that I—we—should take an apartment nearby.”
Dors looked grim, shook her head, and changed the subject. “Do you know that I had two talks with Yugo recently?”
“Good. I’m glad you did. He needs contact with the outside world.”
“Yes, he does, because something’s wrong with him. He’s not the Yugo we’ve had with us all these years. He’s become vague, distant, and—oddly enough—passionate on only one point, as nearly as I can tell—his determination to succeed you on your retirement.”
“That would be natural—if he survives me.”
“Don’t you expect him to survive you?”
“Well, he’s eleven years younger than I am, but the vicissitudes of circumstance—”
“What you really mean is that you recognize that Yugo is in a bad way. He looks and acts older than you do, for all his younger age, and that seems to be a rather recent development. Is he ill?”
“Physically? I don’t think so. He has his periodic examinations. I’ll admit, though, that he seems drained. I’ve tried to persuade him to take a vacation for a few months—a whole year’s sabbatical, if he wishes. I’ve suggested that he leave Trantor altogether, just so that he is as far away from the Project as possible for a while. There would be no problem in financing his stay on Getorin—which is a pleasant resort world not too many light-years away.”
Dors shook her head impatiently. “And, of course, he won’t. I suggested a vacation to him and he acted as though he didn’t know the
“So what can we do?” said Seldon.
Dors said, “We can think a little. Yugo worked for a quarter of a century on the Project and seemed to maintain his strength without any trouble at all and now suddenly he has weakened. It can’t be age. He’s not yet fifty.”
“Are you suggesting something?”
“Yes. How long have you and Yugo been using this Electro-Clarifier thing on your Prime Radiants?”
“About two years—maybe a little more.”
“I presume that the Electro-Clarifier is used by anyone who uses the Prime Radiant.”
“That’s right.”
“Which means Yugo and you, mostly?”
“Yes.”
“And Yugo more than you?”
“Yes. Yugo concentrates fiercely on the Prime Radiant and its equations. I, unfortunately, have to spend much of my time on administrative duties.”
“And what effect does the Electro-Clarifier have on the human body?”
Seldon looked surprised. “Nothing of any significance that I am aware of.”
“In that case, explain something to me, Hari. The Electro-Clarifier has been in operation for over two years and in that time you’ve grown measurably more tired, crotchety, and a little—out of touch. Why is that?”
“I’m getting older, Dors.”
“Nonsense. Whoever told you that sixty is crystallized senility? You’re using your age as a crutch and a defense and I want you to stop it. Yugo, though he’s younger, has been exposed to the Electro-Clarifier more than you have and, as a result, he is more tired, more crotchety, and, in my opinion, a great deal less in touch than you are. And he is rather childishly intense about the succession. Don’t you see anything significant in this?”
“Age and overwork. That’s significant.”
“No, it’s the Electro-Clarifier. It’s having a long-term effect on the two of you.”
After a pause, Seldon said, “I can’t disprove that, Dors, but I don’t see how it’s possible. The Electro-Clarifier is a device that produces an unusual electronic field, but it is still only a field of the type to which human beings are constantly exposed. It can’t do any unusual harm. —In any case, we can’t give up its use. There’s no way of continuing the progress of the Project without it.”
“Now, Hari, I must ask something of you and you must cooperate with me on this. Go nowhere outside the Project without telling me and do nothing out of the ordinary without telling me. Do you understand?”
“Dors, how can I agree to this? You’re trying to put me into a straitjacket.”
“It’s just for a while. A few days. A week.”
“What’s going to happen in a few days or a week?”
Dors said, “Trust me. I will clear up everything.”
25
Hari Seldon knocked gently with an old-fashioned code and Yugo Amaryl looked up. “Hari, how nice of you to drop around.”
“I should do it more often. In the old days we were together all the time. Now there are hundreds of people to worry about—here, there, and everywhere—and they get between us. Have you heard the news?”
“What news?”
“The junta is going to set up a poll tax—a nice substantial one. It will be announced on TrantorVision tomorrow. It will be just Trantor for now and the Outer Worlds will have to wait. That’s a little disappointing. I had hoped it would be Empire-wide all at once, but apparently I didn’t give the General enough credit for caution.”
Amaryl said, “Trantor will be enough. The Outer Worlds will know that their turn will follow in not too long a time.”
“Now we’ll have to see what happens.”
“What will happen is that the shouting will start the instant the announcement is out and the riots will begin, even before the new tax goes into effect.”
“Are you sure of it?”
Amaryl put his Prime Radiant into action at once and expanded the appropriate section. “See for yourself, Hari. I don’t see how that can be misinterpreted and that’s the prediction under the particular circumstances that now exist. If it doesn’t happen, it means that everything we’ve worked out in psychohistory is wrong and I refuse to believe that.”
“I’ll try to have courage,” said Seldon, smiling. Then “How do you feel lately, Yugo?”
“Well enough. Reasonably well. —And how are you, by the way? I’ve heard rumors that you’re thinking of resigning. Even Dors said something about that.”
“Pay no attention to Dors. These days she’s saying all sorts of things. She has a bug in her head about some sort of danger permeating the Project.”
“What kind of danger?”
“It’s better not to ask. She’s just gone off on one of her tangents and, as always, that makes her uncontrollable.”
Amaryl said, “See the advantage I have in being single?” Then, in a lower voice, “If you do resign, Hari, what are your plans for the future?”
Seldon said, “You’ll take over. What other plans can I possibly have?”
And Amaryl smiled.
26
In the small conference room in the main building, Tamwile Elar listened to Dors Venabili with a gathering look of confusion and anger on his face. Finally he burst out, “Impossible!”
He rubbed his chin, then went on cautiously, “I don’t mean to offend you, Dr. Venabili, but your suggestions are ridic—cannot be right. There’s no way in which anyone can think that there are, in this Psychohistory Project, any feelings so deadly as to justify your suspicions. I would certainly know if there were and I assure you there are
