Second Foundation. Айзек Азимов

sat about their oval table like so many grave and slow-moving thinkers. Most were a trifle past their physical prime, though the few who possessed beards wore them short and neatly arranged. Still, enough appeared younger than forty to make it quite obvious that ‘Elders’ was a term of respect rather than entirely a literal description of age.

      The two from outer space were at the head of the table and in the solemn silence that accompanied a rather frugal meal that seemed ceremonious rather than nourishing, absorbed the new, contrasting atmosphere.

      After the meal and after one or two respectful remarks – too short and simple to be called speeches – had been made by those of the Elders apparently held most in esteem, an informality forced itself upon the assembly.

      It was as if the dignity of greeting foreign personages had finally given way to the amiable rustic qualities of curiosity and friendliness.

      They crowded around the two strangers and the flood of questions came.

      They asked if it were difficult to handle a spaceship, how many men were required for the job, if better motors could be made for their ground-cars, if it was true that it rarely snowed on other worlds as was said to be the case with Tazenda, how many people lived on their world, if it was as large as Tazenda, if it was far away, how their clothes were woven and what gave them the metallic shimmer, why they did not wear furs, if they shaved every day, what sort of stone was that in Pritcher’s ring— The list stretched out.

      And almost always the questions were addressed to Pritcher as though, as the elder, they automatically invested him with the greater authority. Pritcher found himself forced to answer at greater and greater length. It was like an immersion in a crowd of children. Their questions were those of utter and disarming wonder. Their eagerness to know was completely irresistible and would not be denied.

      Pritcher explained that spaceships were not difficult to handle and that crews varied with the size, from one to many, that the motors of their ground-cars were unknown in detail to him but could doubtless be improved, that the climates of worlds varied almost infinitely, that many hundreds of millions lived on his world but that it was far smaller and more insignificant than the great empire of Tazenda, that their clothes were woven of silicone plastics in which metallic luster was artificially produced by proper orientation of the surface molecules, and that they could be artificially heated so that furs were unnecessary, that they shaved every day, that the stone in his ring was an amethyst. The list stretched out. He found himself thawing to these naÏve provincials against his will.

      And always as he answered there was a rapid chatter among the Elders, as though they debated the information gained. It was difficult to follow these inner discussions of theirs for they lapsed into their own accented version of the universal Galactic language that, through long separation from the currents of living speech, had become archaic.

      Almost, one might say, their curt comments among themselves hovered on the edge of understanding, but just managed to elude the clutching tendrils of comprehension.

      Until finally Channis interrupted to say, ‘Good sirs, you must answer us for a while, for we are strangers and would be very much interested to know all we can of Tazenda.’

      And what happened then was that a great silence fell and each of the hitherto voluble Elders grew silent. Their hands, which had been moving in such rapid and delicate accompaniment to their words as though to give them greater scope and varied shades of meaning, fell suddenly limp. They stared furtively at one another, apparently quite willing to let the other have all the floor.

      Pritcher interposed quickly, ‘My companion asks this in friendliness, for the fame of Tazenda fills the Galaxy and we, of course, shall inform the governor of the loyalty and love of the Elders of Rossem.’

      No sigh of relief was heard but faces brightened. An Elder stroked his beard with thumb and forefinger, straightening its slight curl with a gentle pressure, and said: ‘We are faithful servants of the Lords of Tazenda.’

      Pritcher’s annoyance at Channis’ bald question subsided. It was apparent, at least, that the age that he had felt creeping over him of late had not yet deprived him of his own capacity for making smooth the blunders of others.

      He continued: ‘We do not know, in our far part of the universe, much of the past history of the Lords of Tazenda. We presume they have ruled benevolently here for a long time.’

      The same Elder who spoke before, answered. In a soft, automatic way he had become spokesman. He said: ‘Not the grandfather of the oldest can recall a time in which the Lords were absent.’

      ‘It has been a time of peace?’

      ‘It has been a time of peace!’ He hesitated. ‘The governor is a strong and powerful Lord who would not hesitate to punish traitors. None of us are traitors, of course.’

      ‘He has punished some in the past, I imagine, as they deserve.’

      Again hesitation, ‘None here have ever been traitors, or our fathers or our fathers’ fathers. But on other worlds, there have been such, and death followed for them quickly. It is not good to think of for we are humble men who are poor farmers and not concerned with matters of politics.’

      The anxiety of his voice, the universal concern in the eyes of all of them was obvious.

      Pritcher said smoothly: ‘Could you inform us as to how we can arrange an audience with your governor.’

      And instantly an element of sudden bewilderment entered the situation.

      For after a long moment, the elder said: ‘Why, did you not know? The governor will be here tomorrow. He has expected you. It has been a great honour for us. We … we hope earnestly that you will report to him satisfactorily as to our loyalty to him.’

      Pritcher’s smile scarcely twitched. ‘Expected us?’

      The Elder looked wonderingly from one to the other. ‘Why … it is now a week since we have been waiting for you.’

      Their quarters were undoubtedly luxurious for the world. Pritcher had lived in worse. Channis showed nothing but indifference to externals.

      But there was an element of tension between them of a different nature than hitherto. Pritcher felt the time approaching for a definite decision and yet there was still the desirability of additional waiting. To see the governor first would be to increase the gamble to dangerous dimensions and yet to win that gamble might multi-double the winnings. He felt a surge of anger at the slight crease between Channis’ eyebrows, the delicate uncertainty with which the young man’s lower lip presented itself to an upper tooth. He detested the useless play-acting and yearned for an end to it.

      He said: ‘We seem to be anticipated.’

      ‘Yes,’ said Channis, simply.

      ‘Just that? You have no contribution of greater pith to make. We come here and find that the governor expects us. Presumably we shall find from the governor that Tazenda itself expects us. Of what value then is our entire mission?’

      Channis looked up, without endeavouring to conceal the weary note in his voice: ‘To expect us is one thing; to know who we are and what we came for, is another.’

      ‘Do you expect to conceal these things from men of the Second Foundation?’

      ‘Perhaps. Why not? Are you ready to throw your hand in? Suppose our ship was detected in space. Is it unusual for a realm to maintain frontier observation posts? Even if we were ordinary strangers, we would be of interest.’

      ‘Sufficient interest for a governor to come to us rather than the reverse?’

      Channis shrugged: ‘We’ll have to meet that problem later. Let us see what this governor is like.’

      Pritcher bared his teeth in a bloodless kind of scowl. The situation was becoming ridiculous.

      Channis proceeded with an artificial animation: ‘At least we know one thing. Tazenda is the Second Foundation or a million shreds of evidence are unanimously pointing the wrong way.