Forward the Foundation

“See there, Stettin,” Seldon said as the two were taking an early evening stroll in one of Trantor’s residential sectors near Streeling. The older man pointed to debris—assorted refuse jettisoned from passing ground-cars or dropped by careless pedestrians—strewn along the walkway. “In the old days,” Seldon continued, “you would never see litter like this. The security officers were vigilant and municipal maintenance crews provided round-the-clock upkeep of all public areas. But, most important, no one would even think of dumping his trash in such a manner. Trantor was our home; we took pride in it. Now”— Seldon shook his head sadly, resignedly, and sighed—“it’s—” He broke off abruptly.

“You there, young man!” Seldon shouted at an ill-kempt fellow who had moments before passed them, going in the opposite direction. He was munching a treat just popped into his mouth; the wrapper had been tossed to the ground without so much as a downward glance. “Pick that up and dispose of it properly,” Seldon admonished as the young man eyed him sullenly.

“Pick it up yourself,” the boy snarled and then he turned and walked away.

“It’s another sign of society’s breakdown, as predicted by your psychohistory, Professor Seldon,” Palver said.

“Yes, Stettin. All around us the Empire is falling apart, piece by piece. In fact, it’s already smashed—there’s no turning back now. Apathy, decay, and greed have all played their parts in destroying the once-glorious Empire. And what will take its place? Why—”

Here Seldon broke off at the sight of Palver’s face. The younger man seemed to be listening intently—but not to Seldon’s voice. His head was cocked to one side and his face had a far-off look. It was as if Palver were straining to hear some sound inaudible to everyone but himself.

Suddenly he snapped back to the here and now. With an urgent glance around them, Palver took hold of Seldon’s arm. “Hari, quick, we must get away. They’re coming?.?.?.” And then the still evening was broken by the harsh sound of rapidly approaching footsteps. Seldon and Palver spun around, but it was too late; a band of attackers was upon them. This time, however, Hari Seldon was prepared. He immediately swung his cane in a wide arc around Palver and himself. At this, the three attackers—two boys and a girl, all teenage ruffians—laughed.

“So, you’re not goin’ to make it easy, are you, old man?” snorted the boy who appeared to be the group’s ringleader. “Why, me and my buddies, we’ll take you out in two seconds flat. We’ll—” All of a sudden, the ringleader was down, the victim of a perfectly placed Twist-kick to his abdomen. The two ruffians who were still standing quickly dropped to a crouch in preparation for attack. But Palver was quicker. They, too, were felled almost before they knew what hit them.

And then it was over—almost as soon as it started. Seldon stood off to the side, leaning heavily on his cane, shaking at the thought of his narrow escape. Palver, panting slightly from exertion, surveyed the scene. The three attackers were out cold on the deserted walkway under the darkening dome.

“Come on, let’s get out of here quickly!” Palver urged again, only this time it was not the attackers they would be fleeing.

“Stettin, we can’t leave,” protested Seldon. He gestured toward the unconscious would-be muggers. “They’re really nothing more than children. They may be dying. How can we just walk away? It’s inhumane—that’s what it is—and humanity is exactly what I’ve been working all these years to protect.” Seldon struck the ground with his cane for emphasis and his eyes gleamed with conviction.

“Nonsense,” retorted Palver. “What’s inhumane is the way muggers like that prey on innocent citizens like you. Do you think they’d have given you a second thought? They’d just as soon stick a knife in your gut to steal your last credit—and then kick you as they ran! They’ll come to soon enough and slink away to lick their wounds. Or someone will find them and call the central office.

“But, Hari, you must think. After what happened last time, you stand to lose everything if you’re linked to another beating. Please, Hari, we must run!” With this, Palver grabbed Seldon’s arm and Seldon, after a last backward glance, allowed himself to be led away.

As the footsteps of the rapidly departing Seldon and Palver diminished in the distance, another figure emerged from his hiding place behind some trees. Chuckling to himself, the sullen-eyed youth muttered, “You’re a fine one to tell me what’s right and what’s wrong, Professor.” With that, he spun on his heel and headed off to summon the security officers.

26

“Order! I will have order!” bellowed Judge Tejan Popjens Lih. The public hearing of Professor Raven Seldon and his young associate, Stettin Palver, had generated a hue and cry among the populace of Trantor. Here was the man who had predicted the Fall of the Empire, the decay of civilization, who exhorted others to harken back to the golden age of civility and order—here was he who, according to an eyewitness, had ordered the brutal beating of three young Trantorians for no apparent provocation. Ah yes, it promised to be a spectacular hearing, one which would lead, no doubt, to an even more spectacular trial.

The judge pressed a contact set into a recessed panel on her bench and a sonorous gong resounded through the packed courtroom. “I will have order,” she repeated to the now-hushed throng. “If need be, the courtroom will be cleared. That is a warning. It will not be repeated.”

The judge cut an imposing figure in her scarlet robe. Originally from the Outer World of Lystena, Lih’s complexion had a slight bluish cast, which turned darker when she became exercised, practically purple when she was really angry. It was rumored that, for all her years on the bench, in spite of her reputation as a top judicial mind, notwithstanding her position as one of the most revered interpreters of Imperial law, Lih was ever so slightly vain about the colorful appearance she gave, the way in which the bright red robes set off her soft turquoise skin.

Nevertheless, Lih had a reputation for coming down hard on those who brooked Imperial law; she was one of the few judges left who upheld the civil code without wavering.

“I have heard of you, Professor Seldon, and your theories about our imminent destruction. And I have spoken with the magistrate who recently heard another case in which you were involved, one in which you struck a man with your lead-filled cane. In that instance, too, you claimed to be the victim of assault. Your reasoning stemmed, I believe, from a previous unreported incident in which you and your son allegedly were assaulted by eight hoodlums. You were able to convince my esteemed colleague, Professor Seldon, of your plea of self-defense, even though an eyewitness testified otherwise. This time, Professor, you will have to be much more convincing.”

The three hoodlums who were bringing charges against Seldon and Palver snickered in their seats at the plaintiff’s table. They presented a much different appearance today than they had the evening of the attack. The young men were sporting clean loose-fitting unisuits; the young lady was wearing a crisply pleated tunic. All in all, if one didn’t look (or listen) too closely, the three presented a reassuring picture of Trantorian youth.

Seldon’s lawyer, Civ Novker (who was representing Palver as well), approached the bench. “Your Honor, my client is an upstanding member of the Trantorian community. He is a former First Minister of stellar repute. He is a personal acquaintance of our Emperor Agis XIV. What possible benefit could Professor Seldon derive from attacking innocent young people? He is one of the most vocal proponents of stimulating the intellectual creativity of Trantorian youth—his Psychohistory Project employs numerous student volunteers; he is a beloved member of the Streeling University faculty.

“Further—” Here Novker paused, sweeping his gaze around the packed courtroom, as if to say, Wait till you hear this—you’ll be ashamed that you ever for a second doubted the veracity of my client’s claims, “Professor Seldon is one of the very few private individuals officially allied with the prestigious Galactic Library. He has been granted unlimited use of Library facilities for work on what he calls the Encyclopedia Galactica, a veritable paean to Imperial civilization.

“I ask you, how can this man even be questioned in such a matter?”

With a flourish of his arm, Novker gestured toward Seldon, who was sitting at the defendant’s table with Stettin Palver, looking decidedly uncomfortable. Hari’s cheeks were flushed from the unaccustomed praise (after all, lately his name was the subject of derisive snickers rather than flowery plaudits) and his hand shook slightly on the