Isaac Asimov - Forward the Foundation

Andorin must have noticed Seldon’s sudden regard, for he muttered something between scarcely opened lips and Raych’s right arm, moving forward from behind his back, plucked a blaster out of the wide pocket of his green doublet. So did Andorin.

Seldon felt himself going into near-shock. How could blasters have been allowed onto the grounds? Confused, he barely heard the cries of “Treason!” and the sudden noise of running and shouting.

All that really occupied Seldon’s mind was Raych’s blaster pointing directly at him and Raych looking at him without any sign of recognition. Seldon’s mind filled with horror as he realized that his son was going to shoot and that he himself was only seconds from death.

A blaster, despite its name, does not “blast” in the proper sense of the term. It vaporizes and blows out an interior and—if anything—causes an implosion. There is a soft sighing sound, leaving what appears to be a “blasted” object.

Hari Seldon did not expect to hear that sound. He expected only death. It was, therefore, with surprise that he heard the distinctive soft sighing sound and he blinked rapidly as he looked down at himself, slack-jawed.

He was alive? (He thought it as a question, not a statement.)

Raych was still standing there, his blaster pointing forward, his eyes glazed. He was absolutely motionless, as though some motive power had ceased.

Behind him was the crumpled body of Andorin, fallen in a pool of blood, and standing next to him, blaster in hand, was a gardener. The hood had slipped away; the gardener was clearly a woman with freshly clipped hair.

She allowed herself a glance at Seldon and said, “Your son knows me as Manella Dubanqua. I’m a security officer. Do you want my reference number, First Minister?”

“No,” said Seldon faintly. Imperial Guard had converged on the scene. “My son! What’s wrong with my son?”

“Desperance, I think,” said Manella. “That can be washed out eventually.” She reached forward to take the blaster out of Raych’s hand. “I’m sorry I didn’t act sooner. I had to wait for an overt move and, when it came, it almost caught me napping.”

“I had the same trouble. We must take Raych to the Palace hospital.”

A confused noise suddenly emanated from the Small Palace. It occurred to Seldon that the Emperor was, indeed, watching the proceedings and, if so, he must be grandly furious, indeed.

“Take care of my son, Miss Dubanqua,” said Seldon. “I must see the Emperor.”

He set off at an undignified run through the chaos on the Great Lawns and dashed into the Small Palace without ceremony. Cleon could scarcely grow any angrier over that.

And there, with an appalled group watching in stupor—there, on the semicircular stairway—was the body of His Imperial Majesty, Cleon I, smashed all but beyond recognition. His rich Imperial robes now served as a shroud. Cowering against the wall, staring stupidly at the horrified faces surrounding him, was Mandell Gruber.

Seldon felt he could take no more. He took in the blaster lying at Gruber’s feet. It had been Andorin’s, he was sure. He asked softly, “Gruber, what have you done?”

Gruber, staring at him, babbled, “Everyone screaming and yelling. I thought, Who would know? They would think someone else had killed the Emperor. But then I couldn’t run.”

“But, Gruber. Why?”

“So I wouldn’t have to be Chief Gardener.” And he collapsed.

Seldon stared in shock at the unconscious Gruber.

Everything had worked out by the narrowest of margins. He himself was alive. Raych was alive. Andorin was dead and the Joranumite Conspiracy would now be hunted down to the last person.

The center would have held, just as psychohistory had dictated.

And then one man, for a reason so trivial as to defy analysis, had killed the Emperor.

And now, thought Seldon in despair, what do we do? What happens next?

VENABILI, DORS— The life of Hari Seldon is well encrusted with legend and uncertainty, so that little hope remains of ever obtaining a biography that can be thoroughly factual. Perhaps the most puzzling aspect of his life deals with his consort, Dors Venabili. There is no information whatever concerning Dors Venabili, except for her birth on the world of Cinna, prior to her arrival at Streeling University to become a member of the history faculty. Shortly after that, she met Seldon and remained his consort for twenty-eight years. If anything, her life is more interlarded with legend than Seldon’s is. There are quite unbelievable tales of her strength and speed and she was widely spoken of, or perhaps whispered of, as “The Tiger Woman.” Still more puzzling than her coming, however, is her going, for after a certain time, we hear of her no more and there is no indication as to what happened.

Her role as a historian is evidenced by her works on—

Wanda was almost eight years old now, going by Galactic Standard Time—as everyone did. She was quite the little lady—grave in manner, with straight light-brown hair. Her eyes were blue but were darkening and she might well end with the brown eyes of her father.

She sat there, lost in thought. —Sixty.

That was the number that preoccupied her. Grandfather was going to have a birthday and it was going to be his sixtieth—and sixty was a large number. It bothered her because yesterday she had had a bad dream about it.

She went in search of her mother. She would have to ask.

Her mother was not hard to find. She was talking to Grandfather—about the birthday surely. Wanda hesitated. It wouldn’t be nice to ask in front of Grandfather.

Her mother had no trouble whatever sensing Wanda’s consternation. She said, “One minute, Hari, and let’s see what’s bothering Wanda. What is it, dear?”

Wanda pulled at her hand. “Not here, Mother. Private.”

Manella turned to Hari Seldon. “See how early it starts? Private lives. Private problems. Of course, Wanda, shall we go to your room?”

“Yes, Mother.” Wanda was clearly relieved.

Hand in hand, they went and then her mother said, “Now what is the problem, Wanda?”

“It’s Grandfather, Mother.”

“Grandfather! I can’t imagine him doing anything to bother you.”

“Well, he is.” Wanda’s eyes filled with sudden tears. “Is he going to die?”

“Your grandfather? What put that into your head, Wanda?”

“He’s going to be sixty. That’s so old.”

“No, it isn’t. It’s not young, but it’s not old, either. People live to be eighty, ninety, even a hundred—and your grandfather is strong and healthy. He’ll live a long time.”

“Are you sure?” She was sniffing.

Manella grasped her daughter by the shoulders and looked her straight in the eyes. “We must all die someday, Wanda. I’ve explained that to you before. Just the same, we don’t worry about it till the someday is much closer.” She wiped Wanda’s eyes gently. “Grandfather is going to stay alive till you’re all grown up and have babies of your own. You’ll see. Now come back with me. I want you to talk to Grandfather.”

Wanda sniffed again.

Seldon looked at the little girl with a sympathetic expression on her return and said, “What is it, Wanda? Why are you unhappy?”

Wanda shook her head.

Seldon turned his gaze to the girl’s mother. “Well, what is it, Manella?”

Manella shook her head. “She’ll have to tell you herself.”

Seldon sat down and tapped his lap. “Come, Wanda. Have a seat and tell me your troubles.”

She obeyed and wriggled a bit, then said, “I’m scared.”