Isaac Asimov - Forward the Foundation

“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. I, 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.”

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.

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. There’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?”