Forward the Foundation

  “Forgive me, Maestro, but you were not an extraordinarily effective one. You dealt with First Minister Demerzel, who was very intelligent, by all accounts, and with the Emperor Cleon, who was very friendly. Now you will encounter military people who are neither intelligent nor friendly—another matter entirely.”

  “I’ve even dealt with military people and survived.”

  “Not with General Dugal Tennar. He’s another sort of thing altogether. I know him.”

  “You know him? You have met him?”

  “I don’t know him personally, but he’s from Mandanov, which, as you know, is my sector, and he was a power there before he joined the junta and rose through its ranks.”

  “And what do you know about him?”

  “Ignorant, superstitious, violent. He is not someone you can handle easily—or safely. You can use the week to work out methods for dealing with him.”

  Seldon bit his lower lip. There was something to what Elar said and Seldon recognized the fact that, while he had plans of his own, it would still be difficult to try to manipulate a stupid, self-important, short-tempered person with overwhelming force at his disposal.

  He said uneasily, “I’ll manage somehow. The whole matter of a military junta is, in any case, an unstable situation in the Trantor of today. It has already lasted longer than might have seemed likely.”

  “Have we been testing that? I was not aware that we were making stability decisions on the junta.”

  “Just a few calculations by Amaryl, making use of your achaotic equations.” He paused. “By the way, I’ve come across some references to them as the Elar Equations.”

  “Not by me, Maestro.”

  “I hope you don’t mind, but I don’t want that. Psychohistoric elements are to be described functionally and not personally. As soon as personalities intervene, bad feelings arise.”

  “I understand and quite agree, Maestro.”

  “In fact,” said Seldon with a touch of guilt, “I have always felt it wrong that we speak of the basic Seldon Equations of Psychohistory. The trouble is that’s been in use for so many years, it’s not practical to try to change it.”

  “If you’ll excuse my saying so, Maestro, you’re an exceptional case. No one, I think, would quarrel with your receiving full credit for inventing the science of psychohistory. —But, if I may, I wish to get back to your meeting with General Tennar.”

  “Well, what else is there to say?”

  “I can’t help but wonder if it might be better if you did not see him, did not speak to him, did not deal with him.”

  “How am I to avoid that if he calls me in for a conference?”

  “Perhaps you can plead illness and send someone in your place.”

  “Whom?”

  Elar was silent for a moment, but his silence was eloquent.

  Seldon said, “You, I take it.”

  “Might that not be the thing to do? I am a fellow sectoral citizen of the General, which may carry some weight. You are a busy man, getting on in years, and it would be easy to believe that you are not entirely well. And if I see him, rather than yourself—please excuse me, Maestro—I can wiggle and maneuver more easily than you can.”

  “Lie, you mean.”

  “If necessary.”

  “You’ll be taking a huge chance.”

  “Not too huge. I doubt that he will order my execution. If he becomes annoyed with me, as he well might, then I can plead—or you can plead on my behalf—youth and inexperience. In any case, if I get into trouble, that will be far less dangerous than if you were to do so. I’m thinking of the Project, which can do without me a great deal more easily than it can do without you.”

  Seldon said with a frown, “I’m not going to hide behind you, Elar. If the man wants to see me, he will see me. I refuse to shiver and shake and ask you to take chances for me. What do you think I am?”

  “A frank and honest man—when the need is for a devious one.”

  “I will manage to be devious—if I must. Please don’t underestimate me, Elar.”

  Elar shrugged hopelessly. “Very well. I can only argue with you up to a certain point.”

  “In fact, Elar, I wish you had not postponed the meeting. I would rather skip my birthday and see the General than the reverse. This birthday celebration was not my idea.” His voice died away in a grumble.

  Elar said, “I’m sorry.”

  “Well,” said Seldon with resignation, “we’ll see what happens.”

  He turned and left. Sometimes he wished ardently that he could run what was called a “tight ship,” making sure that everything went as he wished it to, leaving little or no room for maneuvering among his subordinates. To do that, however, would take enormous time, enormous effort, would deprive him of any chance of working on psychohistory himself—and, besides, he simply lacked the temperament for it.

  He sighed. He would have to speak to Amaryl.

  10

  Seldon strode into Amaryl’s office, unannounced.

  “Yugo,” he said abruptly, “the session with General Tennar has been postponed.” He seated himself in a rather pettish manner.

  It took Amaryl his usual few moments to disconnect his mind from his work. Looking up finally, he said, “What was his excuse?”

  “It wasn’t he. Some of our mathematicians arranged a week’s postponement so that it wouldn’t interfere with the birthday celebration. I find all of this to be extremely annoying.”

  “Why did you let them do that?”

  “I didn’t. They just went ahead and arranged things.” Seldon shrugged. “In a way, it’s my fault. I’ve whined so long about turning sixty that everyone thinks they have to cheer me up with festivities.”

  Amaryl said, “Of course, we can use the week.”

  Seldon sat forward, immediately tense. “Is something wrong?”

  “No. Not that I can see, but it won’t hurt to examine it further. Look, Hari, this is the first time in nearly thirty years that psychohistory has reached the point where it can actually make a prediction. It’s not much of one—it’s just a small pinch of the vast continent of humanity—but it’s the best we’ve had so far. All right. We want to take advantage of that, see how it works, prove to ourselves that psychohistory is what we think it is: a predictive science. So it won’t hurt to make sure that we haven’t overlooked anything. Even this tiny bit of prediction is complex and I welcome another week of study.”

  “Very well, then. I’ll consult you on the matter before I go to see the General for any last-minute modifications that have to be made. Meanwhile, Yugo, do not allow any information concerning this to leak out to the others—not to anyone. If it fails, I don’t want the people of the Project to grow downhearted. You and I will absorb the failure ourselves and keep on trying.”

  A rare wistful smile crossed Amaryl’s face. “You and I. Do you remember when it really was just the two of us?”

  “I remember it very well and don’t think that I don’t miss those days. We didn’t have much to work with—”

  “Not even the Prime Radiant, let alone the Electro-Clarifier.”

  “But those were happy days.”

  “Happy,” said Amaryl, nodding his head.

  11

  The University had been transformed and Hari Seldon could not refrain from being pleased.

  The central rooms of the Project complex had suddenly sprouted in color and light, with holography filling the air with shifting three-dimensional images of Seldon at different places and different times. There was Dors Venabili smiling, looking somewhat younger—Raych as a teenager, still unpolished—Seldon and Amaryl, looking unbelievably young, bent over their computers. There was even a fleeting sight of Eto Demerzel, which filled Seldon’s heart with yearning for his old friend and the security he had felt before Demerzel’s departure.

  The Emperor Cleon appeared nowhere in the holographics. It was not because holographs of him did not exist, but it was not wise, under the rule of the junta,
to remind people of the past Imperium.

  It all poured outward, overflowing, filling room after room, building after building. Somehow, time had been found to convert the entire University into a display the likes of which Seldon had never seen or even imagined. Even the dome lights were darkened to produce an artificial night against which the University would sparkle for three days.

  “Three days!” said Seldon, half-impressed, half-horrified.

  “Three days,” said Dors Venabili, nodding her head. “The University would consider nothing less.”

  “The expense! The labor!” said Seldon, frowning.

  “The expense is minimal,” said Dors, “compared to what you have done for the University. And the labor is all voluntary. The students turned out and took care of everything.”

  A from-the-air view of the University appeared now, panoramically, and Seldon stared at it with a smile forcing itself onto his countenance.

  Dors said, “You’re pleased. You’ve done nothing but grouse these past few months about how you didn’t want any celebration for being an old man—and now look at you.”

  “Well, it is flattering. I had no idea that they would do anything like this.”

  “Why not? You’re an icon, Hari. The whole world—the whole Empire—knows about you.”

  “They do not,” said Seldon, shaking his head vigorously. “Not one in a billion knows anything at all about me—and certainly not about psychohistory. No one outside the Project has the faintest knowledge of how psychohistory works and not everyone inside does, either.”

  “That doesn’t matter, Hari. It’s you. Even the quadrillions who don’t know anything about you or your work know that Hari Seldon is the greatest mathematician in the Empire.”

  “Well,” said Seldon, looking around, “they certainly are making me feel that way right now. But three days and three nights! The place will be reduced to splinters.”

  “No, it won’t. All the records have been stored away. The computers and other equipment have been secured. The students have set up a virtual security force that will prevent anything from being damaged.”

  “You’ve seen to all of that, haven’t you, Dors?” said Seldon, smiling at her fondly.

  “A number of us have. It’s by no means all me. Your colleague Tamwile Elar has worked with incredible dedication.”

  Seldon scowled.

  “What’s the matter with Elar?” said Dors.

  Seldon said, “He keeps calling me ‘Maestro.’ ”

  Dors shook her head. “Well, there’s a terrible crime.”

  Seldon ignored that and said, “And he’s young.”

  “Worse and worse. Come, Hari, you’re going to have to learn to grow old gracefully—and to begin with you’ll have to show that you’re enjoying yourself. That will please others and increase their enjoyment and surely you would want to do that. Come on. Move around. Don’t hide here with me. Greet everyone. Smile. Ask after their health. And remember that, after the banquet, you’re going to have to make a speech.”

  “I dislike banquets and I doubly dislike speeches.”

  “You’ll have to, anyway. Now move!”

  Seldon sighed dramatically and did as he was told. He cut quite an imposing figure as he stood in the archway leading into the main hall. The voluminous First Minister’s robes of yesteryear were gone, as were the Heliconian-style garments he had favored in his youth. Now Seldon wore an outfit that bespoke his elevated status: straight pants, crisply pleated, a modified tunic on top. Embroidered in silver thread above his heart was the insignia: SELDON PSYCHOHISTORY PROJECT AT STREELING UNIVERSITY. It sparkled like a beacon against the dignified titanium-gray hue of his clothing. Seldon’s eyes twinkled in a face now lined by age, his sixty years given away as much by his wrinkles as by his white hair.

  He entered the room in which the children were feasting. The room had been entirely cleared, except for trestles with food upon them. The children rushed up to him as soon as they saw him—knowing, as they did, that he was the reason for the feast—and Seldon tried to avoid their clutching fingers.

  “Wait, wait, children,” he said. “Now stand back.”

  He pulled a small computerized robot from his pocket and placed it on the floor. In an Empire without robots, this was something that he could expect to be eye-popping. It had the shape of a small furry animal, but it also had the capacity to change shapes without warning (eliciting squeals of children’s laughter each time) and when it did so, the sounds and motions it made changed as well.

  “Watch it,” said Seldon, “and play with it, and try not to break it. Later on, there’ll be one for each of you.”

  He slipped out into the hallway leading back to the main hall and realized, as he did so, that Wanda was following him.

  “Grandpa,” she said.

  Well, of course, Wanda was different. He swooped down and lifted her high in the air, turned her over, and put her down.

  “Are you having a good time, Wanda?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said, “but don’t go into that room.”

  “Why not, Wanda? It’s my room. It’s the office where I work.”

  “It’s where I had my bad dream.”

  “I know, Wanda, but that’s all over, isn’t it?” He hesitated, then he led Wanda to one of the chairs lining the hallway. He sat down and placed her in his lap.

  “Wanda,” he said, “are you sure it was a dream?”

  “I think it was a dream.”

  “Were you really sleeping?”

  “I think I was.”

  She seemed uncomfortable talking about it and Seldon decided to let it go. There was no use pushing her any further.

  He said, “Well, dream or not, there were two men and they talked of lemonade death, didn’t they?”

  Wanda nodded reluctantly.

  Seldon said, “You’re sure they said lemonade?”

  Wanda nodded again.

  “Might they have said something else and you thought they said lemonade?”

  “Lemonade is what they said.”

  Seldon had to be satisfied with that. “Well, run off and have a good time, Wanda. Forget about the dream.”

  “All right, Grandpa.” She cheered up as soon as the matter of the dream was dismissed and off she went to join the festivities.

  Seldon went to search for Manella. It took him an extraordinarily long time to find her, since, at every step, he was stopped, greeted, and conversed with.

  Finally he saw her in the distance. Muttering, “Pardon me— Pardon me— There’s someone I must—Pardon me—,” he worked his way over to her with considerable trouble.

  “Manella,” he said and drew her off to one side, smiling mechanically in all directions.

  “Yes, Hari,” she said. “Is something wrong?”

  “It’s Wanda’s dream.”

  “Don’t tell me she’s still talking about it.”

  “Well, it’s still bothering her. Listen, we have lemonade at the party, haven’t we?”

  “Of course, the children adore it. I’ve added a couple of dozen different Mycogenian taste buds to very small glasses of different shapes and the children try them one after the other to see which taste best. The adults have been drinking it, too. I have. Why don’t you taste it, Hari? It’s great.”

  “I’m thinking. If it wasn’t a dream, if the child really heard two men speak of lemonade death—” He paused, as though ashamed to continue.

  Manella said, “Are you thinking that someone poisoned the lemonade? That’s ridiculous. By now every child in the place would be sick or dying.”

  “I know,” muttered Seldon. “I know.”

  He wandered off and almost didn’t see Dors when he passed her. She seized his elbow.

  “Why the face?” she said. “You look concerned.”

  “I’ve been thinking of Wanda’s lemonade death.”

  “So have I, but I can’t make anything of it so far.”

  “I can’t help but th
ink of the possibility of poisoning.”

  “Don’t. I assure you that every bit of food that came into this party has been molecularly checked. I know you’ll think that’s my typical paranoia, but my task is guarding you and that is what I must do.”

  “And everything is—”

  “No poison. I promise you.”

  Seldon smiled, “Well, good. That’s a relief. I didn’t really think—”

  “Let’s hope not,” said Dors dryly. “What concerns me far more than this myth of poison is that I have heard that you’re going to be seeing that monster Tennar in a few days.”

  “Don’t call him a monster, Dors. Be careful. We’re surrounded by ears and tongues.”

  Dors immediately lowered her voice. “I suppose you’re right. Look around. All these smiling faces—and yet who knows which of our ‘friends’ will be reporting back to the head and his henchmen when the night is over? Ah, humans! Even after all these thousands of centuries, to think that such base treachery still exists. It seems to me to be so unnecessary. Yet I know the harm it can do. That is why I must go with you, Hari.”

  “Impossible, Dors. It would just complicate matters for me. I’ll go myself and I’ll have no trouble.”

  “You would have no idea how to handle the General.”

  Seldon looked grave. “And you would? You sound exactly like Elar. He, too, is convinced that I am a helpless old fool. He, too, wants to come with me—or, rather, to go in my place. —I wonder how many people on Trantor are willing to take my place,” he added with clear sarcasm. “Dozens? Millions?”

  12

  For ten years the Galactic Empire had been without an Emperor, but there was no indication of that fact in the way the Imperial Palace grounds were operated. Millennia of custom made the absence of an Emperor meaningless.

  It meant, of course, that there was no figure in Imperial robes to preside over formalities of one sort or another. No Imperial voice gave orders; no Imperial wishes made themselves known; no Imperial gratifications or annoyances made themselves felt; no Imperial pleasures warmed either Palace; no Imperial sicknesses cast them in gloom. The Emperor’s own quarters in the Small Palace were empty—the Imperial family did not exist.