“His name is nothing. He is an agent of the Commission of Public Safety. He followed you from the space- port.”
“But why? I am afraid I am very confused.”
“Did the man on the tower say nothing about me?”
Gaal hesitated. “He referred to you as Raven Seldon.”
“Did he say why?”
“He said you predict disaster.”
“I do. —What does Trantor mean to you?”
Everyone seemed to be asking his opinion of Trantor. Gaal felt incapable of response beyond the bare word, “Glorious.”
“You say that without thinking. What of psychohistory?”
“I haven’t thought of applying it to the problem.”
“Before you are done with me, young man, you will learn to apply psychohistory to all problems as a matter of course. —Observe.” Seldon removed his calculator pad from the pouch at his belt. Men said he kept one beneath his pillow for use in moments of wakefulness. Its gray, glossy finish was slightly worn by use. Seldon’s nimble fingers, spotted now with age, played along the files and rows of buttons that filled its surface. Red symbols glowed out from the upper tier.
He said, “That represents the condition of the Empire at present.”
He waited.
Gaal said finally, “Surely that is not a complete representation.”
“No, not complete,” said Seldon. “I am glad you do not accept my word blindly. However, this is an approximation which will serve to demonstrate the proposition. Will you accept that?”
“Subject to my later verification of the derivation of the function, yes.” Gaal was carefully avoiding a possible trap.
“Good. Add to this the known probability of Imperial assassination, viceregal revolt, the contemporary recurrence of periods of economic depression, the declining rate of planetary explorations, the?.?.?.”
He proceeded. As each item was mentioned, new symbols sprang to life at his touch, and melted into the basic function which expanded and changed.
Gaal stopped him only once. “I don’t see the validity of that set-transformation.”
Seldon repeated it more slowly.
Gaal said, “But that is done by way of a forbidden socio-operation.”
“Good. You are quick, but not yet quick enough. It is not forbidden in this connection. Let me do it by expansions.”
The procedure was much longer and at its end, Gaal said, humbly, “Yes, I see now.”
Finally, Seldon stopped. “This is Trantor three centuries from now. How do you interpret that? Eh?” He put his head to one side and waited.
Gaal said, unbelievingly, “Total destruction! But—but that is impossible. Trantor has never been—”
Seldon was filled with the intense excitement of a man whose body only had grown old, “Come, come. You saw how the result was arrived at. Put it into words. Forget the symbolism for a moment.”
Gaal said, “As Trantor becomes more specialized, it becomes more vulnerable, less able to defend itself. Further, as it becomes more and more the administrative center of Empire, it becomes a greater prize. As the Imperial succession becomes more and more uncertain, and the feuds among the great families more rampant, social responsibility disappears.”
“Enough. And what of the numerical probability of total destruction within three centuries?”
“I couldn’t tell.”
“Surely you can perform a field-differentiation?”
Gaal felt himself under pressure. He was not offered the calculator pad. It was held a foot from his eyes. He calculated furiously and felt his forehead grow slick with sweat.
He said, “About 85%?”
“Not bad,” said Seldon, thrusting out a lower lip, “but not good. The actual figure is 92.5%.”
Gaal said, “And so you are called Raven Seldon? I have seen none of this in the journals.”
“But of course not. This is unprintable. Do you suppose the Imperium could expose its shakiness in this manner? That is a very simple demonstration in psychohistory. But some of our results have leaked out among the aristocracy.”
“That’s bad.”
“Not necessarily. All is taken into account.”
“But is that why I’m being investigated?”
“Yes. Everything about my project is being investigated.”
“Are you in danger, sir?”
“Oh, yes. There is probability of 1.7% that I will be executed, but of course that will not stop the project. We have taken that into account as well. Well, never mind. You will meet me, I suppose, at the University tomorrow?”
“I will,” said Gaal.
5
COMMISSION OF PUBLIC SAFETY— .?.?.?The aristocratic coterie rose to power after the assassination of Cleon I, last of the Entuns. In the main, they formed an element of order during the centuries of instability and uncertainty in the Imperium. Usually under the control of the great families of the Chens and the Divarts, it degenerated eventually into a blind instrument for maintenance of the status quo.?.?.?. They were not completely removed as a power in the state until after the accession of the last strong Emperor, Cleon II. The first Chief Commissioner.?.?.?.
.?.?.?In a way, the beginning of the Commission’s decline can be traced to the trial of Hari Seldon two years before the beginning of the Foundational Era. That trial is described in Gaal Dornick’s biography of Hari Seldon.?.?.?.
Gaal did not carry out his promise. He was awakened the next morning by a muted buzzer. He answered it, and the voice of the desk clerk, as muted, polite and deprecating as it well might be, informed him that he was under detention at the orders of the Commission of Public Safety.
Gaal sprang to the door and found it would no longer open. He could only dress and wait.
They came for him and took him elsewhere, but it was still detention. They asked him questions most politely. It was all very civilized. He explained that he was a provincial of Synnax; that he had attended such and such schools and obtained a Doctor of Mathematics degree on such and such a date. He had applied for a position on Dr. Seldon’s staff and had been accepted. Over and over again, he gave these details; and over and over again, they returned to the question of his joining the Seldon Project. How had he heard of it; what were to be his duties; what secret instructions had he received; what was it all about?
He answered that he did not know. He had no secret instructions. He was a scholar and a mathematician. He had no interest in politics.
And finally the gentle inquisitor asked, “When will Trantor be destroyed?”
Gaal faltered, “I could not say of my own knowledge.”
“Could you say of anyone’s?”
“How could I speak for another?” He felt warm; overwarm.
The inquisitor said, “Has anyone told you of such destruction; set a date?” And, as the young man hesitated, he went on, “You have been followed, doctor. We were at the airport when you arrived; on the observation tower when you waited for your appointment; and, of course, we were able to overhear your conversation with Dr.
