David Brin - Foundation’s Triumph

Hari mused aloud, “Interesting. You had an enviable job, on the capital planet of the human universe. Back on Helicon, kids would dream of someday getting to visit Trantor. Few dared hope to win a residence or work permit. Yet you seek to escape from there?”

“I liked Trantor just fine!” she replied, unkempt hair covering her eyes. “I just had to break away from someone in particular.”

“Really? Who made you fearful enough to throwaway so much, in order to escape him? Tell me what he did, child. I’m not without influence. Perhaps I can help.”

The girl repaid Hari’s kindly offer with a glare that struck his eyes straight-on.

“You want to know my enemy? Well it’s you, O great Professor Seldon. I was running away from you!”

Her name was Jeni Cuicet. It took just moments for Hari to understand her hatred.

“My parents work for your great big Encyclopedia

Galactica Foundation.” There was no longer any trace of the folksy accent she had used when playing the role of tour guide. “We had a good life, back on Willemina World. Mom was head of the Academy of Physics and Dad was a famous doctor. But we also had time for lots of fun together, camping and skiing and portling.”

“Ah, so you resented it when that bucolic way of life came to an end?”

“Not really. I’m no spoiled brat. I knew we’d have to stop doing all that stuff when we came to Trantor. My parents couldn’t just turn down a summons to join your Foundation. It was the chance of a lifetime for them! Anyway, I figured Trantor would have its own kinds of excitement.

“And I turned out to be right about that. Things were okay, for the first year or so.” Her frown deepened. “Then it all changed again.”

Hari let out a sigh.

“Oh, I see. The exile.”

“You got it, Prof. One minute we’re part of somethin’ really important, at the center of the known universe. Then you just had to go insult Linge Chen and the whole damn Human Empire, didn’t you? Spreading doomy-gloomy rumors, making everyone panicky with prophecies about the end of the world? Suddenly we’re all under suspicion, because we work for a crazy traitor!

“But that’s not half of it. Who do they punish for all this? You and your sickohistorian pals? Never! Instead Chen’s Special Police tell the Encyclopedists and their families-a hundred thousand decent people-we’re about to be pushed onto cattle boats, shipped to the periphery, and sentenced to stay for the rest of our lives on some dusty little flyspeck so far from civilization that it probably never even heard of gravity!”

Horis Antic chirped a nervous laugh. Kers hovered warily by Hari, as if the slight adolescent might do murder through sheer anger alone. But Captain Maserd seemed genuinely moved by Jeni’s testimony.

“Great space, I wouldn’t blame you for wanting to find a way out of that! There’s a galaxy of adventure to be found outside of Trantor. I suppose I’d have run away, too, under those circumstances.”

His eyes then narrowed. “Unfortunately, that still leaves me with a troubling question. Why did you choose to take flight with us? As a porter on the star-shunt run, you surely had other opportunities. Yet you elected to stowaway on a ship carrying your arch-enemy. Can you see why we might find that perturbing?”

Kers rumbled in his chest, but quieted at a signal from Hari.

Jeni shrugged. “I don’t know why I did it. I’d been making other plans, but then Hari Seldon came along, passing my porter station big as life, and I had a hunch. You looked like you were sneaking out of town! Maybe I figured you’d be less likely to call the Impies on me, if you weren’t exactly being legal yourselves.”

That drew a chuckle from Maserd, who clearly appreciated her logic and initiative.

“Anyway,” Jeni went on, “I stayed on Demarchia and hung around with the workers waiting outside your hotel. I managed to join the crew loading your equipment aboard ship, where I found a storage locker to hide in during takeoff.”

She looked defiantly at Hari. “Maybe what I really hoped for was a chance to look you in the face and tell you what you’ve done to a lot of good people!”

He shook his head in reply.

“My dear child, I am aware of what I’ve done…more than I could ever tell you.”

By ancient tradition, a stowaway who had no other crimes to answer for was assigned labor aboard ship. To her credit, Jeni took this with aplomb.

“I’ll work hard, don’t worry about that. Just you be sure and drop me off somewhere along the way, before you head back,” she demanded. “You better not be planning to take me home and stuff me on a boat to Terminus!”

“You are in no position to extract promises,” answered Captain Maserd, sternly. “I can only assure you the matter is still open, and that I lean in your favor at this moment. Keep my goodwill, through exemplary behavior on my ship, and I will speak up for you when it is discussed.”

He said this with such graceful authority-clearly accustomed to both the rights and duties of command-that even the boisterous girl accepted it as the last word.

“Yes, m’lord,” she said with a chastened voice and a bow that was rather too deep, as if he were a nobleman of the quadrant level or higher.

Had that been true, Hari would probably have already known Maserd’s face, and this yacht would be far more impressive. But just a little lower down the gentry hierarchy, at the zone or sector level, great lords numbered over a billion. Here was a man used to exercising great influence over scores, or even hundreds of planets, yet Hari had never heard of him. The galaxy was vast.

I wonder why Maserd is here with us now. Is it zeal for amateur science? Some gentry are like that, pursuing a dilettante interest and financing the work of others, so long as it isn’t too radical.

Somehow, Hari suspected there was more underlying Maserd’s affable demeanor.

Of course the whole class system will start falling apart within a few decades. It’s already unraveling at the edges. Today meritocrats are raised up more for their ability to make friends in high places than for achievements. Members of the Eccentric Order aren’t very eccentric-they slavishly copy each other’s styles. And when one shows some real creativity, it often comes tinged with symptoms of chaos madness.

Meanwhile, the teeming mass of citizens hunker with shoulders clenched, desperately clasping their comforts as each generation sees a slow deterioration of public services, education, commerce.

As for the nobility, I used to hope the preachings of Ruellianism might hold their ambitions in check…until my equations showed just how forlorn it was.

Of the five social castes, only Grey Men-the vast army of dedicated bureaucrats-showed no sign of change. They had always been officious, narrow-minded, and dependable. They still were. Most would stay toiling at their desks, struggling in dull, unimaginative ways to maintain the empire, until the sack of Trantor brought those ancient metal walls crashing around them in three hundred years.

It all still seemed rather a pity. Despite the awesome terror of the coming fall, and his plan for an eventual replacement, Hari still had immense admiration for the old empire.

Daneel came up with an elegant design, given his limited version of psychohistory.

Over sixteen thousand years ago, with little to go on but his own long experience with humanity, Olivaw had begun acting under many guises, using his small army of agents to push here and prod there, forging alliances among barbaric star kingdoms, always trying to achieve his goals without hurting anybody. His gentle aim was to create a decent human society where the greatest number would be safe and happy.