Foundation's Edge

3.

Liono Kodell had been Director of Security through all of Mayor Branno’s administration. It was not a backbreaking job, as he liked to say, but whether he was lying or not, one could not, of course, tell. He didn’t look like a liar, but that did not necessarily mean anything.

He looked comfortable and friendly, and it might well be that this was appropriate for the job. He was rather below the average height, rather above the average weight, had a bushy mustache (most unusual for a citizen of Terminus) that was now more white than gray, bright brown eyes, and a characteristic patch of primary color marking the outer breast pocket of his drab coverall.

He said, “Sit down, Trevize. Let us keep this on a friendly basis if we can.”

“Friendly? With a traitor?” Trevize hooked both his thumbs in his sash and remained standing.

“With an accused traitor. We have not yet come to the point where accusation— even by the Mayor herself—is the equivalent of conviction. I trust we never do. My job is to clear you, if I can. I would much rather do so now while no harm is done—except, perhaps, to your pride—rather than be forced to make it all a matter of a public trial. I hope you are with me in this.”

Trevize didn’t soften. He said, “Let’s not bother with ingratiation. Your job is to badger me as though I were a traitor. I am not one, and I resent the necessity of having to have that point demonstrated to your satisfaction. Why should you not have to prove your loyalty to my satisfaction?”

“In principle, none. The sad fact, however, is that I have power on my side, and you have none on yours. Because of that, it is my privilege to question, and not yours. If any suspicion of disloyalty or treason fell upon me, by the way, I imagine I would find myself replaced, and I would then be questioned by someone else, who, I earnestly hope, would treat me no worse than I intend to treat you.”

“And how do you intend to treat me?”

“Like, I trust, a friend and an equal, if you will so treat me.”

“Shall I stand you a drink?” asked Trevize bitterly.

“Later, perhaps, but for now, please sit down. I ask it as a friend.”

Trevize hesitated, then sat. Any further defiance suddenly seemed meaningless to him. “What now?” he said.

“Now, may I ask that you will answer my questions truthfully and completely and without evasion?”

“And if not? What is the threat behind it? A Psychic Probe?”

“I trust not.”

“I trust not, too. Not on a Councilman. It will reveal no treason, and when I am then acquitted, I will have your political head and the Mayor’s too, perhaps. It might almost be worth making you try a Psychic Probe.”

Kodell frowned and shook his head slightly. “Oh no. Oh no. Too much danger of brain damage. It’s slow healing sometimes, and it would not be worth your while. Definitely. You know, sometimes, when the Probe is used in exasperation—”

“A threat, Kodell?”

“A statement of fact, Trevize. —Don’t mistake me, Councilman. If I must use the Probe I will, and even if you are innocent you will have no recourse.”

“What do you want to know?”

Kodell closed a switch on the desk before him. He said, “What I ask and what you answer to my questions will be recorded, both sight and sound. I do not want any volunteered statements from you, or anything nonresponsive. Not at this time. You understand that, I am sure.”

“I understand that you will record only what you please,” said Trevize contemptuously.

“That is right, but again, don’t mistake me. I will not distort anything you say. I will use it or not use it, that is all. But you will know what I will not use and you will not waste my time and yours.”

“We’ll see.”

“We have reason to think, Councilman Trevize”—and somehow the touch of added formality in his voice was evidence enough that he was recording—“that you have stated openly, and on a number of occasions, that you do not believe in the existence of the Seldon Plan.”

Trevize said slowly, “If I have said so openly, and on a number of occasions, what more do you need?”

“Let us not waste time with quibbles, Councilman. You know that what I want is an open admission in your own voice, characterized by its own voiceprints, under conditions where you are clearly in perfect command of yourself.”

“Because, I suppose, the use of any hypno-effect, chemical or otherwise, would alter the voiceprints?”

“Quite noticeably.”

“And you are anxious to demonstrate that you have made use of no illegal methods in questioning a Councilman? I don’t blame you.”

“I’m glad you do not blame me, Councilman. Then let us continue. You have stated openly, and on a number of occasions, that you do not believe in the existence of the Seldon Plan. Do you admit that?”

Trevize said slowly, choosing his words, “I do not believe that what we call Seldon’s Plan has the significance we usually apply to it.”

“A vague statement. Would you care to elaborate?”

“My view is that the usual concept that Hari Seldon, five hundred years ago, making use of the mathematical science of psychohistory, worked out the course of human events to the last detail and that we are following a course designed to take us from the First Galactic Empire to the Second Galactic Empire along the line of maximum probability, is naive. It cannot be so.”

“Do you mean that, in your opinion, Hari Seldon never existed?”

“Not at all. Of course he existed.”

“That he never evolved the science of psychohistory?”

“No, of course I don’t mean any such thing. See here, Director, I would have explained this to the Council if I had been allowed to, and I will explain it to you. The truth of what I am going to say is so plain—”

The Director of Security had quietly, and quite obviously, turned off the recording device.

Trevize paused and frowned. “Why did you do that?”

“You are wasting my time, Councilman. I am not asking you for speeches.”

“You are asking me to explain my views, aren’t you?”

“Not at all. I am asking you to answer questions—simply, directly, and straightforwardly. Answer only the questions and offer nothing that I do not ask for. Do that and this won’t take long.”

Trevize said, “You mean you will elicit statements from me that will reinforce the official version of what I am supposed to have done.”

“We ask you only to make truthful statements, and I assure you we will not distort them. Please, let me try again. We were talking about Hari Seldon.” The recording device was in action once more and Kodell repeated calmly, “That he never evolved the science of psychohistory?”

“Of course he evolved the science that we call psychohistory,” said Trevize, failing to mask his impatience, and gesturing with exasperated passion.

“Which you would define—how?”

“Galaxy! It is usually defined as that branch of mathematics that deals with the overall reactions of large groups of human beings to given stimuli under given conditions. In other words, it is supposed to predict social and historical changes.”

“You say ‘supposed to.’ Do you question that from the standpoint of mathematical expertise?”

“No,” said Trevize. “I am not a psychohistorian. Nor is any member of the Foundation government, nor any citizen of Terminus, nor any—”

Kodell’s hand raised. He said softly, “Councilman, please!” and Trevize was silent.

Kodell said, “Have you any reason to suppose that Hari Seldon did not make the necessary analysis that would combine, as efficiently as possible, the factors of maximum probability and shortest duration in the path leading from the First to the Second Empire by way of the Foundation?”