Isaac Asimov - Prelude to Foundation

“Did you ?” It was apparent he had not.

Dors stared at him, a troubled look clouding her face. “Have you lain awake thinking of Galactic destruction because of what I said?”

“That and some other things. Is it possible to reach Chetter Hummin?” This last was said in a whisper.

Dors said, “I tried to reach him when we first had to flee arrest in Dahl. He didn’t come. I’m sure he received the message, but he didn’t come. It may be that, for any of a number of reasons, he just couldn’t come to us, but when he can he will.”

“Do you suppose something has happened to him?”

“No,” said Dors patiently. “I don’t think so.”

“How can you know?”

“The word would somehow get to me. I’m sure of it. And the word hasn’t gotten to me.”

Seldon frowned and said, “I’m not as confident as you are about all this. In fact, I’m not confident at all. Even if Hummin came, what can he do in this case? He can’t fight all of Wye. If they have, as Rashelle claims, the best-organized army on Trantor, what will he be able to do against it?”

“There’s no point in discussing that. Do you suppose you can convince Rashelle—bang it into her head somehow—that you don’t have psychohistory?”

“I’m sure she’s aware that I don’t have it and that I’m not going to get it for many years—if at all. But she’ll say I have psychohistory and if she does that skillfully enough, people will believe her and eventually they will act on what she says my predictions and pronouncements are—even if I don’t say a word.”

“Surely, that will take time. She won’t build you up overnight. Or in a week. To do it properly, it might take her a year.”

Seldon was pacing the length of the room, turning sharply on his heel and striding back. “That might be so, but I don’t know. There would be pressure on her to do things quickly. She doesn’t strike me as the kind of woman who has cultivated the habit of patience. And her old father, Mannix IV, would be even more impatient. He must feel the nearness of death and if he’s worked for this all his life, he would much prefer to see it done a week before his death rather than a week after. Besides—” Here he paused and looked around the empty room.

“Besides what?”

“Well, we must have our freedom. You see, I’ve solved the psychohistory problem.”

Dors’s eyes widened. “You have it! You’ve worked it out.”

“Not worked it out in the full sense. That might take decades . . . centuries, for all I know. But I now know it’s practical, not just theoretical. I know it can be done so I must have the time, the peace, the facilities to work at it. The Empire must be held together till I—or possibly my successors—will learn how best to keep it so or how to minimize the disaster if it does split up despite us. It was the thought of having a beginning to my task and of not being able to work at it, that kept me up last night.”

It was their fifth day in Wye and in the morning Dors was helping Raych into a formal costume that neither was quite familiar with.

Raych looked at himself dubiously in the holomirror and saw a reflected image that faced him with precision, imitating all his motions but without any inversion of left and right. Raych had never used a holomirror before and had been unable to keep from trying to feel it, then laughing, almost with embarrassment, when his hand passed through it while the image’s hand poked ineffectually at his real body.

He said at last, “I look funny.”

He studied his tunic, which was made of a very pliant material, with a thin filigreed belt, then passed his hands up a stiff collar that rose like a cup past his ears on either side.

“My head looks like a ball inside a bowl.”

Dors said, “But this is the sort of thing rich children wear in Wye. Everyone who sees you will admire you and envy you.”

“With my hair all stuck down?”

“Certainly. You’ll wear this round little hat.”

“It’ll make my head more like a ball.”

“Then don’t let anyone kick it. Now, remember what I told you. Keep your wits about you and don’t act like a kid.”

“But I am a kid,” he said, looking up at her with a wide-eyed innocent expression.

“I’m surprised to hear you say that,” said Dors. “I’m sure you think of yourself as a twelve-year-old adult.”

Raych grinned. “Okay. I’ll be a good spy.”

“That’s not what I’m telling you to be. Don’t take chances. Don’t sneak behind doors to listen. If you get caught at it, you’re no good to anyone—especially not to yourself.”

“Aw, c’mon, Missus, what do ya think I am? A kid or somethin’?”

“You just said you were, didn’t you, Raych? You just listen to everything that’s said without seeming to. And remember what you hear. And tell us. That’s simple enough.”

“Simple enough for you to say, Missus Venabili,” said Raych with a grin, “and simple enough for me to do.”

“And be careful.”

Raych winked. “You bet.”

A flunky (as coolly impolite as only an arrogant flunky can be) came to take Raych to where Rashelle was awaiting him.

Seldon looked after them and said thoughtfully, “He probably won’t see the zoo, he’ll be listening so carefully. I’m not sure it’s right to thrust a boy into danger like that.”

“Danger? I doubt it. Raych was brought up in the slums of Billibotton, remember. I suspect he has more alley smarts than you and I put together. Besides, Rashelle is fond of him and will interpret everything he does in his favor. —Poor woman.”

“Are you actually sorry for her, Dors?”

“Do you mean that she’s not worth sympathy because she’s a Mayor’s daughter and considers herself a Mayor in her own right—and because she’s intent on destroying the Empire? Perhaps you’re right, but even so there are some aspects of her for which one might show some sympathy. For instance, she’s had an unhappy love affair. That’s pretty evident. Undoubtedly, her heart was broken—for a time, at least.”

Seldon said, “Have you ever had an unhappy love affair, Dors?”

Dors considered for a moment or two, then said, “Not really. I’m too involved with my work to get a broken heart.”

“I thought as much.”

“Then why did you ask?”

“I might have been wrong.”

“How about you?”

Seldon seemed uneasy. “As a matter of fact, yes. I have spared the time for a broken heart. Badly cracked, anyway.”

“I thought as much.”

“Then why did you ask?”

“Not because I thought I might be wrong, I promise you. I just wanted to see if you would lie. You didn’t and I’m glad.”

There was a pause and then Seldon said, “Five days have passed and nothing has happened.”

“Except that we are being treated well, Hari.”

“If animals could think, they’d think they were being treated well when they were only being fattened for the slaughter.”

“I admit she’s fattening the Empire for the slaughter.”

“But when?”

“I presume when she’s ready.”

“She boasted she could complete the coup in a day and the impression I got was that she could do that on any day.”

“Even if she could, she would want to make sure that she could cripple the Imperial reaction and that might take time.”

“How much time? She plans to cripple the reaction by using me, but she is making no effort to do so. There is no sign that she’s trying to build up my importance. Wherever I go in Wye I’m unrecognized. There are no Wyan crowds gathering to cheer me. There’s nothing on the news holocasts.”