and resolve to be vigilant against the baser forces of our human nature.”
Following the hearing, the Emperor had sent Seldon a congratulatory holo-disc. On it he expressed the hope that perhaps now Seldon would find renewed funding for his Project.
As Seldon slid up the entrance gliderail, he reflected on the current status of his Psychohistory Project. His good friend—the former Chief Librarian Las Zenow—had retired. During his tenure, Zenow had been a strong proponent of Seldon and his work. More often than not, however, Zenow’s hands had been tied by the Library Board. But, he had assured Seldon, the affable new Chief Librarian, Tryma Acarnio, was as progressive as he himself, and was popular with many factions among the Board membership.
“Hari, my friend,” Zenow had said before leaving Trantor for his home world of Wencory, “Acarnio is a good man, a person of deep intellect and an open mind. I’m sure he’ll do all that he can to help you and the Project. I’ve left him the entire data file on you and your Encyclopedia; I know he’ll be as excited as I about the contribution to humanity it represents. Take care, my friend—I’ll remember you fondly.”
And so today Hari Seldon was to have his first official meeting with the new Chief Librarian. He was cheered by the reassurances Las Zenow had left with him and he was looking forward to sharing his plans for the future of the Project and the Encyclopedia.
Tryma Acarnio stood as Hari entered the Chief Librarian’s office. Already he had made his mark on the place; whereas Zenow had stuffed every nook and cranny of the room with holo-discs and tridijournals from the different sectors of Trantor, and a dizzying array of visiglobes representing various worlds of the Empire had spun in midair, Acarnio had swept clear the mounds of data and images that Zenow had liked to keep at his fingertips. A large holoscreen now dominated one wall on which, Seldon presumed, Acarnio could view any publication or broadcast that he desired.
Acarnio was short and stocky, with a slightly distracted look—from a childhood corneal correction that had gone awry—that belied a fearsome intelligence and constant awareness of everything going on around him at all times.
“Well, well. Professor Seldon. Come in. Sit down.” Acarnio gestured to a straight-backed chair facing the desk at which he sat. “It was, I felt, quite fortuitous that you requested this meeting. You see, I had intended to get in touch with you as soon as I settled in.”
Seldon nodded, pleased that the new Chief Librarian had considered him enough of a priority to plan to seek him out in the hectic early days of his tenure.
“But, first, Professor, please let me know why you wanted to see me before we move on to my, most likely, more prosaic concerns.”
Seldon cleared his throat and leaned forward. “Chief Librarian, Las Zenow has no doubt told you of my work here and of my idea for an Encyclopedia Galactica. Las was quite enthusiastic, and a great help, providing a private office for me here and unlimited access to the Library’s vast resources. In fact, it was he who located the eventual home of the Encyclopedia Project, a remote Outer World called Terminus.
“There was one thing, however, that Las could not provide. In order to keep the Project on schedule, I must have office space and unlimited access granted to a number of my colleagues, as well. It is an enormous undertaking, just gathering the information to be copied and transferred to Terminus before we can begin the actual work of compiling the Encyclopedia.
“Las was not popular with the Library Board, as you undoubtedly are aware. You, however, are. And so I ask you, Chief Librarian: Will you see to it that my colleagues are granted insiders’ privileges so that we may continue our most vital work?”
Here Hari stopped, almost out of breath. He was sure that his speech, which he had gone over and over in his mind the night before, would have the desired effect. He waited, confident in Acarnio’s response.
“Professor Seldon,” Acarnio began. Seldon’s expectant smile faded. There was an edge to the Chief Librarian’s voice that Seldon had not expected. “My esteemed predecessor provided me—in exhaustive detail—an explication of your work here at the Library. He was quite enthusiastic about your research and committed to the idea of your colleagues joining you here. As was I, Professor Seldon”—at Acarnio’s pause, Seldon looked up sharply—“at first. I was prepared to call a special meeting of the Board to propose that a larger suite of offices be prepared for you and your Encyclopedists. But, Professor Seldon, all that has now changed.”
“Changed! But why?”
“Professor Seldon, you have just finished serving as principal defendant in a most sensational assault and battery case.”
“But I was acquitted,” Seldon broke in. “The case never even made it to trial.”
“Nonetheless, Professor, your latest foray into the public eye has given you an undeniable—how shall I say it?—
“You, by the very nature of your work, are threatening the essential fabric of the Empire. I don’t mean the huge, nameless, faceless, monolithic Empire. No, I am referring to the heart and soul of the Empire—its people. When you tell them the Empire is failing, you are saying that
“Seldon, like it or not, you have become an object of derision, a subject of ridicule, a laughingstock.”
“Pardon me, Chief Librarian, but for years now I have been, to some circles, a laughingstock.”
“Yes, but only to some circles. But this latest incident—and the very public forum in which it was played out—has opened you up to ridicule not only here on Trantor but throughout the worlds. And, Professor, if, by providing you an office, we, the Galactic Library, give tacit approval to your work, then, by inference, we, the Library, also become a laughingstock throughout the worlds. And no matter how strongly I may
“And so, Professor Seldon, your request to bring in your colleagues is denied.”
Hari Seldon jerked back in his chair as if struck.
“Further,” Acarnio continued, “I must advise you of a two-week temporary suspension of all Library privileges—effective immediately. The Board has called that special meeting, Professor Seldon. In two weeks’ time we will notify you whether or not we’ve decided that our association with you must be terminated.”
Here, Acarnio stopped speaking and, placing his palms on the glossy, spotless surface of his desk, stood up. “That is all, Professor Seldon—for now.”
Hari Seldon stood as well, although his upward movement was not as smooth, nor as quick, as Tryma Acarnio’s.
“May I be permitted to address the Board?” asked Seldon. “Perhaps if I were able to explain to them the vital importance of psychohistory and the Encyclopedia—”
“I’m afraid not, Professor,” said Acarnio softly and Seldon caught a brief glimmer of the man Las Zenow had told him about. But, just as quickly, the icy bureaucrat was back as Acarnio guided Seldon to the door.
As the portals slid open, Acarnio said, “Two weeks, Professor Seldon. Till then.” Hari stepped through to his waiting skitter and the doors slid shut.
What am I going to do now? wondered Seldon disconsolately. Is this the end of my work?
28
“Wanda dear, what is it that has you so engrossed?” asked Hari Seldon as he entered his granddaughter’s office at Streeling University. The room had been the office of the brilliant mathematician Yugo Amaryl, whose death had impoverished the Psychohistory Project. Fortunately, Wanda had gradually taken over Yugo’s role in recent years, further refining and adjusting the Prime Radiant.
“Why, I’m working on an equation in Section 33A2D17. See, I’ve recalibrated this section”—she gestured to a glowing violet patch suspended in midair in front of her face—“taking into consideration the standard quotient
