Isaac Asimov - Prelude to Foundation

The boy took a step backward and continued to stare.

Seldon said, “Come here,” and beckoned.

The boy said, “Wa’ for, guy?”

“So I can ask you directions. Come closer, so I don’t have to shout.”

The boy approached two steps closer. His face was smudged, but his eyes were bright and sharp. His sandals were of different make and there was a large patch on one leg of his trousers. He said, “Wa’ kind o’ directions?”

“We’re trying to find Mother Rittah.”

The boy’s eyes flickered. “Wa’ for, guy?”

“I’m a scholar. Do you know what a scholar is?”

“Ya went to school?”

“Yes. Didn’t you?”

The boy spat to one side in contempt. “Nah.”

“I want advice from Mother Rittah—if you’ll take me to her.”

“Ya want your fortune? Ya come to Billibotton, guy, with your fancy clothes, so I can tell ya your fortune. All bad.”

“What’s your name, young man?”

“What’s it to ya?”

“So we can speak in a more friendly fashion. And so you can take me to Mother Rittah’s place. Do you know where she lives?”

“Maybe yes, maybe no. My name’s Raych. What’s in it for me if I take ya?”

“What would you like, Raych?”

The boy’s eyes halted at Dors’s belt. Raych said, “The lady got a couple o’ knives. Gimme one and I’ll take ya to Mother Rittah.”

“Those are grown people’s knives, Raych. You’re too young.”

“Then I guess I’m too young to know where Mother Rittah lives.” And he looked up slyly through the shaggy hair that curtained his eyes.

Seldon grew uneasy. It was possible they might attract a crowd. Several men had stopped already, but had then moved on when nothing of interest seemed to be taking place. If, however, the boy grew angry and lashed out at them in word or deed, people would undoubtedly gather.

He smiled and said, “Can you read, Raych?”

Raych spat again. “Nah! Who wants ta read?”

“Can you use a computer?”

“A talking computer? Sure. Anyone can.”

“I’ll tell you what, then. You take me to the nearest computer store and I’ll buy you a little computer all your own and software that will teach you to read. A few weeks and you’ll be able to read.”

It seemed to Seldon that the boy’s eyes sparkled at the thought, but—if so—they hardened at once. “Nah. Knife or nothin’.”

“That’s the point, Raych. You learn to read and don’t tell anyone and you can surprise people. After a while you can bet them you can read. Bet them five credits. You can win a few extra credits that way and you can buy a knife of your own.”

The boy hesitated. “Nah! No one will bet me. No one got credits.”

“If you can read, you can get a job in a knife store and you can save your wages and get a knife at a discount. How about that?”

“When ya gonna buy the talking computer?”

“Right now. I’ll give it to you when I see Mother Rittah.”

“You got credits?”

“I have a credit tile.”

“Let’s see ya buy the computer.”

The transaction was carried through, but when the boy reached for it, Seldon shook his head and put it inside his pouch. “You’ve got to get me to Mother Rittah first, Raych. Are you sure you know where to find her?”

Raych allowed a look of contempt to cross his face. “Sure I do. I’ll take ya there, only ya better hand over the computer when we get there or I’ll get some guys I know after you and the lady, so ya better watch out.”

“You don’t have to threaten us,” said Seldon. “We’ll take care of our end of the deal.”

Raych led them quickly along the walkway, past curious stares.

Seldon was silent during the walk and so was Dors. Dors was far less lost in her own thoughts, though, for she clearly remained conscious of the surrounding people at all times. She kept meeting, with a level glare, the eyes of those passersby that turned toward them. On occasion, when there were footsteps behind them, she turned to look grimly back.

And then Raych stopped and said, “In here. She ain’t homeless, ya know.”

They followed him into an apartment complex and Seldon, who had had the intention of following their route with a view to retracing his steps later, was quickly lost.

He said, “How do you know your way through these alleys, Raych?”

The boy shrugged. “I been loafin’ through them since I was a kid,” he said. “Besides, the apartments are numbered—where they ain’t broken off—and there’s arrows and things. You can’t get lost if you know the tricks.”

Raych knew the tricks, apparently, and they wandered deeper into the complex. Hanging over it all was an air of total decay: disregarded debris, inhabitants slinking past in clear resentment of the outsiders’ invasion. Unruly youngsters ran along the alleys in pursuit of some game or other. Some of them yelled, “Hey, get out o’ the way!” when their levitating ball narrowly missed Dors.

And finally, Raych stopped before a dark scarred door on which the number 2782 glowed feebly.

“This is it,” he said and held out his hand.

“First let’s see who’s inside,” said Seldon softly. He pushed the signal button and nothing happened.

“It don’t work,” said Raych. “Ya gotta bang. Loud. She don’t hear too good.”

Seldon pounded his fist on the door and was rewarded with the sound of movement inside. A shrill voice called out, “Who wants Mother Rittah?”

Seldon shouted, “Two scholars!”

He tossed the small computer, with its small package of software attached, to Raych, who snatched it, grinned, and took off at a rapid run. Seldon then turned to face the opening door and Mother Rittah.

Mother Rittah was well into her seventies, perhaps, but had the kind of face that, at first sight, seemed to belie that. Plump cheeks, a little mouth, a small round chin slightly doubled. She was very short—not quite 1.5 meters tall—and had a thick body.

But there were fine wrinkles about her eyes and when she smiled, as she smiled at the sight of them, others broke out over her face. And she moved with difficulty.

“Come in, come in,” she said in a soft high-pitched voice and peered at them as though her eyesight was beginning to fail. “Outsiders . . . Outworlders even. Am I right? You don’t seem to have the Trantor smell about you.”

Seldon wished she hadn’t mentioned smell. The apartment, overcrowded and littered with small possessions that seemed dim and dusty, reeked with food odors that were on the edge of rancidity. The air was so thick and clinging that he was sure his clothes would smell strongly of it when they left.

He said, “You are right, Mother Rittah. I am Hari Seldon of Helicon. My friend is Dors Venabili of Cinna.”

“So,” she said, looking about for an unoccupied spot on the floor where she could invite them to sit, but finding none suitable.

Dors said, “We are willing to stand, Mother.”

“What?” she looked up at Dors. “You must speak briskly, my child. My hearing is not what it was when I was your age.”

“Why don’t you get a hearing device?” said Seldon, raising his voice.

“It wouldn’t help, Master Seldon. Something seems to be wrong with the nerve and I have no money for nerve rebuilding. —You have come to learn the future from old Mother Rittah?”

“Not quite,” said Seldon. “I have come to learn the past.”

“Excellent. It is such a strain to decide what people want to hear.”

“It must be quite an art,” said Dors, smiling.

“It seems easy, but one has to be properly convincing. I earn my fees.”

“If you have a credit outlet,” said Seldon. “We will pay any reasonable fees if you tell us about Earth—without cleverly designing what you tell us to suit what we want to hear. We wish to hear the truth.”