Three white-kirtled males and a pair of gray-kirtled females were at the same intersection. Seldon tried a universal and general smile in their direction, but they responded with a blank stare and looked away.
And then the conveyance came. It was an outmoded version of what Seldon, back on Helicon, would have called a gravi-bus. There were some twenty upholstered benches inside, each capable of holding four people. Each bench had its own doors on both sides of the bus. When it stopped, passengers emerged on either side. (For a moment, Seldon was concerned for those who got out on the traffic side of the gravi-bus, but then he noticed that every vehicle approaching from either direction stopped as it neared the bus. None passed it while it was not moving.)
Dors pushed Seldon impatiently and he moved on to a bench where two adjoining seats were available. Dors followed after. (The men always got on and got off first, he noticed.)
Dors muttered to him, “Stop studying humanity. Be aware of your surroundings.”
“I’ll try.”
“For instance,” she said and pointed to a smooth boxed-off area on the back of the bench directly before each of them. As soon as the conveyance had begun to move, words lit up, naming the next stop and the notable structures or crossways that were nearby.
“Now, that will probably tell us when we’re approaching the changeover we want. At least the sector isn’t completely barbaric.”
“Good,” said Seldon. Then, after a while, leaning toward Dors, he whispered, “No one is looking at us. It seems that artificial boundaries are set up to preserve individual privacy in any crowded place. Have you noticed that?”
“I’ve always taken it for granted. If that’s going to be a rule of your psychohistory, no one will be very impressed by it.”
As Dors had guessed, the direction plaque in front of them eventually announced the approach to the changeover for the direct line to the Sacratorium.
They exited and again had to wait. Some buses ahead had already left this intersection, but another gravi- bus was already approaching. They were on a well-traveled route, which was not surprising; the Sacratorium was bound to be the center and heartbeat of the sector.
They got on the gravi-bus and Seldon whispered, “We’re not paying.”
“According to the map, public transportation is a free service.”
Seldon thrust out his lower lip. “How civilized. I suppose that nothing is all of a piece, not backwardness, not barbarism, nothing.”
But Dors nudged him and whispered, “Your rule is broken. We’re being watched. The man on your right.”
52
Seldon’s eyes shifted briefly. The man to his right was rather thin and seemed quite old. He had dark brown eyes and a swarthy complexion, and Seldon was sure that he would have had black hair if he had not been depilated.
He faced front again, thinking. This Brother was rather atypical. The few Brothers he had paid any attention to had been rather tall, light-skinned, and with blue or gray eyes. Of course, he had not seen enough of them to make a general rule.
Then there was a light touch on the right sleeve of his kirtle. Seldon turned hesitantly and found himself looking at a card on which was written lightly, CAREFUL, TRIBESMAN!
Seldon started and put a hand to his skincap automatically. The man next to him silently mouthed, “Hair.”
Seldon’s hand found it, a tiny exposure of bristles at his temple. He must have disturbed the skincap at some point or another. Quickly and as unobtrusively as possible, he tugged the skincap, then made sure that it was snug under the pretence of stroking his head.
He turned to his neighbor on his right, nodded slightly, and mouthed, “Thank you.”
His neighbor smiled and said in a normal speaking voice, “Going to the Sacratorium?”
Seldon nodded. “Yes, I am.”
“Easy guess. So am I. Shall we get off together?” His smile was friendly.
“I’m with my—my—”
“With your woman. Of course. All three together, then?”
Seldon was not sure how to react. A quick look in the other direction showed him that Dors’s eyes were turned straight ahead. She was showing no interest in masculine conversation—an attitude appropriate for a Sister. However, Seldon felt a soft pat on his left knee, which he took (with perhaps little justification) to mean: “It’s all right.”
In any case, his natural sense of courtesy was on that side and he said, “Yes, certainly.”
There was no further conversation until the direction plaque told them they were arriving at the Sacratorium and Seldon’s Mycogenian friend was rising to get off.
The gravi-bus made a wide turn about the perimeter of a large area of the Sacratorium grounds and there was a general exodus when it came to a halt, the men sliding in front of the women to exit first. The women followed.
The Mycogenian’s voice crackled a bit with age, but it was cheerful. He said, “It’s a little early for lunch my .?.?. friends, but take my word for it that things will be crowded in not too long a time. Would you be willing to buy something simple now and eat it outside? I am very familiar with this area and I know a good place.”
Seldon wondered if this was a device to maneuver innocent tribespeople into something or other disreputable or costly, yet decided to chance it.
“You’re very kind,” he said. “Since we are not at all familiar with the place, we will be glad to let you take the lead.”
They bought lunch—sandwiches and a beverage that looked like milk—at an open-air stand. Since it was a beautiful day and they were visitors, the old Mycogenian said, they would go to the Sacratorium grounds and eat out of doors, the better to become acquainted with their surroundings.
During their walk, carrying their lunch, Seldon noted that, on a very small scale, the Sacratorium resembled the Imperial Palace and that the grounds around it resembled, on a minute scale, the Imperial grounds. He could scarcely believe that the Mycogenian people admired the Imperial institution or, indeed, did anything but hate and despise it, yet the cultural attraction was apparently not to be withstood.
“It’s beautiful,” said the Mycogenian with obvious pride.
“Quite,” said Seldon. “How it glistens in the daylight.”
“The grounds around it,” he said, “are constructed in imitation of the government grounds on our Dawn World .?.?. in miniature, to be sure.”
“Did you ever see the grounds of the Imperial Palace?” asked Seldon cautiously.
The Mycogenian caught the implication and seemed in no way put out by it. “
Seldon doubted that in the extreme, but he said nothing.
They came to a semicircular seat of white stonite, sparkling in the light as the Sacratorium did.
“Good,” said the Mycogenian, his dark eyes gleaming with pleasure. “No one’s taken my place. I call it mine only because it’s my favorite seat. It affords a beautiful view of the side wall of the Sacratorium past the trees. Please sit down. It’s not cold, I assure you. And your companion. She is welcome to sit too. She is a tribeswoman, I know, and has different customs. She .?.?. she may speak if she wishes.”
Dors gave him a hard look and sat down.
Seldon, recognizing the fact that they might remain with this old Mycogenian a while, thrust out his hand and said, “I am Hari and my female companion is Dors. We don’t use numbers, I’m afraid.”
“To each his .?.?. or her .?.?. own,” said the other expansively. “I am Mycelium Seventy-Two. We are a large cohort.”
