Forward the Foundation

officer in sight? Did people stop to help me? No. This time, I’m better prepared and I knocked a man flat who had been about to assault me. Was there a security officer in sight? Absolutely. She put the collar on me. There were people watching, too, and they were amused at seeing an old man being taken in for assault and battery. What kind of world do we live on?”

Civ Novker, Seldon’s lawyer, sighed and said calmly, “A corrupt world, but don’t worry. Nothing will happen to you. I’ll get you out on bail and then, eventually, you’ll come back for trial before a jury of your peers and the most you’ll get—the very most—are some hard words from the bench. Your age and your reputation—”

“Forget my reputation,” said Seldon, still angry. “I’m a psychohistorian and, at the present time, that is a dirty word. They’ll be glad to see me in jail.”

“No, they won’t,” said Novker. “There may be some screwballs who have it in for you, but I’ll see to it that none of them gets on the jury.”

Wanda said, “Do we really have to subject my grandfather to all this? He’s not a young man anymore. Can’t we just appear before the magistrate and not bother with a jury trial?”

The lawyer turned to her. “It can be done. If you’re insane, maybe. Magistrates are impatient power-mad people who would just as soon put a person into jail for a year as listen to him. No one goes up before a magistrate.”

“I think we should,” said Wanda.

Seldon said, “Well now, Wanda, I think we ought to listen to Civ—” But as he said that, he felt a strong churning in his abdomen. It was Wanda’s “push.” Seldon said, “Well—if you insist.”

“She can’t insist,” said the lawyer. “I won’t allow it.”

Wanda said, “My grandfather is your client. If he wants something done his way, you’ve got to do it.”

“I can refuse to represent him.”

“Well then, leave,” said Wanda sharply, “and we’ll face the magistrate alone.”

Novker thought and said, “Very well, then—if you’re going to be so adamant. I’ve represented Hari for years and I suppose I won’t abandon him now. But I warn you, the chances are he’ll get a jail sentence and I’ll have to work like the devil to get it lifted—if I can do it at all.”

“I’m not afraid,” said Wanda.

Seldon bit his lip and the lawyer turned to him. “What about you? Are you willing to let your granddaughter call the shots?”

Seldon thought a bit, then admitted, much to the old lawyer’s surprise, “Yes. Yes, I am.”

19

The magistrate looked sourly at Seldon as he gave his story.

The magistrate said, “What makes you think it was the intention of this man you struck to attack you? Did he strike you? Did he threaten you? Did he in any way place you under bodily fear?”

“My granddaughter was aware of his approach and was quite certain that he was planning to attack me.”

“Surely, sir, that cannot be enough. Is there anything else you can tell me before I pass judgment?”

“Well now, wait a while,” said Seldon indignantly. “Don’t pass judgment so quickly. I was assaulted a few weeks ago by eight men whom I held off with the help of my son. So, you see, I have reason to think that I might be assaulted again.”

The magistrate shuffled his papers. “Assaulted by eight men. Did you report that?”

“There were no security officers around. Not one.”

“Aside from the point. Did you report it?”

“No, sir.”

“Why not?”

“For one thing, I was afraid of getting into long drawn-out legal proceedings. Since we had driven off eight men and were safe, it seemed useless to ask for more trouble.”

“How did you manage to ward off eight men—just you and your son?”

Seldon hesitated. “My son is now on Santanni and outside Trantorian control. Thus, I can tell you that he had Dahlite knives and was expert in their use. He killed one man and badly hurt two others. The rest ran, carrying off the dead and wounded.”

“But did you not report the death of a man and the wounding of two others?”

“No, sir. Same reason as before. And we fought in self-defense. However, if you can track down the three dead and wounded, you will have evidence that we were attacked.”

The magistrate said, “Track down one dead and two wounded nameless faceless Trantorians? Are you aware that on Trantor over two thousand people are found dead every day—by knife wounds alone. Unless these things are reported to us at once, we are helpless. Your story of being assaulted once before will not hold water. What we must do is deal with the events of today, which were reported and which had a security officer as a witness.

“So, let’s consider the situation as of now. Why do you think the fellow was going to attack? Simply because you happened to be passing by? Because you seemed old and defenseless? Because you looked like you might be carrying a great deal of credits? What do you think?”

“I think, Magistrate, it was because of who I am.”

The magistrate looked at his papers. “You are Hari Seldon, a professor and a scholar. Why should that make you subject to assault, particularly?”

“Because of my views.”

“Your views. Well—” The magistrate shuffled some papers perfunctorily. Suddenly he stopped and looked up, peering at Seldon. “Wait—Hari Seldon.” A look of recognition spread across his face. “You’re the psychohistory buff, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Magistrate.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know anything about it except the name and the fact that you go around predicting the end of the Empire or something like that.”

“Not quite, Magistrate. But my views have become unpopular because they are proving to be true. I believe it is for that reason that there are those who want to assault me or, even more likely, are being paid to assault me.”

The magistrate stared at Seldon and then called over the arresting security officer. “Did you check up on the man who was hurt? Does he have a record?”

The security officer cleared her throat. “Yes, sir. He’s been arrested several times. Assault, mugging.”

“Oh, he’s a repeat offender, is he? And does the professor have a record?”

“No, sir.”

“So we have an old and innocent man fighting off a known mugger—and you arrest the old and innocent man. Is that it?”

The security officer was silent.

The magistrate said, “You may go, Professor.”

“Thank you, sir. May I have my cane?”

The magistrate snapped his fingers at the officer, who handed over the cane.

“But one thing, Professor,” said the magistrate. “If you use that cane again, you had better be absolutely certain you can prove it was in self-defense. Otherwise—”

“Yes, sir.” And Hari Seldon left the magistrate’s chambers, leaning heavily on his cane but with his head held high.

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