Prelude to Foundation

 

CLEON I-... The last Galactic Emperor of the Entun dynasty. He was born in the year 11,988 of the Galactic Era, the same year in which Hari Seldon was born. (It is thought that Seldon's birthdate, which some consider doubtful, may have been adjusted to match that of Cleon, whom Seldon, soon after his arrival on Trantor, is supposed to have encountered.)



Having succeeded to the Imperial throne in 12,010 at the age of twenty-two, Cleon I's reign represented a curious interval of quiet in those troubled times. This is undoubtedly due to the skills of his Chief of Staff, Eto Demerzel, who so carefully obscured himself from public record that little is known about him.



Cleon himself...



Encyclopedia Galactica [1]



1.



Suppressing a small yawn, Cleon said, "Demerzel, have you by any chance ever heard of a man named Hari Seldon?"



Cleon had been Emperor for just over ten years and there were times at state occasions when, dressed in the necessary robes and regalia, he could manage to look stately. He did so, for instance, in the holograph of himself that stood in the niche in the wall behind him. It was placed so that it clearly dominated the other niches holding the holographs of several of his ancestors. The holograph was not a totally honest one, for though Cleon's hair was light brown in hologram and reality alike, it was a bit thicker in the holograph. There was a certain asymmetry to his real face, for the left side of his upper lip raised itself a bit higher than the right side, and this was somehow not evident in the holograph. And if he had stood up and placed himself beside the holograph, he would have been seen to be 2 centimeters under the 1.83-meter height that the image portrayed-and perhaps a bit stouter. Of course, the holograph was the official coronation portrait and he had been younger then. He still looked young and rather handsome, too, and when he was not in the pitiless grip of official ceremony, there was a kind of vague good nature about his face.



Demerzel said, with the tone of respect that he carefully cultivated, "Hari Seldon? It is an unfamiliar name to me, Sire. Ought I to know of him?"



"The Minister of Science mentioned him to me last night. I thought you might."



Demerzel frowned slightly, but only very slightly, for one does not frown in the Imperial presence. "The Minister of Science, Sire, should have spoken of this man to me as Chief of Staff. If you are to be bombarded from every side-"



Cleon raised his hand and Demerzel stopped at once. "Please, Demerzel, one can't stand on formality at all times. When I passed the Minister at last night's reception and exchanged a few words with him, he bubbled over. I could not refuse to listen and I was glad I had, for it was interesting."



"In what way interesting, Sire?"



"Well, these are not the old days when science and mathematics were all the rage. That sort of thing seems to have died down somehow, perhaps because all the discoveries have been made, don't you think? Apparently, however, interesting things can still happen. At least I was told it was interesting."



"By the Minister of Science, Sire?"



"Yes. He said that this Hari Seldon had attended a convention of mathematicians held here in Trantor-they do this every ten years, for some reason-and he said that he had proved that one could foretell the future mathematically."



Demerzel permitted himself a small smile. "Either the Minister of Science, a man of little acumen, is mistaken or the mathematician is. Surely, the matter of foretelling the future is a children's dream of magic."



"Is it, Demerzel? People believe in such things."



"People believe in many things, Sire."



"But they believe in such things. Therefore, it doesn't matter whether the forecast of the future is true or not. If a mathematician should predict a long and happy reign for me, a time of peace and prosperity for the Empire-Eh, would that not be well?"



"It would be pleasant to hear, certainly, but what would it accomplish, Sire?"



"But surely if people believe this, they would act on that belief. Many a prophecy, by the mere force of its being believed, is transmuted to fact. These are 'self-fulfilling prophecies.' Indeed, now that I think of it, it was you who once explained this to me."



Demerzel said, "I believe I did, Sire." His eyes were watching the Emperor carefully, as though to see how far he might go on his own. "Still, if that be so, one could have any person make the prophecy."



"Not all persons would be equally believed, Demerzel. A mathematician, however, who could back his prophecy with mathematical formulas and terminology, might be understood by no one and yet believed by everyone."



Demerzel said, "As usual, Sire, you make good sense. We live in troubled times and it would be worthwhile to calm them in a way that would require neither money nor military effort-which, in recent history, have done little good and much harm."



"Exactly, Demerzel," said the Emperor with excitement. "Reel in this Hari Seldon. You tell me you have your strings stretching to every part of this turbulent world, even where my forces dare not go. Pull on one of those strings, then, and bring in this mathematician. Let me see him."



"I will do so, Sire," said Demerzel, who had already located Seldon and who made a mental note to commend the Minister of Science for a job well done.



2.



Hari Seldon did not make an impressive appearance at this time. Like the Emperor Cleon I, he was thirty-two years old, but he was only 1.73 meters tall. His face was smooth and cheerful, his hair dark brown, almost black, and his clothing had the unmistakable touch of provinciality about it. To anyone in later times who knew of Hari Seldon only as a legendary demigod, it would seem almost sacrilegious for him not to have white hair, not to have an old lined face, a quiet smile radiating wisdom, not to be seated in a wheelchair. Even then, in advanced old age, his eyes had been cheerful, however. There was that.



And his eyes were particularly cheerful now, for his paper had been given at the Decennial Convention. It had even aroused some interest in a distant sort of way and old Osterfith had nodded his head at him and had said, "Ingenious, young man. Most ingenious." Which, coming from Osterfith, was satisfactory. Most satisfactory.



But now there was a new-and quite unexpected-development and Seldon wasn't sure whether it should increase his cheer and intensify his satisfaction or not. He stared at the tall young man in uniform-the Spaceship-and-Sun neatly placed on the left side of his tunic.



"Lieutenant Alban Wellis," said the officer of the Emperor's Guard before putting away his identification. "Will you come with me now, sir?"



Wellis was armed, of course. There were two other Guardsmen waiting outside his door. Seldon knew he had no choice, for all the other's careful politeness, but there was no reason he could not seek information. He said, "To see the Emperor?"



"To be brought to the Palace, sir. That's the extent of my instructions."



"But why?"



"I was not told why, sir. And I have my strict instructions that you must come with me-one way or another."



"But this seems as though I am being arrested. I have done nothing to warrant that."



"Say, rather, that it seems you are being given an escort of honor-if you delay me no further."



Seldon delayed no further. He pressed his lips together, as though to block of further questions, nodded his head, and stepped forward. Even if he was going to meet the Emperor and to receive Imperial commendation, he found no joy in it. He was for the Empire-that is, for the worlds of humanity in peace and union but he was not for the Emperor.



The lieutenant walked ahead, the other two behind. Seldon smiled at those he passed and managed to look unconcerned. Outside the hotel they climbed into an official ground-car. (Seldon ran his hand over the upholstery; he had never been in anything so ornate.)



They were in one of the wealthiest sections of Trantor. The dome was high enough here to give a sensation of being in the open and one could swear-even one such as Hari Seldon, who had been born and brought up on an open world-that they were in sunlight. You could see no sun and no shadows, but the air was light and fragrant.



And then it passed and the dome curved down and the walls narrowed in and soon they were moving along an enclosed tunnel, marked periodically with the Spaceship-and-Sun and so clearly reserved (Seldon thought) for official vehicles.



A door opened and the ground-car sped through. When the door closed behind them, they were in the open-the true, the real open. There were 250 square kilometers of the only stretch of open land on Trantor and on it stood the Imperial Palace. Seldon would have liked a chance to wander through that open land-not because of the Palace, but because it also contained the Galactic University and, most intriguing of all, the Galactic Library.



And yet, in passing from the enclosed world of Trantor into the open patch of wood and parkland, he had passed into a world in which clouds dimmed the sky and a chill wind rued his shirt. He pressed the contact that closed the ground-car's window.



It was a dismal day outside.



3.



Seldon was not at all sure he would meet the Emperor. At best, he would meet some official in the fourth or fifth echelon who would claim to speak for the Emperor.



How many people ever did see the Emperor? In person, rather than on holovision? How many people saw the real, tangible Emperor, an Emperor who never left the Imperial grounds that he, Seldon, was now rolling over. The number was vanishingly small. Twenty-five million inhabited worlds, each with its cargo of a billion human beings or more-and among all those quadrillions of human beings, how many had, or would ever, lay eyes on the living Emperor. A thousand?



And did anyone care? The Emperor was no more than a symbol of Empire, like the Spaceship-and-Sun but far less pervasive, far less real. It was his soldiers and his officials, crawling everywhere, that now represented an Empire that had become a dead weight upon its people-not the Emperor.



So it was that when Seldon was ushered into a moderately sized, lavishly furnished room and found a young-looking man sitting on the edge of a table in a windowed alcove, one foot on the ground and one swinging over the edge, he found himself wondering that any official should be looking at him in so blandly good-natured a way. He had already experienced the fact, over and over, that government officials-and particularly those in the Imperial service-looked grave at all times, as though bearing the weight of the entire Galaxy on their shoulders. And it seemed the lower in importance they were, the graver and more threatening their expression.



This, then, might be an official so high in the scale, with the sun of power so bright upon him, that he felt no need of countering it with clouds of frowning. Seldon wasn't sure how impressed he ought to be, but he felt that it would be best to remain silent and let the other speak first. The official said, "You are Hari Seldon, I believe. The mathematician."



Seldon responded with a minimal "Yes, sir," and waited again.



The young man waved an arm. "It should be 'Sire,' but I hate ceremony. It's all I get and I weary of it. We are alone, so I will pamper myself and eschew ceremony. Sit down, professor."



Halfway through the speech, Seldon realized that he was speaking to the Emperor Cleon, First of that Name, and he felt the wind go out of him. There was a faint resemblance (now that he looked) to the official holograph that appeared constantly in the news, but in that holograph, Cleon was always dressed imposingly, seemed taller, nobler, frozen-faced. And here he was, the original of the holograph, and somehow he appeared to be quite ordinary.



Seldon did not budge.



The Emperor frowned slightly and, with the habit of command present even in the attempt to abolish it, at least temporarily, said peremptorily, "I said, 'Sit down,' man. That chair. Quickly."



Seldon sat down, quite speechless. He could not even bring himself to say, "Yes, Sire."



Cleon smiled. "That's better. Now we can talk like two fellow human beings, which, after all, is what we are once ceremony is removed. Eh, my man?"



Seldon said cautiously, "If Your Imperial Majesty is content to say so, then it is so."



"Oh, come, why are you so cautious? I want to talk to you on equal terms. It is my pleasure to do so. Humor me."



"Yes, Sire."



"A simple 'Yes,' man. Is there no way I can reach you?"



Cleon stared at Seldon and Seldon thought it was a lively and interested stare.



Finally the Emperor said, "You don't look like a mathematician."



At last, Seldon found himself able to smile. "I don't know what a mathematician is suppose to look like, Your Imp-"



Cleon raised a cautioning hand and Seldon choked off the honorific. Cleon said, "White-haired, I suppose. Bearded, perhaps. Old, certainly."



"Yet even mathematicians must be young to begin with."



"But they are then without reputation. By the time they obtrude themselves on the notice of the Galaxy, they are as I have described."



"I am without reputation, I'm afraid."



"Yet you spoke at this convention they held here."



"A great many of us did. Some were younger than myself. Few of us were granted any attention whatever."



"Your talk apparently attracted the attention of some of my officials. I am given to understand that you believe it possible to predict the future."



Seldon suddenly felt weary. It seemed as though this misinterpretation of his theory was constantly going to occur. Perhaps he should not have presented his paper.



He said, "Not quite, actually. What I have done is much more limited than that. In many systems, the situation is such that under some conditions chaotic events take place. That means that, given a particular starting point, it is impossible to predict outcomes. This is true even in some quite simple systems, but the more complex a system, the more likely it is to become chaotic. It has always been assumed that anything as complicated as human society would quickly become chaotic and, therefore, unpredictable. What I have done, however, is to show that, in studying human society, it is possible to choose a starting point and to make appropriate assumptions that will suppress the chaos. That will make it possible to predict the future, not in full detail, of course, but in broad sweeps; not with certainty, but with calculable probabilities."



The Emperor, who had listened carefully, said, "But doesn't that mean that you have shown how to predict the future?"



"Again, not quite. I have showed that it is theoretically possible, but no more. To do more, we would actually have to choose a correct starting point, make correct assumptions, and then find ways of carrying through calculations in a finite time. Nothing in my mathematical argument tells us how to do any of this. And even if we could do it all, we would, at best, only assess probabilities. That is not the same as predicting the future; it is merely a guess at what is likely to happen. Every successful politician, businessman, or human being of any calling must make these estimates of the future and do it fairly well or he or she would not be successful."



"They do it without mathematics."



"True. They do it by intuition."



"With the proper mathematics, anyone would be able to assess the probabilities. It wouldn't take the rare human being who is successful because of a remarkable intuitive sense."



"True again, but I have merely shown that mathematical analysis is possible; I have not shown it to be practical."



"How can something be possible, yet not practical?"



"It is theoretically possible for me to visit each world of the Galaxy and greet each person on each world. However, it would take far longer to do this than I have years to live and, even if I was immortal, the rate at which new human beings are being born is greater than the rate at which I could interview the old and, even more to the point, old human beings would die in great numbers before I could ever get to them."



"And is this sort of thing true of your mathematics of the future?" Seldon hesitated, then went on. "It might be that the mathematics would take too long to work out, even if one had a computer the size of the Universe working at hyperspatial velocities. By the time any answer had been received, enough years would have elapsed to alter the situation so grossly as to make the answer meaningless."



"Why cannot the process be simplified?" Cleon asked sharply.



"Your Imperial Majesty,"-Seldon felt the Emperor growing more formal as the answers grew less to his liking and responded with greater formality of his own, "consider the manner in which scientists have dealt with subatomic particles. There are enormous numbers of these, each moving or vibrating in random and unpredictable manner, but this chaos turns out to have an underlying order, so that we can work out a quantum mechanics that answers all the questions we know how to ask. In studying society, we place human beings in the place of subatomic particles, but now there is the added factor of the human mind. Particles move mindlessly; human beings do not. To take into account the various attitudes and impulses of mind adds so much complexity that there lacks time to take care of all of it."



"Could not mind, as well as mindless motion, have an underlying order?"



"Perhaps. My mathematical analysis implies that order must underlie everything, however disorderly it may appear to be, but it does not give any hint as to how this underlying order may be found. Consider-Twenty-five million worlds, each with its overall characteristics and culture, each being significantly different from all the rest, each containing a billion or more human beings who each have an individual mind, and all the worlds interacting in innumerable ways and combinations! However theoretically possible a psychohistorical analysis may be, it is not likely that it can be done in any practical sense."



"What do you mean 'psychohistorical'?"



"I refer to the theoretical assessment of probabilities concerning the future as 'psychohistory.' "



The Emperor rose to his feet suddenly, strode to the other end of the room, turned, strode back, and stopped before the still-sitting Seldon. "Stand up!" he commanded.



Seldon rose and looked up at the somewhat taller Emperor. He strove to keep his gaze steady.



Cleon finally said, "This psychohistory of yours... if it could be made practical, it would be of great use, would it not?"



"Of enormous use, obviously. To know what the future holds, in even the most general and probabilistic way, would serve as a new and marvelous guide for our actions, one that humanity has never before had. But, of course-" He paused.



"Well?" said Cleon impatiently.



"Well, it would seem that, except for a few decision-makers, the results of psychohistorical analysis would have to remain unknown to the public."



"Unknown!" exclaimed Cleon with surprise.



"It's clear. Let me try to explain. If a psychohistorical analysis is made and the results are then given to the public, the various emotions and reactions of humanity would at once be distorted. The psychohistorical analysis, based on emotions and reactions that take place without knowledge of the future, become meaningless. Do you understand?"



The Emperor's eyes brightened and he laughed aloud. "Wonderful!" He clapped his hand on Seldon's shoulder and Seldon staggered slightly under the blow.



"Don't you see, man?" said Cleon. "Don't you see? There's your use. You don't need to predict the future. Just choose a future-a good future, a useful future-and make the kind of prediction that will alter human emotions and reactions in such a way that the future you predicted will be brought about. Better to make a good future than predict a bad one."



Seldon frowned. "I see what you mean, Sire, but that is equally impossible."



"Impossible?"



"Well, at any rate, impractical. Don't you see? If you can't start with human emotions and reactions and predict the future they will bring about, you can't do the reverse either. You can't start with a future and predict the human emotions and reactions that will bring it about."



Cleon looked frustrated. His lips tightened. "And your paper, then?... Is that what you call it, a paper?... Of what use is it?"



"It was merely a mathematical demonstration. It made a point of interest to mathematicians, but there was no thought in my mind of its being useful in any way."



"I find that disgusting," said Cleon angrily.



Seldon shrugged slightly. More than ever, he knew he should never have given the paper. What would become of him if the Emperor took it into his head that he had been made to play the fool?



And indeed, Cleon did not look as though he was very far from believing that. "Nevertheless," he said, "what if you were to make predictions of the future, mathematically justified or not; predictions that government officials, human beings whose expertise it is to know what the public is likely to do, will judge to be the kind that will bring about useful reactions?"



"Why would you need me to do that? The government officials could make those predictions themselves and spare the middleman."



"The government officials could not do so as effectively. Government officials do make statements of the sort now and then. They are not necessarily believed."



"Why would I be?"



"You are a mathematician. You would have calculated the future, not... not intuited it-if that is a word."



"But I would not have done so."



"Who would know that?" Cleon watched him out of narrowed eyes. There was a pause.



Seldon felt trapped. If given a direct order by the Emperor, would it be safe to refuse? If he refused, he might be imprisoned or executed. Not without trial, of course, but it is only with great difficulty that a trial can be made to go against the wishes of a heavy-handed officialdom, particularly one under the command of the Emperor of the vast Galactic Empire. He said finally, "It wouldn't work."



"Why not?"



"If I were asked to predict vague generalities that could not possibly come to pass until long after this generation and, perhaps, the next were dead, we might get away with it, but, on the other hand, the public would pay little attention. They would not care about a glowing eventuality a century or two in the future.



"To attain results," Seldon went on, "I would have to predict matters of sharper consequence, more immediate eventualities. Only to these would the public respond. Sooner or later, though-and probably sooner-one of the eventualities would not come to pass and my usefulness would be ended at once. With that, your popularity might be gone, too, and, worst of all, there would be no further support for the development of psychohistory so that there would be no chance for any good to come of it if future improvements in mathematical insights help to make it move closer to the realm of practicality."



Cleon threw himself into a chair and frowned at Seldon. "Is that all you mathematicians can do? Insist on impossibilities?"



Seldon said with desperate softness, "It is you, Sire, who insist on impossibilities."



"Let me test you, man. Suppose I asked you to use your mathematics to tell me whether I would some day be assassinated? What would you say?"



"My mathematical system would not give an answer to so specific a question, even if psychohistory worked at its best. All the quantum mechanics in the world cannot make it possible to predict the behavior of one lone electron, only the average behavior of many."



"You know your mathematics better than I do. Make an educated guess based on it. Will I someday be assassinated?"



Seldon said softly, "You lay a trap for me, Sire. Either tell me what answer you wish and I will give it to you or else give me free right to make what answer I wish without punishment."



"Speak as you will."



"Your word of honor?"



"Do you want it an writing?" Cleon was sarcastic.



"Your spoken word of honor will be sufficient," said Seldon, his heart sinking, for he was not certain it would be.



"You have my word of honor."



"Then I can tell you that in the past four centuries nearly half the Emperors have been assassinated, from which I conclude that the chances of your assassination are roughly one in two."



"Any fool can give that answer," said Cleon with contempt. "It takes no mathematician."



"Yet I have told you several times that my mathematics is useless for practical problems."



"Can't you even suppose that I learn the lessons that have been given me by my unfortunate predecessors?"



Seldon took a deep breath and plunged in. "No, Sire. All history shows that we do not learn from the lessons of the past. For instance, you have allowed me here in a private audience. What if it were in my mind to assassinate you? Which it isn't, Sire," he added hastily.



Cleon smiled without humor. "My man, you don't take into account our thoroughness-or advances in technology. We have studied your history, your complete record. When you arrived, you were scanned. Your expression and voiceprints were analyzed. We knew your emotional state in detail; we practically knew your thoughts. Had there been the slightest doubt of your harmlessness, you would not have been allowed near me. In fact, you would not now be alive."



A wave of nausea swept through Seldon, but he continued. "Outsiders have always found it difficult to get at Emperors, even with technology less advanced. However, almost every assassination has been a palace coup. It is those nearest the Emperor who are the greatest danger to him. Against that danger, the careful screening of outsiders is irrelevant. And as for your own officials, your own Guardsmen, your own intimates, you cannot treat them as you treat me."



Cleon said, "I know that, too, and at least as well as you do. The answer is that I treat those about me fairly and I give them no cause for resentment."



"A foolish-" began Seldon, who then stopped in confusion.



"Go on," said Cleon angrily. "I have given you permission to speak freely. How am I foolish?"



"The word slipped out, Sire. I meant 'irrelevant.' Your treatment of your intimates is irrelevant. You must be suspicious; it would be inhuman not to be. A careless word, such as the one I used, a careless gesture, a doubtful expression and you must withdraw a bit with narrowed eyes. And any touch of suspicion sets in motion a vicious cycle. The intimate will sense and resent the suspicion and will develop a changed behavior, try as he might to avoid it. You sense that and grow more suspicious and, in the end, either he is executed or you are assassinated. It is a process that has proved unavoidable for the Emperors of the past four centuries and it is but one sign of the increasing difficulty of conducting the affairs of the Empire."



"Then nothing I can do will avoid assassination."



"No, Sire," said Seldon, "but, on the other hand, you may prove fortunate."



Cleon's fingers were drumming on the arm of his chair. He said harshly, "You are useless, man, and so is your psychohistory. Leave me." And with those words, the Emperor looked away, suddenly seeming much older than his thirty-two years.



"I have said my mathematics would be useless to you, Sire. My profound apologies." Seldon tried to bow but at some signal he did not see, two guards entered and took him away.



Cleon's voice came after him from the royal chamber. "Return that man to the place from which he was brought earlier."



4.



Eto Demerzel emerged and glanced at the Emperor with a hint of proper deference. He said, "Sire, you have almost lost your temper."



Cleon looked up and, with an obvious effort, managed to smile. "Well, so I did. The man was very disappointing."



"And yet he promised no more than he offered."



"He offered nothing."



"And promised nothing, Sire."



"It was disappointing."



Demerzel said, "More than disappointing, perhaps. The man is a loose cannon, Sire."



"A loose what, Demerzel? You are always so full of strange expressions. What is a cannon?"



Demerzel said gravely, "It is simply an expression I heard in my youth, Sire. The Empire is full of strange expressions and some are unknown on Trantor, as those of Trantor are sometimes unknown elsewhere."



"Do you come to teach me the Empire is large? What do you mean by saying that the man is a loose cannon?"



"Only that he can do much harm without necessarily intending it. He does not know his own strength. Or importance."



"You deduce that, do you, Demerzel?"



"Yes, Sire. He is a provincial. He does not know Trantor or its ways. He has never been on our planet before and he cannot behave like a man of breeding, like a courtier. Yet he stood up to-"



"And why not? I gave him permission to speak. I left off ceremony. I treated him as an equal."



"Not entirely, Sire. You don't have it within you to treat others as equals. You have the habit of command. And even if you tried to put a person at his ease, there would be few who could manage it. Most would be speechless or, worse, subservient and sycophantic. This man stood up to you."



"Well, you may admire that, Demerzel, but I didn't like him." Cleon looked thoughtfully discontented. "Did you notice that he made no effort to explain his mathematics to me? It was as though he knew I would not understand a word of it."



"Nor would you have, Sire. You are not a mathematician, nor a scientist of any kind, nor an artist. There are many fields of knowledge in which others know more than you. It is their task to use their knowledge to serve you. You are the Emperor, which is worth all their specializations put together."



"Is it? I would not mind being made to feel ignorant by an old man who had accumulated knowledge over many years. But this man, Seldon, is just my age. How does he know so much?"



"He has not had to learn the habit of command, the art of reaching a decision that will affect the lives of others."



"Sometimes, Demerzel, I wonder if you are laughing at me."



"Sire?" said Demerzel reproachfully.



"But never mind. Back to that loose cannon of yours. Why should you consider him dangerous? He seems a naive provincial to me."



"He is. But he has this mathematical development of his."



"He says it is useless."



"You thought it might be useful. I thought so, after you had explained it to me. Others might. The mathematician may come to think so himself, now that his mind has been focused on it. And who knows, he may yet work out some way of making use of it. If he does, then to foretell the future, however mistily, is to be in a position of great power. Even if he does not wish power for himself, a kind of self-denial that always seems to me to be unlikely, he might be used by others."



"I tried to use him. He would not."



"He had not given it thought. Perhaps now he will. And if he was not interested in being used by you, might he not be persuaded by-let us say-the Mayor of Wye?"



"Why should he be willing to help Wye and not us?"



"As he explained, it is hard to predict the emotions and behavior of individuals."



Cleon scowled and sat in thought. "Do you really think he might develop this psychohistory of his to the point where it is truly useful? He is so certain he cannot."



"He may, with time, decide he was wrong in denying the possibility."



Cleon said, "Then I suppose I ought to have kept him."



Demerzel said, "No, Sire. Your instinct was correct when you let him go. Imprisonment, however disguised, would cause resentment and despair, which would not help him either to develop his ideas further or make him eager to help us. Better to let him go as you have done, but to keep him forever on an invisible leash. In this way, we can see that he is not used by an enemy of yourself, Sire, and we can see that when the time comes and he has fully developed his science, we can pull on our leash and bring him in. Then we could be... more persuasive."



"But what if he it picked up by an enemy of mine or, better, of the Empire, for I am the Empire after all, or if, of his own accord, he wishes to serve an enemy-I don't consider that out of the question, you see."



"Nor should you. I will see to it that this doesn't happen, but if, against all striving, it does happen, it would be better if no one has him than if the wrong person does."



Cleon looked uneasy. "I'll leave that all in your hands, Demerzel, but I hope we're not too hasty. He could be, after all, nothing but the purveyor of a theoretical science that does not and cannot work."



"Quite possibly, Sire, but it would be safer to assume the man is-or might be-important. We lose only a little time and nothing more if we find that we have concerned ourselves with a nonentity. We may lose a Galaxy if we find we have ignored someone of great importance."



"Very well, then," said Cleon, "but I trust I won't have to know the details-if they prove unpleasant."



Demerzel said, "Let us hope that will not be the case."



5.



Seldon had had an evening, a night, and part of a morning to get over his meeting with the Emperor. At least, the changing quality of light within the walkways, moving corridors, squares, and parks of the Imperial Sector of Trantor made it seem that an evening, a night, and part of a morning had passed. He sat now in a small park on a small plastic seat that molded itself neatly to his body and he was comfortable. Judging from the light, it seemed to be midmorning and the air was just cool enough to seem fresh without possessing even the smallest bite.



Was it like this all the time? He thought of the gray day outside when he went to see the Emperor. And he thought of all the gray days and cold days and hot days and rainy days and snowy days on Helicon, his home, and he wondered if one could miss them. Was it possible to sit in a park on Trantor, having ideal weather day after day, so that it felt as though you were surrounded by nothing at all-and coming to miss a howling wind or a biting cold or a breathless humidity?



Perhaps. But not on the first day or the second or the seventh. He would have only this one day and he would leave tomorrow. He meant to enjoy it while he could. He might, after all, never return to Trantor. Still, he continued to feel uneasy at having spoken as independently as he had to a man who could, at will, order one's imprisonment or execution-or, at the very least, the economic and social death of loss of position and status. Before going to bed, Seldon had looked up Cleon I in the encyclopedic portion of his hotel room computer. The Emperor had been highly praised as, no doubt, had all Emperors in their own lifetime, regardless of their deeds. Seldon had dismissed that, but he was interested in the fact that Cleon had been born in the Palace and had never left its grounds. He had never been in Trantor itself, in any part of the multi-domed world. It was a matter of security, perhaps, but what it meant was that the Emperor was in prison, whether he admitted the matter to himself or not. It might be the most luxurious prison in the Galaxy, but it was a prison just the same.



And though the Emperor had seemed mild-mannered and had shown no sign of being a bloody-minded autocrat as so many of his predecessors had been, it was not good to have attracted his attention. Seldon welcomed the thought of leaving tomorrow for Helicon, even though it would be winter (and a rather nasty one, so far) back home.



He looked up at the bright diffuse light. Although it could never rain in here, the atmosphere was far from dry. A fountain played not far from him; the plants were green and had probably never felt drought. Occasionally, the shrubbery rustled as though a small animal or two was hidden there. He heard the hum of bees.



Really, though Trantor was spoken of throughout the Galaxy as an artificial world of metal and ceramic, in this small patch it felt positively rustic. There were a few other persons taking advantage of the park all wearing light hats, some quite small. There was one rather pretty young woman not far away, but she was bent over a viewer and he could not see her face clearly. A man walked past, looked at him briefly and incuriously, then sat down in a seat facing him and buried himself in a sheaf of teleprints, crossing one leg, in its tight pink trouser leg, over the other.



There was a tendency to pastel shades among the men, oddly enough, while the women mostly wore white. Being a clean environment, it made sense to wear light colors. He looked down in amusement at his own Heliconian costume, which was predominantly dull brown. If he were to stay on Trantor as he was not he would need to purchase suitable clothing or he would become an object of curiosity or laughter or repulsion. The man with the teleprints had, for instance, looked up at him more curiously this time-no doubt intrigued by his Outworldish clothing. Seldon was relieved that he did not smile. He could be philosophical over being a figure of fun, but, surely, he could not be expected to enjoy it. Seldon watched the man rather unobtrusively, for he seemed to be engaged in some sort of internal debate. At the moment he looked as if he was about to speak, then seemed to think better of it, then seemed to wish to speak again. Seldon wondered what the outcome would be.



He studied the man. He was tall, with broad shoulders and no sign of a paunch, darkish hair with a glint of blond, smooth-shaven, a grave expression, an air of strength though there were no bulging muscles, a face that was a touch rugged-pleasant, but with nothing "pretty" about it. By the time the man had lost the internal fight with himself (or won, perhaps) and leaned toward him, Seldon had decided he liked him. The man said, "Pardon me, weren't you at the Decennial Convention? Mathematics?"



"Yes, I was," said Seldon agreeably.



"Ah, I thought I saw you there. It was-excuse me-that moment of recognition that led me to sit here. If I am intruding on your privacy-"



"Not at all. I'm just enjoying an idle moment."



"Let's see how close I can get. You're Professor Seldon."



"Seldon. Hari Seldon. Quite close. And you?"



"Chetter Hummin." The man seemed slightly embarrassed. "Rather a homespun name, I'm afraid."



"I've never come across any Chetters before," said Seldon. "Or Hummins. So that makes you somewhat unique, I should think. It might be viewed as being better than being mixed up with all the countless Haris there are. Or Seldons, for that matter."



Seldon moved his chair closer to Hummin, scraping it against the slightly elastic ceramoid tiles.



"Talk about homespun," he said, "What about this Outworldish clothing I'm wearing? It never occurred to me that I ought to get Trantorian garb."



"You could buy some," said Hummin, eyeing Seldon with suppressed disapproval.



"I'll be leaving tomorrow and, besides, I couldn't afford it. Mathematicians deal with large numbers sometimes, but never in their income.-I presume you're a mathematician, Hummin."



"No. Zero talent there."



"Oh." Seldon was disappointed. "You said you saw me at the Decennial Convention."



"I was there as an onlooker. I'm a journalist." He waved his teleprints, seemed suddenly aware that he was holding them and shoved them into his jacket pouch. "I supply the material for the news holocasts." Then, thoughtfully, "Actually, I'm rather tired of it."



"The job?"



Hummin nodded. "I'm sick of gathering together all the nonsense from every world. I hate the downward spiral."



He glanced speculatively at Seldon. "Sometimes something interesting turns up, though. I've heard you were seen in the company of an Imperial Guard and making for the Palace gate. You weren't by any chance seen by the Emperor, were you?" The smile vanished from Seldon's face. He said slowly, "If I was, it would scarcely be something I could talk about for publication."



"No, no, not for publication. If you don't know this, Seldon, let me be the first to tell you-The first rule of the news game is that nothing is ever said about the Emperor or his personal entourage except what is officially given out. It's a mistake, of course, because rumors fly that are much worse than the truth, but that's the way it is."



"But if you can't report it, friend, why do you ask?"



"Private curiosity. Believe me, in my job I know a great deal more than ever gets on the air.-Let me guess. I didn't follow your paper, but I gathered that you were talking about the possibility of predicting the future."



Seldon shook his head and muttered, "It was a mistake."



"Pardon me?"



"Nothing."



"Well, prediction-accurate prediction-would interest the Emperor, or any man in government, so I'm guessing that Cleon, First of that Name, asked you about it and wouldn't you please give him a few predictions."



Seldon said stiffly, "I don't intend to discuss the matter."



Hummin shrugged slightly. "Eto Demerzel was there, I suppose."



"Who?"



"You've never heard of Eto Demerzel?"



"Never."



"Cleon's alter ego-Cleon's brain-Cleon's evil spirit. He's been called all those things-if we confine ourselves to the nonvituperative. He must have been there."



Seldon looked confused and Hummin said, "Well, you may not have seen him, but he was there. And if he thinks you can predict the future-"



"I can't predict the future," said Seldon, shaking his head vigorously. "If you listened to my paper, you'll know that I only spoke of a theoretical possibility."



"Just the same, if he thinks you can predict the future, he will not let you go."



"He must have. Here I am."



"That means nothing. He knows where you are and he'll continue to know. And when he wants you, he'll get you, wherever you are. And if he decides you're useful, he'll squeeze the use out of you. And if he decides you're dangerous, he'll squeeze the life out of you."



Seldon stared. "What are you trying to do. Frighten me?"



"I'm trying to warn you."



"I don't believe what you're saying."



"Don't you? A while ago you said something was a mistake. Were you thinking that presenting the paper was a mistake and that it was getting you into the kind of trouble you don't want to be in?"



Seldon bit his lower lip uneasily. That was a guess that came entirely too close to the truth-and it was at this moment that Seldon felt the presence of intruders.



They did not cast a shadow, for the light was too soft and widespread. It was simply a movement that caught the corner of his eye-and then it stopped.