Prelude to Foundation (Foundation #6)

Prelude to Foundation (Foundation #6) Page 13

ROBOT-... A term used in the ancient legends of several worlds for what are more usually called "automata." Robots are described as generally human in shape and made of metal, although some are supposed to have been pseudo-organic in nature. Hari Seldon, in the course of The Flight, is popularly supposed to have seen an actual robot, but that story is of dubious origin. Nowhere in Seldon's voluminous writings does he mention robots at all, although...

Encyclopedia Galactica

56.

They were not noticed.

Hari Seldon and Dors Venabili repeated the trip of the day before and this time no one gave them a second look. Hardly anyone even gave them a first look. On several occasions, they had to tuck their knees to one side to allow someone sitting on an inner seat to get past them and out. When someone got in, they quickly realized they had to move over if there was an inner empty seat. This time they quickly grew tired of the smell of kirtles that were not freshly laundered because they were not so easily diverted by what went on outside. But eventually they were there.

"That's the library," said Seldon in a low voice.

"I suppose so," said Dors. "At least that's the building that Mycelium Seventy-Two pointed out yesterday."

They sauntered toward it leisurely.

"Take a deep breath," said Seldon. "This is the first hurdle."

The door ahead was open, the light within subdued. There were five broad stone steps leading upward. They stepped onto the lowermost one and waited several moments before they realized that their weight did not cause the steps to move upward. Dors grimaced very slightly and gestured Seldon upward. Together they walked up the stairs, feeling embarrassed on behalf of Mycogen for its backwardness.

Then, through a door, where, at a desk immediately inside was a man bent over the simplest and clumsiest computer Seldon had ever seen. The man did not look up at them. No need, Seldon supposed. White kirtle, bald head-all Mycogenians looked so nearly the same that one's eyes slid off them and that was to the tribespeople's advantage at the moment.

The man, who still seemed to be studying something on the desk, said, "Scholars?"

"Scholars," said Seldon.

The man jerked his head toward a door. "Go in. Enjoy."

They moved inward and, as nearly as they could see, they were the only ones in this section of the library. Either the library was not a popular resort or the scholars were few or-most likely-both.

Seldon whispered, "I thought surely we would have to present some sort of license or permission form and I would have to plead having forgotten it."

"He probably welcomes our presence under any terms. Did you ever see a place like this? If a place, like a person, could be dead, we would be inside a corpse."

Most of the books in this section were print-books like the Book in Seldon's inner pocket. Dors drifted along the shelves, studying them. She said, "Old books, for the most part. Part classic. Part worthless."

"Outside books? Non-Mycogen, I mean?"

"Oh yes. If they have their own books, they must be kept in another section. This one is for outside research for poor little self-styled scholars like yesterday's.-This is the reference department and here's an Imperial Encyclopedia... must be fifty years old if a day... and a computer." She reached for the keys and Seldon stopped her.

"Wait. Something could go wrong and we'll be delayed."

He pointed to a discreet sign above a free-standing set of shelves that glowed with the letters TO THE SACR TORIUM. The second A in SACRATORIUM was dead, possibly recently or possibly because no one cared. (The Empire, thought Seldon, was in decay. All parts of it. Mycogen too.)

He looked about. The poor library, so necessary to Mycogenian pride, perhaps so useful to the Elders who could use it to find crumbs to shore up their own beliefs and present them as being those of sophisticated tribespeople, seemed to be completely empty. No one had entered after them.

Seldon said, "Let's step in here, out of eyeshot of the man at the door, and put on our sashes."

And then, at the door, aware suddenly there would be no turning back if they passed this second hurdle, he said, "Dors, don't come in with me."

She frowned. "Why not?"

"It's not safe and I don't want you to be at risk."

"I am here to protect you," she said with soft firmness.

"What kind of protection can you be? I can protect myself, though you may not think it. And I'd be handicapped by having to protect you. Don't you see that?"

"You mustn't be concerned about me, Hari," said Dors. "Concern is my part." She tapped her sash where it crossed in the space between her obscured breasts.

"Because Hummin asked you to?"

"Because those are my orders."

She seized Seldon's arms just above his elbow and, as always, he was surprised by her firm grip. She said, "I'm against this, Hari, but if you feel you must go in, then I must go in too."

"All right, then. But if anything happens and you can wriggle out of it, run. Don't worry about me."

"You're wasting your breath, Hari. And you're insulting me."

Seldon touched the entrance panel and the portal slid open. Together, almost in unison, they walked through.

57.

A large room, all the larger because it was empty of anything resembling furniture. No chairs, no benches, no seats of any kind. No stage, no drapery, no decorations.

No lights, merely a uniform illumination of mild, unfocused light. The walls were not entirely blank. Periodically, arranged in spaced fashion at various heights and in no easy repetitive order, there were small, primitive, two-dimensional television screens, all of which were operating. From where Dors and Seldon stood, there was not even the illusion of a third dimension, not a breath of true holovision.

There were people present. Not many and nowhere together. They stood singly and, like the television monitors, in no easy repetitive order. All were white-kirtled, all sashed.

For the most part, there was silence. No one talked in the usual sense. Some moved their lips, murmuring softly. Those who walked did so stealthily, eyes downcast.

The atmosphere was absolutely funereal.

Seldon leaned toward Dors, who instantly put a finger to her lips, then pointed to one of the television monitors. The screen showed an idyllic garden bursting with blooms, the camera panning over it slowly. They walked toward the monitor in a fashion that imitated the others-slow steps, putting each foot down softly.

When they were within half a meter of the screen, a soft insinuating voice made itself heard: "The garden of Antennin, as reproduced from ancient guidebooks and photographs, located in the outskirts of Eos. Note the-"

Dors said in a whisper Seldon had trouble catching over the sound of the set, "It turns on when someone is close and it will turn off if we step away. If we're close enough, we can talk under cover, but don't look at me and stop speaking if anyone approaches."

Seldon, his head bent, his hands clasped before him (he had noted that this was a preferred posture), said, "Any moment I expect someone to start wailing."

"Someone might. They're mourning their Lost World," said Dors.

"I hope they change the films every once in a while. It would be deadly to always see the same ones."

"They're all different," said Dors, her eyes sliding this way and that. "They may change periodically. I don't know."

"Wait!" said Seldon just a hair's breadth too loud. He lowered his voice and said, "Come this way."

Dors frowned, failing to make out the words, but Seldon gestured slightly with his head. Again the stealthy walk, but Seldon's footsteps increased in length as he felt the need for greater speed and Dors, catching up, pulled sharply-if very briefly-at his kirtle. He slowed.

"Robots here," he said under the cover of the sound as it came on. The picture showed the corner of a dwelling place with a rolling lawn and a line of hedges in the foreground and three of what could only be described as robots. They were metallic, apparently, and vaguely human in shape.

The recording said, "This is a view, recently constructed, of the establishment of the famous Wendome estate of the third century. The robot you see near the center was, according to tradition, named Bendar and served twenty-two years, according to the ancient records, before being replaced."

Dors said, " 'Recently constructed,' so they must change views."

"Unless they've been saying 'recently constructed' for the last thousand years."

Another Mycogenian stepped into the sound pattern of the scene and said in a low voice, though not as low as the whisperings of Seldon and Dors, "Greetings, Brothers."

He did not look at Seldon and Dors as he spoke and after one involuntary and startled glance, Seldon kept his head averted. Dors had ignored it all. Seldon hesitated. Mycelium Seventy-Two had said that there was no talking in the Sacratorium. Perhaps he had exaggerated. Then too he had not been in the Sacratorium since he was a child.

Desperately, Seldon decided he must speak. He said in a whisper, "And to you, Brother, greetings."

He had no idea whether that was the correct formula of reply or if there was a formula, but the Mycogenian seemed to find nothing amiss in it. "To you in Aurora," he said.

"And to you," said Seldon and because it seemed to him that the other expected more, he added, "in Aurora," and there was an impalpable release of tension. Seldon felt his forehead growing moist.

The Mycogenian said, "Beautiful! I haven't seen this before."

"Skillfully done," said Seldon. Then, in a burst of daring, he added, "A loss never to be forgotten."

The other seemed startled, then said, "Indeed, indeed," and moved away.

Dors hissed, "Take no chances. Don't say what you don't have to."

"It seemed natural. Anyway, this it recent. But those are disappointing robots. They are what I would expect automata to be. I want to see the organic ones-the humanoids."

"If they existed," said Dors with some hesitation, "it seems to me they wouldn't be used for gardening jobs."

"True," said Seldon. "We must find the Elders' aerie."

"If that exists. It seems to me there is nothing in this hollow cave but a hollow cave."

"Let's look."

They paced along the wall, passing from screen to screen, trying to wait at each for irregular intervals until Dors clutched Seldon's arms. Between two screens were lines marking out a faint rectangle.

"A door," Dors said. Then she weakened the assertion by adding, "Do you think?"

Seldon looked about surreptitiously. It was in the highest degree convenient that, in keeping with the mourning atmosphere, every face, when not fixed on a television monitor, was bent in sad concentration on the floor.

Seldon said, "How do you suppose it would open?"

"An entrance patch."

"I can't make out any."

"It's just not marked out, but there's a slight discoloration there. Do you see it? How many palms? How many times?"

"I'll try. Keep an eye out and kick me if anyone looks in this direction."

He held his breath casually, touched the discolored spot to no avail, and then placed his palm full upon it and pressed.

The door opened silently-not a creak, not a scrape.

Seldon stepped through as rapidly as he could and Dors followed him. The door closed behind them.

"The question is," said Dors, "did anyone see us?"

Seldon said, "Elders must go through this door frequently."

"Yes, but will anyone think we are Elders?"

Seldon waited, then said, "If we were observed and if anyone thought something was wrong, this door would have been flung open again within fifteen seconds of our entering."

"Possibly," said Dors dryly, "or possibly there is nothing to be seen or done on this side of the door and no one cares if we enter."

"That remains to be seen," muttered Seldon.

The rather narrow room they had entered was somewhat dark, but as they stepped farther into it, the light brightened.

There were chairs, wide and comfortable, small tables, several davenports, a deep and tall refrigerator, cupboards.

"If this is the Elders' aerie," said Seldon, "the Elders seem to do themselves comfortably, despite the austerity of the Sacratorium itself."

"As would be expected," said Dors. "Asceticism among a ruling class-except for public show-is very rare. Put that down in your notebook for psychohistorical aphorisms." She looked about. "And there is no robot."

Seldon said, "An aerie is a high position, remember, and this ceiling is not. There must be upper storeys and that must be the way." He pointed to a well-carpeted stairway.

He did not advance toward it, however, but looked about vaguely.

Dors guessed what he was seeking. She said, "Forget about elevators. There's a cult of primitivism in Mycogen. Surely, you haven't forgotten that, have you? There would be no elevators and, what's more, if we place our weight at the foot of the stairs, I am quite certain it will not begin moving upward. We're going to have to climb it. Several flights, perhaps."

"Climb it?"

"It must, in the nature of things, lead to the aerie-if it leads anywhere. Do you want to see the aerie or don't you?"

Together they stepped toward the staircase and began the climb. They went up three flights and, as they did, the light level decreased perceptibly and in steady increments. Seldon took a deep breath and whispered, "I consider myself to be in pretty good shape, but I hate this."

"You're not used to this precise type of physical exertion." She showed no signs of physical distress whatever.

At the top of the third flight the stairs ended and before them was another door.

"And if it's locked?" said Seldon, more to himself than to Dors. "Do we try to break it down?"

But Dors said, "Why should it be locked when the lower door was not? If this is the Elders' aerie, I imagine there's a taboo on anyone but Elders coming here and a taboo is much stronger than any lock."

"As far as those who accept the taboo are concerned," said Seldon, but he made no move toward the door.

"There's still time to turn back, since you hesitate," said Dors. "In fact, I would advise you to rum back."

"I only hesitate because I don't know what we'll find inside. If it's empty-" And then he added in a rather louder voice, "Then it's empty," and he strode forward and pushed against the entry panel.

The door retracted with silent speed and Seldon took a step back at the surprising flood of light from within.

And there, facing him, eyes alive with light, arms half-upraised, one foot slightly advanced before the other, gleaming with a faintly yellow metallic shine, was a human figure. For a few moments, it seemed to be wearing a tight-fitting tunic, but on closer inspection it became apparent that the tunic was part of the structure of the object.

"It's the robot," said Seldon in awe, "but it's metallic."

"Worse than that," said Dors, who had stepped quickly to one side and then to the other. "Its eyes don't follow me. Its arms don't as much as tremble. It's not alive-if one can speak of robots as being alive." And a man-unmistakably a man-stepped out from behind the robot and said, "Perhaps not. But I am alive."

And almost automatically, Dors stepped forward and took her place between Seldon and the man who had suddenly appeared.

58.

Seldon pushed Dors to one side, perhaps a shade more roughly than he intended.

"I don't need protection. This is our old friend Sunmaster Fourteen." The man who faced them, wearing a double sash that was perhaps his right as High Elder, said, "And you are Tribesman Seldon."

"Of course," said Seldon.

"And this, despite her masculine dress, is Tribeswoman Venabili."

Dors said nothing.

Sunmaster Fourteen said, "You are right, of course, tribesman. You are in no danger of physical harm from me. Please sit down. Both of you. Since you are not a Sister, tribeswoman, you need not retire. There is a seat for you which, if you value such a distinction, you will be the first woman ever to have used."

"I do not value such a distinction," said Dors, spacing her words for emphasis. Sunmaster Fourteen nodded.

"That is as you wish. I too will sit down, for I must ask you questions and I do not care to do it standing." They were sitting now in a corner of the room. Seldon's eyes wandered to the metal robot.

Sunmaster Fourteen said, "It is a robot."

"I know," said Seldon briefly.

"I know you do," said Sunmaster Fourteen with similar curtness. "But now that we have settled that matter, why are you here?"

Seldon gazed steadily at Sunmaster Fourteen and said, "To see the robot."

"Do you know that no one but an Elder is allowed in the aerie?"

"I did not know that, but I suspected it."

"Do you know that no tribesperson is allowed in the Sacratorium?"

"I was told that."

"And you ignored the fact, is that it?"

"As I said, we wanted to see the robot."

"Do you know that no woman, even a Sister, is allowed in the Sacratorium except at certain stated-and rare-occasions?"

"I was told that."

"And do you know that no woman is at any time-or for any reason-allowed to dress in masculine garb? That holds, within the borders of Mycogen, for tribeswomen as well as for Sisters."

"I was not told that, but I am not surprised."

"Good. I want you to understand all this. Now, why did you want to see the robot?"

Seldon said with a shrug, "Curiosity. I had never seen a robot or even known that such a thing existed."

"And how did you come to know that it did exist and, specifically, that it existed here?"

Seldon was silent, then said, "I do not wish to answer that question."

"Is that why you were brought to Mycogen by Tribesman Hummin? To investigate robots?"

"No. Tribesman Hummin brought us here that we might be secure. However, we are scholars, Dr. Venabili and I. Knowledge is our province and to gain knowledge is our purpose. Mycogen is little understood outside its borders and we wish to know more about your ways and your methods of thought. It is a natural desire and, it seems to us, a harmless-even praiseworthy-one."

"Ah, but we do not wish the outer tribes and worlds to know about us. That is our natural desire and we are the judge of what is harmless to us and what harmful. So I ask you again, tribesman: How did you know that a robot existed in Mycogen and that it existed in this room?"

"General rumor," said Seldon at length.

"Do you insist on that?"

"General rumor. I insist on it."

Sunmaster Fourteen's keen blue eyes seemed to sharpen and he said without raising his voice, "Tribesman Seldon, we have long cooperated with Tribesman Hummin. For a tribesman, he has seemed a decent and trustworthy individual. For a tribesman! When he brought you two to us and commended you to our protection, we granted it. But Tribesman Hummin, whatever his virtues, is still a tribesman and we had misgivings. We were not at all sure what your-or his-real purpose might be."

"Our purpose was knowledge," said Seldon. "Academic knowledge. Tribeswoman Venabili is a historian and I too have an interest in history. Why should we not be interested in Mycogenian history?"

"For one thing, because we do not wish you to be.-In any case, two of our trusted Sisters were sent to you. They were to cooperate with you, try to find out what it was you wanted, and-what is the expression you tribesmen use?-play along with you. Yet not in such a way that you would be too aware as to what was happening."

Sunmaster Fourteen smiled, but it was a grim smile. "Raindrop Forty-Five," Sunmaster Fourteen went on, "went shopping with Tribeswoman Venabili, but there seemed nothing out of the way in what happened on those trips. Naturally, we had a full report. Raindrop Forty-Three showed you, Tribesman Seldon, our microfarms. You might have been suspicious of her willingness to accompany you alone, something that is utterly out of the question for us, but you reasoned that what applied to Brothers did not apply to tribesmen and you flattered yourself that that flimsy bit of reasoning won her over. She complied with your desire, though at considerable cost to her peace of mind. And, eventually, you asked for the Book. To have handed it over too easily might have roused your suspicion, so she pretended to a perverse desire only you could satisfy. Her self-sacrifice will not be forgotten.-I take it, tribesman, you still have the Book and I suspect you have it with you now. May I have it?"

Seldon sat in bitter silence.

Sunmaster Fourteen's wrinkled hand remained obtrusively outstretched and he said, "How much better it would be than to wrest it from you by force."

And Seldon handed it over.

Sunmaster Fourteen leafed through its pages briefly, as though to reassure himself it was unharmed. He said with a small sigh, "It will have to be carefully destroyed in the approved manner. Sad.-But once you had this Book, we were, of course, not surprised when you made your way out to the Sacratorium. You were watched at all times, for you cannot think that any Brother or Sister, not totally absorbed, would not recognize you for tribespeople at a glance. We know a skincap when we see one and there are less than seventy of them in Mycogen... almost all belonging to tribesmen on official business who remain entirely in secular governmental buildings during the time they are here. So you were not only seen but unmistakably identified, over and over.

"The elderly Brother who met you was careful to tell you about the library as well as about the Sacratorium, but he was also careful to tell you what you were forbidden to do, for we did not wish to entrap you. Skystrip Two also warned you... and quite forcibly. Nevertheless, you did not turn away.

"The shop at which you bought the white kirtle and the two sashes informed us at once and from that we knew well what you intended. The library was kept empty, the librarian was warned to keep his eyes to himself, the Sacratorium was kept under-utilized. The one Brother who inadvertently spoke to you almost gave it away, but hastened off when he realized with whom he was dealing. And then you came up here.

"You see, then, that it was your intention to come up here and that we in no way lured you here. You came as a result of your own action, your own desire, and what I want to ask you-yet once again-is: Why?"

It was Dors who answered this time, her voice firm, her eyes hard. "We will tell you yet once again, Mycogenian. We are scholars, who consider knowledge sacred and it is only knowledge that we seek. You did not lure us here, but you did not stop us either, as you might have done before ever we approached this building. You smoothed our way and made it easy for us and even that might be considered a lure. And what harm have we done? We have in no way disturbed the building, or this room, or you, or that."

She pointed to the robot. "It is a dead lump of metal that you hide here and we now know that it is dead and that is all the knowledge we sought. We thought it would be more significant and we are disappointed, but now that we know it is merely what it is, we will leave-and, if you wish, we will leave Mycogen as well."

Sunmaster Fourteen listened with no trace of expression on his face, but when she was done, he addressed Seldon, saying, "This robot, as you see it, is a symbol, a symbol of all we have lost and of all we no longer have, of all that, through thousands of years, we have not forgotten and what we intend someday to return to. Because it is all that remains to us that is both material and authentic, it is dear to us-yet to your woman it is only 'a dead lump of metal.' Do you associate yourself with that judgment, Tribesman Seldon?"

Seldon said, "We are members of societies that do not tie ourselves to a past that is thousands of years old, making no contact at all with what has existed between that past and ourselves. We live in the present, which we recognize as the product of all the past and not of one long-gone moment of time that we hug to our chests. We realize, intellectually, what the robot may mean to you and we are willing to let it continue to mean that to you. But we can only see it with our own eyes, as you can only see it with yours. To us, it is a dead lump of metal."

"And now," said Dors, "we will leave."

"You will not," said Sunmaster Fourteen. "By coming here, you have committed a crime. It is a crime only in our eyes, as you will hasten to point out"-his lips curved in a wintry smile-"but this is our territory and, within it, we make the definitions. And this crime, as we define it, is punishable by death."

"And you are going to shoot us down?" said Dors haughtily.

Sunmaster Fourteen's expression was one of contempt and he continued to speak only to Seldon. "What do you think we are, Tribesman Seldon? Our culture is as old as yours, as complex, as civilized, as humane. I am not armed. You will be tried and, since you are manifestly guilty, executed according to law, quickly and painlessly.

"If you were to try to leave now, I would not stop you, but there are many Brothers below, many more than there appeared to be when you entered the Sacratorium and, in their rage at your action, they may lay rough and forceful hands on you. It has happened in our history that tribespeople have even died so and it is not a pleasant death-certainly not a painless one."

"We were warned of this," said Dors, "by Skystrip Two. So much for your complex, civilized, and humane culture."

"People can be moved to violence at moments of emotion, Tribesman Seldon," said Sunmaster Fourteen calmly, "whatever their humanity in moments of calm. This is true in every culture, as your woman, who is said to be a historian, must surely know."

Seldon said, "Let us remain reasonable, Sunmaster Fourteen. You may be the law in Mycogen over local affairs, but you are not the law over us and you know it. We are both non-Mycogenian citizens of the Empire and it is the Emperor and his designated legal officers who must remain in charge of any capital offense."

Sunmaster Fourteen said, "That may be so in statutes and on papers and on holovision screens, but we are not talking theory now. The High Elder has long had the power to punish crimes of sacrilege without interference from the Imperial throne."

"If the criminals are your own people," said Seldon. "It would be quite different if they were outsiders."

"I doubt it in this case. Tribesman Hummin brought you here as fugitives and we are not so yeast-headed in Mycogen that we don't strongly suspect that you are fugitives from the Emperor's laws. Why should he object if we do his work for him?"

"Because," said Seldon, "he would. Even if we were fugitives from the Imperial authorities and even if he wanted us only to punish us, he would still want us. To allow you to kill, by whatever means and for whatever reason, non-Mycogenians without due Imperial process would be to defy his authority and no Emperor could allow such a precedent. No matter how eager he might be to see that the microfood trade not be interrupted, he would still feel it necessary to re-establish the Imperial prerogative. Do you wish, in your eagerness to kill us, to have a division of Imperial soldiery loot your farms and your dwellings, desecrate your Sacratorium, and take liberties with the Sisters: Consider."

Sunmaster Fourteen smiled once again, but displayed no softness. "Actually, I have considered and there is an alternative. After we condemn you, we could delay your execution to allow you to appeal to the Emperor for a review of your case. The Emperor might be grateful at this evidence of our ready submission to his authority and grateful too to lay his hands on you two-for some reason of his own-and Mycogen might profit. Is that what you want, then? To appeal to the Emperor in due course and to be delivered to him?"

Seldon and Dors looked at each other briefly and were silent.

Sunmaster Fourteen said, "I feel you would rather be delivered to the Emperor than die, but why do I get the impression that the preference is only by a slight margin?"

"Actually," said a new voice, "I think neither alternative is acceptable and that we must search for a third."

59.

It was Dors who identified the newcomer first, perhaps because it was she who expected him.

"Hummin," she said, "thank goodness you found us. I got in touch with you the moment I realized I was not going to deflect Hari from"-she held up her hands in a wide gesture "this."

Hummin's smile was a small one that did not alter the natural gravity of his face. There was a subtle weariness about him.

"My dear," he said, "I was engaged in other things. I cannot always pull away at a moment's notice. And when I got here, I had, like you two, to supply myself with a kirtle and sash, to say nothing of a skincap, and make my way out here. Had I been here earlier, I might have stopped this, but I believe I'm not too late."

Sunmaster Fourteen had recovered from what had seemed to be a painful shock. He said in a voice that lacked its customary severe depth, "How did you get in here, Tribesman Hummin?"

"It was not easy, High Elder, but as Tribeswoman Venabili likes to say, I am a very persuasive person. Some of the citizens here remember who I was and what I have done for Mycogen in the past, that I am even an honorary Brother. Have you forgotten, Sunmaster Fourteen?"

The Elder replied, "I have not forgotten, but even the most favorable memory can not survive certain actions. A tribesman here and a tribeswoman. There is no greater crime. All you have done is not great enough to balance that. My people are not unmindful. We will make it up to you some other way. But these two must die or be handed over to the Emperor."

"I am also here," said Hummin calmly. "Is that not a crime as well?"

"For you," said Sunmaster Fourteen, "for you personally, as a kind of honorary Brother, I can... overlook it... once. Not these two."

"Because you expect a reward from the Emperor? Some favor? Some concession? Have you already been in touch with him or with his Chief of Staff, Eto Demerzel, more likely?"

"That is not a subject for discussion."

"Which is itself an admission. Come on, I don't ask what the Emperor promised, but it cannot be much. He does not have much to give in these degenerate days. Let me make you an offer. Have these two told you they are scholars?"

"They have."

"And they are. They are not lying. The tribeswoman is a historian and the tribesman is a mathematician. The two together are trying to combine their talents to make a mathematics of history and they call the combined subject 'psychohistory.' "

Sunmaster Fourteen said, "I know nothing about this psychohistory, nor do I care to know. Neither it nor any other facet of your tribal learning interests me."

"Nevertheless," said Hummin, "I suggest that you listen to me."

It took Hummin some fifteen minutes, speaking concisely, to describe the possibility of organizing the natural laws of society (something he always mentioned with audible quotation marks in the tone of his voice) in such a way as to make it possible to anticipate the future with a substantial degree of probability.

And when he was done, Sunmaster Fourteen, who had listened expressionlessly, said, "A highly unlikely piece of speculation, I should say."

Seldon, with a rueful expression, seemed about to speak, undoubtedly to agree, but Hummin's hand, resting lightly on the other's knee, tightened unmistakably.

Hummin said, "Possibly, High Elder, but the Emperor doesn't think so. And by the Emperor, who is himself an amiable enough personage, I really mean Demerzel, concerning whose ambitions you need no instruction. They would like very much to have these two scholars, which is why I've brought them here for safekeeping. I had little expectation that you would do Demerzel's work for him by delivering the scholars to him."

"They have committed a crime that-"

"Yes, we know, High Elder, but it is only a crime because you choose to call it so. No real harm has been done."

"It has been done to our belief, to our deepest felt-"

"But imagine what harm will be done if psychohistory falls into the hands of Demerzel. Yes, I grant that nothing may come of it, but suppose for a moment that something does and that the Imperial government has the use of it-can foretell what is to come-can take measures with that foreknowledge which no one else would have-can take measures, in fact, designed to bring about an alternate future more to the Imperial liking."

"Well?"

"Is there any doubt, High Elder, that the alternate future more to the Imperial liking would be one of tightened centralization? For centuries now, as you very well know, the Empire has been undergoing a steady decentralization. Many worlds now acknowledge only lip service to the Emperor and virtually rule themselves. Even here on Trantor, there is decentralization. Mycogen, as only one example, is free of Imperial interference for the most part. You rule its High Elder and there is no Imperial officer at your side overseeing your actions and decisions. How long do you think that will last with men like Demerzel adjusting the future to their liking?"

"Still the flimsiest of speculation," said Sunmaster Fourteen, "but a disturbing one, I admit."

"On the other hand, if these scholars can complete their task, an unlikely if, you might say, but an if-then they are sure to remember that you spared them when you might have chosen not to. And it would then be conceivable that they would learn to arrange a future, for instance, that would allow Mycogen to be given a world of its own, a world that could be terraformed into a close replica of the Lost World. And even if these two forget your kindness, I will be here to remind them."

"Well-" said Sunmaster Fourteen.

"Come on," said Hummin, "it is not hard to decide what must be going through your mind. Of all tribespeople, you must trust Demerzel the least. And though the chance of psychohistory might be small (if I was not being honest with you, I would not admit that) it is not zero; and if it will bring about a restoration of the Lost World, what can you want more than that? What would you not risk for even a tiny chance of that? Come now-I promise you and my promises are not lightly given. Release these two and choose a tiny chance of your heart's desire over no chance at all."

There was silence and then Sunmaster Fourteen sighed. "I don't know how it is, Tribesman Hummin, but on every occasion that we meet, you persuade me into something I do not really want to do."

"Have I ever misled you, High Elder?"

"You have never offered me so small a chance?"

"And so high a possible reward. The one balances the other."

And Sunmaster Fourteen nodded his head. "You are right. Take these two and take them out of Mycogen and never let me see them again unless there comes a time when-But surely it will not be in my lifetime."

"Perhaps not, High Elder. But your people have been waiting patiently for nearly twenty thousand years. Would you then object to waiting another-perhaps-two hundred?"

"I would not willingly wait one moment, but my people will wait as long as they must."

And standing up, he said, "I will clear the path. Take them and go."

60.

They were finally back in a tunnel. Hummin and Seldon had traveled through one when they went from the Imperial Sector to Streeling University in the air-taxi. Now they were in another tunnel, going from Mycogen to... Seldon did not know where. He hesitated to ask. Hummin's face seemed as if it was carved out of granite and it didn't welcome conversation.

Hummin sat in the front of the four-seater, with no one to his right. Seldon and Dors shared the backseat.

Seldon chanced a smile at Dors, who looked glum. "It's nice to be in real clothes again, isn't it?"

"I will never," said Dors with enormous sincerity, "wear or look at anything that resembles a kirtle. And I will never, under any circumstances, wear a skincap. In fact, I'm going to feel odd if I ever see a normally bald man." And it was Dors who finally asked the question that Seldon had been reluctant to advance. "Chetter," she said rather petulantly, "why won't you tell us where we're going?"

Hummin hitched himself into a sideways position and he looked back at Dors and Seldon gravely. "Somewhere," he said, "where it may be difficult for you to get into trouble-although I'm not sure such a place exists."

Dors was at once crestfallen. "Actually, Chetter, it's my fault. At Streeling, I let Hari go Upperside without accompanying him. In Mycogen, I at least accompanied him, but I suppose I ought not to have let him enter the Sacratorium at all."

"I was determined," said Seldon warmly. "It was in no way Dors's fault."

Hummin made no effort to apportion blame. He simply said, "I gather you wanted to see the robot. Was there a reason for that? Can you tell me?"

Seldon could feel himself redden. "I was wrong in that respect, Hummin. I did not see what I expected to see or what I hoped to see. If I had known the content of the aerie, I would never have bothered going there. Call it a complete fiasco."

"But then, Seldon, what was it you hoped to see? Please tell me. Take your time if you wish. This is a long trip and I am willing to listen."

"The thing is, Hummin, that I had the idea that there were humaniform robots, that they were long-lived, that at least one might still be alive, and that it might be in the aerie. There was a robot there, but it was metallic, it was dead, and it was merely a symbol. Had I but known-"

"Yes. Did we all but know, there would be no need for questions or for research of any kind. Where did you get your information about humaniform robots? Since no Mycogenian would have discussed that with you, I can think of only one source. The Mycogenian Book-a powered print-book in ancient Auroran and modern Galactic. Am I right?"

"Yes."

"And how did you get a copy?"

Seldon paused, then muttered, "Its somewhat embarrassing."

"I am not easily embarrassed, Seldon."

Seldon told him and Hummin allowed a very small smile to twitch across his face.

Hummin said, "Didn't it occur to you that what occurred had to be a charade? No Sister would do a thing like that-except under instruction and with a great deal of persuading."

Seldon frowned and said with asperity, "That was not at all obvious. People are perverted now and then. And its easy for you to grin. I didn't have the information you had and neither did Dors. If you did not wish me to fall into traps, you might have warned me of those that existed."

"I agree. I withdraw my remark. In any case, you don't have the Book any longer, I'm sure."

"No. Sunmaster Fourteen took it from me."

"How much of it did you read?"

"Only a small fraction. I didn't have time. It's a huge book and I must tell you, Hummin, it is dreadfully dull."

"Yes, I know that, for I think I have read more of it than you have. It is not only dull, it is totally unreliable. It is a one-sided, official Mycogenian view of history that is more intent on presenting that view than a reasoned objectivity. It is even deliberately unclear in spots so that outsiders-even if they were to read the Book-would never know entirely what they read. What was it, for instance, that you thought you read about robots that interested you?"

"I've already told you. They speak of humaniform robots, robots that could not be distinguished from human beings in outward appearance."

"How many of these would exist?" asked Hummin. "They don't say.-At least, I didn't come across a passage in which they gave numbers. There may have been only a handful, but one of them, the Book refers to as 'Renegade.' It seems to have an unpleasant significance, but I couldn't make out what."

"You didn't tell me anything about that," interposed Dors. "If you had, I would have told you that it's not a proper name. It's another archaic word and it means, roughly, what 'traitor' would mean in Galactic. The older word has a greater aura of fear about it. A traitor, somehow, sneaks to his treason, but a renegade flaunts it."

Hummin said, "I'll leave the fine points of archaic language to you, Dors, but, in any case, if the Renegade actually existed and if it was a humaniform robot, then, clearly, as a traitor and enemy, it would not be preserved and venerated in the Elders' aerie."

Seldon said, "I didn't know the meaning of 'Renegade,' but, as I said, I did get the impression that it was an enemy. I thought it might have been defeated and preserved as a reminder of the Mycogenian triumph."

"Was there any indication in the Book that the Renegade was defeated?"

"No, but I might have missed that portion-"

"Not likely. Any Mycogenian victory would be announced in the Book unmistakably and referred to over and over again."

"There was another point the Book made about the Renegade," said Seldon, hesitating, "but I can't be at all sure I understood it." Hummin said, "As I told you... They are deliberately obscure at times."

"Nevertheless, they seemed to say that the Renegade could somehow tap human emotions... influence them-"

"Any politician can," said Hummin with a shrug. "It's called charisma-when it works."

Seldon sighed. "Well, I wanted to believe. That was it. I would have given a great deal to find an ancient humaniform robot that was still alive and that I could question."

"For what purpose?" asked Hummin.

"To learn the details of the primordial Galactic society when it still consisted of only a handful of worlds. From so small a Galaxy psychohistory could be deduced more easily."

Hummin said, "Are you sure you could trust what you heard? After many thousands of years, would you be willing to rely on the robot's early memories? How much distortion would have entered into them?"

"That's right," said Dors suddenly. "It would be like the computerized records I told you of, Hari. Slowly, those robot memories would be discarded, lost, erased, distorted. You can only go back so far and the farther you go back, the less reliable the information becomes-no matter what you do."

Hummin nodded. "I've heard it referred to as a kind of uncertainty principle in information."

"But wouldn't it be possible," said Seldon thoughtfully, "that some information, for special reasons, would be preserved? Parts of the Mycogenian Book may well refer to events of twenty thousand years ago and yet be very largely as it had been originally. The more valued and the more carefully preserved particular information is, the more long-lasting and accurate it may be."

"The key word is 'particular.' What the Book may care to preserve may not be what you wish to have preserved and what a robot may remember best may be what you wish him to remember least."

Seldon said in despair, "In whatever direction I turn to seek a way of working out psychohistory, matters so arrange themselves as to make it impossible. Why bother trying?"

"It might seem hopeless now," said Hummin unemotionally, "but given the necessary genius, a route to psychohistory may be found that none of us would at this moment expect. Give yourself more time.-But we're coming to a rest area. Let us pull off and have dinner."

Over the lamb patties on rather tasteless bread (most unpalatable after the fare at Mycogen), Seldon said, "You seem to assume, Hummin, that I am the possessor of 'the necessary genius.' I may not be, you know."

Hummin said, "That's true. You may not be. However, I know of no alternate candidate for the post, so I must cling to you."

And Seldon sighed and said, "Well, I'll try, but I'm out of any spark of hope. Possible but not practical, I said to begin with, and I'm more convinced of that now than I ever was before."