guesswork.”
“No more than I had eight years ago,” said Seldon mournfully. “Here’s what it amounts to, then. You must remain in power and Joranum must be destroyed in such a way that Imperial stability is maintained as long as possible so that I may have a reasonable chance to work out psychohistory. This cannot be done, however, unless I work out psychohistory first. Is that it?”
“It would seem so, Hari.”
“Then we argue in a useless circle and the Empire is destroyed.”
“Unless something unforeseen happens. Unless you make something unforeseen happen.”
“I? Daneel, how can I do it without psychohistory?”
“I don’t know, Hari.”
And Seldon rose to go—in despair.
12
For days thereafter Hari Seldon neglected his departmental duties to use his computer in its news-gathering mode.
There were not many computers capable of handling the daily news from twenty-five million worlds. There were a number of them at Imperial headquarters, where they were absolutely necessary. Some of the larger Outer World capitals had them as well, though most were satisfied with hyperconnection to the Central Newspost on Trantor.
A computer at an important Mathematics Department could, if it were sufficiently advanced, be modified as an independent news source and Seldon had been careful to do that with his computer. It was, after all, necessary for his work on psychohistory, though the computer’s capabilities were carefully ascribed to other, exceedingly plausible reasons.
Ideally the computer would report anything that was out of the ordinary on any world of the Empire. A coded and unobtrusive warning light would make itself evident and Seldon could track it down easily. Such a light rarely showed, for the definition of “out of the ordinary” was tight and intense and dealt with large-scale and rare upheavals.
What one did in its absence was to ring in various worlds at random—not all twenty-five million, of course, but some dozens. It was a depressing and even debilitating task, for there were no worlds that didn’t have their daily relatively minor catastrophes. A volcanic eruption here, a flood there, an economic collapse of one sort or another yonder, and, of course, riots. There had not been a day in the last thousand years that there had not been riots over something or other on each of a hundred or more different worlds.
Naturally such things had to be discounted. One could scarcely worry about riots any more than one could about volcanic eruptions when both were constants on inhabited worlds. Rather, if a day should come in which not one riot was reported anywhere,
Concern was what Seldon could not make himself feel. The Outer Worlds, with all their disorders and misfortunes, were like a great ocean on a peaceful day, with a gentle swell and minor heavings—but no more. He found no evidence of any overall situation that clearly showed a decline in the last eight years or even in the last eighty. Yet Demerzel (in Demerzel’s absence, Seldon could no longer think of him as Daneel) said the decline was continuing and he had his finger on the Empire’s pulse from day to day in ways that Seldon could not duplicate— until such time as he would have the guiding power of psychohistory at his disposal.
It could be that the decline was so small that it was unnoticeable till some crucial point was reached—like a domicile that slowly wears out and deteriorates, showing no signs of that deterioration until one night when the roof collapses.
When would the roof collapse? That was the problem and Seldon had no answer.
And on occasion, Seldon would check on Trantor itself. There, the news was always considerably more substantial. For one thing, Trantor was the most highly populated of all the worlds, with its forty billion people. For another, its eight hundred sectors formed a mini-Empire all its own. For a third, there were the tedious rounds of governmental functions and the doings of the Imperial family to follow.
What struck Seldon’s eyes, however, was in the Dahl Sector. The elections for the Dahl Sector Council had placed five Joranumites into office. This was the first time, according to the commentary, that Joranumites had achieved sector office.
It was not surprising. Dahl was a Joranumite stronghold if any sector was, but Seldon found it a disturbing indication of the progress being made by the demagogue. He ordered a microchip of the item and took it home with him that evening.
Raych looked up from his computer as Seldon entered and apparently felt the need to explain himself. “I’m helping Mom on some reference material she needs,” he said.
“What about your own work?”
“Done, Dad. All done.”
“Good. —Look at this.” He showed Raych the chip in his hand before slipping it into the microprojector.
Raych glanced at the news item hanging in the air before his eyes and said, “Yes, I know.”
“You do?”
“Sure. I usually keep track of Dahl. You know, home sector and all.”
“And what do you think about it?”
“I’m not surprised. Are you? The rest of Trantor treats Dahl like dirt. Why shouldn’t they go for Joranum’s views?”
“Do you go for them also?”
“Well—” Raych twisted his face thoughtfully. “I got to admit some things he says appeal to me. He says he wants equality for all people. What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing at all—if he means it. If he’s sincere. If he isn’t just using it as a ploy to get votes.”
“True enough, Dad, but most Dahlites probably figure: What’s there to lose? We don’t have equality now, though the laws say we do.”
“It’s a hard thing to legislate.”
“That’s not something to cool you off when you’re sweating to death.”
Seldon was thinking rapidly. He had been thinking since he had come across this item. He said, “Raych, you haven’t been in Dahl since your mother and I took you out of the sector, have you?”
“Sure I was, when I went with you to Dahl five years ago on your visit there.”
“Yes yes”—Seldon waved a hand in dismissal—“but that doesn’t count. We stayed at an intersector hotel, which was not Dahlite in the least, and, as I recall, Dors never once let you out on the streets alone. After all, you were only fifteen. How would you like to visit Dahl now, alone, in charge of yourself—now that you’re full twenty?”
Raych chuckled. “Mom would never allow that.”
“I don’t say that I enjoy the prospect of facing her with it, but I don’t intend to ask her permission. The question is: Would you be willing to do this for me?”
“Out of curiosity? Sure. I’d like to see what’s happened to the old place.”
“Can you spare the time from your studies?”
“Sure. I’ll never miss a week or so. Besides, you can tape the lectures and I’ll catch up when I get back. I can get permission. After all, my old man’s on the faculty—unless you’ve been fired, Dad.”
“Not yet. But I’m not thinking of this as a fun vacation.”
“I’d be surprised if you did. I don’t think you know what a fun vacation is, Dad. I’m surprised you know the phrase.”
“Don’t be impertinent. When you go there, I want you to meet with Laskin Joranum.”
Raych looked startled. “How do I do that? I don’t know where he’s gonna be.”
“He’s going to be in Dahl. He’s been asked to speak to the Dahl Sector Council with its new Joranumite members. We’ll find out the exact day and you can go a few days earlier.”
