Isaac Asimov - Forward the Foundation

“That’s the point. Something may come of it now.”

“Then let something come of it at Streeling University. Why must it be at the Galactic Library?”

“Librarian Mummery. Listen to me. What you want is to close the Library to the public. You wish to smash a long tradition. Have you the heart to do that?”

“It’s not heart we need. It’s funding. Surely the Chief Librarian has wept on your shoulder in telling you our woes. Appropriations are down, salaries are cut, needed maintenance is absent. What are we to do? We’ve got to cut services and we certainly can’t afford to support you and your colleagues with offices and equipment.”

“Has this situation been put to the Emperor?”

“Come, Professor, you’re dreaming. Isn’t it true that your psychohistory tells you that the Empire is deteriorating? I’ve heard you referred to as Raven Seldon, something that, I believe, refers to a fabled bird of ill omen.”

“It’s true that we are entering bad times.”

“And do you believe the Library is immune to those bad times? Professor, the Library is my life and I want it to continue, but it won’t continue unless we can find ways of making our dwindling appropriations do. —And you come here expecting an open Library, with yourself as beneficiary. It won’t do, Professor. It just won’t do.”

Seldon said desperately, “What if I find the credits for you?”

“Indeed. How?”

“What if I talk to the Emperor? I was once First Minister. He’ll see me and he’ll listen to me.”

“And you’ll get funding from him?” Mummery laughed.

“If I do, if I increase your appropriations, may I bring in my colleagues?”

“Bring in the credits first,” said Mummery, “and we’ll see. But I don’t think you will succeed.”

He seemed very sure of himself and Seldon wondered how often and how uselessly the Galactic Library had already appealed to the Emperor.

And whether his own appeal would get anywhere at all.

The Emperor Agis XIV had no real right to the name. He had adopted it upon succeeding to the throne with the deliberate purpose of connecting himself with the Agises who had ruled two thousand years ago, most of them quite ably—particularly Agis VI, who had ruled for forty-two years and who had kept order in a prosperous Empire with a firm but nontyrannical hand.

Agis XIV did not look like any of the old Agises—if the holographic records had any value. But, then again, truth be told, Agis XIV did not look much like the official holograph that was distributed to the public.

As a matter of fact, Hari Seldon thought, with a twinge of nostalgia, that Emperor Cleon, for all his flaws and weaknesses, had certainly looked Imperial.

Agis XIV did not. Seldon had never seen him at close quarters and the few holographs he had seen were outrageously inaccurate. The Imperial holographer knew his job and did it well, thought Seldon wryly.

Agis XIV was short, with an unattractive face and slightly bulging eyes that did not seem alight with intelligence. His only qualification for the throne was that he was a collateral relative of Cleon.

To do him credit, however, he did not try to play the role of the mighty Emperor. It was understood that he rather liked to be called the “Citizen Emperor” and that only Imperial protocol and the outraged outcry of the Imperial Guard prevented him from exiting the dome and wandering the walkways of Trantor. Apparently, the story went, he wished to shake hands with the citizens and hear their complaints in person.

(Score one for him, thought Seldon, even if it could never come to pass.)

With a murmur and a bow, Seldon said, “I thank you, Sire, for consenting to see me.”

Agis XIV had a clear and rather attractive voice, quite out of keeping with his appearance. He said, “An ex-First Minister must surely have his privileges, although I must give myself credit for amazing courage in agreeing to see you.”

There was humor in his words and Seldon found himself suddenly realizing that a man might not look intelligent and yet might be intelligent just the same.

“Courage, Sire?”

“Why, of course. Don’t they call you Raven Seldon?”

“I heard the expression, Sire, the other day for the first time.”

“Apparently the reference is to your psychohistory, which seems to predict the Fall of the Empire.”

“It points out the possibility only, Sire—”

“So that you are coupled with a mythic bird of ill omen. Except that I think you yourself are the bird of ill omen.”

“I hope not, Sire.”

“Come, come. The record is clear. Eto Demerzel, Cleon’s old First Minister, was impressed with your work and look what happened—he was forced out of his position and into exile. The Emperor Cleon himself was impressed with your work and look what happened—he was assassinated. The military junta was impressed with your work and look what happened—they were swept away. Even the Joranumites, it is said, were impressed with your work and, behold, they were destroyed. And now, O Raven Seldon, you come to see me. What may I expect?”

“Why, nothing evil, Sire.”

“I imagine not, because unlike all these others I have mentioned, I am not impressed with your work. Now tell me why you are here.”

He listened carefully and without interruption while Seldon explained the importance of setting up a Project designed to prepare an encyclopedia that would preserve human learning if the worst happened.

“Yes yes,” said Agis XIV finally, “so you are, indeed, convinced the Empire will fall.”

“It is a strong possibility, Sire, and it would not be prudent to refuse to take that possibility into account. In a way, I wish to prevent it if I can—or ameliorate the effects if I can’t.”

“Raven Seldon, if you continue to poke your nose into matters, I am convinced that the Empire will fall and that nothing can help it.”

“Not so, Sire. I ask only permission to work.”

“Oh, you have that, but I fail to see what it is you wish of me. Why have you told me all this about an encyclopedia?”

“Because I wish to work in the Galactic Library, Sire, or, more accurately, I wish others to work there with me.”

“I assure you that I won’t stand in your way.”

“That is not enough, Sire. I want you to help.”

“In what way, ex-First Minister?”

“With funding. The Library must have appropriations or it will close its doors to the public and evict me.”

“Credits!” A note of astonishment came into the Emperor’s voice. “You came to me for credits?”

“Yes, Sire.”

Agis XIV stood up in some agitation. Seldon stood up at once also, but Agis waved him down.

“Sit down. Don’t treat me as an Emperor. I’m not an Emperor. I didn’t want this job, but they made me take it. I was the nearest thing to the Imperial family and they jabbered at me that the Empire needed an Emperor. So they have me and a lot of good I am to them.

“Credits! You expect me to have credits! You talk about the Empire disintegrating. How do you suppose it disintegrates? Are you thinking of rebellion? Of civil war? Of disorders here and there?

“No. Think of credits . Do you realize that I cannot collect any taxes at all from half the provinces in the Empire? They’re still part of the Empire—‘Hail the Imperium!’—‘All honor to the Emperor!’—but they don’t pay anything and I don’t have the necessary force to collect it. And if I can’t get the credits out of them, they are not really part of the Empire, are they?

“Credits! The Empire runs a chronic deficit of appalling proportions. There’s nothing I can pay for. Do you think there is enough funding to maintain the Imperial Palace grounds? Just barely. I must cut corners. I must let the Palace decay. I must let the number of retainers die down by attrition.