Isaac Asimov: Prelude to Foundation

“I don’t believe what you’re saying.”

“Don’t you? A while ago you said something was a mistake. Were you thinking that presenting the paper was a mistake and that it was getting you into the kind of trouble you don’t want to be in?”

Seldon bit his lower lip uneasily. That was a guess that came entirely too close to the truth—and it was at this moment that Seldon felt the presence of intruders.

They did not cast a shadow, for the light was too soft and widespread. It was simply a movement that caught the corner of his eye—and then it stopped.

TRANTOR— . . . The capital of the First Galactic Empire . . . Under Cleon I, it had its “twilight glow.” To all appearances, it was then at its peak. Its land surface of 200 million square kilometers was entirely domed (except for the Imperial Palace area) and underlaid with an endless city that extended beneath the continental shelves. The population was 40 billion and although the signs were plentiful (and clearly visible in hindsight) that there were gathering problems, those who lived on Trantor undoubtedly found it still the Eternal World of legend and did not expect it would ever . . .

Seldon looked up. A young man was standing before him, looking down at him with an expression of amused contempt. Next to him was another young man—a bit younger, perhaps. Both were large and appeared to be strong.

They were dressed in an extreme of Trantorian fashion, Seldon judged—boldly clashing colors, broad fringed belts, round hats with wide brims all about and the two ends of a bright pink ribbon extending from the brim to the back of the neck.

In Seldon’s eyes, it was amusing and he smiled.

The young man before him snapped, “What’re you grinning at, misfit?”

Seldon ignored the manner of address and said gently, “Please pardon my smile. I was merely enjoying your costume.”

“My costume? So? And what are you wearing? What’s that awful offal you call clothes?” His hand went out and his finger flicked at the lapel of Seldon’s jacket—disgracefully heavy and dull, Seldon himself thought, in comparison to the other’s lighthearted colors.

Seldon said, “I’m afraid it’s my Outworlder clothes. They’re all I have.”

He couldn’t help notice that the few others who were sitting in the small park were rising to their feet and walking off. It was as though they were expecting trouble and had no desire to remain in the vicinity. Seldon wondered if his new friend, Hummin, was leaving too, but he felt it injudicious to take his eyes away from the young man who was confronting him. He teetered back on his chair slightly.

The young man said, “You an Outworlder?”

“That’s right. Hence my clothes.”

“Hence? What kind of word’s that? Outworld word?”

“What I meant was, that was why my clothes seem peculiar to you. I’m a visitor here.”

“From what planet?”

“Helicon.”

The young man’s eyebrows drew together. “Never heard of it.”

“It’s not a large planet.”

“Why don’t you go back there?”

“I intend to. I’m leaving tomorrow.”

“Sooner! Now!”

The young man looked at his partner. Seldon followed the look and caught a glimpse of Hummin. He had not left, but the park was now empty except for himself, Hummin, and the two young men.

Seldon said, “I’d thought I’d spend today sight-seeing.”

“No. You don’t want to do that. You go home now.”

Seldon smiled. “Sorry. I won’t.”

The young man said to his partner, “You like his clothes, Marbie?”

Marbie spoke for the first time. “No. Disgusting. Turns the stomach.”

“Can’t let him go around turning stomachs, Marbie. Not good for people’s health.”

“No, not by no means, Alem,” said Marbie.

Alem grinned. “Well now. You heard what Marbie said.”

And now Hummin spoke. He said, “Look, you two, Alem, Marbie, whatever your names are. You’ve had your fun. Why don’t you go away?”

Alem, who had been leaning slightly toward Seldon, straightened and turned. “Who are you?”

“That’s not your business,” snapped Hummin.

“You’re Trantorian?” asked Alem.

“Also not your business.”

Alem frowned and said, “You’re dressed Trantorian. We’re not interested in you, so don’t go looking for problems.”

“I intend to stay. That means there are two of us. Two against two doesn’t sound like your kind of fight. Why don’t you go away and get some friends so you can handle two people?”

Seldon said, “I really think you ought to get away if you can, Hummin. It’s kind of you to try to protect me, but I don’t want you harmed.”

“These are not dangerous people, Seldon. Just half-credit lackeys.”

“Lackeys!” The word seemed to infuriate Alem, so that Seldon thought it must have a more insulting meaning on Trantor than it had on Helicon.

“Here, Marbie,” said Alem with a growl. “You take care of that other motherlackey and I’ll rip the clothes off this Seldon. He’s the one we want. Now—”

His hands came down sharply to seize Seldon’s lapels and jerk him upright. Seldon pushed away, instinctively it would seem, and his chair tipped backward. He seized the hands stretched toward him, his foot went up, and his chair went down.

Somehow Alem streaked overhead, turning as he did so, and came down hard on his neck and back behind Seldon.

Seldon twisted as his chair went down and was quickly on his feet, staring down at Alem, then looking sharply to one side for Marbie.

Alem lay unmoving, his face twisted in agony. He had two badly sprained thumbs, excruciating pain in his groin, and a backbone that had been badly jarred.

Hummin’s left arm had grabbed Marbie’s neck from behind and his right arm had pulled the other’s right arm backward at a vicious angle. Marbie’s face was red as he labored uselessly for breath. A knife, glittering with a small laser inset, lay on the ground beside them.

Hummin eased his grip slightly and said, with an air of honest concern, “You’ve hurt that one badly.”

Seldon said, “I’m afraid so. If he had fallen a little differently, he would have snapped his neck.”

Hummin said, “What kind of a mathematician are you?”

“A Heliconian one.” He stooped to pick up the knife and, after examining it, said, “Disgusting—and deadly.”

Hummin said, “An ordinary blade would do the job without requiring a power source. —But let’s let these two go. I doubt they want to continue any further.”

He released Marbie, who rubbed first his shoulder then his neck. Gasping for air, he turned hate-filled eyes on the two men.

Hummin said sharply, “You two had better get out of here. Otherwise we’ll have to give evidence against you for assault and attempted murder. This knife can surely be traced to you.”

Seldon and Hummin watched while Marbie dragged Alem to his feet and then helped him stagger away, still bent in pain. They looked back once or twice, but Seldon and Hummin watched impassively.

Seldon held out his hand. “How do I thank you for coming to the aid of a stranger against two attackers? I doubt I would have been able to handle them both on my own.”

Hummin raised his hand in a deprecatory manner. “I wasn’t afraid of them. They’re just street-brawling lackeys. All I had to do was get my hands on them—and yours, too, of course.”

“That’s a pretty deadly grip you have,” Seldon mused.

Hummin shrugged. “You too.” Then, without changing his tone of voice, he said, “Come on, we’d better get out of here. We’re wasting time.”