Isaac Asimov - Forward the Foundation

“Surely you know. I imagine you keep a close eye on me.”

“Yes, I do. On your safety but not on every aspect of your life. I am afraid my duties fill much of my time and I am not all-seeing.”

“Doesn’t Dors report?”

“She would in a crisis. Not otherwise. She is reluctant to play the role of spy in nonessentials.” Again the small smile.

Seldon grunted. “My boys are doing well. Yugo is increasingly difficult to handle. He’s more of a psychohistorian than I am and I think he feels I hold him back. As for Raych, he’s a lovable rascal—always was. He won me over when he was a dreadful street urchin and what’s more surprising is that he won over Dors. I honestly believe, Daneel, that if Dors grew sick of me and wanted to leave me, she would stay on anyway for her love of Raych.”

Demerzel nodded and Seldon continued somberly. “If Rashelle of Wye hadn’t found him lovable, I would not be here today. I would have been shot down—” He stirred uneasily. “I hate to think of that, Daneel. It was such an entirely accidental and unpredictable event. How could psychohistory have helped in any way?”

“Have you not told me that, at best, psychohistory can deal only in probabilities and with vast numbers, not with individuals?”

“But if the individual happens to be crucial—”

“I suspect you will find that no individual is ever truly crucial. Not even I—or you.”

“Perhaps you’re right. I find that, no matter how I work away under these assumptions, I nevertheless think of myself as crucial, in a kind of supernormal egotism that transcends all sense. —And you are crucial, too, which is something I have come here to discuss with you—as frankly as possible. I must know.”

“Know what?” The remains of the meal had been cleared away by a porter and the room’s lighting dimmed somewhat so that the walls seemed to close in and give a feeling of great privacy.

Seldon said, “Joranum.” He bit off the word, as though feeling the mention of the name alone should be sufficient.

“Ah yes.”

“You know about him?”

“Of course. How could I not know?”

“Well, I want to know about him, too.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Come, Daneel, don’t play with me. Is he dangerous?”

“Of course he is dangerous. Do you have any doubt of that?”

“I mean, to you? To your position as First Minister?”

“That is exactly what I mean. That is how he is dangerous.”

“And you allow it?”

Demerzel leaned forward, placing his left elbow on the table between them. “There are things that don’t wait for my permission, Hari. Let us be philosophical about it. His Imperial Majesty, Cleon, First of that Name, has now been on the throne for eighteen years and for all that time I have been his Chief of Staff and then his First Minister, having served in scarcely lesser capacities during the last years of the reign of his father. It is a long time and First Ministers rarely remain that long in power.”

“You are not the ordinary First Minister, Daneel, and you know it. You must remain in power while psychohistory is being developed. Don’t smile at me. It’s true. When we first met, eight years ago, you told me the Empire was in a state of decay and decline. Have you changed your mind about that?”

“No, of course not.”

“In fact, the decline is more marked now, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is, though I labor to prevent that.”

“And without you, what would happen? Joranum is raising the Empire against you.”

“Trantor, Hari. Trantor. The Outer Worlds are solid and reasonably contented with my deeds so far, even in the midst of a declining economy and lessening trade.”

“But Trantor is where it counts. Trantor—the Imperial world we’re living on, the capital of the Empire, the core, the administrative center—is what can overthrow you. You cannot keep your post if Trantor says no.”

“I agree.”

“And if you go, who will then take care of the Outer Worlds and what will keep the decline from being precipitate and the Empire from degenerating rapidly into anarchy?”

“That is a possibility, certainly.”

“So you must be doing something about it. Yugo is convinced that you are in deadly danger and can’t maintain your position. His intuition tells him so. Dors says the same thing and explains it in terms of the Three Laws or Four of—of—”

“Robotics,” put in Demerzel.

“Young Raych seems attracted to Joranum’s doctrines—being of Dahlite origin, you see. And I—I am uncertain, so I come to you for comfort, I suppose. Tell me that you have the situation well in hand.”

“I would do so if I could. However, I have no comfort to offer. I am in danger.”

“Are you doing nothing?”

“No. I’m doing a great deal to contain discontent and blunt Joranum’s message. If I had not done so, then perhaps I would be out of office already. But what I’m doing is not enough.”

Seldon hesitated. Finally he said, “I believe that Joranum is actually a Mycogenian.”

“Is that so?”

“It is my opinion . I had thought we might use that against him, but I hesitate to unleash the forces of bigotry.”

“You are wise to hesitate. There are many things that might be done that have side effects we do not want. You see, Hari, I don’t fear leaving my post—if some successor could be found who would continue those principles that I have been using to keep the decline as slow as possible. On the other hand, if Joranum himself were to succeed me, then that, in my opinion, would be fatal.”

“Then anything we can do to stop him would be suitable.”

“Not entirely. The Empire can grow anarchic, even if Joranum is destroyed and I stay. I must not, then, do something that will destroy Joranum and allow me to stay—if that very deed promotes the Fall of the Empire. I have not yet been able to think of anything I might do that would surely destroy Joranum and just as surely avoid anarchy.”

“Minimalism,” whispered Seldon.

“Pardon me?”

“Dors explained that you would be bound by minimalism.”

“And so I am.”

“Then my visit with you is a failure, Daneel.”

“You mean that you came for comfort and didn’t get it.”

“I’m afraid so.”

“But I saw you because I sought comfort as well.”

“From me?”

“From psychohistory, which should envision the route to safety that I cannot.”

Seldon sighed heavily. “Daneel, psychohistory has not yet been developed to that point.”

The First Minister looked at him gravely. “You’ve had eight years, Hari.”

“It might be eight or eight hundred and it might not be developed to that point. It is an intractable problem.”

Demerzel said, “I do not expect the technique to have been perfected, but you may have some sketch, some skeleton, some principle that you can use as guidance. Imperfectly, perhaps, but better than mere guesswork.”

“No more than I had eight years ago,” said Seldon mournfully. “Here’s what it amounts to, then. You must remain in power and Joranum must be destroyed in such a way that Imperial stability is maintained as long as possible so that I may have a reasonable chance to work out psychohistory. This cannot be done, however, unless I work out psychohistory first. Is that it?”

“It would seem so, Hari.”

“Then we argue in a useless circle and the Empire is destroyed.”

“Unless something unforeseen happens. Unless you make something unforeseen happen.”

“I? Daneel, how can I do it without psychohistory?”

“I don’t know, Hari.”

And Seldon rose to go—in despair.