead the least. A person like one of you two is worth a hundred of them.”

“That’s an odd estimate from someone who wishes to rescue the oppressed, “ said Seldon.

“I don’t mean as people, “ said Davan hastily. “I mean as far as leadership is concerned. The party must have among its leaders men and women of intellectual power.”

“People like us, you mean, are needed to give your party a veneer of respectability.”

Davan said, “You can always put something noble in a sneering fashion if you try. But you, Master Seldon, are more than respectable, more than intellectual. Even if you won’t admit to being able to penetrate the mists of the future---”

“Please, Davan, “ said Seldon, “don’t be poetic and don’t use the conditional. It’s not a matter of admitting. I can’t foresee the future. Those are not mists that block the view but chrome steel barriers.”

“Let me finish. Even if you can’t actually predict with-what do you call it?-psychohistorical accuracy, you’ve studied history and you may have a certain intuitive feeling for consequences. Now, isn’t that so?”

Seldon shook his head. “I may have a certain intuitive understanding for mathematical likelihood, but how far I can translate that into anything of historical significance is quite uncertain. Actually, I have not studied history. I wish I had. I feel the loss keenly.”

Dors said evenly, “I am the historian, Davan, and I can say a few things if you wish.”

“Please do, “ said Davan, making it half a courtesy, half a challenge.

“For one thing, there have been many revolutions in Galactic history that have overthrown tyrannies, sometimes on individual planets, sometimes in groups of them, occasionally in the Empire itself or in the pre-Imperial regional governments. Often, this has only meant a change in tyranny. In other words, one ruling class is replaced by another sometimes by one that is more efficient and therefore still more capable of maintaining itself-while the poor and downtrodden remain poor and downtrodden or become even worse off.”

Davan, listening intently, said, “I’m aware of that. We all are. Perhaps we can learn from the past and know better what to avoid. Besides, the tyranny that now exists is actual. That which may exist in the future is merely potential. If we are always to draw back from change with the thought that the change may be for the worse, then there is no hope at all of ever escaping injustice.”

Dors said, “A second point you must remember is that even if you have right on your side, even if justice thunders condemnation, it is usually the tyranny in existence that has the balance of force on its side. There is nothing your knife handlers can do in the way of rioting and demonstrating that will have any permanent effect as long as, in the extremity, there is an army equipped with kinetic, chemical, and neurological weapons that is willing to use them against your people. You can get all the downtrodden and even all the respectables on your side, but you must somehow win over the security forces and the Imperial army or at least seriously weaken their loyalty to the rulers.”

Davan said, “Trantor is a multigovernmental world. Each sector has its own rulers and some of them are themselves anti-Imperial. If we can have a strong sector on our side, that would change the situation, would it not? We would then not be merely ragamuffins fighting with knives and stones.”

“Does that mean you do have a strong sector on your side or merely that it is your ambition to have one?”

Davan was silent.

Dors said, “I shall assume that you are thinking of the Mayor of Wye. If the Mayor is in the mood to make use of popular discontent as a way of improving the chance of toppling the Emperor, doesn’t it strike you that the end the Mayor would have in view would be that of succeeding to the Imperial throne? Why should the Mayor risk his present not-inconsiderable position for anything less? Merely for the blessings of justice and the decent treatment of people, concerning whom he can have little interest?”

“You mean, “ said Davan, “that any powerful leader who is willing to help us may then betray us.”

“It is a situation that is all too common in Galactic history.”

“If we are ready for that, might we not betray him?”

“You mean, make use of him and then, at some crucial moment, subvert the leader of his forces--or a leader, at any race--and have him assassinated?”

“Not perhaps exactly like that, but some way of getting rid of him might exist if that should prove necessary.”

“Then we have a revolutionary movement in which the principal players must be ready to betray each other, with each simply waiting for the opportunity. It sounds like a recipe for chaos.”

“You will not help us, then?” said Davan.

Seldon, who had been listening to the exchange between Davan and Dors with a puzzled frown on his face, said, “We can’t put it that simply. We would like to help you. We are on your side. It seems to me that no sane man wants to uphold an Imperial system that maintains itself by fostering mutual hatred and suspicions. Even when it seems to work, it can only be described as metastable; that is, as too apt to fall into instability in one direction or another. But the question is: How can we help? If I had psychohistory, if I could tell what is most likely to happen, or if I could tell what action of a number of alternative possibilities is most likely to bring on an apparently happy consequence, then I would put my abilities at your disposal. --but I don’t have is I can help you best by trying to develop psychohistory.”

“And how long will that take?”

Seldon shrugged. “I cannot say.”

“How can you ask us to wait indefinitely?”

“What alternative do I have, since I am useless to you as I am? But I will say this: I have until very recently been quite convinced that the development of psychohistory was absolutely impossible. Now I am not so certain of that.”

“You mean you have a solution in mind?”

“No, merely an intuitive feeling that a solution might be possible. I have not been able to pin down what has occurred to make me have that feeling. It may be an illusion, but I am trying. Let me continue to try. -Perhaps the will meet again.”

“Or perhaps, “ said Davan, “if you return to where you are now staying, you will eventually find yourself in an Imperial trap. You may think that the Empire will leave you alone white you struggle with psychohistory, but I am certain the Emperor and his toady Demerzel are in no mood to wait forever, any more than I am.”

“It will do them no good to hasten, “ said Seldon calmly, “since I am not on their side, as I am on yours. -Come, Dors.”

They turned and left Davan, sitting alone in his squalid room, and found Raych waiting for them outside.

76.

Raych was eating, licking his fingers, and crumpling the bag in which the food-whatever it was-had been. A strong smell of onions pervaded the air-different somehow, yeast-based perhaps.

Dors, recreating a little from the odor, said, “Where did you get the food from, Raych?”

“Davan’s guys. They brought it to me. Davan’s okay.”

“Then we don’t have to buy you dinner, do we?” said Seldon, conscious of his own empty stomach.

“Ya owe me somethin’“ said Raych, looking greedily in Dors’s direction. “How about the lady’s knife? One of ‘em.”

“No knife, “ said Dors. “You get us back safely and I’ll give you five credits.”

“Can’t get no knife for five credits, “ grumbled Raych.

“You’re not getting anything but five credits, “ said Dors.

“You’re a lousy dame, lady, “ said Raych.

“I’m a lousy dame with a quick knife, Raych, so get moving.”

“All right. Don’t get all perspired.” Raych waved his hand. “This way.”

It was back through the empty corridors, but this time Dors, looking this way and that, stopped. “Hold on, Raych. We’re being followed.”

Raych looked exasperated. “Ya ain’t supposed to hear ‘em.”

Seldon said, bending his head to one side, “I don’t hear anything.”

“I do, “ said Dors. “Now, Raych, I don’t want any fooling around. You tell me right now what’s going on or I’ll rap your head so that you won’t see straight for a week. I mean it.”

Raych held up one arm defensively. “You try it, you lousy dame. You try it. -It’s Davan’s guys. They’re just taking care of us, in case any knifers come along.”

“Davan’s guys?”

“Yeah. They’re goin’ along the service corridors.”

Dors’s right hand shot out and seized Raych by the scruff of his upper garment. She lifted and he dangled, shouting, “Hey, lady. Hey!”

Seldon said, “Dors! Don’t be hard on him.”

“I’ll be harder still if I think he’s lying. You’re my charge, Hari, not he.”

“I’m not lyin’, “ said Raych, struggling. “I’m not.”

“I’m sure he isn’t, “ said Seldon.

“Well, we’ll see. Raych, tell them to come out where we can see them.” She let him drop and dusted her hands.

“You’re some kind of nut, lady, “ said Raych aggrievedly. Then he raised his voice. “Yay, Davan! Come out here, some of ya guys!”

There was a wait and then, from an unlit opening along the corridor, two dark-mustached men came out, one with a scar running the length of his cheek. Each held the sheath of a knife in his hand, blade withdrawn.

“How many more of you are there?” asked Dors harshly.

“A few, “ said one of the newcomers. “Orders. We’re guarding you. Davan wants you safe.”

“Thank you. Try to be even quieter. Raych, keep on moving.”

Raych said sulkily, “Ya toughed me up when I was telling the truth.”

“You’re right, “ said Dors. “At least, I think you’re right . . . and I apologize.”

“I’m not sure I should accept, “ said Raych, trying to stand tall. “But awright, just this once.” He moved on.

When they reached the walkway, the unseen corps of guards vanished. At least, even Dors’s keen ears could hear them no more. By now, though, they were moving into the respectable part of the sector.

Dors said thoughtfully, “I don’t think we have clothes that would fit you, Raych.”

Raych said, “Why do ya want clothes to fit me, Missus?” (Respectability seemed to invade Raych once they were out of the corridors.) “I got clothes.”

“I thought you’d like to come into our place and take a bath.”

Raych said, “What for? I’ll wash one o’ these days. And I’ll put on my other shirt.” He looked up at Dors shrewdly. “You’re sorry ya roughed me up. Right? Ya tryin’ to make up?”

Dors smiled. “Yes. Sort of.”

Raych waved a hand in lordly fashion. “That’s all right. Ya didn’t hurt. Listen. You’re strong for a lady. Ya lifted me up like I was nothin’.”

“I was annoyed, Raych. I have to be concerned about Master Seldon.”

“Ya sort of his bodyguard?” Raych looked at Seldon inquiringly. “Ya got a lady for a bodyguard?”

“I can’t help it, “ said Seldom smiling wryly. “She insists. And she certainly knows her job.”

Dors said, “Think again, Raych. Are you sure you won’t have a bath? A nice warm bath.”

Raych said, “I got no chance. Ya think that lady is gonna let me in the house again?”

Dors looked up and saw Casilia Tisalver outside the front door of the apartment complex, staring first at the Outworld woman and then at the slum-bred boy. It would have been impossible to tell in which case her expression was angrier.

Raych said, “Well, so long, Mister and Missus. I don’t know if she’ll let either of ya in the house.” He placed his hands in his pocket and swaggered off in a fine affectation of carefree indifference.

Seldon said, “Good evening, Mistress Tisalver. It’s rather late, isn’t it?”

“It’s very late, “ she replied. “There was a near riot today outside this very complex because of that newsman you pushed the street vermin at.”

“We didn’t push anyone on anyone, “ said Dors.

“I was there, “ said Mistress Tisalver intransigently. “I saw it.”

She stepped aside to let them enter, but delayed long enough to make her reluctance quite plain.

“She acts as though that was the last straw, “ said Dors as she and Seldon made their way up to their rooms.

“So? What can she do about it?” asked Seldon.

“I wonder, “ said Dors.

Officers

RAYCH- . . . According to Hari Seldon, the original meeting with Raych was entirely accidental. He was simply a gutter urchin from whom Seldon had asked directions. But his life, from that moment on, continued to be intertwined with that of the great mathematician until .

ENCYCLOPEDIA GALACTICA

77.

The next morning, dressed from the waist down, having washed and shaved, Seldon knocked on the door that led to Dors’s adjoining room and said in a moderate voice, “Open the door, Dors.”

She did. The short reddish-gold curls of her hair were still wet and she too was dressed only from the waist down.

Seldon stepped back in embarrassed alarm. Dors looked down at the swell of her breasts indifferently and wrapped a towel around her head. “What is it?” she asked.

Seldon said, looking off to his right, “I was going to ask you about Wye.”

Dors said very naturally, “About why in connection with what? And for goodness sake, don’t make me talk to your ear. Surely, you’re not a virgin.”

Seldon said in a hurt tone, “I was merely trying to be polite. If you don’t mind, I certainly don’t. And it’s not why about what. I’m asking about the Wye Sector.”

“Why do you want to know? Or, if you prefer: Why Wye?”

“Look, Dors, I’m serious. Every once in a while, the Wye Sector is mentioned-the Mayor of Wye, actually. Hummin mentioned him, you did, Davan did. I don’t know anything about either the sector or the Mayor.”

“I’m not a native Trantorian either, Hari. I know very little, but you’re welcome to what I do know. Wye is near the south pole quite large, very populous--”

“Very populous at the south pole?”

“We’re not on Helicon, Hari. Or on Cinna either. This is Trantor. Everything is underground and underground at the poles or underground at the equator is pretty much the same. Of course, I imagine they keep their day-night arrangements rather extreme -- long days in their summer, long nights in their winter-almost as it would be on the surface. The extremes are just affectation; they’re proud of being polar.”

“But Upperside they must be cold, indeed.”

“Oh yes. The Wye Upperside is snow and ice, but it doesn’t lie as thickly there as you might think. If it did, it might crush the dome, but it doesn’t and that is the basic reason for Wye’s power.”

She turned to her mirror, removed the towel from her head, and threw the dry-net over her hair, which, in a matter of five seconds, gave it a pleasant sheen. She said, “You have no idea how glad I am not to be wearing a skincap, “ as she put on the upper portion of her clothing.

“What has the ice layer to do with Wye’s power?”

“Think about it. Forty billion people use a great deal of power and every calorie of it eventually degenerates into heat and has to be gotten rid of. It’s piped to the poles, particularly to the south pole, which is the more developed of the two, and is discharged into space. It metes most of the ice in the process and I’m sure that accounts for Trantor’s clouds and rains, no matter how much the meteorology boggins insist that things are more complicated than that.”

“Does Wye make use of the power before discharging it?”

“They may, for all I know. I haven’t the slightest idea, by the way, as to the technology involved in discharging the heat, but I’m talking about political power. If Dahl were to stop producing usable energy, that would certainly. inconvenience Trantor, but there are other sectors that produce energy and can up their production and, of course, there is stored energy in one form or another. Eventually, Dahl would have to be dealt with, but there would be time. Wye, on the other hand-’

“Yes?”

“Well, Wye gets rid of at least 90 percent of all the heat developed on Trantor and there is no substitute. If Wye were to shut down its heat emission, the temperature would start going up all over Trantor.”

“In Wye too.”

“Ate, but since Wye is at the south pole, it can arrange an influx of cold air. It wouldn’t do much good, but Wye would last longer than the rest of Trantor. The point is, then, that Wye is a very touchy problem for the Emperor and the Mayor of Wye is--or at least can be-extremely powerful.”

“And what kind of a person is the present Mayor of Wye?”

“That I don’t know. What I’ve occasionally heard would make it seem that he is very old and pretty much a recluse, but hard as a hypership hull and still cleverly maneuvering for power.”

“Why, I wonder? If he’s that old, he couldn’t hold the power for long.”

“Who knows, Hari? A lifelong obsession, I suppose. Or else it’s the game . . . the maneuvering for power, without any real longing for the power itself. Probably if he had the power and took over Demerzel’s place or even the Imperial throne itself, he would feel disappointed because the game would be over. Of nurse he might, if he was still alive, begin the subsequent game of keeping power, which might be just as difficult and just as satisfying.”

Seldon shook his head. “It strikes me that no one could possibly want to be Emperor.”

“No sane person would, I free, but the ‘Imperial wish, ‘ as it is frequently called, is like a disease that, when caught, drives out sanity. And the closer you get to high office, the more likely you are to catch the disease. With each ensuing promotion--”

“The disease grows still more acute. Yes, I can see that. But it also seems to me that Trantor is so huge a world, so interlocking in its needs and so conflicting in its ambitions, that it makes up the major part of the inability of the Emperor to rule. Why doesn’t he just leave Trantor and establish himself on some simpler world?”

Dors laughed. “You wouldn’t ask that if you knew your history. Trantor is the Empire through thousands of years of custom. An Emperor who is not at the Imperial Palace is not the Emperor. He is a place, even more than a person.”

Seldon sank into silence, his face rigid, and after a while Dors asked, What’s the matter, Hari?”

“I’m thinking, “ he said in a muffled voice. “Ever since you told me that hand-on-thigh story, I’ve had fugitive thoughts that-Now your remark about the Emperor being a place rather than a person seems to have struck a chord.”

“What kind of chord?”

Seldon shook his head. “I’m still thinking. I may be all wrong.” His glance at Dors sharpened, his eyes coming into focus. “In any case, we ought to go down and have breakfast. We’re late and I don’t think Mistress Tisalver is in a good enough humor to have it brought in for us.”

“You optimist, “ said Dors. “My own feeling is that she’s not in a good enough humor to want us to stay-breakfast or not. She wants us out of here.”

“That may be, but we’re paying her.”

“Yes, but I suspect she hates us enough by now to scorn our credits.”

“Perhaps her husband will feel a bit more affectionate concerning the rent.”

“If he has a single word to say, Hari, the only person who would be more surprised than me to hear it would be Mistress Tisalver. -Very well, I’m ready.”

And they moved down the stairs to the Tisalver portion of the apartment to find the lady in question waiting for them with less than breakfast--and with considerably more too.

78.

Casilia Tisalver stood ramrod straight with a tight smile on her round face and her dark eyes glinting. Her husband was leaning moodily against the wall. In the center of the room were two men who were standing stiffly upright, as though they had noticed the cushions on the floor but scorned them.

Both had the dark crisp hair and the chick black mustache to be expected of Dahlites. Both were thin and both were dressed in dark clothes so nearly alike that they were surely uniforms. There was thin white piping up and over the shoulders and down the sides of the tubular trouser legs. Each had, on the right side of his chest, a rather dim Spaceship-and-Sun, the symbol of the Galactic Empire on every inhabited world of the Galaxy, with, in this case, a dark “D” in the center of the sun.

Seldon realized immediately that these were two members of the Dahlite security forces.

“What’s all this?” said Seldon sternly.

One of the men stepped forward. “I am Sector Officer Lanel Russ. This is my partner, Gebore Astinwald.”

Both presented glittering identification holo-tabs. Seldon didn’t bother looking at them. “What it is you want?”

Russ said calmly, “Are you Hari Seldon of Helicon?”

“I am.”

“And are you Dors Venabili of Cinna, Mistress?”

“I am, “ said Dors.

“I’m here to investigate a complaint that one Hari Seldon instigated a riot yesterday.”

“I did no such thing, “ said Seldon.

“Our information is, “ said Russ, looking at the screen of a small computer pad, “that you accused a newsman of being an Imperial agent, thus instigating a riot against him.”

Dors said, “It was I who said he was an Imperial agent, Officer. I had reason to think he was. It is surely no crime to express one’s opinion. The Empire has freedom of speech.”

“That does not cover an opinion deliberately advanced in order to instigate a riot.”

“How can you say it was, Officer?”

At this point, Mistress Tisalver interposed in a shrill voice, “I can say it, Officer. She saw there was a crowd present, a crowd of gutter people who were just looking for trouble. She deliberately said he was an Imperial agent when she knew nothing of the sort and she shouted it to the crowd to stir them up. It was plain that she knew what she was doing.”

“Casilia, “ said her husband pleadingly, but she cast one look at him and he said no more.

Russ turned to Mistress Tisalver. “Did you lodge the complaint, Mistress?”

“Yes. These two have been living here for a few days and they’ve done nothing but make trouble. They’ve invited people of low reputation into my apartment, damaging my standing with my neighbours.”

“Is it against the law, Officer, “ asked Seldon, “to invite clean, quiet citizens of Dahl into one’s room? The two rooms upstairs are our rooms. We have rented them and they are paid for. Is it a crime to speak to Dahlites in Dahl, Officer?”

“No, it is not, “ said Russ. “That is not part of the complaint. What gave you reason, Mistress Venabili, to suppose the person you so accused was, in fact, an Imperial agent?”

Doss said, “He had a small brown mustache, from which I concluded he was not a Dahlite. I surmised he was an Imperial agent”

“You surmised? Your associate, Master Seldon, has no mustache at all. Do you surmise he is an Imperial agent?”

“In any case, “ said Seldon hastily, “there was no riot. We asked the crowd to take no action against the supposed newsman and I’m sure they didn’t.”

“You’re sure, Master Seldon?” said Russ. “Our information is that you left immediately after making your accusation. How could you witness what happened after you left?”

“I couldn’t, “ said Seldon, “but let me ask you-Is the man dead? Is the man hurt?”

“The man has been interviewed. He denies he is an Imperial agent and we have no information that he is. He also claims he was handled roughly.”

“He may well be lying in both respects, “ said Seldon. “I would suggest a Psychic Probe.”

“That cannot be done on the victim of a crime, “ said Russ. “The sector government is very firm on that. It might do if you two, as the criminals in this case, each underwent a Psychic Probe. Would you like us to do that?”

Seldon and Dors exchanged glances for a moment, then Seldon said, “No, of course not.”

“Of course not, “ repeated Russ with just a tinge of sarcasm in his voice, “hut you’re ready enough to suggest it for someone else.”

The other officer, Astinwald, who had so far not said a word, smiled at this.

Russ said, “We also have information that two days ago you engaged in a knife fight in Billibotton and badly hurt a Dahlite citizen named”-he struck a button on his computer pad and studied the new page on the screen- “Elgin Marron.”

Doss said, “Dot your information tell you how the fight started?”

“That is irrelevant at the moment, Mistress. Do you deny that the fight took place?”

“Of course we don’t deny the fight took place, “ said Seldon hotly, “but we deny that we in any way instigated that. We were attacked. Mistress Venabili was seized by this Marron and it was clear he was attempting to rape her. What happened afterward was pure self-defense. Or does Dahl condone rape?”

Russ said with very little intonation in his voice, “You say you were attacked? By how many?”

“Ten men.”

“And you alone-with a woman-defended yourself against tea men?”

“Mistress Venabili and I defended ourselves. Yes.”

“How is it, then, that neither of you shows any damage whatever? Are either of you cut or bruised where it doesn’t show right now?”

“No, Officer.”

“How is it, then, that in the fight of one-plus a woman-against ten, you are in no way hurt, but that the complainant, Elgin Marron, has been hospitalized with wounds and will require a skin transplant on his upper lip?”

“We fought well, “ said Seldon grimly.

“Unbelievably well. What would you say if I told you that three men have testified that you and your friend attacked Marron, unprovoked?”

“I would say that it belies belief that we should. I’m sure that Marron has a record as a brawler and knifeman. I tell you that there were ten there. Obviously, six refused to swear to a lie. Do the other three explain why they did not come to the help of their friend if they witnessed him under unprovoked attack and in danger of his life? It must be clear to you that they are lying.”

“Do you suggest a Psychic Probe for them?”

“Yes. And before you ask, I still refuse to consider one for us.”

Russ said, “We have also received information that yesterday, after leaving the scene of the riot, you consulted with one Davan, a known subversive who is wanted by the security police. Is that true?”

“You’ll have to prove that without help from us, “ said Seldon. “We’re not answering any further questions.”

Russ put away his pad. “I’m afraid I must ask you to come with us to headquarters for further interrogation.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary, Officer, “ said Seldon. “We are Outworlders who have done nothing criminal. We have tried to avoid a newsman who was annoying us unduly, we tried to protect ourselves against rape and possible murder in a part of the sector known for criminal behavior, and we’ve spoken to various Dahlites. We see nothing there to warrant our further questioning. It would come under the heading of harassment.”

“We make these decisions, “ said Russ. “Not you. Will you please come with us?”

“No, we will not, “ said Dors.

“Watch out!” cried out Mistress Tisalver. “She’s got two knives.”

Officer Russ sighed and said, “Thank you, Mistress, but I know she does.” He turned to Dors. “Do you know it’s a serious crime to carry a knife without a permit in this sector? Do you have a permit?”

“No, Officer, I don’t.”

“It was clearly with an illegal knife, then, that you assaulted Marron? Do you realize that that greatly increases the seriousness of the crime?”

“It was no crime, Officer, “ said Dors. “Understand that. Marron had a knife as well and no permit, I am certain.”

“We have no evidence to that effect and while Marron has knife wounds, neither of you have any.”

“Of course he had a knife, Officer. If you don’t know that every man in Billibotton and most men elsewhere in Dahl carry knives for which they probably don’t have permits, then you’re the only man in Dahl who doesn’t know. There are shops here wherever you turn that sell knives openly. Don’t you know that?”

Russ said, “It doesn’t matter what I know or don’t know in this respect. Nor does it matter whether other people are breaking the law or how many of them do. All that matters at this moment is that Mistress Venabili is breaking the anti-knife law. I must ask you to give up those knives to me right now, Mistress, and the two of you must then accompany me to headquarters.”

Dors said, “In that case, take my knives away from me.”

Russ sighed. “You must not think, Mistress, that knives are all the weapons there are in Dahl or that I need engage you in a knife fight. Both my partner and I have blasters that will destroy you in a moment, before you can drop your hands to your knife hilt-however fast you are. We won’t use a blaster, of course, because we are not here to kill you. However, each of us also has a neuronic whip, which we can use on you freely. I hope you won’t ask for a demonstration. It won’t kill you, do you permanent harm of any kind, or leave any marks--but the pain is excruciating. My partner is holding a neuronic whip on you right now. And here is mine. -Now, let us have your knives, Mistress Venabili.”

There was a moment’s pause and then Seldon said, “It’s no use, Dors. Give him your knives.”

And at that moment, a frantic pounding sounded at the door and they all heard a voice raised in high-pitched expostulation.

79.

Raych had not entirely left the neighborhood after he had walked them back to their apartment house.

He had eaten well while waiting for the interview with Davan to 6e done and later had slept a bit after finding a bathroom that more or less worked. He really had no place to go now that all that was done. He had a home of sorts and a mother who was not likely to be perturbed if he stayed away for a while. She never was.

He did not know who his father was and wondered sometimes if he really had one. He had been told he had to have one and the reasons for that had been explained to him crudely enough. Sometimes he wondered if he ought to believe so peculiar a story, but he did find the details titillating.

He thought of that in connection with the lady. She was an old lady, of course, but she was pretty and she could fight like a man better than a man. It filled him with vague notions.

And she had offered to let him take a bath. He could swim in the Billibotton pool sometimes when he had some credits he didn’t need for anything else or when he could sneak in. Those were the only times he got wet all over, but it was chilly and he had to wait to get dry.

Taking a bath was different. There would be hoc water, soap, towels, and warm air. He wasn’t sure what it would feel like, except that it would be nice if she was there.

He was walkway-wise enough to know of places where he could park himself in an alley off a walkway that would 6e near a bathroom and still be near enough to where she was, yet where he probably wouldn’t be found and made to run away.

He spent the night thinking strange thoughts. What if he did learn to read and write? Could he do something with that? He wasn’t sure what, but maybe the could cell him. He had vague ideas of being paid money to do things he didn’t know how to do now, but he didn’t know what those things might be. He would have to be cold, but how do you get told?

If he stayed with the man and the lady, they might help. But why should they want him to stay with them?

He drowsed off, coming to later, not because the light was brightening, but because his sharp ears caught the heightening and deepening of sounds from the walkway as the activities of the day began.

He had learned to identify almost every variety of sound, because in the underground maze of Billibotton, if you wanted to survive with even a minimum of comfort, you had to be aware of things before you saw them. And there was something about the sound of a ground-car motor that he now heard that signaled danger to him. It had an official sound, a hostile sound

He shook himself awake and stole quietly toward the walkway. He scarcely needed to see the Spaceship-and-Sun on the groundcar. Its lines were enough. He knew they had to be coming for the man and the lady because they had seen Davan. He did not pause to question his thoughts or to analyze them. He was off on a run, beating his way through the gathering life of the day.

He was back in less than fifteen minutes. The ground-car was still there and there were curious and cautious onlookers gazing at it from all sides and from a respectful distance. There would soon be more. He pounded his way up the stairs, trying to remember which door he should bang on. No time for the elevator.

He found the door-at least he thought he did---and he banged, shouting in a squeak, “Lady! Lady!”

He was too excited to remember her name, but he remembered part of the man’s. “Hari!” he shouted. “Let me in.”

The door opened and he rushed in-tried to rush in. The rough hand of an officer seized his arm. “Hold it, kid. Where do you think you’re going?”

“Leggo! I ain’t done nothin’.” He looked about. “Hey, lady, what’re they Join’?”

“Arresting us, “ said Dors grimly.

“What for?” said Raych, panting and struggling. “Hey, leggo, you Sunbadger. Don’t go with him, lady. You don’t have to go with him. “

“You get out, “ said Russ, shaking the boy vehemently.

“No, I ain’t, You ain’t either, Sunbadger. My whole gang is coming. You ain’t gettin’ out, less’n you let these guys go.”

“What whole gang?” said Russ, frowning.

“They’re right outside now. Prob’ly takin’ your ground-car apart. And they’ll take yore apart.”

Russ turned toward his partner, “Call headquarters. Have them send out a couple of trucks with Macros.”

“No!” shrieked Raych, breaking loose and rushing at Astinwald. “Don’t call!”

Russ levelled his neuronic whip and fired.

Raych shrieked, grasped at his right shoulder, and fell down, wriggling madly.

Russ had not yet turned back to Seldon, when the latter, seizing him by the wrist, pushed the neuronic whip up in the air and then around and behind, while stamping on his foot to keep him relatively motionless. Hari could feel the shoulder dislocate, even while Russ emitted a hoarse, agonized yell.

Astinwald raised his blaster quickly, but Dors’s left arm was around his shoulder and the knife in her right hand was at his throat.

“Don’t move!” she said. “Move a millimeter, any part of you, and I cut you through your neck to the spine. -Drop the blaster. Drop it! And the neuronic whip.”

Seldon picked up Raych, still moaning, and held him tightly. He turned to Tisalver and said, “There are people out there. Angry people. I’ll have them in here and they’ll break up everything you’ve got. They’ll smash the walls. If you don’t want that to happen, pick up those weapons and throw them into the next room. Take the weapons from the security officer on the door and do the same. Quickly! Get your wife to help. She’ll think twice next time before sending in complaints against innocent people. -Dors, this one on the floor won’t do anything for a while. Put the other one out of action, but don’t kill him.”

“Right, “ said Dors. Reversing her knife, she struck him hard on the skull with the haft. He went to his knees.

She made a face. “I hate doing that.”

“They fired at Raych, “ said Seldon, trying to mask his own sick feeling at what had happened.

They left the apartment hurriedly and, once out on the walkway, found it choked with people, almost all men, who raised a shout when they saw them emerge. They pushed in close and the smell of poorly washed humanity was overpowering.

Someone shouted, “Where are the Sunbadgers?”

“Inside, “ called out Dors piercingly. “Leave them alone. They’ll be helpless for a while, but they’ll get reinforcements, so get out of here fast”

“What about you?” came from a dozen throats.

“We’re getting out too. We won’t be back.”

“I’ll take care of them, “ shrilled Raych, struggling out of Seldon’s arms and standing on his feet. He was rubbing his right shoulder madly. “I can walk. Lemme past.”

The crowd opened for him and he said, “Mister, lady, come with me. Fast!”

They were accompanied down the walkway by several dozen men and then Raych suddenly gestured at an opening and muttered, “In here, folks. I’ll rake ya to a place no one will ever find ya. Even Davan prob’ly don’t know it. Only thing is, we got to go through the sewer levels. No one will see us there, but it’s sort of stinky . . . know what I mean?”

“I imagine we’ll survive, “ muttered Seldon.

And down they went along a narrow spiralling ramp and up rose the mephitic odors to greet them.

80.

Raych found them a hiding place. It had meant climbing up the metal rungs of a ladder and it had led them to a large loft like room, the use of which Seldon could not imagine. It was filled with equipment, bulky and silent, the function of which also remained a mystery. The room was reasonably clean and free of dust and a steady draft of air wafted through that prevented the dust from settling and-more important seemed to lessen the odor.

Raych seemed pleased. “Ain’t this nice?” he demanded. He still rubbed his shoulder now and then and winced when he rubbed too hard.

“It could be worse, “ said Seldon. “Do you know what this place is used for, Raych?”

Raych shrugged or began to do so and winced. “I dunno, “ he said. Then he added with a touch of swagger, “Who cares?”

Dors, who had sat down on the floor after brushing it with her hand and then looking suspiciously at her palm, said, “If you want a guess, I think this is part of a complex that is involved in the detoxification and recycling of wastes. The stuff must surely end up as fertilizer.”

“Then, “ said Seldon gloomily, “those who run the complex will be down here periodically and may come at any moment, for all we know.”

“I been here before, “ said Raych. “I never saw no one here.”

“I suppose Trantor is heavily automated wherever possible and if anything calls for automation it would be this treatment of wastes, “ said Dors. “We may be safe . . . for a while.”

“Not for long. We’ll get hungry and thirsty, Dors.”

“I can get food and water for us, “ said Raych. “Ya got to know how to make out if you’re an alley kid.”

“Thank you, Raych, “ said Seldon absently, “but right now I’m not hungry.” He sniffed. “I may never be hungry again.”

“You will be, “ said Dors, “and even if you lose your appetite for a while, you’ll get thirsty. At least elimination is no problem. We’re practically living over what is clearly an open sewer.”

There was silence for a while. The light was dim and Seldon wondered why the Trantorians didn’t keep it dark altogether. But then it occurred to him that he had never encountered true darkness in any public area. It was probably a habit in an energy-rich society. Strange that a world of forty billion should be energy-rich, but with the internal heat of the planet to draw upon, to say nothing of solar energy and nuclear fusion plants in space, it was. In fact, come to think of it, there was no energy-poor planet in the Empire. Was there a time when technology had been so primitive that energy poverty was possible?

He leaned against a system of pipes through which-for all he knew sewage ran. He drew away from the pipes as the thought occurred to him and he sat down next to Dors.

He said, “Is there any way we can get in touch with Chetter Hummin?”

Dors said, “As a matter of fact, I did send a message, though I hated to.”

“You hated to?”

“My orders are to protect you. Each time I have to get in touch with him, it means I’ve failed.”

Seldon regarded her out of narrowed eyes. “Do you have to be so compulsive, Dons? You can’t protect me against the security officers of an entire sector.”

“I suppose not. We can disable a few--”

“I know. We did. But they’ll send out reinforcements . . . armored ground-cars . . . neuronic cannon . . . sleeping mist. I’m not sure what they have, but they’re going to throw in their entire armory. I’m sure of it.”

“You’re probably right, “ said Dons, her mouth tightening.

“They won’t find ya, lady, “ said Raych suddenly. His sharp eyes had moved from one to the other as they talked. “They never find Davan.”

Dors smiled without joy and ruffled the boy’s hair, then looked at the palm of her hand with a little dismay. She said, “I’m not sure if you ought to stay with us, Raych. I don’t want them finding you. “

“They won’t find me and if I leave ya, who’ll get ya food and water and who’ll find ya new hidin’ places, so the Sunbadgers’ll never know where to look?”

“No, Raych, they’ll find us. They don’t really look too hard for Davan. He annoys them, but I suspect they don’t take him seriously. Do you know what I mean?”

“You mean he’s just a pain in the . . . the neck and they figure he ain’t worth chasing all over the lot.”

“Yes, that’s what I mean. But you see, we hurt two of the officers very badly and they’re not going to let us get away with that. If it takes their whole force-if they have to sweep through every hidden or unused corridor in the sector-they’ll get us.”

Raych said, “That makes me feel like . . . like natin’n’. If I didn’t run in there and get zapped, ya wouldn’t have taken out them officers and ya wouldn’t be in such trouble.”

“No, sooner or later, we’d have-uh-taken them out. Who knows? We may have to take out a few more.”

“Well, ya did it beautiful, “ said Raych. “If I hadn’t been aching all over, I could’ve watched more and enjoyed it.”

Seldon said, “It wouldn’t do us any good to try to fight the entire security system. The question is: What will they do to us once they have us? A prison sentence, surely.”

“Oh no. If necessary, we’ll have to appeal to the Emperor, “ put in Dors.

“The Emperor?” said Raych, wide-eyed. “You know the Emperor?”

Seldon waved at the boy. “Any Galactic citizen can appeal to the Emperor. -That strikes me as the wrong thing to do, Dors. Ever since Hummin and I left the Imperial Sector, we’ve been evading the Emperor.”

“Not to the extent of being thrown into a Dahlite prison. The Imperial appeal will serve as a delay-in any case, a diversion--and perhaps in the course of that delay, we can think of something else.”

“There’s Hummin.”

“Yes, there is, “ said Dors uneasily, “but we can’t consider him the doit-all. For one thing, even if my message reached him and even if he was able to rush to Dahl, how would he find us here? And, even if he did, what could he do against the entire Dahlite security force?”

“In that case, “ said Seldon. “We’re going to have to think of something we can do before they find us.”

Raych said, “If ya follow me, I can keep ya ahead of them. I know every place there is around here.”

“You can keep us ahead of one person, but there’ll be a great many, moving down any number of corridors. We’ll escape one group and bump into another.”

They sat in uncomfortable silence for a good while, each confronting what seemed to 6e a hopeless situation. Then Dors Venabili stirred and said in a tense, low whisper, “They’re here. I hear them.”

For a while, they strained, listening, then Raych sprang to his feet and hissed, “They comin’ that way. We gotta go this way.”

Seldon, confused, heard nothing at all, but would have been content to trust the others’ superior hearing, but even as Raych began moving hastily and quietly away from the direction of the approaching tread, a voice rang out echoing against the sewer walls. “Don’t move. Don’t move.”

And Raych said, “That’s Davan. How’d he know we were here?”

“Davan?” said Seldon. “Are you sure?”

“Sure I’m sure. He’ll help.”

81.

Davan asked, “What happened?”

Seldon felt minimally relieved. Surely, the addition of Davan could scarcely count against the full force of the Dahl Sector, but, then again, he commanded a number of people who might create enough confusion

He said, “You should know, Davan. I suspect that many of the crowd who were at Tisalver’s place this morning were your people.”

“Yes, a number were. The story is that you were being arrested and that you manhandled a squadron of Sunbadgers. But why were you being arrested?”

“Two, “ said Seldon, lifting two fingers. “Two Sunbadgers. And that’s bad enough. Part of the reason we were being arrested was that we had gone to see you.”

“That’s not enough. The Sunbadgers don’t bother with me much as a general thing.” He added bitterly, “They underestimate me.”

“Maybe, “ said Seldon, “out the woman from whom we rent our rooms reported us for having started a riot . . . over the newsman we ran into on our way to you. You know about that. With your people on the scene yesterday and again this morning and with two officers badly hurt, they may well decide to clean out these corridors--and that means you will suffer. I really am sorry. I had no intention or expectation of being the cause of any of this.”

But Davan shook his head. “No, you don’t know the Sunbadgers. That’s not enough either. They don’t want to clean us up. The sector would have to do something about us if they did. They’re only too happy to let us rot in Billibotton and the other slums. No, they’re after you. What have you done?”

Dors said impatiently, “We’ve done nothing and, in any case, what does it matter? If they’re not after you and they are after us, they’re going to come down here to flush us out. If you get in the way, you’ll be in deep trouble.”

“No, not me. I have friends-powerful friends, “ said Davan. “I told you that last night. And they can help you as well as me. When you refused to help us openly, I got in touch with them. They know who you are, Dr. Seldon. You’re a famous man. They’re in a position to talk to the Mayor of Dahl and see to it that you are left alone, whatever you have done. But you’ll have to be taken a way out of Dahl.”

Seldon smiled. Relief flooded over him. He said, “You know someone powerful, do you, Davan? Someone who responds at once, who has the ability to talk the Dahl government out of taking drastic steps, and who can take us away? Good. I’m not surprised.” He turned to Dors, smiling. “It’s Mycogen all over again. How does Hummin do it?”

But Dors shook her head. “Too quick. -I don’t understand.”

Seldon said, “I believe he can do anything.”

“I know him better than you do--and longer--and I don’t believe that.”

Seldon smiled, “Don’t underestimate him.” And then, as though anxious not to linger longer on that subject, he turned to Davan. “But how did you find us? Raych said you knew nothing about this place.”

“He don’t, “ shrilled Raych indignantly. “This place is all mine. I found it.”

“I’ve never been here before, “ said Davan, looking about. “It’s an interesting place. Raych is a corridor creature, perfectly at home in this maze.”

“Yes, Davan, we gathered as much ourselves. But how did you find it?”

“A heat-seeker. I have a device that detects infra-red radiation, the particular thermal pattern that is given off at thirty-seven degrees Celsius. It will react to the presence of human beings and not to other heat sources. It reacted to you three.”

Dons was frowning. “What good is that on Trantor, where there are human beings everywhere? They have them on other worlds, but--”

Davan said, “But not on Trantor. I know. Except that they are useful in the slums, in the forgotten, decaying corridors and alleyways.”

“And where did you get it?” asked Seldon.

Davan said, “It’s enough that I have it. --but we’ve got to get you away, Master Seldon. Too many people want you and I want my powerful friend to have you.”

“Where is he, this powerful friend of yours?”

“He’s approaching. At least a new thirty-seven-degree source is registering and I don’t see that it can be anyone else.”

Through the door strode a newcomer, but Seldon’s glad exclamation died on his lips. It was not Chetter Hummin.

Wye

WYE- . . . A sector of the world-city of Trantor . . . In the latter centuries of the Galactic Empire, Wye was the strongest and stablest portion of the world-city. Its rulers had long aspired to the Imperial throne, justifying that by their descent from early Emperors. Under Mannix IV, Wye was militarized and (Imperial authorities later claimed) was planning a planet-wide coup .

ENCYCLOPEDIA GALACTICA

82.

The man who entered was tall and muscular. He had a long blond mustache that curled up at the tips and a fringe of hair that went down the sides of his face and under his chin, leaving the point of his chin and his lower lip smoothly bare and seeming a little moist. His head was so closely cropped and his hair was so fight that, for one unpleasant moment, Seldon was reminded of Mycogen.

The newcomer wore what was unmistakably a uniform. It was red and white and about his waist was a wide belt decorated with silver studs.

His voice, when he spoke, was a rolling bass and its accent was not like any that Seldon had heard before. Most unfamiliar accents sounded uncouth in Seldon’s experience, but this one seemed almost musical, perhaps because of the richness of the low tones.

“I am Sergeant Emmer Thalus, “ he rumbled in a slow succession of syllables. “I have come seeking Dr. Hari Seldon.”

Seldon said, “I am he.” In an aside to Dors, he muttered, “if Hummin couldn’t come himself, he certainly sent a magnificent side of beef to represent him.”

The sergeant favored Seldon with a stolid and slightly prolonged look. Then he said, “Yes. You have been described to me. Please come with me, Dr. Seldon.”

Seldon said, “Lead the way.”

The sergeant stepped backward. Seldon and Dors Venabili stepped forward.

The sergeant stopped and raised a large hand, palm toward Dors. “I have been instructed to take Dr. Hari Seldon with me. I have not been instructed to take anyone else.”

For a moment, Seldon looked at him uncomprehendingly. Then his look of surprise gave way to anger. “It’s quite impossible that you have been told that, Sergeant. Dr. Dors Venabili is my associate and my companion. She must come with me.”

“That is nor in accordance with my instructions, Doctor.”

“I don’t care about your instructions in any way, Sergeant Thalus. I do not budge without her.”

“What’s more, “ said Dors with clear irritation, “my instructions are to protect Dr. Seldon at all times. I cannot do that unless I am with him. Therefore, where he goes, I go.”

The sergeant looked puzzled. “My instructions are strict that I see to it that no harm comes to you, Dr. Seldon. If you will not come voluntarily, I must carry you to my vehicle. I will try to do so gently.”

He extended his two arms as though to seize Seldon by the waist and carry him off bodily.

Seldon skittered backward and out of reach. As he did so, the side of his fight palm came down on the sergeant’s right upper arm where the muscles were thinnest, so that he struck the bone.

The sergeant drew a sudden deep breath and seemed to shake himself a bit, but turned, face expressionless, and advanced again. Davan, watching, remained where he was, motionless, but Raych moved behind the sergeant

Seldon repeated his palm stroke a second time, then a third, but now Sergeant Thalus, anticipating the blow, lowered his shoulder to catch it on hard muscle.

Dors had drawn her knives.

“Sergeant, “ she said forcefully. “Turn in this direction, I want you to understand I may be forced to hurt you severely if you persist in attempting to carry Dr. Seldon off against his will.”

The sergeant paused, seemed to take in the slowly waving knives solemnly, then said, “It is not in my instructions to refrain from harming anyone but Dr. Seldon.”

His right hand moved with surprising speed toward the neuronic whip in the holster at his hip. Dors moved as quickly forward, knives flashing.

Neither completed the movement.

Dashing forward, Raych had pushed at the sergeant’s back with his left hand and withdrew the sergeant’s weapon from its holster with his right He moved away quickly, holding the neuronic whip in both hands now and shouting, “Hands up, Sergeant, or you’re gonna get it!”

The sergeant whirled and a nervous look crossed his reddening face. It was the only moment that its stolidity had weakened. “Put that down, sonny, “ he growled. “You don’t know how it works.”

Raych howled, “I know about the safety. It’s off and this thing can fire. And it will if you try to rush me.”

The sergeant froze. He clearly knew how dangerous it was to have an excited twelve-year-old handling a powerful weapon.

Nor did Seldon feel much better. He said, “Careful, Raych. Don’t shoot. Keep your finger off the contact.”

“I ain’t gonna let him rush me.”

“He won’t. -Sergeant, please don’t move. Let’s get something straight. You were told to take me away from here. Is that right?”

“That’s right, “ said the sergeant, eyes somewhat protruding and firmly fixed on Raych (whose eyes were as firmly fixed on the sergeant).

“But you were not cold to take anyone else. Is that right?”

“No, I was not, Doctor, “ said the sergeant firmly. Not even the threat of a neuronic whip was going to make him weasel. One could see that.

“Very well, but listen to me, Sergeant. Were you told not to take anyone else?”

“I just said-

“No no. Listen, Sergeant. There’s a difference. Were your instructions simply ‘Take Dr. Seldon!’? Was that the entire order, with no mention of anyone else, or were the orders more specific? Were your orders as follows: ‘Take Dr. Seldon and don’t take anyone else’?”

The sergeant turned that over in his head, then he said, “I was told to take you, Dr. Seldon.”

“Then there was no mention of anyone else, one way or the other, was there?”

Pause. “No.”

“You were not told to take Dr. Venabili, but you were not told not to take Dr. Venabili either. Is that right?”

Pause. “Yes.”

“So you can either take her or not take her, whichever you please?”

Long pause. “I suppose so.”

“Now then, here’s Raych, the young fellow who’s got a neuronic whip pointing at you your neuronic whip, remember--and he is anxious to use it.”

“Yay!” shouted Raych.

“Not yet, Raych, “ said Seldon. “And here is Dr. Venabili with two knives that she can use very expertly and there’s myself, who can, if I get the chance, break your Adam’s apple with one hand so that you’ll never speak above a whisper again. Now then, do you want to take Dr. Venabili or don’t you want to? Your orders allow you to do either.”

And finally the sergeant said in a beaten voice, “I will take the woman.”

“And the boy, Raych.”

“And the boy.”

“Good. Have I your word of honor-your word of honor as a soldier that you will do as you have just said . . . honestly?”

“You have my word of honor as a soldier, “ said the sergeant.

“Good. Raych, give back the whip. -Now. -Don’t make me wait.”

Raych, his face twisted into an unhappy grimace, looked at Dors, who hesitated and then slowly nodded her head. Her face was as unhappy as Raych’s.

Raych held out the neuronic whip to the sergeant and said, “They’re makin’ me, ya big--” His last words were unintelligible.

Seldon said, “Put away your knives, Dors.”

Dors shook her head, but put them away.

“Now, Sergeant?” said Seldon.

The sergeant looked at the neuronic whip, then at Seldon. He said, “You are an honorable man, Dr. Seldon, and my word of honor holds.” With a military snap, he placed his neuronic whip in his holster.

Seldon turned to Davan and said, “Davan, please forget what you have seen here. We three are going voluntarily with Sergeant Thalus. You tell Yugo Amaryl when you see him that I will not forget him and that, once this is over and I am free to act, I will see that he gets into a University. And if there’s anything reasonable I can ever do for your cause, Davan, I will. -Now, Sergeant, let’s go.”

83.

“Have you ever been in an air-jet before, Raych?” asked Hari Seldon.

Raych shook his head speechlessly. He was looking down at Upperside rushing beneath them with a mixture of fright and awe.

It struck Seldon again how much Trantor was a world of Expressways and tunnels. Even long trips were made underground 6y the general population. Air travel, however common it might be on the Outworlds, was a luxury on Trantor and an air-jet like this-

How had Hummin managed it? Seldon wondered.

He looked out the window at the rise and fall of the domes, at the general green in this area of the planet, the occasional patches of what were little less than jungles, the arms of the sea they occasionally passed over, with its leaden waters taking on a sudden all too-brief sparkle when the sun peeped out momentarily from the heavy cloud layer.

An hour or so into the flight, Dors, who was viewing a new historical novel without much in the way of apparent enjoyment, clicked it off and said, “I wish I knew where we were going.”

“If you can’t tell, “ said Seldon, “then I certainly can’t. You’ve been on Trantor longer than I have.”

“Yes, but only on the inside, “ said Dors. “Out here, with only Upperside below me, I’m as lost as an unborn infant would be.”

“Oh well. -Presumably, Hummin knows what he’s doing.”

“I’m sure he does, “ replied Dors rather tartly, “but that may have nothing to do with the present situation. Why do you continue to assume any of this represents his initiative?”

Seldon’s eyebrows lifted. “Now that you ask, I don’t know. I just assumed it. Why shouldn’t this be his?”

“Because whoever arranged it didn’t specify that I be taken along with you. I simply don’t see Hummin forgetting my existence. And because he didn’t come himself, as he did at Streeling and at Mycogen.”

“You can’t always expect him to, Dors. He might well be occupied. The astonishing thing is nor that he didn’t come on this occasion but that he did come on the previous ones.”

“Assuming he didn’t come himself, would he send a conspicuous and lavish flying palace like this?” She gestured around her at the large luxurious jet.

“It might simply have been available. And he might have reasoned that no one would expect something as noticeable as this to be carrying fugitives who were desperately trying to avoid detection. The well-known double-double-cross.”

“Too well-known, in my opinion. And would he send an idiot like Sergeant Thalus in his place?”

“The sergeant is no idiot. He’s simply been trained to complete obedience. With proper instructions, he could be utterly reliable.”

“There you are, Hari. We come back to that. Why didn’t he get proper instructions? It’s inconceivable to me that Chetter Hummin would tell him to carry you out of Dahl and not say a word about me. Inconceivable.”

And to that Seldon had no answer and his spirits sank.

Another hour passed and Dors said, “It looks as if it’s getting colder outside. The green of Upperside is turning brown and I believe the heaters have turned on.”

“What does that signify?”

“Dahl is in the tropic zone so obviously we’re going either north or south--and a considerable distance too. If I had some notion in which direction the nightline was I could tell which.”

Eventually, they passed over a section of shoreline where there was a rim of ice hugging the domes where they were rimmed by the sea.

And then, quite unexpectedly, the air-jet angled downward.

Raych screamed, “We’re goin’ to hit! We’re goin’ to smash up!”

Seldon’s abdominal muscles tightened and he clutched the arms of his seat.

Dors seemed unaffected. She said, “The pilots up front don’t seem alarmed. We’ll be tunneling.”

And, as she said so, the jet’s wings swept backward and under it and, like a bullet, the air-jet encored a tunnel. Blackness swept back over them in an instant and a moment later the lighting system in the tunnel turned on. The walls of the tunnel snaked past the jet on either side.

“I don’t suppose I’ll ever be sure they know the tunnel isn’t already occupied, “ muttered Seldon.

“I’m sure they had reassurance of a clear tunnel some dozens of kilometers earlier, “ said Dors. “At any rate, I presume this is the last stage of the journey and soon we’ll know where we are.”

She paused and then added, “And I further presume we won’t like the knowledge when we have it.”

84.

The air-jet sped out of the tunnel and onto a long runway with a roof so high that it seemed closer to true daylight than anything Seldon had seen since he had left the Imperial Sector.

They came to a halt in a shorter time than Seldon would have expected, but at the price of an uncomfortable pressure forward. Raych, in particular, was crushed against the seat before him and was finding it difficult to breath rill Dors’s hand on his shoulder pulled him back slightly.

Sergeant Thalus, impressive and erect, left the jet and moved to the rear, where he opened the door of the passenger compartment and helped the three out, one by one.

Seldon was last. He half-turned as he passed the sergeant, saying, “It was a pleasant trip, Sergeant.”

A slow smite spread over the sergeant’s large face and lifted his moustached upper lip. He touched the visor of his cap in what was half a salute and said, “Thank you again, Doctor.”

They were then ushered into the backseat of a ground-car of lavish design and the sergeant himself pushed into the front seat and drove the vehicle with a surprisingly light touch.

They passed through wide roadways, flanked by tall, well-designed buildings, all glistening in broad daylight. As elsewhere on Trantor, they heard the distant drone of an Expressway. The walkways were crowded with what were, for the most part, well-dressed people. The surroundings were remarkably-almost excessively clean.

Seldon’s sense of security sank further. Dors’s misgivings concerning their destination now seemed justified after all. He leaned coward her and said, “Do you think we are back in the Imperial Sector?”

She said, “No, the buildings are more rococo in the Imperial Sector and there’s less Imperial parkishness to this sector-if you know what I mean.”

“Then where are we, Dors?

“We’ll have to ask, I’m afraid, Hari.”

It was not a long trip and soon they rolled into a car-bay that flanked an imposing four-story structure. A frieze of imaginary animals ran along the top, decorated with strips of warm pink stone. It was an impressive facade with a rather pleasing design.

Seldon said, “That certainly looks rococo enough.”

Dors shrugged uncertainly.

Raych whistled and said in a failing attempt to sound unimpressed, “Hey, look at that fancy place.”

Sergeant Thalus gestured to Seldom clearly indicating that he was to follow. Seldon hung back and, also relying on the universal language of gesture, held out both arms, clearly including Dors and Raych.

The sergeant hesitated in a slightly hangdog fashion at the impressive pink doorway. His mustache almost seemed to droop.

Then he said gruffly, “All three of you, then. My word of honor holds. -Still, others may not feel obligated by my own obligation, you know.”

Seldon nodded. “I hold you responsible for your own deeds only, Sergeant.”

The sergeant was clearly moved and, for a moment, his face lightened as though he was considering the possibility of shaking Seldon’s hand or expressing heartfelt his approval in some other way. He decided against it, however, and stepped onto the bottom step of the flight that led to the door. The stairs immediately began a stately upward movement.

Seldon and Dors stepped after him at once and kept their balance without much trouble. Raych, who was momentarily staggered in surprise, jumped onto the moving stairs after a short run, shoved both hands into his pockets, and whistled carelessly.

The door opened and two women stepped out, one on either side in symmetrical fashion. They were young and attractive. Their dresses, belted tightly about the waist and reaching nearly to their ankles, fell in crisp pleats and rustled when they walked. Both had brown hair that was coiled in thick plaits on either side of their heads. (Seldon found it attractive, but wondered how long it took them each morning to arrange it just so. He had not been aware of so elaborate a coiffure on the women they had passed in the streets.)

The two women stared at the newcomers with obvious contempt. Seldon was not surprised. After the day’s events, he and Dors looked almost as disreputable as Raych.

Yet the women managed to bow decorously and then made a half-turn and gestured inward in perfect unison and with symmetry carefully maintained. (Did they rehearse these things?) It was clear that the three were to enter.

They stepped through an elaborate room, cluttered with furniture and decorative items whose use Seldon did not readily understand. The floor was light-colored, springy, and glowed with luminescence. Seldon noted with some embarrassment that their footwear left dusty marks upon it.

And then an inner door was flung open and yet another woman emerged. She was distinctly older than the first two (who sank slowly as she came in, crossing their legs symmetrically as they did so in a way that made Seldon marvel that they could keep their balance; it undoubtedly took a deal of practice).

Seldon wondered if he too was expected to display some ritualized form of respect, but since he hadn’t the faintest notion of what this might consist of, he merely bowed his head slightly. Dors remained standing erect and, it seemed to Seldon, did so with disdain. Raych was staring open-mouthed in all directions and looked as though he didn’t even see the woman who had just entered.

She was plump-nor fat, but comfortably padded. She wore her hair precisely as the young ladies did and her dress was in the same style, but much more richly ornamented-too much so to suit Seldon’s aesthetic notions.

She was clearly middle-aged and there was a hint of gray in her hair, but the dimples in her cheeks gave her the appearance of having rather more than a dash of youth. Her light brown eyes were merry and on the whole she looked more motherly than old.

She said, “How are you? All of you.” (She showed no surprise at the presence of Dors and Raych, but included them easily in her greeting.) “I’ve been waiting for you for some time and almost had you on Upperside at Streeling. You are Dr. Hari Seldon, whom I’ve been looking forward to meeting. You, I think, must be Dr. Dors Venabili, for you had been reported to be in his company. This young man I fear I do not know, but I am pleased to see him. But we must not spend our time talking, for I’m sure you would like to rest first.”

“And bathe, Madam, “ said Dors rather forcefully, “Each of us could use a thorough shower.”

“Yes, certainly, “ said the woman, “and a change in clothing. Especially the young man.” She looked down at Raych without any of the look of contempt and disapproval that the two young women had shown.

She said, “What is your name, young man?”

“Raych, “ said Raych in a rather choked and embarrassed voice. He then added experimentally, “Missus.”

“What an odd coincidence, “ said the woman, her eyes sparkling. “An omen, perhaps. My own name is Rashelle. Isn’t that odd? --but come. We shall take care of you all. Then there will be plenty of time to have dinner and to talk.”

“Wait, Madam, “ said Dors. “May I ask where we are?”

“Wye, dear. And please call me Rashelle, as you come to feel more friendly. I am always at ease with informality.”

Dors stiffened. “Are you surprised that we ask? Isn’t it natural that we should wane to know where we are?”

Rashelle laughed in a pleasant, tinkling manner. “Really, Dr. Venabili, something must be done about the name of this place. I was not asking a question but making a statement. You asked where you were and I did not ask you why. I told you, Wye.’ You are in the Wye Sector.”

“In Wye?” said Seldon forcibly.

“Yes indeed, Dr. Seldon. We’ve wanted you from the day you addressed the Decennial Convention and we are so glad to have you now.”

85.

Actually, it took a full day to rest and unstiffen, to wash and get clean, to obtain new clothes (satiny and rather loose, in the style of Wye), and to sleep a good deal.

It was during the second evening in Wye that there was the dinner that Madam Rashelle had promised.

The table was a large one-too large, considering that there were only four dining: Hari Seldon, Dors Venabili, Raych, and Rashelle. The walls and ceiling were softly illuminated and the colors changed at a rate that caught the eye but not so rapidly as in any way to discommode the mind. The very tablecloth, which was not cloth (Seldon had not made up his mind what it might be), seemed to sparkle.

The servers were many and silent and when the door opened it seemed to Seldon that he caught a glimpse of soldiers, armed and at the ready, outside. The room was a velvet glove, but the iron fist was not far distant.

Rashelle was gracious and friendly and had clearly taken a particular liking to Raych, who, she insisted, was to sit next to her.

Raych-scrubbed, polished, and shining, all but unrecognizable in his new clothes, with his hair clipped, cleaned, and brushed -- scarcely dared to say a word. It was as though he felt his grammar no longer fit his appearance. He was pitifully ill at ease and he watched Dors carefully as she switched from utensil to utensil, trying to match her exactly in every respect.

The food was tasty but spicy-to the point where Seldon could not recognize the exact nature of the dishes.

Rashelle, her plump face made happy by her gentle smile and her fine teeth gleaming white, said, “You may think we have Mycogenian additives in the food, but we do not. It is all homegrown in Wye. There is no sector on the planet more self-sufficient than Wye. We labor hard to keep that so.”

Seldon nodded gravely and said, “Everything you have given us is first-rate, Rashelle. We are much obliged to you.”

And yet within himself he thought the food was not quite up to Mycogenian standards and he felt moreover, as he had earlier muttered to Dors, that he was celebrating his own defeat. Or Hummin’s defeat, at any rare, and that seemed to him to be the same thing.

After all, he had been captured by Wye, the very possibility that had so concerned Hummin at the time of the incident Upperside.

Rashelle said, “Perhaps, in my role as hostess, I may be forgiven if I ask personal questions. Am I correct in assuming that you three do not represent a family; that you, Hari, and you, Dors, are not married and that Raych is not your son?”

“The three of us are not related in any way, “ said Seldon. “Raych was born on Trantor, I on Helicon, Dors on Cinna.”

“And how did you all meet, then?”

Seldon explained briefly and with as little detail as he could manage . “There’s nothing romantic or significant in the meetings, “ he added.

“Yet I am given to understand that you raised difficulties with my personal aide, Sergeant Thalus, when he wanted to take only you out of Dahl.”

Seldon said gravely, “I had grown fond of Dors and Raych and did not wish to be separated from them.”

Rashelle smiled and said, “You are a sentimental man, I see.”

“Yes, I am. Sentimental. And puzzled too.”

“Puzzled?”

“Why yes. And since you were so kind as to ask personal questions of us, may I ask one as well?”

“Of course, my dear Hari. Ask anything you please.”

“When we first arrived, you said that Wye has wanted me from the day I addressed the Decennial Convention. For what reason might that be?”

“Surely, you are not so simple as not to know. We want you for your psychohistory.”

“That much I do understand. But what makes you think that having me means you have psychohistory?”

“Surely, you have not been so careless as to lose it.”

“Worse, Rashelle. I have never had it”

Rashelle’s face dimpled. “But you said you had it in your talk. Not that I understood your talk. I am not a mathematician. I hate numbers. But I have in my employ mathematicians who have explained to me what it is you said.”

“In that case, my dear Rashelle, you must listen more closely. I can well imagine they have cold you that I have proven that psychohistorical predictions are conceivable, but surely they must also have cold you that they are not practical.”

“I can’t believe that, Hari. The very next day, you were called into an audience with that pseudo-Emperor, Cleon.”

“The pseudo-Emperor?” murmured Dors ironically.

“Why yes, “ said Rashelle as though she was answering a serious question. “Pseudo-Emperor. He has no true claim to the throne.”

“Rashelle, “ said Seldon, brushing that aside a bit impatiently, “I told Cleon exactly what I have just told you and he let me go.”

Now Rashelle did nor smile. A small edge crept into her voice. “Yes, he let you go the way the cat in the fable lets a mouse go. He has been pursuing you ever since-in Streeling, in Mycogen, in Dahl. He would pursue you here if he dared. But come now-our serious talk is too serious. Let us enjoy ourselves. Let us have music.”

And at her words, there suddenly sounded a soft but joyous instrumental melody. She leaned toward Raych and said softly, “My boy, if you are not at ease with the fork, use your spoon or your fingers. I won’t mind.”

Raych said, “Yes, mum, “ and swallowed hard, but Dors caught his eye and her lips silently mouthed: “Fork.”

He remained with his fork.

Dors said, “The music is lovely, Madam”-she pointedly rejected the familiar form of address “but it must not he allowed to distract us. There is the thought in my mind that the pursuer in all those places might have been in the employ of the Wye Sector. Surely, you would not be so well acquainted with events if Wye were not the prime mover.”

Rashelle laughed aloud. “Wye has its eyes and ears everywhere, of course, but we were not the pursuers. Had we been, you would have been picked up without fail-as you were in Dahl finally when, indeed, we were the pursuers. When, however, there is a pursuit that fails, a grasping hand that misses, you may be sure that it is Demerzel.”

“Do you think so little of Demerzel?” murmured Dors.

“Yes. Does that surprise you? We have beaten him.”

“You? Or the Wye Sector?”

“The sector, of course, but insofar as Wye is the victor, then I am the victor.”

“How strange, “ said Dors. “There seems to be a prevalent opinion throughout Trantor that the inhabitants of Wye have nothing to do with victory, with defeat, or with anything else. It is felt that there is but one will and one fist in Wye and that is that of the Mayor. Surely, you--or any other Wyan-weigh nothing in comparison.”

Rashelle smiled broadly. She paused to look at Raych benevolently and to pinch his cheek, then said, “If you believe that our Mayor is an autocrat and that there is but one will that sways Wye, then perhaps you are right. But, even so, I can still use the personal pronoun, for my will is of account.”

“Why yours?” said Seldon. “Why not?” said Rashelle as the servers began clearing the table. “I am the Mayor of Wye.”

86.

It was Raych who was the first to react to the statement. Quite forgetting the cloak of civility that sat upon him so uncomfortably, he laughed raucously and said, “Hey, lady, ya can’t be Mayor. Mayors is guys.”

Rashelle looked at him good-naturedly and said in a perfect imitation of his tone of voice, “Hey, kid, some Mayors is guys and some Mayors is dames. Put that under your lid and let it bubble.”

Raych’s eyes protruded and he seemed stunned. Finally he managed to say, “Hey, ya talk regular, lady.”

“Sure thing. Regular as ya want, “ said Rashelle, still smiling.

Seldon cleared his throat and said, “That’s quite an accent you have, Rashelle.”

Rashelle tossed her head slightly. “I haven’t had occasion to use it in many years, but one never forgets. I once had a friend, a good friend, who was a Dahlite-when I was very young.” She sighed. “He didn’t speak that way, of course-he was quite intelligent but he could do so if he wished and he taught me. It was exciting to talk so with him. It created a world that excluded our surroundings. It was wonderful. It was also impossible. My father made that plain. And now along comes this young rascal, Raych, to remind me of those long-ego days. He has the accent, the eyes, the impudent cast of countenance, and in six years or so he will be a delight and terror to the young women. Won’t you, Raych?”

Raych said, “I dunno, lady-uh, mum.”

“I’m sure you will and you will come to look very much like my . . . old friend and it will be much more comfortable for me not to see you then. And now, dinner’s over and it’s time for you to go to your room, Raych. You can watch holovision for a while if you wish. I don’t suppose you read.”

Raych reddened. “I’m gonna read someday. Master Seldon says I’m gonna.”

“Then I’m sure you will.”

A young woman approached Raych, curtsying respectfully in Rashelle’s direction. Seldon had not seen the signal that had summoned her.

Raych said, “Can’t I stay with Master Seldon and Missus Venabili?”

“You’ll see them later, “ said Rashelle gently, “but Master and Missus and I have to Talk right now-so you must go.”

Dors mouthed a firm “Go!” at Raych and with a grimace the boy slid out of his chair and followed the attendant.

Rashelle turned to Seldon and Dors once Raych was gone and said, “The boy will be safe, of course, and treated well. Please have no fears about that. And I will be safe too. As my woman approached just now, so will a dozen armed men--and much more rapidly-when summoned. I want you to understand that.”

Seldon said evenly, “We are in no way thinking of attacking you, Rashelle--or must I now say, ‘Madam Mayor’?”

“Still Rashelle. I am given to understand that you are a wrestler of sorts, Hari, and you, Dors, are very skillful with the knives we have removed from your room. I don’t want you to rely uselessly on your skills, since I want Hari alive, unharmed, and friendly.”

“It is quite well understood, Madam Mayor, “ said Dors, her lack of friendship uncompromised, “that the ruler of Wye, now and for the past forty years, is Mannix, Fourth of that Name, and that he is still alive and in full possession of his faculties. Who, then, are you really?”

“Exactly who I say I am, Dors. Mannix IV is my father. He is, as you say, still alive and in possession of his faculties. In the eyes of the Emperor and of all the Empire, he is Mayor of Wye, but he is weary of the strains of power and is willing, at last, to let them slip into my hands, which are just as willing to receive them. I am his only child and I was brought up all my life to rule. My father is therefore Mayor in law and name, but I am Mayor in fact. It is to me, now, that the armed forces of Wye have sworn allegiance and in Wye that is all that counts.”

Seldon nodded. “Let it be as you say. But even so, whether it is Mayor Mannix IV or Mayor Rashelle I-it is the First, I suppose there is no purpose in your holding me. I have told you that I don’t have a workable psychohistory and I do not think that either I or anyone else will ever have one. I have cold that to the Emperor. I am of no use either to you or to him.”

Rashelle said, “How naive you are. Do you know the history of the Empire?”

Seldon shook his head. “I have recently come to wish that I knew it much better.”

Dors said dryly, “I know Imperial history quite well, though the pre-Imperial age is my specialty, Madam Mayor. But what does it matter whether we do or do not?”

“If you know your history, you know that the House of Wye is ancient and honorable and is descended from the Dacian dynasty.”

Dors said, “The Dacians ruled five thousand years ago. The number of their descendants in the hundred and fifty generations that have lived and died since then may number half the population of the Galaxy-if all genealogical claims, however outrageous, are accepted.”

“Our genealogical claims, Dr. Venabili”-Rashelle’s tone of voice was, for the first time, cold and unfriendly and her eyes flashed like steel--”are not outrageous. They are fully documented. The House of Wye has maintained itself consistently in positions of power through all those generations and there have been occasions when we have held the Imperial throne and have ruled as Emperors.”

“The history book-films, “ said Dors, “usually refer to the Wye rulers as ‘anti-Emperors, ‘ never recognized by the bulk of the Empire.”

“It depends on who writes the history book-films. In the future, we wilt, for the throne which has been ours will be ours again.”

“To accomplish that, you must bring about civil war.”

“There won’t be much risk of that, “ said Rashelle. She was smiling again. “That is what I must explain to you because I want Dr. Seldon’s help in preventing such a catastrophe. My father, Mannix IV, has been a man of peace all his life. He has been loyal to whomever it might be that ruled in the Imperial Palace and he has kept Wye a prosperous and strong pillar of the Trantorian economy for the good of all the Empire.”

“I don’t know that the Emperor has ever trusted him any the more for all that, “ said Dors.

“I’m sure that is so, “ said Rashelle calmly, “for the Emperors that have occupied the Palace in my father’s time have known themselves to be usurpers of a usurping line. Usurpers cannot afford to trust the true rulers. And yet my father has kept the peace. He has, of course, developed and trained a magnificent security force to maintain the peace, prosperity, and stability of the sector and the Imperial authorities have allowed this because they wanted Wye peaceful, prosperous, stable--and loyal.”

“But is it loyal?” said Dors.

“To the true Emperor, of course, “ said Rashelle, “and we have now reached the stage where our strength is such that we can take over the government quickly-in a lightning stroke, in fact--and before one can say ‘civil war’ there will be a true Emperor--or Empress, if you prefer--and Trantor will be as peaceful as before.”

Dors shook her head. “May I enlighten you? As a historian?”

“I am always willing to listen.” And she inclined her head ever so slightly toward Dors.

“Whatever size your security force may be, however well-trained and well-equipped, they cannot possibly equal in size and strength the Imperial forces backed by twenty-five million worlds.”

“Ah, but you have put your finger on the usurper’s weakness, Dr. Venabili. There are twenty-five million worlds, with the Imperial forces scattered over them. Those forces are thinned out over incalculable space, under uncounted officers, none of them particularly ready for any action outside their own Provinces, many ready for action in their own interest rather than in the Empire’s. Our forces, on the other hand, are all here, all on Trantor. We can act and conclude before the distant generals and admirals can get it through their heads that they are needed.”

“But that response will come--and with irresistible force.”

“Are you certain of that?” said Rashelle. “We will be in the Palace. Trantor will be ours and at peace. Why should the Imperial forces stir when, by minding their own business, each petty military leader can have his own world to rule, his own Province?”

“But is that what you want?” asked Seldon wonderingly. “Are you telling me that you look forward to ruling over an Empire that will break up into splinters?”

Rashelle said, “That is exactly right. I would rule over Trantor, over its outlying space settlements, over the few nearby planetary systems that are part of the Trantorian Province. I would much rather be Emperor of Trantor than Emperor of the Galaxy.”

“You would be satisfied with Trantor only, “ said Dors in tones of the deepest disbelief.

“Why not?” said Rashelle, suddenly ablaze. She leaned forward eagerly, both hands pressed palms-down on the table. “That is what my father has been planning for forty years. He is only clinging to life now to witness its fulfillment. Why do we need millions of worlds, distant worlds that mean nothing to us, that weaken us, that draw our forces far away from us into meaningless cubic parsecs of space, that drown us in administrative chaos, that ruin us with their endless quarrels and problems when they are all distant nothings as far as we are concerned? Our own populous world-our own planetary city-is Galaxy enough for us. We have all we need to support ourselves. As for the rest of the Galaxy, let it splinter. Every petty militarist can have his own splinter. They needn’t fight. There will be enough for all.”

“But they will fight, just the same, “ said Dors. “Each will refuse to be satisfied with his Province. Each will feat that his neighbor is not satisfied with his Province. Each will feel insecure and will dream of Galactic rule as the only guarantee of safety. This is certain, Madam Empress of Nothing. There will be endless wars into which you and Trantor will be inevitably drawn-to the ruin of all.”

Rashelle said with clear contempt, “So it might seem, if one could see no farther than you do, if one relied on the ordinary lessons of history.”

“What is there to see farther?” retorted Dors. “What is one to rely on beyond the lessons of history?”

“What lies beyond?” said Rashelle. “Why, he.’“

And her arm shot outward, her index finger jabbing toward Seldon.

“Me?” said Seldon. “I have already told you that psychohistory--”

Rashelle said, “Do not repeat what you have already said, my good Dr. Seldon. We gain nothing by that. -Do you think, Dr. Venabili, that my father was never aware of the danger of endless civil war? Do you think he did not bend his powerful mind to thinking of some way to prevent that? He has been prepared at any time these last ten years to take over the Empire in a day. It needed only the assurance of security beyond victory.”

“Which you can’t have, “ said Dors.

“Which we had the moment we heard of Dr. Seldon’s paper at the Decennial Convention. I saw at once that that was what we needed. My father was too old to see the significance at once. When I explained it, however, he saw it too and it was then that he formally transferred his power to me. So it is to you, Hari, that I owe my position and to you I will owe my greater position in the future.”

“I keep telling you that it cannot--” began Seldon with deep annoyance.

“It is not important what can or cannot be done. What is important is what people will or will not believe can be done. They will believe you, Hari, when you tell them the psychohistoric prediction is that Trantor can rule itself and that the Provinces can become Kingdoms that will live together in peace.”

“I will make no such prediction, “ said Seldon, “in the absence of true psychohistory. I won’t play the charlatan. If you want something like that, you say it.”

“Now, Hari. They won’t believe me. It’s you they will believe. The great mathematician. Why not oblige them?”

“As it happens, “ said Seldom “the Emperor also thought to use me as a source of self-serving prophecies. I refused to do it for him, so do you think I will agree to do it for you?”

Rashelle was silent for a while and when she spoke again her voice had lost its intense excitement and became almost coaxing.

“Hari, “ she said, “think a little of the difference between Cleon and myself. What Cleon undoubtedly wanted from you was propaganda to preserve his throne. It would be useless to give him that, for the throne can’t be preserved. Don’t you know that the Galactic Empire is in a state of decay, that it cannot endure for much longer? Trantor itself is slowly sliding into ruin because of the ever-increasing weight of administering twenty-five million worlds. What’s ahead of us is breakup and civil war, no matter what you do for Cleon.”

Seldon said, “I have heard something like this said. It may even be true, but what then?”

“Well then, help it break into fragments without any war. Help me take Trantor. Help me establish a firm government over a realm small enough to 6e ruled efficiently. Let me give freedom to the rest of the Galaxy, each portion to go its own way according to its own customs and cultures. The Galaxy will become a working whole again through the free agencies of trade, tourism, and communication and the fate of cracking into disaster under the present rule of force that barely holds it together will be averted. My ambition is moderate indeed; one world, not millions; peace, not war; freedom, not slavery. Think about it and help me.”

Seldon said, “Why should the Galaxy believe me any more than they would believe you? They don’t know me and which of our fleet commanders will be impressed by the mere word ‘psychohistory’?”

“You won’t be believed now, but I don’t ask for action now. The House of Wye, having waited thousands of years, can wait thousands of days more. Cooperate with me and I will make your name famous. I will make the promise of psychohistory glow through all the worlds and at the proper time, when I judge the movement to be the chosen moment, you will pronounce your prediction and we will strike. Then, in a twinkling of history, the Galaxy will exist under a New Order that will render it stable and happy for eons. Come now, Hari, can you refuse me?”

Overthrow

THALUS, EMMER- . . . A sergeant in the armed security forces of the Wye Sector of ancient Trantor . . .

. . . Aside from these totally unremarkable vital statistics, nothing is known of the man except that on one occasion he held the fate of the Galaxy in his fist.

ENCYCLOPEDIA GALACTICA

87.

Breakfast the next morning was served in an alcove near the rooms of the captured three and it was luxurious indeed. There certainly was a considerable variety to the food and more than enough of everything.

Seldon sat at the breakfast table with a mound of spicy sausages before him, totally ignoring Dors Venabili’s gloomy predictions concerning stomachs and colic.

Raych said, “The dame . . . the Madam Mayor said when she came to see me last night--”

“She came to see you?” said Seldon.

“Yeah. She said she wanted to make sure I was comfortable. She said when she had a chance she would take me to a zoo.”

“A zoo?” Seldon looked at Dors. “What kind of zoo can they have on Trantor? Cats and dogs?”

“There are some aboriginal animals, “ said Dors, “and I imagine they import some aboriginals from other worlds and there are also the shared animals that all the worlds have-other worlds having more than Trantor, of course. As a matter of fact, Wye has a famous zoo, probably the best on the planet after the Imperial Zoo itself.”

Raych said, “She’s a nice old lady.”

“Not that old, “ said Dors, “but she’s certainly feeding us well.”

“There’s that, “ admitted Seldon.

When breakfast was over, Raych left to go exploring.

Once they had retired to Dors’s room, Seldon said with marked discontent, “I don’t know how long we’ll be left to ourselves. She’s obviously plotted ways of preoccupying our time.”

Dors said, “Actually, we have little to complain of at the moment. We’re much more comfortable here than we were either in Mycogen or Dahl.”

Seldon said, “Dors, you’re not being won over by that woman, are you?”

“Me? By Rashelle? Of course not. How can you possibly think so?”

“Welt, you’re comfortable. You’re well-fed. It would be natural to relax and accept what fortune brings.”

“Yes, very natural. And why not do that?”

“Look, you were telling me last night about what’s going to happen if she wins out. I may not be much of a historian myself, but I am willing to take your word for it and, actually, it makes sense even to a nonhistorian. The Empire will shatter and its shards will be fighting each other for . . . for . . . indefinitely. She must be stopped.”

“I agree, “ said Dors. “She must be. What I fail to see is how we can manage to do that little thing right at this moment.” She looked at Seldon narrowly. “Hari, you didn’t sleep fast night, did you?”

“Did you?” It was apparent he had not.

Dors stared at him, a troubled look clouding her face. “Have you lain awake thinking of Galactic destruction because of what I said?”

“That and some other things. Is it possible to reach Chetter Hummin?” This last was said in a whisper.

Dors said, “I tried to reach him when we first had to flee arrest in Dahl. He didn’t come. I’m sure he received the message, but he didn’t come. It may be that, for any of a number of reasons, he just couldn’t come to us, but when he can he will.”

“Do you suppose something has happened to him?”

“No, “ said Dors patiently. “I don’t think so.”

“How can you know?”

“The word would somehow get to me. I’m sure of it. And the word hasn’t gotten to me.”

Seldon frowned and said, “I’m not as confident as you are about all this. In fact, I’m not confident at all. Even if Hummin came, what can he do in this case? He can’t fight all of Wye. If they have, as Rashelle claims, the best-organized army on Trantor, what will he be able to do against it?”

“There’s no point in discussing that. Do you suppose you can convince Rashelle-bang it into her head somehow-that you don’t have psychohistory?”

“I’m sure she’s aware that I don’t have it and that I’m not going to get it for many years-if at all. But she’ll say I have psychohistory and if she does that skillfully enough, people will believe her and eventually they will act on what she says my predictions and pronouncements are--even if I don’t say a word.”

“Surely, that will take rime. She won’t build you up overnight. Or in a week. To do it properly, it might take her a year.”

Seldon was pacing the length of the room, turning sharply on his heel and striding back. “That might be so, but I don’t know. There would be pressure on her to do things quickly. She doesn’t strike me as the kind of woman who has cultivated the habit of patience. And her old father, Mannix IV, would be even more impatient. He must feel the nearness of death and if he’s worked for this all his life, he would much prefer to see it done a week before his death rather than a week after. Besides--” Here he paused and looked around the empty room.

“Besides what?”

“Well, we must have our freedom. You see, I’ve solved the psychohistory problem.”

Dors’s eyes widened. “You have it! You’ve worked it out.”

“Not worked it out in the full sense. That might take decades . . . centuries, for all I know. But I now know it’s practical, not just theoretical. I know it can be done so I must have the time, the peace, the facilities to work at it. The Empire must be held together till I--or possibly my successors-will learn how best to keep it so or how to minimize the disaster if it does split up despite us. It was the thought of having a beginning to my task and of not being able to work at it, that kept me up last night.”

88.

It was their fifth day in Wye and in the morning Dors was helping Raych into a formal costume that neither was quite familiar with.

Raych looked at himself dubiously in the holo-mirror and saw a reflected image that faced him with precision, imitating all his motions but without any inversion of left and right. Raych had never used a holo-mirror before and had been unable to keep from trying to feel it, then laughing, almost with embarrassment, when his hand passed through it while the image’s hand poked ineffectually at his real body.

He said at last, “I look funny.”

He studied his tunic, which was made of a very pliant material, with a thin filigreed belt, then passed his hands up a stiff collar that rose like a cup past his ears on either side.

“My head looks like a ball inside a bowl.”

Dors said, “But this is the sort of thing rich children wear in Wye. Everyone who sees you will admire you and envy you.”

“With my hair all stuck down?”

“Certainly. You’ll wear this round little hat.”

“It’ll make my head more like a ball.”

“Then don’t let anyone kick it. Now, remember what I told you. Keep your wits about you and don’t act like a kid.”

“But I am a kid, “ he said, looking up at her with a wide-eyed innocent expression.

“I’m surprised to hear you say that, “ said Dors. “I’m sure you think of yourself as a twelve-year-old adult.”

Raych grinned. “Okay. I’ll be a good spy.”

“That’s not what I’m telling you to be. Don’t take chances. Don’t sneak behind doors to listen. If you get caught at it, you’re no good to anyone-especially not to yourself.”

“Aw, c’mon, Missus, what do ya think I am? A kid or somethin’?”

“You just said you were, didn’t you, Raych? You just listen to everything that’s said without seeming to. And remember what you hear. And tell us. That’s simple enough.”

“Simple enough for you to say, Missus Venabili, “ said Raych with a grin, “and simple enough for me to do.”

“And be careful.”

Raych winked. “You bet.”

A flunky (as coolly impolite as only an arrogant flunky can be) came to take Raych to where Rashelle was awaiting him.

Seldon looked after them and said thoughtfully, “He probably won’t see the zoo, he’ll be listening so carefully. I’m not sure it’s right to thrust a boy into danger like that.”

“Danger? I doubt it. Raych was brought up in the slums of Billibotton, remember. I suspect he has more alley smarts than you and I put together. Besides, Rashelle is fond of him and will interpret everything he does in his favor. -Poor woman.”

“Are you actually sorry for her, Dors?”

“Do you mean that she’s not worth sympathy because she’s a Mayor’s daughter and considers herself a Mayor in her own right and because she’s intent on destroying the Empire? Perhaps you’re right, but even so there are some aspects of her for which one might show some sympathy. For instance, she’s had an unhappy love affair. That’s pretty evident. Undoubtedly, her heart was broken-for a time, at least.”

Seldon said, “Have you ever had an unhappy love affair, Dors?”

Der considered for a moment or two, then said, “Not really. I’m too involved with my work to get a broken heart.”

“I thought as much.”

“Then why did you ask?”

“I might have been wrong.”

“How about you?”

Seldon seemed uneasy. “As a matter of fact, yes. I have spared the time for a broken heart. Badly cracked, anyway.”

“I thought as much.”

“Then why did you ask?”

“Not because I thought I might be wrong, I promise you. I just wanted to see if you would lie. You didn’t and I’m glad.”

There was a pause and then Seldon said, “Five days have passed and nothing has happened.”

“Except that we are being treated well, Hari.”

“If animals could think, they’d think they were being treated well when they were only being fattened for the slaughter.”

“I admit she’s fattening the Empire for the slaughter.”

“But when?”

“I presume when she’s ready.”

“She boasted she could complete the coup in a day and the impression I got was that she could do that on any day.”

“Even if she could, she would want to make sure that she could cripple the Imperial reaction and that might take time.”

“How much time? She plans to cripple the reaction by using me, but she is making no effort to do so. There is no sign that she’s trying to build up my importance. Wherever I go in Wye I’m unrecognized. There are no Wyan crowds gathering to cheer me. There’s nothing on the news holocasts.”

Dors smiled. “One would almost suppose that your feelings are hurt at not being made famous. You’re naive, Hari. Or not a historian, which is the same thing. I think you had better be more pleased that the study of psychohistory will be bound to make a historian of you than that it may save the Empire. If all human beings understood history, they might cease making the same stupid mistakes over and over.”

“In what way am I native?” asked Seldom lifting his head and staring down his nose at her.

“Don’t be offended, Hari. I think it’s one of your attractive features, actually.”

“I know. It arouses your maternal instincts and you have been asked to take care of me. But in what way am I naive?”

“In thinking that Rashelle would cry to propagandize the population of the Empire, generally, into accepting you as seer. She would accomplish nothing in that way. Quadrillions of people are hard to move quickly. There is social and psychological inertia, as well as physical inertia. And, by coming out into the open, she would simply alert Demerzel.”

“Then what is she doing?”

“My guess is that the information about you-suitably exaggerated and glorified-is going out to a crucial few. It is going to those Viceroys of sectors, those admirals of fleets, those people of influence she feels look kindly. upon her--or grimly upon the Emperor. A hundred or so of those who might rally to her side will manage to confuse the Loyalists just long enough to allow Rashelle the First to set up her New Order firmly enough to beat off whatever resistance might develop. At least, I imagine that is how she reasons.”

“And yet we haven’t heard from Hummin.”

“I’m sure he must be doing something just the same. This is too important to ignore.”

“Has it occurred to you that he might be dead?”

“That’s a possibility, but I don’t think so. If he was, the news would reach me.”

“Here?”

“Even here.”

Seldon raised his eyebrows, but said nothing.

Raych came back in the late afternoon, happy and excited, with descriptions of monkeys and of Bakarian demoires and he dominated the conversation during dinner.

It was not until after dinner when they were in their own quarters that Dors said, “Now, tell me what happened with Madam Mayor, Raych. Tell me anything she did or said that you think we ought to know.”

“One thing, “ said Raych, his face lighting up. “That’s why she didn’t show at dinner, I bet.”

“What was it?”

“The zoo was closed except for us, you know. There were lots of us, Rashelle and me and all sorts of guys in uniforms and dames in fancy clothes and like that. Then this guy in a uniform-a different guy, who wasn’t there to begin with-came in toward the end and he said something in a low voice and Rashelle corned to all the people and made with her hand like they shouldn’t move and they didn’t. And she went a little ways away with this new guy, so she could talk to him and no one could hear her. Except I kept paying no attention and kept looking at the different cages and sort of moved near to Rashelle so I could hear her.

“She said, ‘How dare they?’ like she was real mad. And the guy in the uniform, he looked nervous-I just got quick looks because I was trying to make out like I was watching the animals-so mostly I just heard the words. He said somebody-I don’t remember the name, but he was a general or somethin`. He said this general said the officers had sworn religious to Rashelle’s old man--”

“Sworn allegiance, “ said Dors.

“Somethin’ like that and they was nervous about havin’ to do what a dame says. He said they wanted the old man or else, if he was kind of sick, he should pick some guy to be Mayor, not a dame.”

“Not a dame? Are you sure?”

“That’s what he said. He like whispered it. He was so nervous and Rashelle was so mad she could hardly speak. She said, ‘I’ll have his head. They wilt all swear allegiance to me tomorrow and whoever refuses will lave cause to regret it before an hour has passed.’ That’s exactly what she said. She broke up the whole party and we all came back and she didn’t say one word to me al! the rime. Just sat there, looking kinda mean and angry.”

Dors said, “Good. Don’t you mention this to anyone, Raych.”

“Course not. Is it what you wanted?”

“Very much what I wanted. You did well, Raych. Now, go to your room and forget the whole thing. Don’t even think about it.”

Once he was gone, Dors turned to Seldon and said, “This is very interesting. Daughters have succeeded fathers--or mothers, for that matter--and held Mayoralties or other high offices on any number of occasions. There have even been reigning Empresses, as you undoubtedly know, and I can’t recall that there was ever in Imperial history any serious question of serving under one. It makes one wonder why such a thing should now, arise in Wye.”

Seldon said, Why not? We’ve only recently been in Mycogen, where women are held in a total lack of esteem and couldn’t possibly hold positions of power, however minor.”

“Yes, of course, but that’s an exception. There are other places where women dominate. For the most part, though, government and power have been more or less equisexual. If more men tend to hold high positions, it is usually because women tend to be more bound-biologically-to children.”

“But what is the situation in Wye?”

“Equisexual, as far as I know. Rashelle didn’t hesitate to assume Mayoral power and I imagine old Mannix didn’t hesitate to grant it to her. And she was surprised and furious at encountering male dissent. She can’t have expected it.”

Seldon said, “You’re clearly pleased at this. Why?”

“Simply because it’s so unnatural that it must be contrived and I imagine Hummin is doing the contriving.”

Seldon said thoughtfully, “You think so?”

“I do, “ said Dors.

“You know, “ said Seldon, “so do I.”

89.

It was their tenth day in Wye and in the morning Hari Seldon’s door signal sounded and Raych’s high-pitched voice outside was crying out, “Mister! Mister Seldom It’s war!”

Seldon took a moment to swap from sleep to wakefulness and scrambled out of bed. He was shivering slightly (the Wyans liked their domiciles on the chilly side, he had discovered quite early in his stay there) when he threw the door open.

Raych bounced in, excited and wide-eyed. “Mister Seldon, they have Mannix, the old Mayor’. They have--”

“Who have, Raych?”

“The Imperials, Their jets came in last night all over. The news holocasts are telling all about it. It’s on in Missus’s room. She said to let ya sleep, but I figured ya would wanner know.”

“And you were quite right.” Seldom pausing only tong enough to throw on a bathrobe, burst into Dors’s room. She was fully dressed and was watching the bolo-sec in the alcove.

Behind the clear, small image of a desk sat a man, with the Spaceship-and-Sun sharply defined on the left-front of his tunic. On either side, two soldiers, also wearing the Spaceship-and-Sun, stood armed. The officer at the desk was saying, “-is under the peaceful control of his Imperial Majesty. Mayor Mannix is safe and well and is in full possession of his Mayoral powers under the guidance of friendly Imperial troops. He will be before you soon to urge calm on all Wyans and to ask any Wyan soldiers still in arms to lay them down.”

There were other news holocasts by various newsmen with unemotional voices, all wearing Imperial armbands. The news was all the same: surrender by this or that unit of the Wyan security forces after firing a few shots for the record--and sometimes after no resistance at all. This town center and that town center were occupied--and there were repeated views of Wyan crowds somberly watching Imperial forces marching down the streets.

Dors said, “It was perfectly executed, Hari. Surprise was complete. There was no chance of resistance and none of consequence was offered.”

Then Mayor Mannix IV appeared, as had been promised. He was standing upright and, perhaps for the sake of appearances, there were no Imperials in sight, though Seldon was reasonably certain that an adequate number were present just out of camera range.

Mannix was old, but his strength, though worn, was still apparent. His eyes did not meet the holo-camera and his words were spoken as though forced upon him-but, as had been promised, they counseled Wyans to remain calm, to offer no resistance, to keep Wye from harm, and to cooperate with the Emperor who, it was hoped, would survive long on the throne.

“No mention of Rashelle, “ said Seldon. “It’s as though his daughter doesn’t exist.”

“No one has mentioned her, “ said Dors, “and this place, which is, after all, her residence--or one of them-hasn’t been attacked. Even if she manages to slip away and take refuge in some neighboring sector, I doubt she will be safe anywhere on Trantor for long.”

“Perhaps not, “ came a voice; “but I’ll be safe here for a little while.”

Rashelle entered. She was properly dressed, properly calm. She was even smiling, but it was no smile of joy; it was, rather, a cold baring of teeth.

The three stared at her in surprise for a moment and Seldon wondered if she had any of her servants with her or if they had promptly deserted her at the first sign of adversity. 406

Dors said a little coldly, “I see, Madam Mayor, that your hopes for a coup can not be maintained. Apparently, you have been forestalled.”

“I have not been forestalled. I have been betrayed. My officers have been tampered with and-against all history and rationality -- they have refused to fight for a woman but only for their old master. And, traitors that they are, they then let their old master be seized so that he cannot lead them in resistance.”

She looked about for a chair and sat down. “And now the Empire must continue to decay and die when I was prepared to offer it new life.”

“I think, “ said Dors, “the Empire has avoided an indefinite period of useless fighting and destruction. Console yourself with that, Madam Mayor.”

It was as though Rashelle did not hear her. “So many years of preparation destroyed in a night.” She sat there beaten, defeated, and seemed to have aged twenty years.

Dors said, “It could scarcely have been done in a night. The suborning of your officers-if that took place-must have taken time.”

“At that, Demerzel is a master and quite obviously I underestimated him. How he did it, I don’t know-threats, bribes, smooth and specious argument. He is a master at the art of stealth and betrayal-I should have known.”

She went on after a pause. “If this was outright force on his part, I would have had no trouble destroying anything he sent against us. Who would think that Wye would be betrayed, that an oath of allegiance would be so lightly thrown aside?”

Seldon said with automatic rationality, “But I imagine the oath was made not to you, but to your father.”

“Nonsense, “ said Rashelle vigorously. “When my father gave me the Mayoral office, as he was legally entitled to do, he automatically passed on to me any oaths of allegiance made to him. There is ample precedence for this. It is customary to have the oath repeated to the new ruler, but that is a ceremony only and not a legal requirement. My officers know that, though they choose to forget. They use my womanhood as an excuse because they quake in fear of Imperial vengeance that would never have come had they been staunch or tremble with greed for promised rewards they will surely never get-if I know Demerzel.”

She turned sharply toward Seldon. “He wants you, you know. Demerzel struck at us for you.”

Seldon started. “Why me?”

“Don’t be a fool. For the same reason I wanted you . . . to use you as a cool, of course.” She sighed. “At least I am not utterly betrayed. There are still loyal soldiers to be found. -Sergeant!”

Sergeant Emmer Thalus entered with a soft cautious step that seemed incongruous, considering his size. His uniform was spruce, his long blond mustache fiercely curled.

“Madam Mayor, “ he said, drawing himself to attention with a snap.

He was still, in appearance, the side of beef that Hari had named him-a man still following orders blindly, totally oblivious to the new and changed state of affairs.

Rashelle smiled sadly at Raych. “And how are you, little Raych? I had meant to make something of you. It seems now I won’t be able to.”

“Hello, Missus . . . Madam, “ said Raych awkwardly.

“And to have made something of you too, Dr. Seldom” said Rashelle, “and there also I must crave pardon. I cannot.”

“For me, Madam, you need have no regrets.”

“But I do. I cannot very well let Demerzel have you. That would be one victory too many for him and at least I can stop that.”

“I would not work for him, Madam, I assure you, any more than I would have worked for you.”

“It is not a matter of work. It is a matter of being used. Farewell, Dr. Seldon. -Sergeant, blast him.”

The sergeant drew his blaster at once and Dors, with a loud cry, lunged forward--but Seldon reached out for her and caught her by the elbow. He hung on desperately.

“Stay hack, Dors, “ he shouted, “or he’ll kill you. He won’t kill me. You too, Raych. Stand back. Don’t move.”

Seldon faced the sergeant. “You hesitate, Sergeant, because you know you cannot shoot I might have killed you ten days ago, but I did not. And you gave me your word of honor at that time that you would protect me.”

“What are you waiting for?” snapped Rashelle. “I said shoot him down, Sergeant.”

Seldom said nothing more. He stood there while the sergeant, eyes bulging, held his blaster steady and pointed at Seldon’s head.

“You have your order!” shrieked Rashelle.

“I have your word, “ said Seldon quietly.

And Sergeant Thalus said in a choked tone, “Dishonored either way.” His hand fell and his blaster clanged to the floor.

Rashelle cried out, “Then you too betray me’.”

Before Seldon could move or Dors free herself from his grip, Rashelle seized the blaster, turned it on the sergeant, and closed contact.

Seldon had never seen anyone blasted before. Somehow, from the name of the weapon perhaps, he had expected a loud noise, an explosion of flesh and blood. This Wyan blaster, at least, did nothing of the sort. What mangling it did to the organs inside the sergeant’s chest Seldon could not tell but, without a change in expression, without a wince of pain, the sergeant crumbled and fell, dead beyond any doubt or any hope.

And Rashelle turned the blaster on Seldon with a firmness that put to rest any hope for his own life beyond the next second.

It was Raych, however, who jumped into action the moment the sergeant fell. Racing between Seldon and Rashelle, he waved his hands wildly.

“Missus, Missus, “ he called. “Don’t shoot.”

For a moment, Rashelle looked confused. “Out of the way, Raych. I don’t want to hurt you.”

That moment of hesitation was all Dors needed. Breaking loose violently, she plunged toward Rashelle with a long low dive. Rashelle went down with a cry and the blaster hit the ground a second time.

Raych retrieved it.

Seldon, with a deep and shuddering breath, said, “Raych, give that to me.”

But Raych backed away. “Ya ain’t gonna kill her, are ya, Mister Seldon? She was nice to me.”

“I won’t kill anyone, Raych, “ said Seldon. “She killed the sergeant and would have killed me, but she didn’t shoot rather than hurt you and we’ll let her live for that.”

It was Seldon, who now sat down, the blaster held loosely in his hand, white Dors removed the neuronic whip from the dead sergeant’s other holster.

A new voice rang out. “I’ll take care of her now, Seldon.”

Seldon looked up and in sudden joy said, “Hummin! Finally!”

“I’m sorry it took so long, Seldon. I had a lot to do. How are you, Dr. Venabili? I take it this is Mannix’s daughter, Rashelle. But who is the boy?”

“Raych is a young Dahlite friend of ours, “ said Seldon.

Soldiers were entering and, at a small gesture from Hummin, they lifted Rashelle respectfully.

Dors, able to suspend her intent surveillance of the other woman, brushed at her clothes with her hands and smoothed her blouse. Seldon suddenly realized that he was still in his bathrobe.

Rashelle, shaking herself loose from the soldiers with contempt, pointed to Hummin and said to Seldon, “Who is this?”

Seldon said, “It is Chetter Hummin, a friend of mine and my protector on this planet.”

“Your protector.” Rashelle laughed madly. “You fool! You idiot! That man is Demerzel and if you look at your Venabili woman, you will see from her face that she is perfectly aware of that. You have been trapped all along, far worse than ever you were with me!”

90.

Hummin and Seldon sat at lunch that day, quite alone, a pall of quiet between them for the most part. It was toward the end of the meal that Seldon stirred and said in a lively voice, “Well, sir, how do I address you? I think of you as ‘Chetter Hummin’ still, but even if I accept you in your other persona, I surely cannot address you as ‘Eto Demerzel.’ In that capacity, you have a title and I don’t know the proper usage. Instruct me.”

The other said gravely, “Call me `Hummin’-if you don’t mind. Or ‘Chetter.’ Yes, I am Eto Demerzel, but with respect to you I am Hummin. As a matter of fact, the two are not distinct. I told you that the Empire is decaying and failing. I believe that to be true in both my capacities. I told you that I wanted psychohistory as a way of preventing that decay and failure or of bringing about a renewal and reinvigoration if the decay and failure must run its course. I believe that in both my capacities too.”

“But you had me in your grip-I presume you were in the vicinity when I Gad my meeting with His Imperial Majesty.”

“With Cleon. Yes, of course.”

“And you might have spoken to me, then, exactly as you later did as Hummin.”

“And accomplished what? As Demerzel, I have enormous tasks. I have to handle Cleon, a well-meaning but not very capable ruler, and prevent him, insofar as I can, from making mistakes. I have to do my bit in governing Trantor and the Empire coo. And, as you see, I had to spend a great deal of time in preventing Wye from doing harm.”

“Yes, I know, “ murmured Seldon.

“It wasn’t easy and I nearly lost out. I have spent years sparring carefully with Mannix, learning to understand his chinking and planning a countermove to his every move. I did not think, at any time, that while he was still alive he would pass on his powers to his daughter. I had not studied her and I was not prepared for her utter lack of caution. Unlike her father, she has been brought up to take power for granted and had no clear idea of its limitations. So she got you and forced me to act before I was quite ready.”

“You almost lost me as a result. I faced the muzzle of a blaster twice.’.

“I know, “ said Hummin, nodding. “And we might have lost you Upperside coo-another accident I could not foresee.”

“But you haven’t really answered my question. Why did you send me chasing all over the face of Trantor to escape from Demerzel when you yourself were Demerzel?”

“You told Cleon that psychohistory was a purely theoretical concept, a kind of mathematical game that made no practical sense. That might indeed have been so, but if I approached you officially, I was sure you would merely have maintained your belief. Yet I was attracted to the notion of psychohistory. I wondered whether it might not be, after all, just a game. You must understand that I didn’t want merely to use you, I wanted a real and practical psychohistory.

“So I sent you, as you put it, chasing all over the face of Trantor with the dreaded Demerzel close on your heels at all times. That, I felt, would concentrate your mind powerfully. It would make psychohistory something exciting and much more than a mathematical game. You would try to work it our for the sincere idealist Hummin, where you would not for the Imperial flunky Demerzel. Also, you would get a glimpse of various sides of Trantor and that too would be helpful-certainly more helpful than living in an ivory tower on a far-off planet, surrounded entirely by fellow mathematicians. Was I right? Have you made progress?”

Seldon said, “In psychohistory? Yes, I did, Hummin. I thought you knew.”

“How should I know?”

“I told Dors.”

“But you hadn’t told me. Nevertheless, you tell me so now. That is good news.”

“Not entirely, “ said Seldon. “I have made only the barest beginning. But it is a beginning.”

“Is it the kind of beginning that can be explained to a nonmathematician?”

“I think so. You see, Hummin, from the start I have seen psychohistory as a science that depends on the interaction of twentyfive million worlds, each with an average population of four thousand million. It’s too much. There’s no way of handling something that complex. If d was to succeed at all, if there was to be any way of finding a useful psychohistory, I would first have to find a simpler system.

“So I thought I would go back in time and deal with a single world, a world that was the only one occupied by humanity in the dim age before the colonization of the Galaxy. In Mycogen they spoke of an original world of Aurora and in Dahl I heard word of an original world of Earth. I thought they might be the same world under different names, but they were sufficiently different in one key point, at least, to make that impossible. And it didn’t matter. So little was known of either one, and that little so obscured by myth and legend, that there was no hope of making use of psychohistory in connection with them.”

He paused to sip at his cold juice, keeping his eyes firmly on Hummin’s face.

Hummin said, “Well? What then?”

“Meanwhile, Dors had told me something I call the hand-on-thigh story. It was of no innate significance, merely a humorous and entirely trivial tale. As a result, though, Dors mentioned the different sex mores on various worlds and in various sectors of Trantor. It occurred to me that she treated the different Trantorian sectors as though they were separate worlds. I thought, idly, that instead of twenty-five million different worlds, I had twenty-five million plus eight hundred to deal with. It seemed a trivial difference, so I forgot it and thought no more about it.

“But as I traveled from the Imperial Sector to Streeling to Mycogen to Dahl to Wye, I observed for myself how different each was. The thought of Trantor-not as a world but as a complex of worlds-grew stronger, but still I didn’t see the crucial point.

“It was only when I listened to Rashelle--you see, it was good that I was finally captured by Wye and it was good that Rashelle’s rashness drove her into the grandiose schemes that she imparted to me-When I listened to Rashelle, as I said, she told me that all she wanted was Trantor and some immediately adjacent worlds. It was an Empire in itself, she said, and dismissed the outer worlds as ‘distant nothings.’

“It was then that, in a moment, I saw what I must have been harboring in my hidden thoughts for a considerable time. On the one hand, Trantor possessed an extraordinarily complex social system, being a populous world made up of eight hundred smaller worlds. It was in itself a system complex enough to make psychohistory meaningful and yet it was simple enough, compared to the Empire as a whole, to make psychohistory perhaps practical.

“And the Outer Worlds, the twenty-five million of them? They were ‘distant nothings.’ Of course, they affected Trantor and were affected by Trantor, but these were second-order effects. If I could make psychohistory work as a first approximation for Trantor alone, then the minor effects of the Outer Worlds could be added as later modifications. Do you see what I mean? I was searching for a single world on which to establish a practical science of psychohistory and I was searching for it in the far past, when all the time the single world I wanted was under my feet now, “

Hummin said with obvious relief and pleasure, “Wonderful!”

“But it’s all left to do, Hummin. I must study Trantor in sufficient detail. I must devise the necessary mathematics to deal with it. If I am lucky and live out a full lifetime, I may have the answers before I die. If not, my successors will have to follow me. Conceivably, the Empire may have fallen and splintered before psychohistory becomes a useful technique.”

“I will do everything I can to help you.”

“I know it, “ said Seldon.

“You trust me, then, despite the fact I am Demerzel?”

“Entirely. Absolutely. But I do so because you are not Demerzel.”

“But I am, “ insisted Hummin.

“But you are not. Your persona as Demerzel is as far removed from the truth as is your persona as Hummin.”

“What do you mean?” Hummin’s eyes grew wide and he backed away slightly from Seldon.

“I mean that you probably chose the name ‘Hummin’ out of a wry sense of what was fitting. ‘Hummin’ is a mispronunciation of ‘human, ‘ isn’t it?”

Hummin made no response. He continued to stare at Seldon.

And finally Seldon said, “Because you’re not human, are you, ‘Hummin/Demerzel’? You’re a robot.”

Dors

SELDON, HARI- . . . It is customary to think of Hari Seldon only in connection with psychohistory, to see him only as mathematics and social change personified. There is no doubt that he himself encouraged this for at no time in his formal writings did he give any hint as to how he came to solve the various problems of psychohistory. His leaps of thought might have all been plucked from air, for all he tells us. Nor does he tell us of the blind alleys into which he crept or the wrong turnings he may have made .

. . . As for his private life, it is a blank. Concerning his parents and siblings, we know a handful of factors, no more. His only son, Raych Seldon, is known to have been adopted, but how that came about is not known. Concerning his wife, we only know that she existed. Clearly, Seldon wanted to be a cipher except where psychohistory was concerned. It is as though he felt--or wanted it to be felt-that he did not live, he merely psychohistorified.

ENCYCLOPEDIA GALACTICA

91.

Hummin sat calmly, not a muscle twitching, still looking at Hari Seldon and Seldon, for his part, waited. It was Hummin, he thought, who should speak next.

Hummin did, but said merely, “A robot? Me? -By robot, I presume you mean an artificial being such as the object you saw in the Sacratorium in Mycogen.”

“Not quite like that, “ said Seldon.

“Not metal? Not burnished? Not a lifeless simulacrum?” Hummin said it without any evidence of amusement.

“No. To be of artificial life is not necessarily to be made of metal. I speak of a robot indistinguishable from a human being in appearance.’.

“If indistinguishable, Hari, then how do you distinguish?”

“Not by appearance. “

“Explain.”

“Hummin, in the course of my flight from yourself as Demerzel, I heard of two ancient worlds, as I told you-Aurora and Earth. Each seemed to be spoken of as a first world or an only world. In both cases, robots were spoken of, but with a difference.”

Seldon was staring thoughtfully at the man across the table, wondering if, in any way, he would give some sign that he was less than a man--or more. He said, “Where Aurora was in question, one robot was spoken of as a renegade, a traitor, someone who deserted the cause. Where Earth was in question, one robot was spoken of as a hero, one who represented salvation. Was it too much to suppose that it was the same robot?”

“Was it?” murmured Hummin.

“This is what I thought, Hummin. I thought that Earth and Aurora were two separate worlds, co-existing in time. I don’t know which one preceded the other. From the arrogance and the conscious sense of superiority of the Mycogenians, I might suppose that Aurora was the original world and that they despised the Earthmen who derived from them--or who degenerated from them.

“On the other hand, Mother Rittah, who spoke to me of Earth, was convinced that Earth was the original home of humanity and, certainly, the tiny and isolated position of the Mycogenians in a whole galaxy of quadrillions of people who lack the strange Mycogenian ethos might mean that Earth was indeed the original home and that Aurora was the aberrant offshoot. I cannot tell, but I pass on to you my thinking, so that you will understand my final conclusions.”

Hummin nodded. “I see what you are doing. Please continue.”

“The worlds were enemies. Mother Rittah certainly made it sound so. When I compare the Mycogenians, who seem to embody Aurora, and the Dahlites, who seem to embody Earth, I imagine that Aurora, whether first or second, was nevertheless the one that was more advanced, the one that could produce more elaborate robots, even ones indistinguishable from human beings in appearance. Such a robot was designed and devised in Aurora, then. But he was a renegade, so he deserted Aurora. To the Earthpeople he was a hero, so he must have joined Earth. Why he did this, what his motives were, I can’t say.”

Hummin said, “Surely, you mean why it did this, what its motives were.”

“Perhaps, but with you sitting across from me, “ said Seldon, “I find it difficult to use the inanimate pronoun. Mother Rittah was convinced that the heroic robot-her heroic robot-still existed, that he would return when he was needed. It seemed to me that there was nothing impossible in the thought of an immortal robot or at least one who was immortal as long as the replacement of worn-out parts was not neglected.”

“Even the brain?” asked Hummin.

“Even the brain. I don’t really know anything about robots, but I imagine a new brain could be re-recorded from the old. --and Mother Rittah hinted of strange mental powers. -I thought: It must be so. I may, in some ways, be a romantic, but I am not so much a romantic as to think that one robot, by switching from one side to the other, can alter the course of history. A robot could not make Earth’s victory sure, nor Aurora’s defeat certain-unless there was something strange, something peculiar about the robot.”

Hummin said, “Does it occur to you, Hari, that you are dealing with legends, legends that may have been distorted over the centuries and the millennia, even to the extent of building a veil of the supernatural over quire ordinary events? Can you make yourself believe in a robot that not only seems human, but that also lives forever and has mental powers? Are you not beginning to believe in the superhuman?”

“I know very well what legends are and I am not one to be taken in by them and made to believe in fairy tales. Still, when they are supported by certain odd events that I have seen--and even experienced myself--”

“Such as?”

“Hummin, I met you and trusted you from the start. Yes, you helped me against those two hoodlums when you didn’t need to and that predisposed me in your favor, since I didn’t realize at the time that they were your hirelings, doing what you had instructed them to do. --but never mind that.”

“No, “ said Hummin, a hint of amusement-finally-in his voice.

“I trusted you. I was easily convinced not to go home to Helicon and to make myself a wanderer over the face of Trantor. I believed everything you told me without question. I placed myself entirely in your hands. Looking back on it now, I see myself as not myself. I am not a person to be so easily led, yet I was. More than that, I did not even think it strange that I was behaving so far out of character.”

“You know yourself best, Hari, “

“It wasn’t only me. How is it that Dors Venabili, a beautiful woman with a career of her own, should abandon that career in order to join me in my flight? How is it that she should risk her life to save mine, seeming to take on, as a kind of holy duty, the cask of protecting me and becoming single-minded in the process? Was it simply because you asked her to?”

“I did ask her to, Hari.”

“Yet she does not strike me as the kind of person to make such a radical changeover in her life merely because someone asks her to. Nor could I believe it was because she had fallen madly in love with me at first sight and could not help herself. I somehow wish she had, but she seems quite the mistress of her emotional self, more-I am now speaking to you frankly-than I myself am with respect to her.”

“She is a wonderful woman, “ said Hummin. “I don’t blame you.”

Seldon went on. “How is it, moreover, that Sunmaster Fourteen, a monster of arrogance and one who leads a people who are themselves stiff-necked in their own conceit, should be willing to take in tribespeople like Dors and myself and to treat us as well as the Mycogenians could and did? When we broke every rule, committed every sacrilege, how is it that you could still talk him into letting us go?

“How could you talk the Tisalvers, with their petty prejudices, into taking us in? How can you be at home everywhere in the world, be friends with everyone, influence each person, regardless of their individual peculiarities? For that matter, how do you manage to manipulate Cleon too? And if he is viewed as malleable and easily molded, then how were you able to handle his father, who by all accounts was a rough and arbitrary tyrant? How could you do all this?

“Most of all, how is it that Mannix IV of Wye could spend decades building an army without peer, one trained to be proficient in every detail, and yet have it fall apart when his daughter tries to make use of it? How could you persuade them to play the Renegade, all of them, as you have done?”

Hummin said, “Might this mean no more than that I am a tactful person used to dealing with people of different types, that I am in a position to have done favors for crucial people and am in a position to do additional favors in the future? Nothing I have done, it might seem, requires the supernatural.”

“Nothing you have done? Not even the neutralization of the Wyan army?”

“They did not wish to serve a woman.”

“They must have known for years that any time Mannix laid down his powers or any time he died, Rashelle would be their Mayor, yet they showed no signs of discontent-until you felt it necessary that they show it. Dors described you at one time as a very persuasive man. And so you are. More persuasive than any man could be. But you are not more persuasive than an immortal robot with strange mental powers might be. -Well, Hummin?”

Hummin said, “What is it you expect of me, Hari? Do you expect me to admit I’m a robot? That I only look like a human being? That I am immortal? That I am a mental marvel?!”

Seldon leaned toward Hummin as he sat there on the opposite side of the table. “Yes, Hummin, I do. I expect you to tell me the truth and I strongly suspect that what you have just outlined is the truth. You, Hummin, are the robot that Mother Rittah referred to as DaNee, friend of Ba-Lee. You must admit it. You have no choice.”

92.

It was as though they were sitting in a tiny Universe of their own. There, in the middle of Wye, with the Wyan army being disarmed by Imperial force, they sat quietly. There, in the midst of events that all of Trantor and perhaps all the Galaxy-was watching, there was this small bubble of utter isolation within which Seldon and Hummin were playing their game of attack and defense-Seldon trying hard to force a new reality, Hummin making no move to accept that new reality.

Seldon had no fear of interruption. He was certain that the bubble within which they sat had a boundary that could not be penetrated, that Hummin’s-no, the robot’s-powers would keep all at a distance rill the game was over.

Hummin finally said, “You are an ingenious fellow, Hari, but I fail to see why I must admit that I am a robot and why I have no choice but to do so. Everything you say may be true as facts-your own behavior, Dors’s behavior, Sunmaster’s, Tisalver’s, the Wyan generals’-all, all may have happened as you said, but that doesn’t force your interpretation of the meaning of the events to be true. Surely, everything that happened can have a natural explanation. You trusted me because you accepted what I said; Dors felt your safety to be important because she felt psychohistory to be crucial, herself being a historian; Sunmaster and Tisalver were beholden to me for favors you know nothing of, the Wyan generals resented being ruled by a woman, no more. Why must we flee to the supernatural?”

Seldon said, “See here, Hummin, do you really believe the Empire to be falling and do you really consider it important that it not be allowed to do so with no move made to save it or, at the least, cushion its fall?”

“I really do.” Somehow Seldon knew this statement was sincere. “And you really want me to work out the details of psychohistory and you feel that you yourself cannot do it?”

“I lack the capability.”

“And you feel that only I can handle psychohistory-even if I sometimes doubt it myself?”

“Yes.”

“And you must therefore feel that if you can possibly help me in any way, you must.”

“I do.”

“Personal feelings-selfish considerations-could play no part?”

A faint and brief smile passed over Hummin’s grave face and for a moment Seldon sensed a vast and arid desert of weariness behind Hummin’s quiet manner. “I have built a long career on paying no heed to personal feelings or to selfish considerations.”

“Then I ask your help. I can work out psychohistory on the basis of Trantor alone, but I will run into difficulties. Those difficulties I may overcome, but how much easier it would be to do so if I knew certain key facts. For instance, was Earth or Aurora the first world of humanity or was it some other world altogether? What was the relationship between Earth and Aurora? Did either or both colonize the Galaxy? If one, why didn’t the other? If both, how was the issue decided? Are there worlds descended from both or from only one? How did robots come to be abandoned? How did Trantor become the Imperial world, rather than another planet? What happened to Aurora and Earth in the meantime? There are a thousand questions I might ask right now and a hundred thousand that might arise as I go along. Would you allow me to remain ignorant, Hummin, and fail in my task when you could inform me and help me succeed?”

Hummin said, “If I were the robot, would I have room in my brain for all of twenty thousand years of history for millions of different worlds?”

“I don’t know the capacity of robotic brains. I don’t know the capacity of yours. But if you lack the capacity, then you must have that information which you cannot hold safely recorded in a place and in a way that would make it possible for you to call upon it. And if you have it and I need information, how can you deny and withhold it from me? And if you cannot withhold it from me, how can you deny that you are a robot-that robot the Renegade?”

Seldon sat back and took a deep breath. “So I ask you again: Are you that robot? If you want psychohistory, then you must admit it. If you still deny you are a robot and if you convince me you are not, then my chances at psychohistory become much, much smaller. It is up to you, then. Are you a robot? Are you Da-Nee?”

And Hummin said, as imperturbable as ever. “Your arguments are irrefutable. I am R. Daneel Olivaw. The `R’ stands for ‘robot.’ “

93.

R. Daneel Olivaw still spoke quietly, but it seemed to Seldon that there was a subtle change in his voice, as though he spoke more easily now that he was no longer playing a part.

“In twenty thousand years, “ said Daneel, “no one has guessed I was a robot when it was not my intention to have him or her know. In part, that was because human beings abandoned robots so long ago that very few remember that they even existed at one time. And in part, it is because I do have the ability to detect and affect human emotion. The detection offers no trouble, but to affect emotion is difficult for me for reasons having to do with my robotic nature-although I can do it when I wish. I have the ability but must deal with my will not to use it. I try never to interfere except when I have no choice but to do so. And when I do interfere, it is rarely that I do more than strengthen, as little as I can, what is already there. If I can achieve my purposes without doing even so much, I avoid it.

“It was not necessary to tamper with Sunmaster Fourteen in order to have him accept you-I call it ‘tampering, ‘ you notice, because it is not a pleasant thing to do. I did not have to tamper with him because he did owe me for favors rendered and he is an honorable man, despite the peculiarities you found in him. I did interfere the second time, when you had committed sacrilege in his eyes, but it took very little. He was not anxious to hand you over to the Imperial authorities, whom he does not like. I merely strengthened the dislike a trifle and he handed you over to my care, accepting the arguments I offered, which otherwise he might have considered specious.

“Nor did I tamper with you noticeably. You distrusted the Imperials too. Most human beings do these days, which is an important factor in the decay and deterioration of the Empire. What’s more, you were proud of psychohistory as a concept, proud of having thought of it. You would not have minded having it prove to be a practical discipline. That would have further fed your pride.”

Seldon frowned and said, “Pardon me, Master Robot, but I am not aware that I am quite such a monster of pride.”

Daneel said mildly, “You are not a monster of pride at all. You are perfectly aware that is neither admirable nor useful to be driven by pride, so you try to subdue that drive, but you might as well disapprove of having yourself powered by your heartbeat. You cannot help either fact. Though you hide your pride from yourself for the sake of your own peace of mind, you cannot hide it from me. It is there, however carefully you mask it over. And I had but to strengthen it a touch and you were at once willing to take measures to hide from Demerzel, measures that a moment before you would have resisted. And you were eager to work at psychohistory with an intensity that a moment before you would have scorned.

“I saw no necessity to touch anything else and so you have reasoned out your robothood. Had I foreseen the possibility of that, I might have stopped it, but my foresight and my abilities are not infinite. Nor am I sorry now that I failed, for your arguments are good ones and it is important that you know who I am and that I use what I am to help you.

“Emotions, my dear Seldom are a powerful engine of human action, far more powerful than human beings themselves realize, and you cannot know how much can be dome with the merest touch and how reluctant I am to do it.”

Seldon was breathing heavily, trying to see himself as a man driven by pride and not liking it. “Why reluctant?”

“Because it would be so easy to overdo. I had to stop Rashelle from converting the Empire into a feudal anarchy. I might have bent minds quickly and the result might well have been a bloody uprising. Men are men--and the Wyan generals are almost all men. It does not actually take much to rouse resentment and latent fear of women in any man. It may be a biological matter that I, as a robot, cannot fully understand.

“I had but to strengthen the feeling to produce a breakdown in her plans. If I had done it the merest millimeter too much, I would have lost what I wanted-a bloodless takeover. I wanted nothing more than to have them not resist when my soldiers arrived.”

Daneel paused, as though trying to pick his words, then said, “I do not wish to go into the mathematics of my positronic brain. It is more than I can understand, though perhaps not more than you can if you give it enough thought. However, I am governed by the Three Laws of Robotics that are traditionally put into words--or once were, long ago. They are these:

“‘One. A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.

“ `Two. A robot must obey the orders given it by human beings, except where such orders would conflict with the First Law.

“ ‘Three. A robot must protect its own existence, as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Law.’

“But I had a . . . a friend twenty thousand years ago. Another robot. Not like myself. He could not be mistaken for a human being, but it was he who had the mental powers and it was through him that I gained mine.

“It seemed to him that there should be a still more general rule than any of the Three Laws. He called it the Zeroth Law, since zero comes before one. It is:

“‘Zero. A robot may not injure humanity or, through inaction, allow humanity to come to harm.’

“Then the First Law must read:

“ `One. A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm, except where that would conflict with the Zeroth Law.’

“And the other laws must be similarly modified. Do you understand?”

Daneel paused earnestly and Seldon said, “I understand.”

Daneel went on. “The trouble is, Hari, that a human being is easy to identify. I can point to one. It is easy to see what will harm a human being and what won’t-relatively easy, at least. But what is humanity? To what can we point when we speak of humanity? And how can we define harm to humanity? When will a course of action do more good than harm to humanity as a whole and how can one tell? The robot who first advanced the Zeroth law died-became permanently inactive-because he was forced into an action that he felt would save humanity, yet which he could not be cure would save humanity. And as he became inactivated, he left the care of the Galaxy to me.

“Since then, I have cried. I have interfered as little as possible, relying on human beings themselves to judge what was for the good. They could gamble; I could not. They could miss their goals; I did not dare. They could do harm unwittingly; I would grow inactive if I did. The Zeroth Law makes no allowance for unwitting harm.

“But at times I am forced to take action. That I am still functioning shows that my actions have been moderate and discreet. However, as the Empire began to fail and to decline, I have had to interfere more frequently and for decades now I have had to play the role of Demerzel, trying to run the government in such a way as to stave off ruin--and yet I will function, you see.

“When you made your speech to the Decennial Convention, I realized at once that in psychohistory there was a tool that might make it possible to identify what was good and bad for humanity. With it, the decisions we would make would be less blind. I would even trust to human beings to make those decisions and again reserve myself only for the greatest emergencies. So I arranged quickly to have Cleon learn of your speech and call you in. Then, when I heard your denial of the worth of psychohistory, I was forced to think of some way to make you try anyway. Do you understand, Hari?”

More than a little daunted, Seldon said, “I understand, Hummin.”

“To you, I must remain Hummin on those rare occasions when I will be able to see you. I will give you what information I have if it is something you need and in my persona as Demerzel I will protect you as much as I can. As Daneel, you must never speak of me.”

“I wouldn’t want to, “ said Seldon hurriedly. “Since I need your help, it would ruin matters to have your plans impeded.”

“Yes, I know you wouldn’t want to.” Daneel smiled wearily. “After all, you are vain enough to want full credit for psychohistory. You would not want anyone to know-ever-that you needed the help of a robot.”

Seldon flushed. “I am not--”

“But you are, even if you carefully hide it from yourself. And it is important, for I am strengthening that emotion within you minimally so that you will never be able to speak of me to others. It will not even occur to you that you might do so.”

Seldon said, “I suspect Dors knows--”

“She knows of me. And she too cannot speak of me to others. Now that you both know of my nature, you can speak of me to each other freely, but not to anyone else.”

Daneel rose. -Hari, I have my work to do now. Before long, you and Dors will be taken back to the Imperial Sector--”

“The boy Raych must come with me. I cannot abandon him. And there is a young Dahlite named Yugo Amaryl--”

“I understand. Raych will be taken too and you can do with any friend as you will. You will all be taken care of appropriately. And you will work on psychohistory. You will have a staff. You will have the necessary computers and reference material. I will interfere as little as possible and if there is resistance to your views that does not actually reach the point of endangering the mission, then you will have to deal with it yourself.”

“Wait, Hummin, “ said Seldon urgently. “What if, despite all your help and all my endeavors, it turns out that psychohistory cannot be made into a practical device after all? What if I fail?”

Daneel rose. “In that case, I have a second plan in hand. One I have been working on a long time on a separate world in a separate way. It too is very difficult and to some ways even more radical than psychohistory. It may fail too, but there is a greater chance of success if two roads are open than if either one alone was.

“Take my advice, Hari! If the time comes when you are able to set up some device that may act to prevent the worst from happening see if you can think of two devices, so that if one fails, the other will carry on. The Empire must be steadied or rebuilt on a new foundation. Let there be two such, rather than one, if that is possible.”

He rose, “Now I must return to my ordinary work and you must turn to yours. You will be taken care of.”

With one final nod, he rose and left.

Seldon looked after him and said softly, “First I must speak to Dors.”

94.

Dors said, “The palace is cleared. Rashelle will not be physically harmed. And you’ll return to the Imperial Sector, Hari.”

“And you, Dors?” said Seldon in a low tight voice.

“I presume I will go back to the University, “ she said. “My work is being neglected, my classes abandoned.”

“No, Dors, you have a greater cask.”

“What is that?”

“Psychohistory. I cannot tackle the project without you.”

“Of course you can. I am a total illiterate in mathematics.”

“And I in history--and we need both.”

Dors laughed. “I suspect that, as a mathematician, you are one of a kind. I, as a historian, am merely adequate, certainly not outstanding. You will find any number of historians who will suit the needs of psychohistory better than I do.”

“In that case, Dors, let me explain that psychohistory needs more than a mathematician and a historian. It also needs the will to tackle what will probably be a lifetime problem. Without you, Dors, I will not have that will.”

“Of course you’ll have it.”

“Dors, if you’re not with me, I don’t intend to have it.”

Dors looked at Seldon thoughtfully. “This is a fruitless discussion, Hari. Undoubtedly, Hummin will make the decision. If he sends me hack to the University

“He won’t.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because I’ll put it to him plainly. If he sends you back to the University, I’ll go back to Helicon and the Empire can go ahead and destroy itself.”

“You can’t mean it.”

“But I certainly do.”

“Don’t you realize that Hummin can arrange to have your feelings change so that you will work on psychohistory--even without me?”

Seldon shook his head. “Hummin will not make such an arbitrary decision. I’ve spoken to him. He dares not do much to the human mind because he is bound by what he calls the Laws of Robotics. To change my mind to the point where I will not want you with me, Dors, would mean a change of the kind he can not risk. On the other hand, if he leaves me alone and if you join me in the project, he will have what he wants-a true chance at psychohistory. Why should he not settle for that?”

Dors shook her head. “He may not agree for reasons of his own.’.

“Why should he disagree? You were asked to protect me, Dors. Has Hummin cancelled that request?”

“No.”

“Then he wants you to continue your protection. And I want your protection.”

“Against what? You now have Hummin’s protection, both as Demerzel and as Daneel, and surely that is all you need.”

“If I had the protection of every person and every force in the Galaxy, it would still be yours I would want.”

“Then you don’t want me for psychohistory. You want me for protection.”

Seldon scowled. “No! Why are you twisting my words? Why are you forcing me to say what you must know? It is neither psychohistory nor protection I want you for. Those are excuses and I’ll use any other I need. I want you-just you. And if you want the real reason, it is because you are you.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“That doesn’t matter. I don’t care. --and yet I do know you in a way. Better than you think.”

“Do you indeed?”

“Of course. You follow orders and you risk your life for without hesitation and with no apparent care for the consequences You learned how to play tennis so quickly. You learned how to use knives even more quickly and you handled yourself perfectly in the fight with Marron. Inhumanly -if I may say so. Your muscles are amazingly strong and your reaction time is amazingly fast. You can somehow tell when a room is being eavesdropped and you can be in touch with Hummin in some way that does not involve instrumentation.”

Dors said, “And what do you think of all that?”

“It has occurred to me that Hummin, in his persona as R. Daneel Olivaw, has an impossible task. How can one robot try to guide the Empire? He must have helpers.”

“That is obvious. Millions, I should imagine. I am a helper. You are a helper. Little Raych is a helper.”

“You are a different kind of helper.”

“In what way? Hari, say it. If you hear yourself say it, you will realize how crazy it is.”

Seldon looked long at her and then said in a low voice, “I will not say it because . . . I don’t care. “

“You really don’t? You wish to take me as I am?”

“I will take you as I must. You are Dors and, whatever else you are, in all the world I want nothing else.”

Dors said softly, “Hari, I want what is good for you because of what I am, but I feel that if I wasn’t what I am, I would still want what is good for you. And I don’t think I am good for you.”

“Good for me or bad, I don’t care.” Here Hari looked down as he paced a few steps, weighing what he would say next. “Dors, have you ever been kissed?”

“Of course, Hari. It’s a social part of life and I live socially.”

“No no! I mean, have you ever really kissed a man? You know, passionately?”

“Well yes, Hari, I have.”

“Did you enjoy it?”

Dors hesitated. She said, “When I’ve kissed in that way, I enjoyed it more than I would have enjoyed disappointing a young man I liked, someone whose friendship meant something to me.” At this point, Dors blushed and she turned her face away. “Please, Hari, this is difficult for me to explain.”

But Hari, more determined now than ever, pressed further. “So you kissed for the wrong reasons, then, to avoid hurt feelings.”

“Perhaps everyone does, in a sense.”

Seldon mulled this over, then said suddenly, “Did you ever ask to be kissed?”

Dors paused, as though looking back on her life. “No.”

“Or wish to be kissed again, once you had?”

“No.”

“Have you ever slept with a man?” he asked softly, desperately.

“Of course. I told you. These things are a part of life.”

Hari gripped her shoulders as if he was going to shake her. “But have you ever felt the desire, a need for that kind of closeness with just one special person? Dors, have you ever felt love.”

Dors looked up slowly, almost sadly, and locked eyes with Seldon. “I’m sorry, Hari, but no.”

Seldon released her, letting his arms fall dejectedly to his sides.

Then Dors placed her hand gently on his arm and said, “So you see, Hari. I’m not really what you want.”

Seldon’s head drooped and he stared at the floor. He weighed the matter and tried to think rationally. Then he gave up. He wanted what he wanted and he wanted it beyond thought and beyond rationality.

He looked up. “Dors, dear, even so, I don’t care.”

Seldon put his arms around her and brought his head close to hers slowly, as though waiting for her to pull away, all the while drawing her nearer.

Dors made no move and he kissed her-slowly, lingeringly, and then passionately--and her arms suddenly tightened around him.

When he stopped at last, she looked at him with eyes that mirrored her smile and she said:

“Kiss me again, Hari, -Please.”

-- End --