with each simply waiting for the opportunity. It sounds like a recipe for chaos.”
“You will not help us, then?” said Davan.
Seldon, who had been listening to the exchange between Davan and Dors with a puzzled frown on his face, said, “We can’t put it that simply. We would like to help you. We are on your side. It seems to me that no sane man wants to uphold an Imperial system that maintains itself by fostering mutual hatred and suspicions. Even when it seems to work, it can only be described as metastable; that is, as too apt to fall into instability in one direction or another. But the question is:
“And how long will that take?”
Seldon shrugged. “I cannot say.”
“How can you ask us to wait indefinitely?”
“What alternative do I have, since I am useless to you as I am? But I will say this: I have until very recently been quite convinced that the development of psychohistory was absolutely impossible. Now I am not so certain of that.”
“You mean you have a solution in mind?”
“No, merely an intuitive feeling that a solution might be possible. I have not been able to pin down what has occurred to make me have that feeling. It may be an illusion, but I am trying. Let me continue to try. —Perhaps we will meet again.”
“Or perhaps,” said Davan, “if you return to where you are now staying, you will eventually find yourself in an Imperial trap. You may think that the Empire will leave you alone while you struggle with psychohistory, but I am certain the Emperor and his toady Demerzel are in no mood to wait forever, any more than I am.”
“It will do them no good to hasten,” said Seldon calmly, “since I am not on their side, as I am on yours. — Come, Dors.”
They turned and left Davan, sitting alone in his squalid room, and found Raych waiting for them outside.
76
Raych was eating, licking his fingers, and crumpling the bag in which the food—whatever it was—had been. A strong smell of onions pervaded the air—different somehow, yeast-based perhaps.
Dors, retreating a little from the odor, said, “Where did you get the food from, Raych?”
“Davan’s guys. They brought it to me. Davan’s okay.”
“Then we don’t have to buy you dinner, do we?” said Seldon, conscious of his own empty stomach.
“Ya owe me
“No knife,” said Dors. “You get us back safely and I’ll give you five credits.”
“Can’t get no knife for five credits,” grumbled Raych.
“You’re not getting anything but five credits,” said Dors.
“You’re a lousy dame, lady,” said Raych.
“I’m a lousy dame with a quick knife, Raych, so get moving.”
“All right. Don’t get all perspired.” Raych waved his hand. “This way.”
It was back through the empty corridors, but this time Dors, looking this way and that, stopped. “Hold on, Raych. We’re being followed.”
Raych looked exasperated. “Ya ain’t supposed to hear ’em.”
Seldon said, bending his head to one side, “I don’t hear anything.”
“I do,” said Dors. “Now, Raych, I don’t want any fooling around. You tell me right now what’s going on or I’ll rap your head so that you won’t see straight for a week. I mean it.”
Raych held up one arm defensively. “You try it, you lousy dame. You try it. —It’s Davan’s guys. They’re just taking care of us, in case any knifers come along.”
“Davan’s guys?”
“Yeah. They’re goin’ along the service corridors.”
Dors’s right hand shot out and seized Raych by the scruff of his upper garment. She lifted and he dangled, shouting, “Hey, lady. Hey!”
Seldon said, “Dors! Don’t be hard on him.”
“I’ll be harder still if I think he’s lying. You’re my charge, Hari, not he.”
“I’m not lyin’,” said Raych, struggling. “I’m not.”
“I’m sure he isn’t,” said Seldon.
“Well, we’ll see. Raych, tell them to come out where we can see them.” She let him drop and dusted her hands.
“You’re some kind of nut, lady,” said Raych aggrievedly. Then he raised his voice. “Yay, Davan! Come out here, some of ya guys!”
There was a wait and then, from an unlit opening along the corridor, two dark-mustached men came out, one with a scar running the length of his cheek. Each held the sheath of a knife in his hand, blade withdrawn.
“How many more of you are there?” asked Dors harshly.
“A few,” said one of the newcomers. “Orders. We’re guarding you. Davan wants you safe.”
“Thank you. Try to be even quieter. Raych, keep on moving.”
Raych said sulkily, “Ya roughed me up when I was telling the truth.”
“You’re right,” said Dors. “At least, I think you’re right .?.?. and I apologize.”
“I’m not sure I should accept,” said Raych, trying to stand tall. “But awright, just this once.” He moved on.
When they reached the walkway, the unseen corps of guards vanished. At least, even Dors’s keen ears could hear them no more. By now, though, they were moving into the respectable part of the sector.
Dors said thoughtfully, “I don’t think we have clothes that would fit you, Raych.”
Raych said, “Why do ya want clothes to fit me, Missus?” (Respectability seemed to invade Raych once they were out of the corridors.) “I got clothes.”
“I thought you’d like to come into our place and take a bath.”
Raych said, “What for? I’ll wash one o’ these days. And I’ll put on my other shirt.” He looked up at Dors shrewdly. “You’re sorry ya roughed me up. Right? Ya tryin’ to make up?”
Dors smiled. “Yes. Sort of.”
Raych waved a hand in lordly fashion. “That’s all right. Ya didn’t hurt. Listen. You’re strong for a lady. Ya lifted me up like I was nothin’.”
“I was annoyed, Raych. I have to be concerned about Master Seldon.”
“Ya sort of his bodyguard?” Raych looked at Seldon inquiringly. “Ya got a lady for a bodyguard?”
“I can’t help it,” said Seldon, smiling wryly. “She insists. And she certainly knows her job.”
Dors said, “Think again, Raych. Are you sure you won’t have a bath? A nice warm bath.”
Raych said, “I got no chance. Ya think that lady is gonna let me in the house again?”
Dors looked up and saw Casilia Tisalver outside the front door of the apartment complex, staring first at the Outworld woman and then at the slum-bred boy. It would have been impossible to tell in which case her expression was angrier.
Raych said, “Well, so long, Mister and Missus. I don’t know if she’ll let either of ya in the house.” He placed his hands in his pocket and swaggered off in a fine affectation of carefree indifference.
Seldon said, “Good evening, Mistress Tisalver. It’s rather late, isn’t it?”
“It’s very late,” she replied. “There was a near riot today outside this very complex because of that newsman you pushed the street vermin at.”
“We didn’t push anyone on anyone,” said Dors.
