Prelude to Foundation

go, but it simply isn’t that small.”

“An Expressway, then.”

“There are no Expressways passing through Mycogenian territory. It would make contact between Mycogenians and tribespeople too easy. Still, there are public conveyances of the kind that are found on less- developed planets. In fact, that’s what Mycogen is, a piece of an undeveloped planet, embedded like a splinter in the body of Trantor, which is otherwise a patchwork of developed societies. —And Hari, finish with the Book as soon as possible. It’s apparent that Rainbow Forty-Three is in trouble as long as you have it and so will we be if they find out.”

“Do you mean a tribesperson reading it is taboo?”

“I’m sure of it.”

“Well, it would be no great loss to give it back. I should say that 95 percent of it is incredibly dull; endless in-fighting among political groups, endless justification of policies whose wisdom I cannot possibly judge, endless homilies on ethical matters which, even when enlightened, and they usually aren’t, are couched with such infuriating self-righteousness as to almost enforce violation.”

“You sound as though I would be doing you a great favor if I took the thing away from you.”

“Except that there’s always the other 5 percent that discusses the never-to-be-mentioned Aurora. I keep thinking that there may be something there and that it may be helpful to me. That’s why I wanted to know about the Sacratorium.”

“Do you hope to find support for the Book’s concept of Aurora in the Sacratorium?”

“In a way. And I’m also terribly caught up in what the Book has to say about automata, or robots, to use their term. I find myself attracted to the concept.”

“Surely, you don’t take it seriously?”

“Almost. If you accept some passages of the Book literally, then there is an implication that some robots were in human shape.”

“Naturally. If you’re going to construct a simulacrum of a human being, you will make it look like a human being.”

“Yes, simulacrum means ‘likeness,’ but a likeness can be crude indeed. An artist can draw a stick figure and you might know he is representing a human being and recognize it. A circle for the head, a stalk for the body, and four bent lines for arms and legs and you have it. But I mean robots that really look like a human being, in every detail.”

“Ridiculous, Hari. Imagine the time it would take to fashion the metal of the body into perfect proportions, with the smooth curve of underlying muscles.”

“Who said ‘metal,’ Dors? The impression I got is that such robots were organic or pseudo-organic, that they were covered with skin, that you could not easily draw a distinction between them and human beings in any way.”

“Does the Book say that?”

“Not in so many words. The inference, however—”

“Is your inference, Hari. You can’t take it seriously.”

“Let me try. I find four things that I can deduce from what the Book says about robots—and I followed up every reference the index gave. First, as I say, they—or some of them—exactly resembled human beings; second, they had very extended life spans—if you want to call it that.”

“Better say ‘effectiveness,’?” said Dors, “or you’ll begin thinking of them as human altogether.”

“Third,” said Seldon, ignoring her, “that some—or, at any rate, at least one—continues to live on to this day.”

“Hari, that’s one of the most widespread legends we have. The ancient hero does not die but remains in suspended animation, ready to return to save his people at some time of great need. Really, Hari.”

“Fourth,” said Seldon, still not rising to the bait, “there are some lines that seem to indicate that the central temple—or the Sacratorium, if that’s what it is, though I haven’t found that word in the Book, actually—contains a robot.” He paused, then said, “Do you see?”

Dors said, “No. What should I see?”

“If we combine the four points, perhaps a robot that looks exactly like a human being and that is still alive, having been alive for, say, the last twenty thousand years, is in the Sacratorium.”

“Come on, Hari, you can’t believe that.”

“I don’t actually believe it, but I can’t entirely let go either. What if it’s true? What if—it’s only one chance out of a million, I admit—it’s true? Don’t you see how useful he could be to me? He could remember the Galaxy as it was long before any reliable historical records existed. He might help make psychohistory possible.”

“Even if it was true, do you suppose the Mycogenians would let you see and interview the robot?”

“I don’t intend to ask permission. I can at least go to the Sacratorium and see if there’s something to interview first.”

“Not now. Tomorrow at the earliest. And if you don’t think better of it by morning, we go.”

“You told me yourself they don’t allow women—”

“They allow women to look at it from outside, I’m sure, and I suspect that is all we’ll get to do.”

And there she was adamant.

51

Hari Seldon was perfectly willing to let Dors take the lead. She had been out in the main roadways of Mycogen and was more at home with them than he was.

Dors Venabili, brows knitted, was less delighted with the prospect. She said, “We can easily get lost, you know.”

“Not with that booklet,” said Seldon.

She looked up at him impatiently. “Fix your mind on Mycogen, Hari. What I should have is a computomap, something I can ask questions of. This Mycogenian version is just a piece of folded plastic. I can’t tell this thing where I am. I can’t tell it by word of mouth and I can’t even tell it by pushing the necessary contacts. It can’t tell me anything either way. It’s a print thing.”

“Then read what it says.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do, but it’s written for people who are familiar with the system to begin with. We’ll have to ask.”

“No, Dors. That would be a last resort. I don’t want to attract attention. I would rather we take our chances and try to find our own way, even if it means making one or two wrong turns.”

Dors leafed through the booklet with great attention and then said grudgingly, “Well, it gives the Sacratorium important mention. I suppose that’s only natural. I presume everyone in Mycogen would want to get there at one time or another.” Then, after additional concentration, she said, “I’ll tell you what. There’s no way of taking a conveyance from here to there.”

“What?”

“Don’t get excited. Apparently, there’s a way of getting from here to another conveyance that will take us there. We’ll have to change from one to another.”

Seldon relaxed. “Well, of course. You can’t take an Expressway to half the places on Trantor without changing.”

Dors cast an impatient glance at Seldon. “I know that too. It’s just that I’m used to having these things tell me so. When they expect you to find out for yourself, the simplest things can escape you for a while.”

“All right, dear. Don’t snap. If you know the way now, lead. I will follow humbly.”

And follow her he did, until they came to an intersection, where they stopped.