Prelude to Foundation

“Nor I, Sire. I planned to have the mathematician be encouraged to commit some blasphemous act-such acts are easy to commit in Mycogen, especially for an outsider-one that would call for severe punishment. The mathematician would then be forced to appeal to the Emperor and, as a result, we would get him. I planned it at the cost of insignificant concessions on our part-important to Mycogen, totally unimportant to us-and I meant to play no direct role in the arrangement. It was to be handled subtly.”

“I dare say,” said Cleon, “but it failed. Did the Mayor of Mycogen “He is called the High Elder, Sire.”

“Do not quibble over titles. Did this High Elder refuse?”

“On the contrary, Sire, he agreed and the mathematician, Seldon, fell into the trap neatly.”

“Well then?”

“He was allowed to leave unharmed.”

“Why?” said Cleon indignantly.

“Of this I am not certain, Sire, but I suspect we were outbid.”

“By whom? By the Mayor of Wye?”

“Possibly, Sire, but I doubt that. I have Wye under constant surveillance. If they had gained the mathematician, I would know it by now.”

The Emperor was not merely frowning. He was clearly enraged. “Demerzel, this is bad. I am greatly displeased. A failure like this makes me wonder if you are perhaps not the man you once were. What measures shall we take against Mycogen for this clear defiance of the Emperor’s wishes?”

Demerzel bowed low in recognition of the storm unleashed, but he said in steely tones, “It would be a mistake to move against Mycogen now, Sire. The disruption that would follow would play into the hands of Wye.”

“But we must do something.”

“Perhaps not, Sire. It is not as bad as it may seem.”

“How can it be not as bad as it seems?”

“You’ll remember, Sire, that this mathematician was convinced that psychohistory was impractical.”

“Of course I remember that, but that doesn’t matter, does it? For our purposes?”

“Perhaps not. But if it were to become practical, it would serve our purposes to an infinitely great extent, Sire. And from what I have been able to find out, the mathematician is now attempting to make psychohistory practical. His blasphemous attempt in Mycogen was, I understand, part of an attempt at solving the problem of psychohistory. In that case, it may pay us, Sire, to leave him to himself. It will serve us better to pick him up when he is closer to his goal or has reached it.”

“Not if Wye gets him first.”

“That, I shall see to it, will not happen.”

“In the same way that you succeeded in winkling the mathematician out of Mycogen just now?”

“I will not make a mistake the next time, Sire,” said Demerzel coldly.

The Emperor said, “Demerzel, you had better not. I will not tolerate another mistake in this respect.” And then he added pettishly, “I think I shall not sleep tonight after all.”

62.

Jirad Tisalver of the Dahl Sector was short. The top of his head came up only to Hari Seldon’s nose. He did not seem to take that to heart, however. He had handsome, even features, was given to smiling, and sported a thick black mustache and crisply curling black hair.

He lived, with his wife and a half-grown daughter, in an apartment of seven small rooms, kept meticulously clean, but almost bare of furnishings. Tisalver said, “I apologize, Master Seldon and Mistress Venabili, that I cannot give you the luxury to which you must be accustomed, but Dahl is a poor sector and I am not even among the better-off among our people.”

“The more reason,” responded Seldon, “that we must apologize to you for placing the burden of our presence upon you.”

“No burden, Master Seldon. Master Hummin has arranged to pay us generously for your use of our humble quarters and the credits would be welcome even if you were not-and you are.”

Seldon remembered Hummin’s parting words when they finally arrived in Dahl. “Seldon” he had said, “this is the third place I’ve arranged as sanctuary. The first two were notoriously beyond the reach of the Imperium, which might well have served to attract their attention; after all, they were logical places for you. This one is different. It is poor, unremarkable, and, as a matter of fact, unsafe in some ways. It is not a natural refuge for you, so that the Emperor and his Chief of Staff may not think to turn their eyes in this direction. Would you mind staying out of trouble this time, then?”

“I will try, Hummin,” said Seldon, a little offended. “Please be aware that the trouble is not of my seeking. I am trying to learn what may well take me thirty lifetimes to learn if I am to have the slightest chance of organizing psychohistory.”

“I understand,” said Hummin. “Your efforts at learning brought you to Upperside in Streeling and to the Elders’ aerie in Mycogen and to who can guess where in Dahl. As for you, Dr. Venabili, I know you’ve been trying to take care of Seldon, but you must try harder. Get it fixed in your head that he is the most important person on Trantor-or in the Galaxy, for that matter-and that he must be kept secure at any cost.”