David Brin: Foundation’s Triumph

His head began to fill. swiftly tracing algorithms used by the virtuoso gardener. Oh, it wasn’t genius-level math. By any means. Nevertheless, to combine it with organic engineering in this way showed not only grace and originality. but a sense of humor as well. Hari nearly chuckled…

Until he noticed them.

Holes that endured.

Here. And over there. And several more places. Patches of open space where lichens never ventured. for no apparent reason. There was light. and a fine nutrient mist. Tendrils kept probing toward the empty spots…then just happened to turn away. toward some other opportunity. each and every time.

Nor was that the only apparent strangeness. Over there! A place where living matter writhed and twisted. but always returned to the same shade of deep blue, every eight seconds or so. Soon, Hari counted at least a dozen anomalies that he could not explain. They fit no clear mathematical profile. And yet, they persisted.

He breathed a sigh of recognition. This was a familiar quandary-one that had dogged him nearly all of his professional life.

At tractor states.

They also appear in the psychohistorical equations and history books. I’ve managed to explain most of them. But there remain a few. Specters that flit through the models, damping down forces that should tear all our fine theoretical paradigms apart.

Each time I get close…they vanish from my grasp.

It was an old frustration, brought to mind by a silly work of garden topiary, filling his mouth with the taste of failure, unbidden, and much to his surprise, tears welled in Hari’s eyes. Their liquid refraction spread across the gaudy floral display, causing it to blur and smear out ward, spreading into a profusion of flickering rays…

“Why, can it be? Well, well, it is Professor Seldon! Blessings upon the goddess of synchronicity, that our paths should cross in this way!”

Hari felt Kers Kantun grow tense behind the wheelchair, as a man-shaped figure stepped into view, bobbing and bowing with excitement. That was all Hari could make out for a moment, until he drew a kerchief from his sleeve and wiped his eyes. Meanwhile, the newcomer kept babbling, as if unable to believe his good fortune.

“This is such an honor, sir! Especially since I wrote to you, not more than two days ago! Of course I cannot presume that you would have personally read my letter by now. You must surely have layers and layers of intermediaries who filter your mail.”

Hari shook his head, finally making out the gray uniform of a galactic bureaucrat-a short, rather portly individual, with a balding pate that blushed from unaccustomed exposure to the sun.

“No, I read my own mail these days.”

The rotund man blinked-his eyelids were puffy, as if from allergies.

“Truly? How marvelous! Then might I presume to ask if you recall my letter? I am Horis Antic, mid-senior imperial lector, at your service. I wrote to you concerning certain exceptional similarities between your own work-which I am barely worthy to comment on!-and profiles that have been observed in galactic molecular flows…”

Hari nodded, raising a hand to slow the cascading words. “Yes, I recall. Your insights were-” He sought the right phrasing. “They were innovative.”

It wasn’t the most diplomatic term to use. These days, many imperial citizens would find the expression insulting. But Hari could already tell that this bureaucrat had the soul of an eccentric, and would not be offended.

“Truly?” Horis Antic’s chest seemed to expand by several centimeters. “Then might I presume further to give you a copy of my data set? I just happen to have one with me. You might-at your leisure, of course!-compare it to your marvelous models and see if my crude correlation has any real merit.”

The plump man began reaching into his robe. Hari heard a low rumble from his attendant, but he restrained Kers with a subtle finger flick. After all, his own era of intrigue was done. Who nowadays would have a reason to assassinate old Hari Seldon?

While the nervous man fumbled, Hari noted that the gray uniform was well tailored for his puffy build. From rank insignia, it appeared that Horis Antic was rather senior in his Order. He might be a Vice Minister on some provincial world, or even a fifth- or sixth-level official in the Trantorian hierarchy. Not an august personage, to be sure. (Greys seldom were.) But someone who had made himself indispensable to quite a few nobles and meritocrats, through quiet and effective competence. A thoroughbred among a class of drab administrators.

Perhaps even with a few brain cells left over, Hari thought, feeling a strange liking for the odd little man. Enough to cry out for a hobby. Something interesting to do, before he dies.

“Ah, here it is!” Antic cried eagerly, drawing forth a standard data wafer and thrusting it toward Hari.

With graceful speed, Kers snatched the wafer before Hari could raise a hand. The servant tucked it into his own pocket, for careful inspection later, before Hari would be allowed to touch it.

After blinking for a confused moment, the bureaucrat accepted this arrangement with a nod. “Well, well. I know this invasion of your solitude has been outrageously presumptuous, but there it is. Please find enough forbearance in your heart to forgive. And please do contact me if you have any questions…at my home number, of course. You’ll understand that my analysis is not-well, work-related. So it’s best if my coworkers and superiors-”

Hari nodded, with a soft smile.

“Of course. But in that case, tell me-what is your normal work? The emblem on your collar…I’m not familiar with it.”

Now the blush on Antic’s cheek went beyond mere sunburn. Hari detected embarrassment, as if the man wished this topic had never come up.

“Ah, well…since you ask, Professor Seldon.” He stood up straighter, with chin slightly upthrust. “I am a Zonal Inspector for the Imperial Soil Service. But that’s all in my manuscript. And I am sure you’ll see that it does correlate! All will become clear if-”

“Yes, surely.” Hari raised one hand, in a standard gesture to signal the interview was over. He kept smiling though, because Horis Antic had amused and lightened his spirit. “Your ideas will receive the attention they deserve, Zonal Inspector. On this, you have my word of honor.”

As soon as the man departed beyond earshot, Kers grumbled aloud.

“That meeting was no accident.”

Hari barked a laugh. “Of course not! But we needn’t get paranoid. The fellow’s middling-high in the bureaucracy. He probably called in a favor from someone in the security services. Maybe he snooped the surveillance tapes of Linge Chen’s goon squad, in order to find out where I’d be today. So what?”

Hari turned to catch his servant’s eye. “I don’t want you bothering Dornick or Wanda with this, do you understand, Kers? They might sic Chen’s Specials on that poor fellow, and they’d make a real mess of him.”

There was a long pause while Kers Kantun pushed Hari toward the transit station. Finally, the attendant murmured, “Yes, Professor.”

Hari chuckled again, feeling invigorated for a change. This minuscule drama-a tiny, harmless hint of skullduggery and intrigue-seemed to bring back a scent of the old days, even if the perpetrator was just a poignant little amateur, trying to find some color in a long, gray life while the organs of empire slowly atrophied around him.

If one abiding truth about old age never seemed to change, it was insomnia. Sleep was like an old friend who often forgot to visit, or a grandchild who dropped by rarely, only to flee again, leaving you wide-eyed and alone at night.