Prelude to Foundation

The other stood before them. He too was an old man, but more subtly aged than Mycelium Seventy-Two. Age seemed to lend distinction to his still-handsome face. His bald head was beautifully round and his eyes were a startling blue, contrasting sharply with the bright all-but-glowing red of his sash.

The newcomer said, “I see you are tribespeople.” His voice was more high-pitched than Seldon had expected, but he spoke slowly, as though conscious of the weight of authority in every word he uttered.

“So we are,” said Seldon politely but firmly. He saw no reason not to defer to the other’s position, but he did not intend to abandon his own.

“Your names?”

“I am Hari Seldon of Helicon. My companion is Dors Venabili of Cinna. And yours, man of Mycogen?”

The eyes narrowed in displeasure, but he too could recognize an air of authority when he felt it.

“I am Skystrip Two,” he said, lifting his head higher, “an Elder of the Sacratorium. And your position, tribesman?”

“We,” said Seldon, emphasizing the pronoun, “are scholars of Streeling University. I am a mathematician and my companion is a historian and we are here to study the ways of Mycogen.”

“By whose authority?”

“By that of Sunmaster Fourteen, who greeted us on our arrival.”

Skystrip Two fell silent for a moment and then a small smile appeared on his face and he took on an air that was almost benign. He said, “The High Elder. I know him well.”

“And so you should,” said Seldon blandly. “Is there anything else, Elder?”

“Yes.” The Elder strove to regain the high ground. “Who was the man who was with you and who hurried away when I approached?”

Seldon shook his head, “We never saw him before, Elder, and know nothing about him. We encountered him purely by accident and asked about the Sacratorium.”

“What did you ask him?”

“Two questions, Elder. We asked if that building was the Sacratorium and if tribespeople were allowed to enter it. He answered in the affirmative to the first question and in the negative to the second.”

“Quite so. And what is your interest in the Sacratorium?”

“Sir, we are here to study the ways of Mycogen and is not the Sacratorium the heart and brain of Mycogen?”

“It is entirely ours and reserved for us.”

“Even if an Elder-the High Elder-would arrange for permission in view of our scholarly function?”

“Have you indeed the High Elder’s permission?”

Seldon hesitated the slightest moment while Dors’s eyes lifted briefly to look at him sideways. He decided he could not carry off a lie of this magnitude. “No,” he said, “not yet.”

“Or ever,” said the Elder. “You are here in Mycogen by authority, but even the highest authority cannot exert total control over the public. We value our Sacratorium and the populace can easily grow excited over the presence of a tribesperson anywhere in Mycogen but, most particularly, in the vicinity of the Sacratorium. It would take one excitable person to raise a cry of ‘Invasion!’ and a peaceful crowd such as this one would be turned into one that would be thirsting to tear you apart. I mean that quite literally. For your own good, even if the High Elder has shown you kindness, leave. Now!”

“But the Sacratorium-” said Seldon stubbornly, though Dors was pulling gently at his kirtle.

“What is there in the Sacratorium that can possibly interest you?” said the Elder. “You see it now. There is nothing for you to see in the interior.”

“There is the robot,” said Seldon.

The Elder stared at Seldon in shocked surprise and then, bending to bring his lips close to Seldon’s ear, whispered harshly, “Leave now or I will raise the cry of ‘Invasion!’ myself. Nor, were it not for the High Elder, would I give you even this one chance to leave.”

And Dors, with surprising strength, nearly pulled Seldon off his feet as she stepped hastily away, dragging him along until he caught his balance and stepped quickly after her.

54.

It was over breakfast the next morning, not sooner, that Dors took up the subject-and in a way that Seldon found most wounding. She said, “Well, that was a pretty fiasco yesterday.”

Seldon, who had honestly thought he had gotten away with it without comment, looked sullen. “What made it a fiasco?”

“Driven out is what we were. And for what? What did we gain?”

“Only the knowledge that there is a robot in there.”

“Mycelium Seventy-Two said there wasn’t.”

“Of course he said that. He’s a scholar-or thinks he is-and what he doesn’t know about the Sacratorium would probably fill that library he goes to. You saw the Elder’s reaction.”

“I certainly did.”

“He would not have reacted like that if there was no robot inside. He was horrified we knew.”

“That’s just your guess, Hari. And even if there was, we couldn’t get in.”

“We could certainly try. After breakfast, we go out and buy a sash for me, one of those obiahs. I put it on, keep my eyes devoutly downward, and walk right in.”

“Skincap and all? They’ll spot you in a microsecond.”