Foundation's Edge

“I wasn’t there,” said Trevize sardonically. “How can I know?”

“Can you know he didn’t?”

“No.”

“Do you deny, perhaps, that the holographic image of Hari Seldon that has appeared during each of a number of historical crises over the past five hundred years is, in actual fact, a reproduction of Hari Seldon himself, made in the last year of his life, shortly before the establishment of the Foundation?”

“I suppose I can’t deny that.”

“You ‘suppose.’ Would you care to say that it is a fraud, a hoax devised by someone in past history for some purpose?”

Trevize sighed. “No. I am not maintaining that.”

“Are you prepared to maintain that the messages that Hari Seldon delivers are in any way manipulated by anyone at all?”

“No. I have no reason to think that such manipulation is either possible or useful.”

“I see. You witnessed this most recent appearance of Seldon’s image. Did you find that his analysis— prepared five hundred years ago—did not match the actual conditions of today quite closely?”

“On the contrary,” said Trevize with sudden glee. “It matched very closely.”

Kodell seemed indifferent to the other’s emotion. “And yet, Councilman, after the appearance of Seldon, you still maintain that the Seldon Plan does not exist.”

“Of course I do. I maintain it does not exist precisely because the analysis matched so perfectly—”

Kodell had turned off the recorder. “Councilman,” he said, shaking his head, “you put me to the trouble of erasing. I ask if you still maintain this odd belief of yours and you start giving me reasons. Let me repeat my question.”

He said, “And yet, Councilman, after the appearance of Seldon, you still maintain that the Seldon Plan does not exist.”

“How do you know that? No one had a chance to speak to my informer friend, Compor, after the appearance.”

“Let us say we guessed, Councilman. And let us say you have already answered, ‘Of course I do.’ If you will say that once more without volunteering added information, we can get on with it.”

“Of course I do,” said Trevize ironically.

“Well,” said Kodell, “I will choose whichever of the ‘Of course I do’s’ sounds more natural. Thank you, Councilman,” and the recording device was turned off again.

Trevize said, “Is that it?”

“For what I need, yes.”

“What you need, quite clearly, is a set of questions and answers that you can present to Terminus and to all the Foundation Federation which it rules, in order to show that I accept the legend of the Seldon Plan totally. That will make any denial of it that I later make seem quixotic or outright insane.”

“Or even treasonable in the eyes of an excited multitude which sees the plan as essential to the Foundation’s safety. It will perhaps not be necessary to publicize this, Councilman Trevize, if we can come to some understanding, but if it should prove necessary we will see to it that the Federation hears.”

“Are you fool enough, sir,” said Trevize, frowning, “to be entirely uninterested in what I really have to say?”

“As a human being I am very interested, and if an appropriate time comes I will listen to you with interest and a certain amount of skepticism. As Director of Security, however, I have, at the present moment, exactly what I want.”

“I hope you know that this will do you, and the Mayor, no good.”

“Oddly enough, I am not at all of that opinion. You will now leave. Under guard, of course.”

“Where am I to be taken?”

Kodell merely smiled. “Good-bye, Councilman. You were not perfectly co-operative, but it would have been unrealistic to have expected you to be.”

He held out his hand.

Trevize, standing up, ignored it. He smoothed the creases out of his sash and said, “You only delay the inevitable. Others must think as I do now, or will come to think that way later. To imprison me or to kill me will serve to inspire wonder and, eventually, accelerate such thinking. In the end the truth and I shall win.”

Kodell took back his hand and shook his head slowly. “Really, Trevize,” he said. “You are a fool.”

4.

It was not till midnight that two guards came to remove Trevize from what was, he had to admit, a luxurious room at Security Headquarters. Luxurious but locked. A prison cell by any name.

Trevize had over four hours to second-guess himself bitterly, striding restlessly across the floor for much of the period.

Why did he trust Compor?

Why not? He had seemed so clearly in agreement.—No, not that. He had seemed so ready to be argued into agreement.—No, not that, either. He had seemed so stupid, so easily dominated, so surely lacking a mind and opinions of his own that Trevize enjoyed the chance of using him as a comfortable sounding board. Compor had helped Trevize improve and hone his opinions. He had been useful and Trevize had trusted him for no other reason than that it had been convenient to do so.

But it was useless now to try to decide whether he ought to have seen through Compor. He should have followed the simple generalization: Trust nobody.

Yet can one go through life trusting nobody?

Clearly one had to.

And who would have thought that Branno would have had the audacity to pluck a Councilman out of the Council—and that not one of the other Councilmen would move to protect one of their own? Though they had disagreed with Trevize to their very hearts; though they would have been ready to bet their blood, drop by drop, on Branno’s rightness; they should still, on principle, have interposed themselves against this violation of their prerogatives. Branno the Bronze she was sometimes called, and she certainly acted with metallic rigor—

Unless she herself was already in the grip—

No! That way led to paranoia!

And yet—

His mind tiptoed in circles, and had not broken out of uselessly repetitive thought when the guards came.

“You will have to come with us, Councilman,” the senior of the two said with unemotional gravity. His insignia showed him to be a lieutenant. He had a small scar on his right cheek, and he looked tired, as though he had been at his job too long and had done too little—as might be expected of a soldier whose people had been at peace for over a century.

Trevize did not budge. “Your name, Lieutenant.”

“I am Lieutenant Evander Sopellor, Councilman.”

“You realize you are breaking the law, Lieutenant Sopellor. You cannot arrest a Councilman.”

The lieutenant said, “We have our direct orders, sir.”

“That does not matter. You cannot be ordered to arrest a Councilman. You must understand that you will be liable for court-martial as a result.”

The lieutenant said, “You are not being arrested, Councilman.”

“Then I don’t have to go with you, do I?”

“We have been instructed to escort you to your home.”

“I know the way.”

“And to protect you en route.”