Linn, who, in his troubled state of mind, had allowed a small fragment of impatience to show on his face, continued, "As I say, we want psychohistory without Seldon. He is, in any case, a used-up man. The more I study him, the more I see an elderly scholar who is living on his past deeds. He has had nearly thirty years to make a success of psychohistory and he has failed. Without him, with new men at the helm, psychohistory may advance more rapidly."

 

 "Yes, I agree. Now what about the woman?"

 

 "Well, there you are. We haven't taken her into consideration because she has been careful to remain in the background. But I strongly suspect now that it will be difficult, perhaps impossible, to remove Seldon quietly and without implicating the government, as long as the woman remains alive."

 

 "Do you really believe that she will mangle you and me-if she thinks we have harmed her man?" said the General, his mouth twisting in contempt.

 

 "I really think she will and that she will start a rebellion as well. It will he exactly as she promised."

 

 "You are turning into a coward."

 

 "General, please. I am trying to be sensible. I'm not backing off. We must take care of this Tiger Woman." He paused thoughtfully. "As a matter of fact, my sources have told me this and I admit to having paid far too little attention to the matter."

 

 "And how do you think we can get rid of her?"

 

 Linn said, "I don't know." Then, more slowly, "But someone else might."

 

 18

 

 Seldon had had a bad night also, nor was the new day promising to be much better. There weren't too many times when Hari felt annoyed with Dors. But this time, he was very annoyed.

 

 He said, "What a foolish thing to do! Wasn't it enough that we were all staying at the Dome's Edge Hotel? That alone would have been sufficient to drive a paranoid ruler into thoughts of some sort of conspiracy."

 

 "How? We were unarmed, Hari. It was a holiday affair, the final touch of your birthday celebration. We posed no threat."

 

 "Yes, but then you carried out your invasion of the Palace grounds. It was unforgivable. You raced to the Palace to interfere with my session with the General, when I had specifically-and several times-made it plain that I didn't want you there. I had my own plans, you know."

 

 Dors said, "Your desires and your orders and your plans all take second place to your safety. I was primarily concerned about that."

 

 "I was in no danger."

 

 "That is not something I can carelessly assume. There have been two attempts on your life. What makes you think there won't be a third?"

 

 "The two attempts were made when I was First Minister. I was probably worth killing then. Who would want to kill an elderly mathematician?"

 

 Dors said, "That's exactly what I want to find out and that's what I want to stop. I must begin by doing some questioning right here at the Project."

 

 "No. You will simply be upsetting my people. Leave them alone."

 

 "That's exactly what I can't do. Hari, my job is to protect you and for twenty-eight years I've been working at that. You cannot stop me now."

 

 Something in the blaze of her eyes made it quite clear that, whatever Seldon's desires or orders might be, Dors intended to do as she pleased.

 

 Seldon's safety came first.

 

 19

 

 "May I interrupt you, Yugo?"

 

 "Of course, Dors," said Yugo Amaryl with a large smile. "You are lover an interruption. What can I do for you?"

 

 "I am trying to find out a few things, Yugo, and I wonder if you would humor me in this."

 

 "If I can."

 

 "You have something in the Project called the Prime Radiant. I hear it now and then. Hari speaks of it, so I imagine I know what it looks like when it is activated, but I have never actually seen it in operation. I would like to."

 

 Amaryl looked uncomfortable. "Actually the Prime Radiant is just about the most closely guarded part of the Project and you aren't on the list of the members who have access."

 

 "I know that, but we've known each other for twenty-eight years-"

 

 "And you're Hari's wife. I suppose we can stretch a point. We only have two full Prime Radiants. There's one in Hari's office and one here. Right there, in fact."

 

 Dors looked at the squat black cube on the central desk. It looked utterly undistinguished. "Is that it?"

 

 "That's it. It stores the equations that describe the future."

 

 "How do you get at those equations?"

 

 Amaryl moved a contact and at once the room darkened and then came to life in a variegated glow. All around Dors were symbols, arrows, mathematical signs of one sort or another. They seemed to be moving, spiraling, but when she focused her eyes on any particular portion, it seemed to be standing still.

 

 She said, "Is that the future, then?"

 

 "It may be," said Amaryl, turning off the instrument. "I had it at full expansion so you could see the symbols. Without expansion, nothing is visible but patterns of light and dark."

 

 "And by studying those equations, you are able to judge what the future holds in store for us?"

 

 "In theory." The room was now back to its mundane appearance. "But there are two difficulties."

 

 "Oh? What are they?"

 

 "To begin with, no human mind has created those equations directly. We have merely spent decades programming more powerful computers and they have devised and stored the equations, but, of course, we don't know if they are valid and have meaning. It depends entirely on how valid and meaningful the programming is in the first place."

 

 "They could be all wrong, then?"

 

 "They could be." Amaryl rubbed his eyes and Dors could not help thinking how old and tired he seemed to have grown in the last couple of years. He was younger than Hari by nearly a dozen years, but he seemed much older.

 

 "Of course," Amaryl went on in a rather weary voice, "we hope that they aren't all wrong, but that's where the second difficulty comes in. Although Hari and I have been testing and modifying them for decades, we can never be sure what the equations mean. The computer has constructed them, so it is to be presumed they must mean something-but what? There are portions that we think we have worked out. In fact, right now, I'm working on what we call Section A-23, a particularly knotty system of relationships. We have not yet been able to match it with anything in the real Universe. Still, each year sees us further advanced and I look forward confidently to the establishment of psychohistory as a legitimate and useful technique for dealing with the future."

 

 "How many people have access to these Prime Radiants?"

 

 "Every mathematician in the Project has access but not at will. There have to be applications and time allotted and the Prime Radiant has to be adjusted to the portion of the equations a mathematician wishes to refer to. It gets a little complicated when everyone wants to use the Prime Radiant at the same time. Right now, things are slow, possibly because we're still in the aftermath of Hari's birthday celebration."

 

 "Is there any plan for constructing additional Prime Radiants?"

 

 Amaryl thrust out his lips. "Yes and no. It would be very helpful if we had a third, but someone would have to be in charge of it. It can't just be a community possession. I have suggested to Hari that Tamwile Elar-you know him, I think-"

 

 "Yes, I do."

 

 "That Elar have a third Prime Radiant. His achaotic equations and the Electro-Clarifier he thought up make him clearly the third man in the Project after Hari and myself. Hari hesitates, however."

 

 "Why? Do you know?"

 

 "If Elar gets one, he is openly recognized as the third man, over the Head of other mathematicians who are older and who have more senior status in the Project. There might be some political difficulties, so to speak. I think that we can't waste time in worrying about internal politics, but Hari- Well, you know Hari."

 

 "Yes, I know Hari. Suppose I tell you that Linn has seen the Prime Radiant."

 

 "Linn?"

 

 "Colonel Hender Linn of the junta. Tennar's lackey."

 

 "I doubt that very much, Dors."

 

 "He has spoken of spiraling equations and I have just seen them produced by the Prime Radiant. I can't help but think he's been here and seen it working."

 

 Amaryl shook his head, "I can't imagine anyone bringing a member of the junta into Hari's office-or mine."

 

 "Tell me, who in the Project do you think is capable of working with the junta in this fashion?"

 

 "No one," said Amaryl flatly and with clearly unlimited faith. "That would be unthinkable. Perhaps Linn never saw the Prime Radiant but was merely told about it."

 

 "Who would tell him about it?"

 

 Amaryl thought a moment and said, "No one."

 

 "Well now, you talked about internal politics a while ago in connection with the possibility of Elar having a third Prime Radiant. I suppose in a Project such as this one with hundreds of people, there are little feuds going on all the time-frictions-quarrels."

 

 "Oh yes. Poor Hari talks to me about it every once in a while. He has to deal with them in one way or another and I can well imagine what a headache it must be for him."

 

 "Are these feuds so bad that they interfere with the working of the Project?"

 

 "Not seriously."

 

 "Are there any people who are more quarrelsome than others or any duo draw more resentment than others? In short, are there people you can get rid of and perhaps remove 90 percent of the friction at the cost of 5 or 6 percent of the personnel?"

 

 Amaryl raised his eyebrows. "It sounds like a good idea, but I don't know whom to get rid of. I don't really participate in all the minutiae of internal politics. There's no way of stopping it, so for my part, I merely avoid it."

 

 "That's strange," said Dors. "Aren't you in this way denying any credibility to psychohistory?"

 

 "In what way?"

 

 "How can you pretend to reach a point where you can predict and guide the future, when you cannot analyze and correct something as homegrown as personal frictions in the very Project that promises so much?"

 

 Amaryl chuckled softly. It was unusual, for he was not a man who was given to humor and laughter. "I'm sorry, Dors, but you picked on the one problem that we have solved, after a manner of speaking. Hari himself identified the equations that represented the difficulties of personal friction years ago and I myself then added the final touch last year.

 

 "I found that there were ways in which the equations could be changed so as to indicate a reduction in friction. In every such case, however, a reduction in friction here meant an increase in friction there. Never at any time was there a total decrease or, for that matter, a total increase in the friction within a closed group-that is, one in which no old members leave and no new members come in. What I proved, with the help of Elar's achaotic equations, was that this was true despite any conceivable action anyone could take. Hari calls it `the law of conservation of personal problems.'

 

 "It gave rise to the notion that social dynamics has its conservation laws as physics does and that, in fact, it is these laws that offer us the best possible tools for solving the truly troublesome aspects of psychohistory."

 

 Dors said, "Rather impressive, but what if you end up finding that nothing at all can be changed, that everything that is bad is conserved, and that to save the Empire from destruction is merely to increase destruction of another kind?"

 

 "Actually some have suggested that, but I don't believe it."

 

 "Very well. Back to reality. Is there anything in the frictional problems within the Project that threaten Hari? I mean, with physical harm."

 

 "Harm Hari? Of course not. How can you suggest such a thing?"

 

 "Might there not be some who resent Hari, for being too arrogant, too pushy, too self-absorbed, too eager to grab all the credit? Or, if none of these things apply, might they not resent him simply because he has run the Project for so long a time?"

 

 "I never heard anyone say such a thing about Hari."

 

 Dors seemed dissatisfied. "I doubt that anyone would say such things in your hearing, of course. But thank you, Yugo, for being so helpful and for giving me so much of your time."

 

 Amaryl stared after her as she left. He felt vaguely troubled, but then returned to his work and let other matters drift away.

 

 20

 

 One way Hari Seldon had (out of not too many ways) for pulling away from his work for a time was to visit Raych's apartment, just outside the university grounds. To do this invariably filled him with love for his foster son. There were ample grounds. Raych had been good, capable, and loyal-but besides that was the strange quality Raych had of inspiring trust and love in others.

 

 Hari had observed it when Raych was a twelve-year-old street boy, who somehow pulled at his own and at Dors's heartstrings. He remembered how Raych had affected Rashelle, the onetime Mayor of Wye. Hari remembered how Joranum had trusted Raych, which led to his own destruction. Raych had even managed to win the heart of the beautiful Manella. Hari did not completely understand this particular quality that Raych embodied, but he enjoyed whatever contact he had with his foster son.

 

 He entered the apartment with his usual "All well here?"

 

 Raych put aside the holographic material he was working with and rose to greet him, "All well, Dad."

 

 "I don't hear Wanda."

 

 "For good reason. She's out shopping with her mother."

 

 Seldon seated himself and looked good-humoredly at the chaos of reference material. "How's the book coming?"

 

 "It's doing fine. It's me who might not survive." He sighed. "But for once, we'll get the straight poop on Dahl. Nobody's ever written a book devoted to that section, wouldja believe?"

 

 Seldon had always noted that, whenever Raych talked of his home sector, his Dahlite accent always strengthened.

 

 Raych said, "And how are you, Dad? Glad the festivities are over?"

 

 "Enormously. I hated just about every minute of it."

 

 "Not so anyone could notice."

 

 "Listen, I had to wear a mask of sorts. I didn't want to spoil the celebration for everyone else."

 

 "You must have hated it when Mom chased after you onto the Palace grounds. Everyone I know has been talking about that."

 

 "I certainly did hate it. Your mother, Raych, is the most wonderful person in the world, but she is very difficult to handle. She might have spoiled my plans."

 

 "What plans are those, Dad?"

 

 Seldon settled back. It was always pleasant to speak to someone in whom he had total trust and who knew nothing about psychohistory. More than once he had bounced thoughts off Raych and had worked them out into more sensible forms than would have been the case if those same thoughts had been mulled over in his mind. He said, "Are we shielded?"

 

 "Always."

 

 "Good. What I did was to set General Tennar thinking along curious lines."

 

 "What lines?"

 

 "Well, I discussed taxation a bit and pointed out that, in the effort to make taxation rest evenly on the population, it grew more and more complex, unwieldy, and costly. The obvious implication was that the tax system must be simplified."

 

 "That seems to make sense."

 

 "Up to a point, but it is possible that, as a result of our little discussion, Tennar may oversimplify. You see, taxation loses effectiveness at both extremes. Overcomplicate it and people cannot understand it and pay for an overgrown and expensive tax organization. Oversimplify it and people consider it unfair and grow bitterly resentful. The simplest tax is a poll tax, in which every individual pays the same amount, but the unfairness of treating rich and poor alike in this way is too evident to overlook."

 

 "And you didn't explain this to the General?"

 

 "Somehow, I didn't get a chance."

 

 "Do you think the General will try a poll tax?"

 

 "I think he will plan one. If he does, the news is bound to leak out and that alone would suffice to set off riots and possibly upset the government."

 

 "And you've done this on purpose, Dad?"

 

 "Of course."

 

 Raych shook his head. "I don't quite understand you, Dad. In your personal life, you're as sweet and gentle as any person in the Empire. Yet you can deliberately set up a situation in which there will be riots, suppression, deaths. There'll be a lot of damage done, Dad. Have you thought of that?"

 

 Seldon leaned back in his chair and said sadly, "I think of nothing else, Raych. When I first began my work on psychohistory, it seemed a purely academic piece of research to me. It was something that could not he worked out at all, in all likelihood, and, if it was, it would not be something that could be practically applied. But the decades pass and we know more and more and then comes the terrible urge to apply it."

 

 "So that people can die?"

 

 "No, so that fewer people can die. If our psychohistorical analyses are correct now, then the junta cannot survive for more than a few years and there are various alternative ways in which it can collapse. They will all he fairly bloody and desperate. This method-the taxation gimmick-should do it more smoothly and gently than any other if-I repeat-our analyses are correct."

 

 "If they're not correct, what then?"

 

 "In that case, we don't know what might happen. Still, psychohistory must reach the point where it can be used and we've been searching for years for something in which we have worked out the consequences with a certain assuredness and can find those consequences tolerable as compared with alternatives. In a way, this taxation gimmick is the first great psychohistoric experiment."

 

 "I must admit, it sounds like a simple one."

 

 "It isn't. You have no idea how complex psychohistory is. Nothing is simple. The poll tax has been tried now and then throughout history. It is never popular and it invariably gives rise to resistance of one form or another, but it almost never results in the violent overthrow of a government. After all, the powers of governmental oppression may be too strong or there may be methods whereby the people can bring to bear their opposition in a peaceful manner and achieve redress. If a poll tax were invariably or even just sometimes fatal, then no government would ever try it. It is only because it isn't fatal that it is tried repeatedly. The situation on Trantor is, however, not exactly normal. There are certain instabilities that seem clear in psychohistorical analysis, which make it seem that resentment will be particularly strong and repression particularly weak."

 

 Raych sounded dubious. "I hope it works, Dad, but don't you think that the General will say that he was working under psychohistorical advice and bring you down with him?"

 

 "I suppose he recorded our little session together, but if he publicizes that, it will show clearly that I urged him to wait till I could analyze the situation properly and prepare a report-and he refused to wait."

 

 "And what does Mom think of all this?"

 

 Seldon said, "I haven't discussed it with her. She's off on another tangent altogether."

 

 "Really?"

 

 "Yes. She's trying to sniff out some deep conspiracy in the Project-aimed at me! I imagine she thinks there are many people in the Project who would like to get rid of me." Seldon sighed. "I'm one of them, I think. I would like to get rid of me as director of the Project and leave the gathering responsibilities of psychohistory to others."

 

 Raych said, "What's bugging Mom is Wanda's dream. You know how Mom feels about protecting you. I'll bet even a dream about your dying would be enough to make her think of a murder conspiracy against you."

 

 "I certainly hope there isn't one."

 

 And at the idea of it both men laughed.

 

 21

 

 The small Electro-Clarification Laboratory was, for some reason, maintained at a temperature somewhat lower than normal and Dors Venabili wondered idly why that might be. She sat quietly, waiting for the one occupant of the lab to finish whatever it was she was doing.

 

 Dors eyed the woman carefully. Slim, with a long face. Not exactly attractive, with her thin lips and receding jawline, but a look of intelligence shone in her dark brown eyes. The glowing nameplate on her desk said: CINDA MONAY.

 

 She turned to Dors at last and said, "My apologies, Dr. Venabili, but there are some procedures that can't be interrupted even for the wife of the director."

 

 "I would have been disappointed in you if you had neglected the procedure on my behalf. I have been told some excellent things about you."

 

 "That's always nice to hear. Who's been praising me?"

 

 "Quite a few," said Dors. "I gather that you are one of the most prominent nonmathematicians in the Project."

 

 Monay winced. "There's a certain tendency to divide the rest of us from the aristocracy of mathematics. My own feeling is that, if I'm prominent, then I'm a prominent member of the Project. It makes no difference that I'm a nonmathematician."

 

 "That certainly sounds reasonable to me. -How long have you been with the Project?"

 

 "Two and a half years. Before that I was a graduate student in radiational physics at Streeling and, while I was doing that, I served a couple of years with the Project as an intern."

 

 "You've done well at the Project, I understand."

 

 "I've been promoted twice, Dr. Venabili."

 

 "Have you encountered any difficulties here, Dr. Monay? -Whatever you say will be held confidential."

 

 "The work is difficult, of course, but if you mean, have I run into any social difficulties, the answer is no. At least not any more than one would expect in any large and complex project, I imagine."

 

 "And by that you mean?"

 

 "Occasional spats and quarrels. We're all human."

 

 "But nothing serious?"

 

 Monay shook her head. "Nothing serious."

 

 "My understanding, Dr. Monay," said Dors, "is that you have been responsible for the development of a device important to the use of the Prime Radiant. It makes it possible to cram much more information into the Prime Radiant."

 

 Monay broke into a radiant smile. "Do you know about that?-Yes, the Electro-Clarifier. After that was developed, Professor Seldon established this small laboratory and put me in charge of other work in that direction."

 

 "I'm amazed that such an important advance did not bring you up into the higher echelons of the Project."

 

 "Oh well," said Monay, looking a trifle embarrassed. "I don't want to take all the credit. Actually my work was only that of a technician-a very skilled and creative technician, I like to think-but there you are."

 

 "And who worked with you?"

 

 "Didn't you know? It was Tamwile Elar. He worked out the theory that made the device possible and I designed and built the actual instrument."

 

 "Does that mean he took the credit, Dr. Monay?"

 

 "No no. You mustn't think that. Dr. Elar is not that kind of man. He gave me full credit for my share of the work. In fact, it was his idea to call the device by our names-both our names-but he couldn't."

 

 "Why not?"

 

 "Well, that's Professor Seldon's rule, you know. All devices and equations are to be given functional names and not personal ones-to avoid resentment. So the device is just the Electro-Clarifier. When we're working together, however, he gives the device our names and, I tell you, Dr. Venabili, it sounds grand. Perhaps someday, all of the Project personnel will use the personal name. I hope so."

 

 "I hope so, too," said Dors politely. "You make Elar sound like a very decent individual."

 

 "He is. He is," said Monay earnestly. "He is a delight to work for. Right now, I'm working on a new version of the device, which is more powerful and which I don't quite understand. -I mean, what it's to be used for. However, he's directing me there."

 

 "And are you making progress?"

 

 "Indeed. In fact, I've given Dr. Elar a prototype, which he plans to test. If it works out, we can proceed further."

 

 "It sounds good," agreed Dors. "What do you think would happen if Professor Seldon were to resign as director of the Project? If he were to retire?"

 

 Monay looked surprised. "Is the professor planning to retire?"

 

 "Not that I know of. I'm presenting you with a hypothetical case. Suppose he retires. Who do you think would be a natural successor? I think from what you have said that you would favor Professor Elar as the new director."

 

 "Yes, I would," responded Monay after a trifling hesitation. "He's far and away the most brilliant of the new people and I think he could run the Project in the best possible way. Still, he's rather young. There are a considerable number of old fossils-well, you know what I mean-who would resent being passed over by a young squirt."

 

 "Is there any old fossil you're thinking of in particular? Remember, this is confidential."

 

 "Quite a few of them, but there's Dr. Amaryl. He's the heir apparent."

 

 "Yes, I see what you mean." Dors rose. "Well, thank you so much for your help. I'll let you return to your work now."

 

 She left, thinking about the Electro-Clarifier. And about Amaryl.

 

 22

 

 Yugo Amaryl said, "Here you are again, Dors."

 

 "Sorry, Yugo. I'm bothering you twice this week. Actually you don't see anyone very often, do you?"

 

 Amaryl said, "I don't encourage people to visit me, no. They tend to interrupt me and break my line of thought. -Not you, Dors. You're altogether special, you and Hari. There's never a day I don't remember what you two have done for me."

 

 Dors waved her hand. "Forget it, Yugo. You've worked hard for Hari and any trifling kindness we did for you has long been overpaid. How is the Project going? Hari never talks about it-not to me, anyway."

 

 Amaryl's face lightened and his whole body seemed to take on an infusion of life. "Very well. Very well. It's difficult to talk about it without mathematics, but the progress we've made in the last two years is amazing-more than in all the time before that. It's as though, after we've been hammering away and hammering away, things have finally begun to break loose."

 

 "I've been hearing that the new equations worked out by Dr. Elar have helped the situation."

 

 "The achaotic equations? Yes. Enormously."

 

 "And the Electro-Clarifier has been helpful, too. I spoke to the woman who designed it."

 

 "Cinda Monay?"

 

 "Yes. That's the one."

 

 "A very clever woman. We're fortunate to have her."

 

 "Tell me, Yugo- You work at the Prime Radiant virtually all the time, don't you?"

 

 "I'm more or less constantly studying it. Yes."

 

 "And you study it with the Electro-Clarifier."

 

 "Certainly."

 

 "Don't you ever think of taking a vacation, Yugo?"

 

 Amaryl looked at her owlishly, blinking slowly. "A vacation?"

 

 "Yes. Surely you've heard the word. You know what a vacation is."

 

 "Why should I take a vacation?"

 

 "Because you seem dreadfully tired to me."

 

 "A little, now and then. But I don't want to leave the work."

 

 "Do you feel more tired now than you used to?"

 

 "A little. I'm getting older, Dors."

 

 "You're only forty-nine."

 

 "That's still older than I've ever been before."

 

 "Well, let it go. Tell me, Yugo-just to change the subject. How is Hari doing at his work? You've been with him so long that no one could possibly know him better than you do. Not even I. At least, as far as his work is concerned."

 

 "He's doing very well, Dors. I see no change in him. He still has the quickest and brightest brain in the place. Age is having no effect on him -at least, not so far."

 

 "That's good to hear. I'm afraid that his own opinion of himself is not as high as yours is. He's not taking his age well. We had a difficult time getting him to celebrate his recent birthday. Were you at the festivities, by the way? I didn't see you."

 

 "I attended part of the time. But, you know, parties of that kind are not the sort of thing I feel at home with."

 

 "Do you think Hari is wearing out? I'm not referring to his mental brilliance. I'm referring to his physical capacities. In your opinion, is he growing tired-too tired to bear up under his responsibilities?"

 

 Amaryl looked astonished. "I never gave it any thought. I can't imagine him growing tired."

 

 "He may be, just the same. I think he has the impulse, now and then, to give up his post and hand the task over to some younger man."

 

 Amaryl sat back in his chair and put down the graphic stylus he had been fiddling with ever since Dors had entered. "What! That's ridiculous! Impossible!"

 

 "Are you sure?"

 

 "Absolutely. He certainly wouldn't consider such a thing without discussing it with me. And he hasn't."

 

 "Be reasonable, Yugo. Hari is exhausted. He tries not to show it, but he is. What if he does decide to retire? What would become of the Project? What would become of psychohistory?"

 

 Amaryl's eyes narrowed. "Are you joking, Dors?"

 

 "No. I'm just trying to look into the future."

 

 "Surely, if Hari retires, I succeed to the post. He and I ran the Project for years before anyone else joined us. He and I. No one else. Except for him, no one knows the Project as I do. I'm amazed you don't take my succession for granted, Dors."

 

 Dors said, "There's no question in my mind or in anyone else's that you are the logical successor, but do you want to be? You may know everything about psychohistory, but do you want to throw yourself into the politics and complexities of a large Project and abandon much of your work in order to do so? Actually it's trying to keep everything moving smoothly that's been wearing Hari down. Can you take on that part of the job?"

 

 "Yes, I can and it's not something I intend to discuss. -Look here, Dors. Did you come here to break the news that Hari intends to ease me out?"

 

 Dors said, "Certainly not! How could you think that of Hari! Have you ever known him to turn on a friend?"

 

 "Very well, then. Let's drop the subject. Really, Dors, if you don't mind, there are things I must do." Abruptly he turned away from her and bent over his work once more.

 

 "Of course. I didn't mean to take up this much of your time."

 

 Dors left, frowning.

 

 23

 

 Raych said, "Come in, Mom. The coast is clear. I've sent Manella and Wanda off somewhere."

 

 Dors entered, looked right and left out of sheer habit, and sat down in the nearest chair.

 

 "Thanks," said Dors. For a while she simply sat there, looking as if the weight of the Empire were on her shoulders.

 

 Raych waited, then said, "I never got a chance to ask you about your wild trip into the Palace grounds. It isn't every guy who has a mom who can do that."

 

 "We're not talking about that, Raych."

 

 "Well then, tell me- You're not one for giving anything away by facial expressions, but you look sorta down. Why is that?"

 

 "Because I feel, as you say, sorta down. In fact, I'm in a bad mood because I have terribly important things on my mind and there's no use talking to your father about it. He's the most wonderful man in the world, but he's very hard to handle. There's no chance that he'd take an interest in the dramatic. He dismisses it all as my irrational fears for his life-and my subsequent attempts to protect him."

 

 "Come on, Mom, you do seem to have irrational fears where Dad's concerned. If you've got something dramatic in mind, it's probably all wrong."

 

 "Thank you. You sound just like he does and you leave me frustrated. Absolutely frustrated."

 

 "Well then, unburden yourself, Mom. Tell me what's on your mind. From the beginning."

 

 "It starts with Wanda's dream."

 

 "Wanda's dream! Mom! Maybe you'd better stop right now. I know that Dad won't want to listen if you start that way. I mean, come on. A little kid has a dream and you make a big deal of it. That's ridiculous."

 

 "I don't think it was a dream, Raych. I think what she thought was a dream were two real people, talking about what she thought concerned the death of her grandfather."

 

 "That's a wild guess on your part. What possible chance does this have of being true?"

 

 "Just suppose it is true. The one phrase that remained with her was `lemonade death.' Why should she dream that? It's much more likely that she heard that and distorted the words she heard-in which case, what were the undistorted words?"

 

 "I can't tell you," said Raych, his voice incredulous.

 

 Dors did not fail to catch that. "You think this is just my sick invention. Still, if I happen to be right, I might be at the start of unraveling a conspiracy against Hari right here in the Project."

 

 "Are there conspiracies in the Project? That sounds as impossible to me as finding significance in a dream."

 

 "Every large project is riddled with angers, frictions, jealousies of all sorts."

 

 "Sure. Sure. We're talking nasty words and faces and nose thumbing and tale bearing. That's nothing at all like talking conspiracy. It's not like talking about killing Dad."

 

 "It's just a difference in degree. A small difference-maybe."

 

 "You'll never make Dad believe that. For that matter, you'll never make me believe that." Raych walked hastily across the room and back again, "And you've been trying to nose out this so-called conspiracy, have you?"

 

 Dors nodded.

 

 "And you've failed."

 

 Dors nodded.

 

 "Doesn't it occur to you that you've failed because there is no conspiracy, Mom?"

 

 Dors shook her head. "I've failed so far, but that doesn't shake my belief that one exists. I have that feeling."

 

 Raych laughed. "You sound very ordinary, Mom. I would expect more from you than `I have that feeling."'

 

 "There is one phrase that I think can be distorted into `lemonade.' That's `layman-aided.' "

 

 "Laymanayded? What's that?"

 

 "Layman-aided. Two words. A layman is what the mathematicians at the Project call nonmathematicians."

 

 "Well?"

 

 "Suppose," interjected Dors firmly, "someone spoke of `laymanaided death,' meaning that some way could be found to kill Hari in which one or more nonmathematicians would play an essential role. Might that not have sounded to Wanda like `lemonade death,' considering that she had never heard the phrase `layman-aided' any more than you did, but that she was extraordinarily fond of lemonade?"

 

 "Are you trying to tell me that there were people in Dad's private office, of all places- How many people, by the way?"

 

 "Wanda, in describing her dream, says two. My own feeling is that one of the two was none other than Colonel Hender Linn of the junta and that he was being shown the Prime Radiant and that there must have been a discussion involving the elimination of Hari."

 

 "You're getting wilder and wilder, Mom. Colonel Linn and another man in Dad's office talking murder and not knowing that there was a little girl hidden in a chair, overhearing them? Is that it?"

 

 "More or less."

 

 "In that case, if there is mention of laymen, then one of the people, presumably the one that isn't Linn, must be a mathematician."

 

 "It would seem to be so."

 

 "That seems utterly impossible. But even if it were true, which mathematician do you suppose might be in question? There are at least fifty in ilic Project."

 

 "I haven't questioned them all. I've questioned a few and some laymen, too, for that matter, but I have uncovered no leads. Of course, I can't be too open in my questions."

 

 "In short, no one you have interviewed has given you any lead on any dangerous conspiracy."

 

 "No."

 

 "I'm not surprised. They haven't done so, because-"

 

 "I know your `because,' Raych. Do you suppose people are going to break down and give away conspiracies under mild questioning? I am in no position to try to beat the information out of anyone. Can you imagine what your father would say if I upset one of his precious mathematicians?"

 

 Then, with a sudden change in the intonation of her voice, she said, "Raych, have you talked to Yugo Amaryl lately?"

 

 "No, not recently. He's not one of your sociable creatures, you know. If you pulled the psychohistory out of him, he'd collapse into a little pile of dry skin."

 

 Dors made a face at the picture and said, "I've talked to him twice recently and he seems to me to be a little withdrawn. I don't mean just tired. It is almost as though he's not aware of the world."

 

 "Yes. That's Yugo."

 

 "Is he getting worse lately?"

 

 Raych thought awhile. "He might be. He's getting older, you know. We all are. -Except you, Mom."

 

 "Would you say that Yugo had crossed the line and become a little unstable, Raych?"

 

 "Who? Yugo? He has nothing to be unstable about. Or with. Just leave him at his psychohistory and he'll mumble quietly to himself for the rest of his life."

 

 "I don't think so. There is something that interests him-and very strongly, too. That's the succession."

 

 "What succession?"

 

 "I mentioned that someday your father might want to retire and it turns out that Yugo is determined-absolutely determined-to be his successor."

 

 "I'm not surprised. I imagine that everyone agrees that Yugo is the natural successor. I'm sure Dad thinks so, too."

 

 "But he seemed to me to be not quite normal about it. He thought I was coming to him to break the news that Hari had shoved him aside in favor of someone else. Can you imagine anyone thinking that of Hari?"

 

 "It is surprising-" Raych interrupted himself and favored his mother with a long look. He said, "Mom, are you getting ready to tell me that it might be Yugo who's at the heart of this conspiracy you're speaking of? That he wants to get rid of Dad and take over?"

 

 "Is that entirely impossible?"

 

 "Yes, it is, Mom. Entirely. If there's anything wrong with Yugo, it's overwork and nothing else. Staring at all those equations or whatever they are, all day and half the night, would drive anyone crazy." Dors rose to her feet with a jerk. "You're right." Raych, startled, said, "What's the matter?" "What you've said. It's given me an entirely new idea. A crucial one, I think." Turning, without another word, she left.

 

 24

 

 Dors Venabili disapproved, as she said to Hari Seldon "You've spent four days at the Galactic Library. Completely out of touch and again you managed to go without me."

 

 Husband and wife stared at each other's image on their holoscreens. Hari had just returned from a research trip to the Galactic Library in Imperial Sector. He was calling Dors from his Project office to let her know he'd returned to Streeling. Even in anger, thought Hari, Dors is beautiful. He wished he could reach out and touch her cheek.

 

 "Dors," he began, a placating note in his voice, "I did not go alone. I had a number of people with me and the Galactic Library, of all places, is safe for scholars, even in these turbulent times. I am going to have to be at the Library more and more often, I think, as time goes on."

 

 "And you're going to continue to do it without telling me?"

 

 "Dors, I can't live according to these death-filled views of yours. Nor Rio I want you running after me and upsetting the librarians. They're not the junta. I need them and I don't want to make them angry. But I do think that I-we-should take an apartment nearby."

 

 Dors looked grim, shook her head, and changed the subject. "Do you know that I had two talks with Yugo recently?"

 

 "Good. I'm glad you did. He needs contact with the outside world."

 

 "Yes, he does, because something's wrong with him. He's not the 1'ugo we've had with us all these years. He's become vague, distant, and -oddly enough-passionate on only one point, as nearly as I can tell-his determination to succeed you on your retirement."

 

 "That would be natural-if he survives me."

 

 "Don't you expect him to survive you?"

 

 "Well, he's eleven years younger than I am, but the vicissitudes of circumstance-"

 

 "What you really mean is that you recognize that Yugo is in a bad way. He looks and acts older than you do, for all his younger age, and that seems to be a rather recent development. Is he ill?"

 

 "Physically? I don't think so. He has his periodic examinations. I'll admit, though, that he seems drained. I've tried to persuade him to take a vacation for a few months-a whole year's sabbatical, if he wishes. I've suggested that he leave Trantor altogether, just so that he is as far away from the Project as possible for a while. There would be no problem in financing his stay on Getorin-which is a pleasant resort world not too many light-years away."

 

 Dors shook her head impatiently. "And, of course, he won't. I suggested a vacation to him and he acted as though he didn't know the meaning of the word. He absolutely refused."

 

 "So what can we do?" said Seldon.

 

 Dors said, "We can think a little. Yugo worked for a quarter of a century on the Project and seemed to maintain his strength without any trouble at all and now suddenly he has weakened. It can't be age. He's not yet fifty."

 

 "Are you suggesting something?"

 

 "Yes. How long have you and Yugo been using this Electro-Clarifier thing on your Prime Radiants?"

 

 "About two years-maybe a little more."

 

 "I presume that the Electro-Clarifier is used by anyone who uses the Prime Radiant."

 

 "That's right."

 

 "Which means Yugo and you, mostly?"

 

 "Yes."

 

 "And Yugo more than you?"

 

 "Yes. Yugo concentrates fiercely on the Prime Radiant and its equations. 1, unfortunately, have to spend much of my time on administrative duties."

 

 "And what effect does the Electro-Clarifier have on the human body?"

 

 Seldon looked surprised. "Nothing of any significance that I am aware of."

 

 "In that case, explain something to me, Hari. The Electro-Clarifier has been in operation for over two years and in that time you've grown measurably more tired, crotchety, and a little-out of touch. Why is that?"

 

 "I'm getting older, Dors."

 

 "Nonsense. Whoever told you that sixty is crystallized senility? You're using your age as a crutch and a defense and I want you to stop it. Yugo, though he's younger, has been exposed to the Electro-Clarifier more than you have and, as a result, he is more tired, more crotchety, and, in my opinion, a great deal less in touch than you are. And he is rather childishly intense about the succession. Don't you see anything significant in this?"

 

 "Age and overwork. That's significant."

 

 "No, it's the Electro-Clarifier. It's having a long-term effect on the two of you."

 

 After a pause, Seldon said, "I can't disprove that, Dors, but I don't see how it's possible. The Electro-Clarifier is a device that produces an unusual electronic field, but it is still only a field of the type to which human beings are constantly exposed. It can't do any unusual harm. -In any case, we can't give up its use. There's no way of continuing the progress of the Project without it."

 

 "Now, Hari, I must ask something of you and you must cooperate with me on this. Go nowhere outside the Project without telling me and do nothing out of the ordinary without telling me. Do you understand?"

 

 "Dors, how can I agree to this? You're trying to put me into a straitjacket."

 

 "It's just for a while. A few days. A week."

 

 "What's going to happen in a few days or a week?"

 

 Dors said, "Trust me. I will clear up everything."

 

 25

 

 Hari Seldon knocked gently with an old-fashioned code and Yugo Amaryl looked up. "Hari, how nice of you to drop around."

 

 "I should do it more often. In the old days we were together all the time. Now there are hundreds of people to worry about-here, there, and everywhere-and they get between us. Have you heard the news?"

 

 "What news?"

 

 "The junta is going to set up a poll tax-a nice substantial one. It will be announced on TrantorVision tomorrow. It will be just Trantor for now and the Outer Worlds will have to wait. That's a little disappointing. I had hoped it would be Empire-wide all at once, but apparently I didn't give the General enough credit for caution."

 

 Amaryl said, "Trantor will be enough. The Outer Worlds will know that their turn will follow in not too long a time."

 

 "Now we'll have to see what happens."

 

 "What will happen is that the shouting will start the instant the announcement is out and the riots will begin, even before the new tax goes into effect."

 

 "Are you sure of it?"

 

 Amaryl put his Prime Radiant into action at once and expanded the appropriate section. "See for yourself, Hari. I don't see how that can be misinterpreted and that's the prediction under the particular circumstances that now exist. If it doesn't happen, it means that everything we've worked out in psychohistory is wrong and I refuse to believe that."

 

 "I'll try to have courage," said Seldon, smiling. Then "How do you feel lately, Yugo?"

 

 "Well enough. Reasonably well. -And how are you, by the way? I've heard rumors that you're thinking of resigning. Even Dors said something about that."

 

 "Pay no attention to Dors. These days she's saying all sorts of things.

 

 She has a bug in her head about some sort of danger permeating the Project."

 

 "What kind of danger?"

 

 "It's better not to ask. She's just gone off on one of her tangents and, as always, that makes her uncontrollable."

 

 Amaryl said, "See the advantage I have in being single?" Then, in a lower voice, "If you do resign, Hari, what are your plans for the future?"

 

 Seldon said, "You'll take over. What other plans can I possibly have?"

 

 And Amaryl smiled.

 

 26

 

 In the small conference room in the main building, Tamwile Elar listened to Dors Venabili with a gathering look of confusion and anger on his face. Finally he burst out, "Impossible!"

 

 He rubbed his chin, then went on cautiously, "I don't mean to offend you, Dr. Venabili, but your suggestions are ridic- cannot be right. I'here's no way in which anyone can think that there are, in this Psychohistory Project, any feelings so deadly as to justify your suspicions. I would certainly know if there were and I assure you there are not. Don't think it."

 

 "I do think it," said Dors stubbornly, "and I can find evidence for it."

 

 Elar said, "I don't know how to say this without offense, Dr. Venabili, but if a person is ingenious enough and intent enough on proving something, he or she can find all the evidence he or she wants-or, at least, something he or she believes is evidence."

 

 "Do you think I'm paranoid?"

 

 "I think that in your concern for the Maestro-something in which I’m with you all the way-you're, shall we say, overheated."

 

 Dors paused and considered Elar's statement. "At least you're right that a person with sufficient ingenuity can find evidence anywhere. I can build a case against you, for instance."

 

 Elar's eyes widened as he stared at her in total astonishment. "Against me? I would like to hear what case you can possibly have against me."

 

 "Very well. You shall. The birthday party was your idea, wasn't it?"

 

 Elar said, "I thought of it, yes, but I'm sure others did, too. With the Maestro moaning about his advancing years, it seemed a natural way of cheering him up."

 

 "I'm sure others may have thought of it, but it was you who actually pressed the issue and got my daughter-in-law fired up about it. She took over the details and you persuaded her that it was possible to put together a really large celebration. Isn't that so?"

 

 "I don't know if I had any influence on her, but even if I did, what's wrong with that?"

 

 "In itself, nothing, but in setting up so large and widespread and prolonged a celebration, were we not advertising to the rather unstable and suspicious men of the junta that Hari was too popular and might be a danger to them?"

 

 "No one could possibly believe such a thing was in my mind."

 

 Dors said, "I am merely pointing out the possibility. -In planning the birthday celebration, you insisted that the central offices be cleared out-"

 

 "Temporarily. For obvious reasons."

 

 "-and insisted that they remain totally unoccupied for a while. No work was done-except by Yugo Amaryl-during that time."

 

 "I didn't think it would hurt if the Maestro had some rest in advance of the party. Surely you can't complain about that."

 

 "But it meant that you could consult with other people in the empty offices and do so in total privacy. The offices are, of course, well shielded."

 

 "I did consult there-with your daughter-in-law, with caterers, suppliers, and other tradesmen. It was absolutely necessary, wouldn't you say?"

 

 "And if one of those you consulted with was a member of the junta?"

 

 Elar looked as though Dors had hit him. "I resent that, Dr. Venabili. What do you take me for?"

 

 Dors did not answer directly. She said, "You went on to talk to Dr. Seldon about his forthcoming meeting with the General and urged him-rather pressingly-to let you take his place and run the risks that might follow. The result was, of course, that Dr. Seldon insisted rather vehemently on seeing the General himself, which one can argue was precisely what you wanted him to do."

 

 Elar emitted a short nervous laugh. "With all due respect, this does sound like paranoia, Doctor."

 

 Dors pressed on. "And then, after the party, it was you, wasn't it, who was the first to suggest that a group of us go to the Dome's Edge Hotel?"

 

 "Yes and I remember you saying it was a good idea."

 

 "Might it not have been suggested in order to make the junta uneasy, as yet another example of Hari's popularity? And might it not have been arranged to tempt me into invading the Palace grounds?"

 

 "Could I have stopped you?" said Elar, his incredulity giving way to anger. "You had made up your own mind about that."

 

 Dors paid no attention. "And, of course, you hoped that by entering the Palace grounds I might make sufficient trouble to turn the junta even further against Hari."

 

 "But why, Dr. Venabili? Why would I be doing this?"

 

 "One might say it was to get rid of Dr. Seldon and to succeed him as director of the Project."

 

 "How can you possibly think this of me? I can't believe you are serious. You're just doing what you said you would at the start of this exercise just showing me what can be done by an ingenious mind intent on finding so-called evidence."

 

 "Let's turn to something else. I said that you were in a position to use the empty rooms for private conversations and that you may have been there with a member of the junta."

 

 "That is not even worth a denial."

 

 "But you were overheard. A little girl wandered into the room, curled up in a chair out of sight, and overheard your conversation."

 

 Elar frowned. "What did she hear?"

 

 "She reported that two men were talking about death. She was only a child and could not repeat anything in detail, but two words did impress her and they were `lemonade death.' "

 

 "Now you seem to be changing from fantasy to-if you'll excuse me -madness. What can `lemonade death' mean and what would it have to do with me?"

 

 "My first thought was to take it literally. The girl in question is very fond of lemonade and there was a good deal of it at the party, but no one Had poisoned it."

 

 "Thanks for granting sanity that much."

 

 "Then I realized the girl had heard something else, which her imperfect command of the language and her love of the beverage had perverted into `lemonade.'"

 

 "And have you invented a distortion?" Elar snorted.

 

 "It did seem to me for a while that what she might have heard was hymen-aided death.'"

 

 "What does that mean?"

 

 "An assassination carried through by laymen-by nonmathematicians."

 

 Dors stopped and frowned. Her hand clutched her chest.

 

 Elar said with sudden concern, "Is something wrong, Dr. Venabili?"

 

 "No," said Dors, seeming to shake herself.

 

 For a few moments she said nothing further and Elar cleared his throat. There was no sign of amusement on his face any longer, as he said, "Your comments, Dr. Venabili, are growing steadily more ridiculous and-well, I don't care if I do offend you, but I have grown tired of them. Shall we put an end to this?"

 

 "We are almost at an end, Dr. Elar. Layman-aided may indeed be ridiculous, as you say. I had decided that in my own mind, too. -You are, in part, responsible for the development of the Electro-Clarifier, aren't you?"

 

 Elar seemed to stand straighter as he said with a touch of pride, "Entirely responsible."

 

 "Surely not entirely. I understand it was designed by Cinda Monay."

 

 "A designer. She followed my instructions."

 

 "A layman. The Electro-Clarifier is a layman-aided device."

 

 With suppressed violence Elar said, "I don't think I want to hear that phrase again. Once more, shall we put an end to this?"

 

 Dors forged on, as if she hadn't heard his request. "Though you give her no credit now, you gave Cinda credit to her face-to keep her working eagerly, I suppose. She said you gave her credit and she was very grateful because of it. She said you even called the device by her name and yours, though that's not the official name."

 

 "Of course not. It's the Electro-Clarifier."

 

 "And she said she was designing improvements, intensifiers, and so on-and that you had the prototype of an advanced version of the new device for testing."

 

 "What has all this to do with anything?"

 

 "Since Dr. Seldon and Dr. Amaryl have been working with the Electro-Clarifier, both have in some ways deteriorated. Yugo, who works with it more, has also suffered more."

 

 "The Electro-Clarifier can, in no way, do that kind of damage."

 

 Dors put her hand to her forehead and momentarily winced. She said, "And now you have a more intense Electro-Clarifier that might do more damage, that might kill quickly, rather than slowly."

 

 "Absolute nonsense."

 

 "Now consider the name of the device, a name which, according to the woman who designed it, you are the only one to use. I presume you called it the Elar-Monay Clarifier."

 

 "I don't ever recall using that phrase," said Elar uneasily.

 

 "Surely you did. And the new intensified Elar-Monay Clarifies could he used to kill with no blame to be attached to anyone just a sad accident through a new and untried device. It would be the `Elar-Monay death' and a little girl heard it as `lemonade death.' "

 

 Dors's hand groped at her side.

 

 Elar said softly, "You are not well, Dr. Venabili."

 

 "I am perfectly well. Am I not correct?"

 

 "Look, it doesn't matter what you can twist into lemonade. Who knows what the little girl may have heard? It all boils down to the deadliness of the Electro-Clarifier. Bring me into court or before a scientific investigating board and let experts-as many as you like---check the effect of the Electro-Clarifier, even the new intensified one, on human beings. They will find it has no measurable effect."

 

 "I don't believe that," muttered Venabili. Her hands were now at her forehead and her eyes were closed. She swayed slightly.

 

 Elar said, "It is clear that you are not well, Dr. Venabili. Perhaps that means it is my turn to talk. May I?"

 

 Dors's eyes opened and she simply stared.

 

 "I'll take your silence for consent, Doctor. Of what use would it be for me to try to to get rid of Dr. Seldon and Dr. Amaryl in order to take my place as director? You would prevent any attempt I made at assassination, as you now think you are doing. In the unlikely case that I succeeded in such a project and was rid of the two great men, you would tear me to pieces afterward. You're a very unusual woman-strong and Post beyond belief-and while you are alive, the Maestro is safe."

 

 "Yes," said Dors, glowering.

 

 "I told this to the men of the junta. -Why should they not consult me on matters involving the Project? They are very interested in psychohistory, as well they ought to be. It was difficult for them to believe what I told them about you-until you made your foray into the Palace grounds. That convinced them, you can be sure, and they agreed with my plan."

 

 "Aha. Now we come to it," Dors said weakly.

 

 "I told you the Electro-Clarifier cannot harm human beings. It cannot. Amaryl and your precious Hari are just getting old, though you refuse to accept it. So what? They are fine-perfectly human. The electromagnetic field has no effect of any importance on organic materials. Of course, it may have adverse effects on sensitive electromagnetic machinery and, if we could imagine a human being built of metal and electronics, it might have an effect on it. Legends tell us of such artificial human beings. The Mycogenians have based their religion on them and they call such beings "robots." If there were such a thing as a robot, one would imagine it would be stronger and faster by far than an ordinary human being, that it would have properties, in fact, resembling those you have, Dr. Venabili. And such a robot could, indeed, be stopped, hurt, even destroyed by an intense Electro-Clarifier, such as the one that I have here, one that has been operating at low energy since we began our conversation. That is why you are feeling ill, Dr. Venabili-and for the first time in your existence, I'm sure."

 

 Dors said nothing, merely stared at the man. Slowly she sank into a chair.

 

 Elar smiled and went on, "Of course, with you taken care of, there will be no problem with the Maestro and with Amaryl. The Maestro, in fact, without you, may fade out at once and resign in grief, while Amaryl is merely a child in his mind. In all likelihood, neither will have to be killed. How does it feel, Dr. Venabili, to be unmasked after all these years? I must admit, you were very good at concealing your true nature. It's almost surprising that no one else discovered the truth before now. But then, I am a brilliant mathematician-an observer, a thinker, a deducer. Even I would not have figured it out were it not for your fanatical devotion to the Maestro and the occasional bursts of superhuman power you seemed to summon at will-when he was threatened.

 

 "Say good-bye, Dr. Venabili. All I have to do now is to turn the device to full power and you will be history."

 

 Dors seemed to collect herself and rose slowly from her seat, mumbling, "I may be better shielded than you think." Then, with a grunt, she threw herself at Elar.

 

 Elar, his eyes widening, shrieked and reeled back.

 

 Then Dors was on him, her hand flashing. Its side struck Elar's neck, smashing the vertebrae and shattering the nerve cord. He fell dead on the floor.

 

 Dors straightened with an effort and staggered toward the door. She had to find Hari. He had to know what had happened.

 

 27

 

 Hari Seldon rose from his seat in horror. He had never seen Dors look so, her face twisted, her body canted, staggering as though she were drunk.

 

 "Dors! What happened! What's wrong!"

 

 He ran to her and grasped her around the waist, even as her body gave way and collapsed in his arms. He lifted her (she weighed more than :m ordinary woman her size would have, but Seldon was unaware of that ;it the moment) and placed her on the couch.

 

 "What happened?" he said.

 

 She told him, gasping, her voice breaking now and then, while he cradled her head and tried to force himself to believe what was happening.

 

 "Elar is dead," she said. "I finally killed a human being. -First time. Makes it worse."

 

 "How badly are you damaged, Dors?"

 

 "Badly. Elar turned on his device-full-when I rushed him."

 

 "You can be readjusted."

 

 "How? There's no one-on Trantor-who knows how. I need I Daneel."

 

 Daneel. Demerzel. Somehow, deep inside, Hari had always known. His friend-a robot-had provided him with a protector-a robot-to ensure that psychohistory and the seeds of the Foundations were given a chance to take root. The only problem was, Hari had fallen in love with his protector-a robot. It all made sense now. All the nagging doubts and the questions could be answered. And somehow, it didn't matter one bit. All that mattered was Dors.

 

 "We can't let this happen."

 

 "It must." Dors's eyes fluttered open and looked at Seldon. "Must. Tried to save you, but missed-vital point-who will protect you now?"

 

 Seldon couldn't see her clearly. There was something wrong with his eyes. "Don't worry about me, Dors. It's you- It's you-"

 

 "No. You, Hari. Tell Manella-Manella-I forgive her now. She did better than I. Explain to Wanda. You and Raych-take care of each other."

 

 "No no no," said Seldon, rocking back and forth. "You can't do this. Hang on, Dors. Please. Please, my love."

 

 Dors's head shook feebly and she smiled even more feebly. "Goodbye, Hari, my love. Remember always-all you did for me."

 

 "I did nothing for you."

 

 "You loved me and your love made me-human."

 

 Her eyes remained open, but Dors had ceased functioning.

 

 Yugo Amaryl came storming into Seldon's office. "Hari, the riots are beginning, sooner and harder even than exp-"

 

 And then he stared at Seldon and Dors and whispered, "What happened?"

 

 Seldon looked up at him in agony. "Riots! What do I care about riots now? -What do I care about anything now?"

 

 

  

 

  

 

 PART IV

 

  

 

 WANDA SELDON

 

  

 

  

 

  

 

  

 

 

  

 

  

 

 SELDON, WANDA- . . . In the waning years of Hari Seldon's life, he grew most attached to (some say dependent upon) his granddaughter, Wanda. Orphaned in her teens, Wanda Seldon devoted herself to her grandfather's Psychohistory Project, filling the vacancy left by Yugo Amaryl . . . .

 

 The content of Wanda Seldon's work remains largely a mystery, for it was conducted in virtually total isolation. The only individuals allowed access to Wanda Seldon's research were Hari himself and a young man named Stettin Palver (whose descendant Preem would four hundred years later contribute to the rebirth of Trantor, as the planet rose from the ashes of the Great Sack [300 F.E.1).

 

 Although the full extent of Wanda Seldon's contribution to the Foundation is unknown, it was undoubtedly of the greatest magnitude . . . .

 

 ENCYCLOPEDIA GALACTICA

 

  

 

 1

 

 Hari Seldon walked into the Galactic Library (limping a little, as he did more and more often these days) and made for the banks of skitters, the little vehicles that slid their way along the interminable corridors of the building complex.

 

 He was held up, however, by the sight of three men seated at one of the galactography alcoves, with the Galactograph showing the Galaxy in full three-dimensional representation and, of course, its worlds slowly pinwheeling around its core, spinning at right angles to that as well.

 

 From where Seldon stood he could see that the border Province of Anacreon was marked off in glowing red. It skirted the edge of the Galaxy and took up a great volume, but it was sparsely populated with stars. Anacreon was not remarkable for either wealth or culture but was remarkable for its distance from Trantor: ten thousand parsecs away.

 

 Seldon acting on impulse, took a seat at a computer console near the three and set up a random search he was sure would take an indefinite period. Some instinct told him that such an intense interest in Anacreon must be political in nature-its position in the Galaxy made it one of the least secure holdings of the current Imperial regime. His eyes remained on his screen, but Seldon's ears were open for the discussion near him. One didn't usually hear political discussions in the Library. They were, in point of fact, not supposed to take place.

 

 Seldon did not know any of the three men. That was not entirely surprising. There were habitues of the Library, quite a few, and Seldon knew most of them by sight-and some even to talk to-but the Library was open to all citizens. No qualifications. Anyone could enter and use its facilities. (For a limited period of time, of course. Only a select few, like Seldon were allowed to "set up shop" in the Library. Seldon had I1uen granted the use of a locked private office and complete access to Library resources.)

 

 One of the men (Seldon thought of him as Hook Nose, for obvious reasons) spoke in a low urgent voice.

 

 "Let it go," he said. "Let it go. It's costing us a mint to try to hold on and, even if we do, it will only be while they're there. They can't stay there forever and, as soon as they leave, the situation will revert to what it was."

 

 Seldon knew what they were talking about. The news had come over TrantorVision only three days ago that the Imperial government had decided on a show of force to bring the obstreperous Governor of Anacreon into line. Seldon's own psychohistorical analysis had shown him that it was a useless procedure, but the government did not generally listen when its emotions were stirred. Seldon smiled slightly and grimly at hearing Hook Nose say what he himself had said-and the young man said it without the benefit of any knowledge of psychohistory.

 

 Hook Nose went on. "If we leave Anacreon alone, what do we lose? It's still there, right where it always was, right at the edge of the Empire. It can't pick up and go to Andromeda, can it? So it still has to trade with us and life continues. What's the difference if they salute the Emperor or not? You'll never be able to tell the difference."

 

 The second man, whom Seldon had labeled Baldy, for even more obvious reasons, said, "Except this whole business doesn't exist in a vacuum. If Anacreon goes, the other border provinces will go. The Empire will break up."

 

 "So what?" whispered Hook Nose fiercely. "The Empire can't run itself effectively anymore, anyway. It's too big. Let the border go and take care of itself-if it can. The Inner Worlds will be all the stronger and better off. The border doesn't have to be ours politically; it will still be ours economically."

 

 And now the third man (Red Cheeks) said, "I wish you were right, but that's not the way it's going to work. If the border provinces establish their independence, the first thing each will do will be to try to increase its power at the expense of its neighbors. There'll be war and conflict and every one of the governors will dream of becoming Emperor at last. It will be like the old days before the Kingdom of Trantor-a dark age that will last for thousands of years."

 

 Baldy said, "Surely things won't be that bad. The Empire may break up, but it will heal itself quickly when people find out that the breakup just means war and impoverishment. They'll look back on the golden days of the intact Empire and all will be well again. We're not barbarians, you know. We'll find a way."

 

 "Absolutely," said Hook Nose. "We've got to remember that the Empire has faced crisis after crisis in its history and has pulled through time and again."

 

 But Red Cheeks shook his head as he said, "This is not just another crisis. This is something much worse. The Empire has been deteriorating for generations. Ten years' worth of the junta destroyed the economy and since the fall of the junta and the rise of this new Emperor, the Empire has been so weak that the governors on the Periphery don't have to do anything. It's going to fall of its own weight."

 

 "And the allegiance to the Emperor-" began Hook Nose.

 

 "What allegiance?" said Red Cheeks. "We went for years without an Emperor after Cleon was assassinated and no one seemed to mind much. And this new Emperor is just a figurehead. There's nothing he can do. There's nothing anyone can do. This isn't a crisis. This is the end. "

 

 The other two stared at Red Cheeks, frowning. Baldy said, "You really believe it! You think that the Imperial government will just sit there and let it all happen?"

 

 "Yes! Like you two, they won't believe it is happening. That is, until it's too late."

 

 "What would you want them to do if they did believe it?" asked Baldy.

 

 Red Cheeks stared into the Galactograph, as if he might find an answer there. "I don't know. Look, in due course of time I'll die; things won't be too bad by then. Afterward, as the situation gets worse, other people can worry about it. I'll be gone. And so will the good old days. Maybe forever. I'm not the only one who thinks this, by the way. Ever hear of someone named Hari Seldon?"

 

 "Sure," said Hook Nose at once. "Wasn't he First Minister under Cleon?"

 

 "Yes," said Red Cheeks. "He's some sort of scientist. I heard him give a talk a few months back. It felt good to know I'm not the only one who believes the Empire is falling apart. He said-"

 

 "And he said everything's going to pot and there's going to be a permanent dark age?" Baldy interjected.

 

 "Well no," said Red Cheeks. "He's one of these real cautious types. Ire says it might happen, but he's wrong. It will happen."

 

 Seldon had heard enough. He limped toward the table where the three men sat and touched Red Cheeks on the shoulder.

 

 "Sir," he said, "may I speak to you for a moment?"

 

 Startled, Red Cheeks looked up and then he said, "Hey, aren't you Professor Seldon?"

 

 "I always have been," said Seldon. He handed the man a reference tile bearing his photograph. "I would like to see you here in my Library office at 4 P.m., day after tomorrow. Can you manage that?"

 

 "I have to work."

 

 "Call in sick if you have to. It's important."

 

 "Well, I'm not sure, sir."

 

 "Do it," said Seldon. "If you get into any sort of trouble over it, I'll straighten it out. And meanwhile, gentlemen, do you mind if I study the Galaxy simulation for a moment? It's been a long time since I've looked at one."

 

 They nodded mutely, apparently abashed at being in the presence of a former First Minister. One by one the men stepped back and allowed Seldon access to the Galactograph controls.

 

 Seldon's finger reached out to the controls and the red that had marked off the Province of Anacreon vanished. The Galaxy was unmarked, a glowing pinwheel of mist brightening into the spherical glow at the center, behind which was the Galactic black hole.

 

 Individual stars could not be made out, of course, unless the view were magnified, but then only one portion or another of the Galaxy would be shown on the screen and Seldon wanted to see the whole thing -to get a look at the Empire that was vanishing.

 

 He pushed a contact and a series of yellow dots appeared on the Galactic image. They represented the habitable planets-twenty-five million of them. They could be distinguished as individual dots in the thin fog that represented the outskirts of the Galaxy, but they were more and more thickly placed as one moved in toward the center. There was a belt of what seemed solid yellow (but which would separate into individual dots under magnification) around the central glow. The central glow itself remained white and unmarked, of course. No habitable planets could exist in the midst of the turbulent energies of the core.

 

 Despite the great density of yellow, not one star in ten thousand, Seldon knew, had a habitable planet circling it. This was true, despite the planet-molding and terraforming capacities of humanity. Not all the molding in the Galaxy could make most of the worlds into anything a human being could walk on in comfort and without the protection of a spacesuit.

 

 Seldon closed another contact. The yellow dots disappeared, but one tiny region glowed blue: Trantor and the various worlds directly dependent on it. As close as it could be to the central core and yet remaining insulated from its deadliness, it was commonly viewed as being located at the "center of the Galaxy," which it wasn't-not truly. As usual, one had to be impressed by the smallness of the world of Trantor, a tiny place in the vast realm of the Galaxy, but within it was squeezed the largest concentration of wealth, culture, and governmental authority that humanity had ever seen.

 

 And even that was doomed to destruction.

 

 It was almost as though the men could read his mind or perhaps they interpreted the sad expression on his face.

 

 Baldy asked softly, "Is the Empire really going to be destroyed?"

 

 Seldon replied, softer still, "It might. It might. Anything might happen."

 

 He rose, smiled at the men, and left, but in his thoughts he screamed: It will! It will!

 

 2

 

 Seldon sighed as he climbed into one of the skitters that were ranked side by side in the large alcove. There had been a time, just a few years ago, when he had gloried in walking briskly along the interminable corridors of the Library, telling himself that even though he was past sixty he could manage it.

 

 But now, at seventy, his legs gave way all too quickly and he had to take a skitter. Younger men took them all the time because skitters saved them trouble, but Seldon did it because he had to-and that made all the difference.

 

 After Seldon punched in the destination, he closed a contact and the skitter lifted a fraction of an inch above the floor. Off it went at a rather casual pace, very smoothly, very silently, and Seldon leaned back and watched the corridor walls, the other skitters, the occasional walkers.

 

 He passed a number of Librarians and, even after all these years, he still smiled when he saw them. They were the oldest Guild in the Empire, the one with the most revered traditions, and they clung to ways that were more appropriate centuries before-maybe millennia before.

 

 Their garments were silky and off-white and were loose enough to be almost gownlike, coming together at the neck and billowing out from there.

 

 Trantor, like all the worlds, oscillated, where the males were concerned, between facial hair and smoothness. The people of Trantor itself -or at least most of its sectors-were smooth-shaven and had been smooth-shaven for as far back as he knew-excepting such anomalies as the mustaches worn by Dahlites, such as his own foster son, Raych.

 

 The Librarians, however, clung to the beards of long ago. Every Librarian had a rather short neatly cultivated beard running from ear to ear but leaving bare the upper lip. That alone was enough to mark them for what they were and to make the smooth-shaven Seldon feel a little uncomfortable when surrounded by a crowd of them.

 

 Actually the most characteristic thing of all was the cap each wore (perhaps even when asleep, Seldon thought). Square, it was made of a velvety material, in four parts that came together with a button at the top. The caps came in an endless variety of colors and apparently each color had significance. If you were familiar with Librarian lore, you could tell a particular Librarian's length of service, area of expertise, grades of accomplishment, and so on. They helped fix a pecking order. Every Librarian could, by a glance at another's hat, tell whether to be respectful (and to what degree) or overbearing (and to what degree).

 

 The Galactic Library was the largest single structure on Trantor (possibly in the Galaxy), much larger than even the Imperial Palace, and it had once gleamed and glittered, as though boasting of its size and magnificence. However, like the Empire itself, it had faded and withered. It was like an old dowager still wearing the jewels of her youth but upon a body that was wrinkled and wattled.

 

 The skitter stopped in front of the ornate doorway of the Chief Librarian's office and Seldon climbed out.

 

 Las Zenow smiled as he greeted Seldon. "Welcome, my friend," he said in his high-pitched voice. (Seldon wondered if he had ever sung tenor in his younger days but had never dared to ask. The Chief Librarian was a compound of dignity always and the question might have seemed offensive.)

 

 "Greetings," said Seldon. Zenow had a gray beard, rather more than halfway to white, and he wore a pure white hat. Seldon understood that without any explanation. It was a case of reverse ostentation. The total absence of color represented the highest peak of position.

 

 Zenow rubbed his hands with what seemed to be an inner glee. "I've called you in, Hari, because I've got good news for you. -We've found it!

 

 "By `it,' Las, you mean-"

 

 "A suitable world. You wanted one far out. I think we've located the ideal one." His smile broadened. "You just leave it to the Library. Hari. We can find anything."

 

 "I have no doubt, Las. Tell me about this world."

 

 "Well, let me show you its location first." A section of the wall slid aside, the lights in the room dimmed, and the Galaxy appeared in three-dimensional form, turning slowly. Again, red lines marked off the Province of Anacreon, so that Seldon could almost swear that the episode with the three men had been a rehearsal for this.

 

 And then a brilliant blue dot appeared at the far end of the province. "There it is," said Zenow. "It's an ideal world. Sizable, well-watered, good oxygen atmosphere, vegetation, of course. A great deal of sea life. It's there just for the taking. No planet-molding or terraforming required -or, at least, none that cannot be done while it is actually occupied."

 

 Seldon said, "Is it an unoccupied world, Las?"

 

 "Absolutely unoccupied. No one on it."

 

 "But why-if it's so suitable? I presume that, if you have all the details about it, it must have been explored. Why wasn't it colonized?"

 

 "It was explored, but only by unmanned probes. And there was no colonization-presumably because it was so far from everything. The planet revolves around a star that is farther from the central black hole than that of any inhabited planet-farther by far. Too far, I suppose, for prospective colonists, but I think not too far for you. You said, `The farther, the better.' "

 

 "Yes," said Seldon, nodding. "I still say so. Does it have a name or is there just a letter-number combination?"

 

 "Believe it or not, it has a name. Those who sent out the probes named it Terminus, an archaic word meaning `the end of the line.' Which it would seem to be."

 

 Seldon said, "Is the world part of the territory of the Province of Anacreon?"

 

 "Not really," said Zenow. "If you'll study the red line and the red shading, you will see that the blue dot of Terminus lies slightly outside it -fifty light-years outside it, in fact. Terminus belongs to nobody; it's not even part of the Empire, as a matter of fact."

 

 "You're right, then, Las. It does seem like the ideal world I've been looking for."

 

 "Of course," said Zenow thoughtfully, "once you occupy Terminus, I imagine the Governor of Anacreon will claim it as being under his jurisdiction."

 

 "That's possible," said Seldon, "but we'll have to deal with that when 1 he matter comes up."

 

 Zenow rubbed his hands again. "What a glorious conception. Setting up a huge project on a brand-new world, far away and entirely isolated, so that year by year and decade by decade a huge Encyclopedia of all human knowledge can be put together. An epitome of what is present in this Library. If I were only younger, I would love to join the expedition."

 

 Seldon said sadly, "You're almost twenty years younger than I am." (Almost everyone is far younger than I am, he thought, even more sadly.)

 

 Zenow said, "Ah yes, I heard that you just passed your seventieth birthday. I hope you enjoyed it and celebrated appropriately."

 

 Seldon stirred. "I don't celebrate my birthdays."

 

 "Oh, but you did. I remember the famous story of your sixtieth birthday."

 

 Seldon felt the pain, as deeply as though the dearest loss in all the world had taken place the day before. "Please don't talk about it," he said.

 

 Abashed, Zenow said, "I'm sorry. We'll talk about something else. If, indeed, Terminus is the world you want, I imagine that your work on the preliminaries to the Encyclopedia Project will be redoubled. As you know, the Library will be glad to help you in all respects."

 

 "I'm aware of it, Las, and I am endlessly grateful. We will, indeed, keep working."

 

 He rose, not yet able to smile after the sharp pang induced by the reference to his birthday celebration of ten years back. He said, "So I must go to continue my labors."

 

 And as he left, he felt, as always, a pang of conscience over the deceit he was practicing. Las Zenow did not have the slightest idea of Seldon's true intentions.

 

 3

 

 Hari Seldon surveyed the comfortable suite that had been his personal office at the Galactic Library these past few years. It, like the rest of the Library, had a vague air of decay about it, a kind of weariness-something that had been too long in one place. And yet Seldon knew it might remain here, in the same place, for centuries more-with judicious rebuildings-for millennia even.

 

 How did he come to be here?

 

 Over and over again, he felt the past in his mind, ran his mental tendrils along the line of development of his life. It was part of growing older, no doubt. There was so much more in the past, so much less in the future, that the mind turned away from the looming shadow ahead to contemplate the safety of what had gone before.

 

 In his case, though, there was that change. For over thirty years psychohistory had developed in what might almost be considered a straight line-progress creepingly slow but moving straight ahead. Then six years ago there had been a right-angled turn-totally unexpected.

 

 And Seldon know exactly how it had happened, how a concatenation of events came together to make it possible.

 

 It was Wanda, of course, Seldon's granddaughter. Hari closed his eyes and settled into his chair to review the events of six years before.

 

 Twelve-year-old Wanda was bereft. Her mother, Manella, had had another child, another little girl, Bellis, and for a time the new baby was a total preoccupation.

 

 Her father, Raych, having finished his book on his home sector of Dahl, found it to be a minor success and himself a minor celebrity. He was called upon to talk on the subject, something he accepted with alacrity, for he was fiercely absorbed in the subject and, as he said to Hari with a grin, "When I talk about Dahl, I don't have to hide my Dahlite accent. In fact, the public expects it of me."

 

 The net result, though, was that he was away from home a considerable amount of time and when he wasn't, it was the baby he wanted to see.

 

 As for Dors-Dors was gone-and to Hari Seldon that wound was ever-fresh, ever-painful. And he had reacted to it in an unfortunate manner. It had been Wanda's dream that had set in motion the current of events that had ended with the loss of Dors.

 

 Wanda had had nothing to do with it-Seldon knew that very well. And yet he found himself shrinking from her, so that he also failed her in the crisis brought about by the birth of the new baby.

 

 And Wanda wandered disconsolately to the one person who always seemed glad to see her, the one person she could always count on. That WAS Yugo Amaryl, second only to Hari Seldon in the development of psychohistory and first in his absolute round-the-clock devotion to it. Hari had had Dors and Raych, but psychohistory was Yugo's life; he had no wife and children. Yet whenever Wanda came into his presence, something within him recognized her as a child and he dimly felt-for just that moment-a sense of loss that seemed to be assuaged only by showing the child affection. To be sure, he tended to treat her as a rather undersized adult, but Wanda seemed to like that.

 

 It was six years ago that she had wandered into Yugo's office. Yugo looked up at her with his owlish reconstituted eyes and, as usual, took a moment or two to recognize her.

 

 Then he said, "Why, it's my dear friend Wanda. -But why do you look so sad? Surely an attractive young woman like you should never feel sad."

 

 And Wanda, her lower lip trembling, said, "Nobody loves me."

 

 "Oh come, that's not true."

 

 "They just love that new baby. They don't care about me anymore."

 

 "I love you, Wanda."

 

 "Well, you're the only one then, Uncle Yugo." And even though she could no longer crawl onto his lap as she had when she was younger, she cradled her head on his shoulder and wept.

 

 Amaryl, totally unaware of what he should do, could only hug the girl and say, "Don't cry. Don't cry." And out of sheer sympathy and because he had so little in his own life to weep about, he found that tears were trickling down his own cheeks as well.