Seldon waited, half-expecting someone to come up and greet him as a tribesman or denounce him as one —more likely—but no one did. Those who passed him did so without a glance and even those who glanced in his direction moved on seemingly untouched. He was especially nervous about the gray kirtles—the women—walking by in pairs or, even worse, with a man. They were downtrodden, unnoticed, snubbed. How better to gain a brief notoriety than by shrieking at the sight of a tribesman? But even the women moved on.
They’re not expecting to see a tribesman, Seldon thought, so they don’t see one.
That, he decided, augured well for their forthcoming invasion of the Sacratorium. How much less would anyone expect to see tribespeople there and how much more effectively would they therefore fail to see them!
He was in fairly good humor when Dors emerged.
“You have everything?”
“Absolutely.”
“Then let’s go back to the room, so you can change.”
The white kirtle did not fit her quite as well as the gray one did. Obviously, she could not have tried it on or even the densest shopkeeper would have been struck with alarm.
“How do I look, Hari?” she asked.
“Exactly like a boy,” said Seldon. “Now let’s try the sash .?.?. or obiah. I had better get used to calling it that.”
Dors, without her skincap, was shaking out her hair gratefully. She said sharply, “Don’t put it on now. We’re not going to parade through Mycogen with the sash on. The last thing we want to do is call attention to ourselves.”
“No no. I just want to see how it goes on.”
“Well, not that one. This one is better quality and more elaborate.”
“You’re right, Dors. I’ve got to gather in what attention there is. I don’t want them to detect you as a woman.”
“I’m not thinking of that, Hari. I just want you to look pretty.”
“A thousand thanks, but that’s impossible, I suspect. Now, let’s see, how does this work?”
Together, Hari and Dors practiced putting their obiahs on and taking them off, over and over again, until they could do it in one fluid motion. Dors taught Hari how to do it, as she had seen a man doing it the day before at the Sacratorium.
When Hari praised her for her acute observations, she blushed and said, “It’s really nothing, Hari, just something I noticed.”
Hari replied, “Then you’re a genius for noticing.”
Finally satisfied, they stood well apart, each surveying the other. Hari’s obiah glittered, a bright red dragonlike design standing out against a paler field of similar hue. Dors’s was a little less bold, had a simple thin line down the center, and was very light in color. “There,” she said, “just enough to show good taste.” She took it off.
“Now,” said Seldon, “we fold it up and it goes into one of the inner pockets. I have my credit tile—Hummin’s, really—and the key to this place in this one and here, on the other side, the Book.”
“
“I must. I’m guessing that anyone going to the Sacratorium ought to have a copy of the Book with him. They may intone passages or have readings. If necessary, we’ll share the Book and maybe no one will notice. Ready?”
“I’ll never be ready, but I’m going with you.”
“It will be a tedious trip. Will you check my skincap and make sure no hair shows this time? And don’t scratch your head.”
“I won’t. You look all right.”
“So do you.”
“You also look nervous.”
And Seldon said wryly, “Guess why!”
Dors reached out impulsively and squeezed Hari’s hand, then drew back as if surprised at herself. Looking down, she straightened her white kirtle. Hari, himself a trifle surprised and peculiarly pleased, cleared his throat and said, “Okay, let’s go.”
AERIE
ROBOT— .?.?.?A term used in the ancient legends of several worlds for what are more usually called “automata.” Robots are described as generally human in shape and made of metal, although some are supposed to have been pseudo-organic in nature. Hari Seldon, in the course of The Flight, is popularly supposed to have seen an actual robot, but that story is of dubious origin. Nowhere in Seldon’s voluminous writings does he mention robots at all, although?.?.?.
56
They were not noticed.
Hari Seldon and Dors Venabili repeated the trip of the day before and this time no one gave them a second look. Hardly anyone even gave them a first look. On several occasions, they had to tuck their knees to one side to allow someone sitting on an inner seat to get past them and out. When someone got in, they quickly realized they had to move over if there was an inner empty seat.
This time they quickly grew tired of the smell of kirtles that were not freshly laundered because they were not so easily diverted by what went on outside.
But eventually they were there.
“That’s the library,” said Seldon in a low voice.
“I suppose so,” said Dors. “At least that’s the building that Mycelium Seventy-Two pointed out yesterday.”
They sauntered toward it leisurely.
“Take a deep breath,” said Seldon. “This is the first hurdle.”
The door ahead was open, the light within subdued. There were five broad stone steps leading upward. They stepped onto the lowermost one and waited several moments before they realized that their weight did not cause the steps to move upward. Dors grimaced very slightly and gestured Seldon upward.
Together they walked up the stairs, feeling embarrassed on behalf of Mycogen for its backwardness. Then, through a door, where, at a desk immediately inside was a man bent over the simplest and clumsiest computer Seldon had ever seen.
The man did not look up at them. No need, Seldon supposed. White kirtle, bald head—all Mycogenians looked so nearly the same that one’s eyes slid off them and that was to the tribespeople’s advantage at the moment.
The man, who still seemed to be studying something on the desk, said, “Scholars?”
“Scholars,” said Seldon.
The man jerked his head toward a door. “Go in. Enjoy.”
They moved inward and, as nearly as they could see, they were the only ones in this section of the library. Either the library was not a popular resort or the scholars were few or—most likely—both.
Seldon whispered, “I thought surely we would have to present some sort of license or permission form and I
