There were no people arriving or any indications of habitation; the very life hum of Trantor was muted.
Seldon felt this aloneness to be oppressive. He turned to Dors and said, “What is it that we must do here? Have you any idea?”
Dors shook her head. “Hummin told me we would be met by Sunmaster Fourteen. I don’t know anything beyond that.”
“Sunmaster Fourteen? What would that be?”
“A human being, I presume. From the name I can’t be certain whether it would be a man or a woman.”
“An odd name.”
“Oddity is in the mind of the receiver. I am sometimes taken to be a man by those who have never met me.”
“What fools they must be,” said Seldon, smiling.
“Not at all. Judging from my name, they
“I’ve never encountered it before.”
“That’s because you aren’t much of a Galactic traveler. The name ‘Hari’ is common enough everywhere, although I once knew a woman named ‘Hare,’ pronounced like your name but spelled with an ‘e.’ In Mycogen, as I recall, particular names are confined to families—and numbered.”
“But Sunmaster seems so unrestrained a name.”
“What’s a little braggadocio? Back on Cinna, ‘Dors’ is from an old local expression meaning ‘spring gift.’? ”
“Because you were born in the spring?”
“No. I first saw the light of day at the height of Cinna’s summer, but the name struck my people as pleasant regardless of its traditional—and largely forgotten—meaning.”
“In that case, perhaps Sunmaster—”
And a deep, severe voice said, “That is my name, tribesman.”
Seldon, startled, looked to his left. An open ground-car had somehow drawn close. It was boxy and archaic, looking almost like a delivery wagon. In it, at the controls, was a tall old man who looked vigorous despite his age. With stately majesty, he got out of the ground-car.
He wore a long white gown with voluminous sleeves, pinched in at the wrists. Beneath the gown were soft sandals from which the big toe protruded, while his head, beautifully shaped, was completely hairless. He regarded the two calmly with his deep blue eyes.
He said, “I greet you, tribesman.”
Seldon said with automatic politeness, “Greetings, sir.” Then, honestly puzzled, he asked, “How did you get in?”
“Through the entrance, which closed behind me. You paid little heed.”
“I suppose we didn’t. But then we didn’t know what to expect. Nor do we now.”
“Tribesman Chetter Hummin informed the Brethren that there would be members from two of the tribes arriving. He asked that you be cared for.”
“Then you know Hummin.”
“We do. He has been of service to us. And because he, a worthy tribesman, has been of service to us, so must we be now to him. There are few who come to Mycogen and few who leave. I am to make you secure, give you house-room, see that you are undisturbed. You will be safe here.”
Dors bent her head. “We are grateful, Sunmaster Fourteen.”
Sunmaster turned to look at her with an air of dispassionate contempt. “I am not unaware of the customs of the tribes,” he said. “I know that among them a woman may well speak before being spoken to. I am therefore not offended. I would ask her to have a care among others of the Brethren who may be of lesser knowledge in the matter.”
“Oh really?” said Dors, who was clearly offended, even if Sunmaster was not.
“In truth,” agreed Sunmaster. “Nor is it needful to use my numerical identifier when I alone of my cohort am with you. ‘Sunmaster’ will be sufficient. —Now I will ask you to come with me so that we may leave this place which is of too tribal a nature to comfort me.”
“Comfort is for all of us,” said Seldon, perhaps a little more loudly than was necessary, “and we will not budge from this place unless we are assured that we will not be forcibly bent to your liking against our own natures. It is our custom that a woman may speak whenever she has something to say. If you have agreed to keep us secure, that security must be psychological as well as physical.”
Sunmaster gazed at Seldon levelly and said, “You are bold, young tribesman. Your name?”
“I am Hari Seldon of Helicon. My companion is Dors Venabili of Cinna.”
Sunmaster bowed slightly as Seldon pronounced his own name, did not move at the mention of Dors’s name. He said, “I have sworn to Tribesman Hummin that we will keep you safe, so I will do what I can to protect your woman companion in this. If she wishes to exercise her impudence, I will do my best to see that she is held guiltless. —Yet in one respect you must conform.”
And he pointed, with infinite scorn, first to Seldon’s head and then to Dors’s.
“What do you mean?” said Seldon.
“Your cephalic hair.”
“What about it?”
“It must not be seen.”
“Do you mean we’re to shave our heads like you? Certainly not.”
“My head is not shaven, Tribesman Seldon. I was depilated when I entered puberty, as are all the Brethren and their women.”
“If we’re talking about depilation, then more than ever the answer is no—never.”
“Tribesman, we ask neither shaving nor depilation. We ask only that your hair be covered when you are among us.”
“How?”
“I have brought skincaps that will mold themselves to your skulls, together with strips that will hide the superoptical patches—the eyebrows. You will wear them while with us. And of course, Tribesman Seldon, you will shave daily—or oftener if that becomes necessary.”
“But why must we do this?”
“Because to us, hair on the head is repulsive and obscene.”
“Surely, you and all your people know that it is customary for others, in all the worlds of the Galaxy, to retain their cephalic hair.”
“We know. And those among us, like myself, who must deal with tribesmen now and then, must witness this hair. We manage, but it is unfair to ask the Brethren generally to suffer the sight.”
Seldon said, “Very well, then, Sunmaster—but tell me. Since you are born with cephalic hair, as all of us are and as you all retain it visibly till puberty, why is it so necessary to remove it? Is it just a matter of custom or is there some rationale behind it?”
And the old Mycogenian said proudly, “By depilation, we demonstrate to the youngster that he or she has become an adult and through depilation adults will always remember who they are and never forget that all others are but tribesmen.”
He waited for no response (and, in truth, Seldon could think of none) but brought out from some hidden compartment in his robe a handful of thin bits of plastic of varying color, stared keenly at the two faces before him, holding first one strip, then another, against each face.
“The colors must match reasonably,” he said. “No one will be fooled into thinking you are not wearing a skincap, but it must not be repulsively obvious.”
Finally, Sunmaster gave a particular strip to Seldon and showed him how it could be pulled out into a cap.
“Please put it on, Tribesman Seldon,” he said. “You will find the process clumsy at first, but you will grow accustomed to it.”
Seldon put it on, but the first two times it slipped off when he tried to pull it backward over his hair.
“Begin just above your eyebrows,” said Sunmaster. His fingers seemed to twitch, as though eager to
