“True, but already I can see—”
“You can’t see anything in a few weeks. You may have to spend your whole lifetime making one little advance. It may take many generations of work by many mathematicians to make a real inroad on the problem.”
“I know that, Lisung, but that doesn’t make me feel better. I want to make some visible progress myself.”
“Well, driving yourself to distraction won’t help either. If it will make you feel better, I can give you an example of a subject much less complex than human history that people have been working for I don’t know how long without making much progress. I know because a group is working on it right here at the University and one of my good friends is involved. Talk about frustration! You don’t know what frustration is!”
“What’s the subject?” Seldon felt a small curiosity stirring within him.
“Meteorology.”
“Meteorology!” Seldon felt revolted at the anticlimax.
“Don’t make faces. Look. Every inhabited world has an atmosphere. Every world has its own atmospheric composition, its own temperature range, its own rotation and revolution rate, its own axial tipping, its own land- water distribution. We’ve got twenty-five million different problems and no one has succeeded in finding a generalization.”
“That’s because atmospheric behavior easily enters a chaotic phase. Everyone knows that.”
“So my friend Jenarr Leggen says. You’ve met him.”
Seldon considered. “Tall fellow? Long nose? Doesn’t speak much?”
“That’s the one. —And Trantor itself is a bigger puzzle than almost any world. According to the records, it had a fairly normal weather pattern when it was first settled. Then, as the population grew and urbanization spread, more energy was used and more heat was discharged into the atmosphere. The ice cover contracted, the cloud layer thickened, and the weather got lousier. That encouraged the movement underground and set off a vicious cycle. The worse the weather got, the more eagerly the land was dug into and the domes built and the weather got still worse. Now the planet has become a world of almost incessant cloudiness and frequent rains—or snows when it’s cold enough. The only thing is that no one can work it out properly. No one has worked out an analysis that can explain why the weather has deteriorated quite as it has or how one can reasonably predict the details of its day-to-day changes.”
Seldon shrugged. “Is that sort of thing important?”
“To a meteorologist it is. Why can’t they be as frustrated over their problems as you are over yours? Don’t be a project chauvinist.”
Seldon remembered the cloudiness and the dank chill on the way to the Emperor’s Palace.
He said, “So what’s being done about it?”
“Well, there’s a big project on the matter here at the University and Jenarr Leggen is part of it. They feel that if they can understand the weather change on Trantor, they will learn a great deal about the basic laws of general meteorology. Leggen wants that as much as you want your laws of psychohistory. So he has set up an incredible array of instruments of all kinds Upperside .?.?. you know, above the domes. It hasn’t helped them so far. And if there’s so much work being done for many generations on the atmosphere, without results, how can you complain that you haven’t gotten anything out of human history in a few weeks?”
Randa was right, Seldon thought, and he himself was being unreasonable and wrong. And yet .?.?. and yet .?.?. Hummin would say that this failure in the scientific attack on problems was another sign of the degeneration of the times. Perhaps he was right, also, except that he was speaking of a general degeneration and
He said with some interest then, “You mean that people climb up out of the domes and into the open air above?”
“Yes. Upperside. It’s a funny thing, though. Most native Trantorians won’t do it. They don’t like to go Upperside. The idea gives them vertigo or something. Most of those working on the meteorology project are Outworlders.”
Seldon looked out of the window at the lawns and small garden of the University campus, brilliantly lit without shadows or oppressive heat, and said thoughtfully, “I don’t know that I can blame Trantorians for liking the comfort of being within, but I should think curiosity would drive
“Do you mean that you would like to see meteorology in action?”
“I think I would. How does one get Upperside?”
“Nothing to it. An elevator takes you up, a door opens, and there you are. I’ve been up there. It’s .?.?. novel.”
“It would get my mind off psychohistory for a while.” Seldon sighed. “I’d welcome that.”
“On the other hand,” said Randa, “my uncle used to say, ‘All knowledge is one,’ and he may be right. You may learn something from meteorology that will help you with your psychohistory. Isn’t that possible?”
Seldon smiled weakly. “A great many things are possible.” And to himself he added: But not practical.
22
Dors seemed amused. “Meteorology?”
Seldon said, “Yes. There’s work scheduled for tomorrow and I’ll go up with them.”
“Are you tired of history?”
Seldon nodded his head somberly. “Yes, I am. I’ll welcome the change. Besides, Randa says it’s another problem that’s too massive for mathematics to handle and it will do me good to see that my situation isn’t unique.”
“I hope you’re not agoraphobic.”
Seldon smiled. “No, I’m not, but I see why you ask. Randa says that Trantorians are frequently agoraphobic and won’t go Upperside. I imagine they feel uncomfortable without a protective enclosure.”
Dors nodded. “You can see where that would be natural, but there are also many Trantorians who are to be found among the planets of the Galaxy—tourists, administrators, soldiers. And agoraphobia isn’t particularly rare in the Outworlds either.”
“That may be, Dors, but I’m not agoraphobic. I am curious and I welcome the change, so I’ll be joining them tomorrow.”
Dors hesitated. “I should go up with you, but I have a heavy schedule tomorrow. —Still, if you’re not agoraphobic, you’ll have no trouble and you’ll probably enjoy yourself. Oh, and stay close to the meteorologists. I’ve heard of people getting lost up there.”
“I’ll be careful. It’s a long time since I’ve gotten truly lost anywhere.”
23
Jenarr Leggen had a dark look about him. It was not so much his complexion, which was fair enough. It was not even his eyebrows, which were thick and dark enough. It was, rather, that those eyebrows were hunched over deepset eyes and a long and rather prominent nose. He had, as a result, a most unmerry look. His eyes did not smile and when he spoke, which wasn’t often, he had a deep, strong voice, surprisingly resonant for his rather thin body.
He said, “You’ll need warmer clothing than that, Seldon.”
Seldon said, “Oh?” and looked about.
There were two men and two women who were making ready to go up with Leggen and Seldon and, as in Leggen’s own case, their rather satiny Trantorian clothing was covered by thick sweaters that, not surprisingly, were brightly colored in bold designs. No two were even faintly alike, of course.
