Isaac Asimov - Forward the Foundation

Linn said softly, “To be master is what is important. Better to be a master in a cubicle than a figurehead in a palace.”

“Best yet, to be master in a palace. Why not?”

Linn bore the title of colonel, but it is quite certain that he had never engaged in any military action. His function was that of telling Tennar what he wanted to hear—and of carrying his orders, unchanged, to others. On occasion—if it seemed safe—he might try to steer Tennar into more prudent courses.

Linn was well known as “Tennar’s lackey” and knew that was how he was known. It did not bother him. As lackey, he was safe—and he had seen the downfall of those who had been too proud to be lackeys.

The time might, of course, come when Tennar himself would be buried in the ever-changing junta panorama, but Linn felt, with a certain amount of philosophy, that he would be aware of it in time and save himself. —Or he might not. There was a price for everything.

“No reason why you can’t found a dynasty, General,” said Linn. “Many others have done it in the long Imperial history. Still, it takes time. The people are slow to adapt. It is usually only the second or even third of the dynasty who is fully accepted as Emperor.”

“I don’t believe that. I need merely announce myself as new Emperor. Who will dare quarrel with that? My grip is tight.”

“So it is, General. Your power is unquestioned on Trantor and in most of the Inner Worlds, yet it is possible that many in the farther Outer Worlds will not—just yet—accept a new Imperial dynasty.”

“Inner Worlds or Outer Worlds, military force rules all. That is an old Imperial maxim.”

“And a good one,” said Linn, “but many of the provinces have armed forces of their own, nowadays, that they may not use on your behalf. These are difficult times.”

“You counsel caution, then.”

“I always counsel caution, General.”

“And someday you may counsel it once too often.”

Linn bent his head. “I can only counsel what seems to me to be good and useful to you, General.”

“As in your constant harping to me about this Hari Seldon.”

“He is your greatest danger, General.”

“So you keep saying, but I don’t see it. He’s just a college professor.”

Linn said, “So he is, but he was once First Minister.”

“I know, but that was in Cleon’s time. Has he done anything since? With times being difficult and with the governors of the provinces being fractious, why is a professor my greatest danger?”

“It is sometimes a mistake,” said Linn carefully (for one had to be careful in educating the General), “to suppose that a quiet unobtrusive man can be harmless. Seldon has been anything but harmless to those he has opposed. Twenty years ago the Joranumite movement almost destroyed Cleon’s powerful First Minister, Eto Demerzel.”

Tennar nodded, but the slight frown on his face betrayed his effort to remember the matter.

“It was Seldon who destroyed Joranum and who succeeded Demerzel as First Minister. The Joranumite movement survived, however, and Seldon engineered its destruction, too, but not before it succeeded in bringing about the assassination of Cleon.”

“But Seldon survived that, didn’t he?”

“You are perfectly correct. Seldon survived.”

“That is strange. To have permitted an Imperial assassination should have meant death for a First Minister.”

“So it should have. Nevertheless, the junta has allowed him to live. It seemed wiser to do so.”

“Why?”

Linn sighed internally. “There is something called psychohistory, General.”

“I know nothing about that,” said Tennar flatly.

Actually he had a vague memory of Linn trying to talk to him on a number of occasions concerning this strange collection of syllables. He had never wanted to listen and Linn had known better than to push the matter. Tennar didn’t want to listen now, either, but there seemed to be a hidden urgency in Linn’s words. Perhaps, Tennar thought, he had now better listen.

“Almost no one knows anything about it,” said Linn, “yet there are a few—uh—intellectuals, who find it of interest.”

“And what is it?”

“It is a complex system of mathematics.”

Tennar shook his head. “Leave me out of that, please. I can count my military divisions. That’s all the mathematics I need.”

“The story is,” said Linn, “that psychohistory may make it possible to predict the future.”

The General’s eyes bulged. “You mean this Seldon is a fortune-teller?”

“Not in the usual fashion. It is a matter of science.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“It is hard to believe, but Seldon has become something of a cult figure here on Trantor—and in certain places in the Outer Worlds. Now psychohistory—if it can be used to predict the future or if even people merely think it can be so used—can be a powerful tool with which to uphold the regime. I’m sure you have already seen this, General. One need merely predict our regime will endure and bring forth peace and prosperity for the Empire. People, believing this, will help make it a self-fulfilling prophecy. On the other hand, if Seldon wishes the reverse, he can predict civil war and ruin. People will believe that, too, and that would destabilize the regime.”

“In that case, Colonel, we simply make sure that the predictions of psychohistory are what we want them to be.”

“It would be Seldon who would have to make them and he is not a friend of the regime. It is important, General, that we differentiate between the Project that is working at Streeling University to perfect psychohistory and Hari Seldon. Psychohistory can be extremely useful to us, but it will be so only if someone other than Seldon were in charge.”

“Are there others who could be?”

“Oh yes. It is only necessary to get rid of Seldon.”

“What is so difficult with that? An order of execution—and it is done.”

“It would be better, General, if the government was not seen to be directly involved in such a thing.”

“Explain!”

“I have arranged to have him meet with you, so that you can use your skill to probe his personality. You would then be able to judge whether certain suggestions I have in mind are worthwhile or not.”

“When is the meeting to take place?”

“It was to take place very soon, but his representatives at the Project asked for a few days leeway, because they were in the process of celebrating his birthday—his sixtieth, apparently. It seemed wise to allow that and to permit a week’s delay.”

“Why?” demanded Tennar. “I dislike any display of weakness.”

“Quite right, General. Quite right. Your instincts are, as always, correct. However, it seemed to me that the needs of the state might require us to know what and how the birthday celebration—which is taking place right now—might involve.”

“Why?”

“All knowledge is useful. Would you care to see some of the festivities?”

General Tennar’s face remained dark. “Is that necessary?”

“I think you will find it interesting, General.”

The reproduction—sight and sound—was excellent and for quite a while the hilarity of the birthday celebration filled the rather stark room in which the General sat.

Linn’s low voice served as commentary. “Most of this, General, is taking place in the Project complex, but the rest of the University is involved. We will have an air view in a few moments and you will see that the celebration covers a wide area. In fact, though I don’t have the evidence available right now, there are corners of the planet here and there, in various University and sectoral settings mostly, where what we might call ‘sympathy celebrations’ of one sort or another are taking place. The celebrations are still continuing and will endure for another day at least.”