Second Foundation. Айзек Азимов

‘Pritcher, it’s too far a coincidence.’

      The general said coldly: ‘I’m not aware of the subject of conversation.’

      ‘Oh— Well, then drag up a chair, old man, and let’s get into it. I’ve been going over your notes. I find them excellent.’

      ‘How … pleasant that you do.’

      ‘But I’m wondering if you’ve come to the conclusions I have. Have you ever tried analysing the problem deductively? I mean, it’s all very well to comb the stars at random, and to have done all you did in five expeditions is quite a bit of star-hopping. That’s obvious. But have you calculated how long it would take to go through every known world at this rate?’

      ‘Yes. Several times.’ Pritcher felt no urge to meet the young man halfway, but there was the importance of filching the other’s mind – the other’s uncontrolled, and hence, unpredictable, mind.

      ‘Well, then, suppose we’re analytical about it and try to decide just what we’re looking for?’

      ‘The Second Foundation,’ said Pritcher, grimly.

      ‘A Foundation of psychologists,’ corrected Channis, ‘who are as weak in physical science as the First Foundation was weak in psychology. Well, you’re from the First Foundation, which I’m not. The implications are probably obvious to you. We must find a world which rules by virtue of mental skills, and yet which is very backwards scientifically.’

      ‘Is that necessarily so?’ questioned Pritcher, quietly. ‘Our own “Union of Worlds” isn’t backwards scientifically, even though our ruler owes his strength to his mental powers.’

      ‘Because he has the skills of the First Foundation to draw upon,’ came the slightly impatient answer, ‘and that is the only such reservoir of knowledge in the Galaxy. The Second Foundation must live among the dry crumbs of the broken Galactic Empire. There are no pickings there.’

      ‘So then you postulate mental power sufficient to establish their rule over a group of worlds and physical helplessness as well?’

      ‘Comparative physical helplessness. Against the decadent neighbouring areas, they are competent to defend themselves. Against the resurgent forces of the Mule, with his background of a mature atomic economy, they cannot stand. Else, why is their location so well-hidden, both at the start by the founder, Hari Seldon, and now by themselves. Your own First Foundation made no secret of its existence and did not have it made for them, when they were an undefended single city on a lonely planet three hundred years ago.’

      The smooth lines of Pritcher’s dark face twitched sardonically. ‘And now that you’ve finished your deep analysis, would you like a list of all the kingdoms, republics, planet states and dictatorships of one sort or another in that political wilderness out there that correspond to your description and to several factors besides?’

      ‘All this has been considered then?’ Channis lost none of his brashness.

      ‘You won’t find it here, naturally, but we have a completely worked out guide to the political units of the Opposing Periphery. Really, did you suppose the Mule would work entirely hit-and-miss?’

      ‘Well, then,’ and the young man’s voice rose in a burst of energy, ‘what of the Oligarchy of Tazenda?’

      Pritcher touched his ear thoughtfully, ‘Tazenda? Oh, I think I know it. They are not in the Periphery, are they? It seems to me they’re fully a third of the way towards the centre of the Galaxy.’

      ‘Yes. What of that?’

      ‘The records we have place the Second Foundation at the other end of the Galaxy. Space knows it’s the only thing we have to go on. Why talk of Tazenda anyway? Its angular deviation from the First Foundation radian is only about one hundred ten to one hundred twenty degrees anyway. Nowhere near one hundred eighty.’

      ‘There’s another point in the records. The Second Foundation was established at “Star’s End.”’

      ‘No such region in the Galaxy has ever been located.’

      ‘Because it was a local name, suppressed later for greater secrecy. Or maybe one invented for the purpose by Seldon and his group. Yet there’s some relationship between “Star’s End” and “Tazenda,” don’t you think?’

      ‘A vague similarity in sound? Insufficient.’

      ‘Have you ever been there?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘Yet it is mentioned in your records.’

      ‘Where? Oh, yes, but that was merely to take on food and water. There was certainly nothing remarkable about the world.’

      ‘Did you land at the ruling planet? The centre of government?’

      ‘I couldn’t possibly say.’

      Channis brooded about it under the other’s cold gaze. Then, ‘Would you look at the Lens with me for a moment?’

      ‘Certainly.’

      The Lens was perhaps the newest feature of the interstellar cruisers of the day. Actually, it was a complicated calculating machine which could throw on a screen a reproduction of the night sky as seen from any given point of the Galaxy.

      Channis adjusted the co-ordinate points and the wall lights of the pilot room were extinguished. In the dim red light at the control board of the Lens, Channis’ face glowed ruddily. Pritcher sat in the pilot seat, long legs crossed, face lost in the gloom.

      Slowly, as the induction period passed, the points of light brightened on the screen. And then they were thick and bright with the generously populated star-groupings of the Galaxy’s centre.

      ‘This,’ explained Channis, ‘is the winter night-sky as seen from Trantor. That is the important point that, as far as I know, has been neglected so far in your search. All intelligent orientation must start from Trantor as zero point. Trantor was the capital of the Galactic Empire. Even more so scientifically and culturally, than politically. And therefore, the significance of any descriptive name should stem, nine times out of ten, from a Trantorian orientation. You’ll remember in this connection that, although Seldon was from Helicon, towards the Periphery, his group worked on Trantor itself.’

      ‘What is it you’re trying to show me?’ Pritcher’s level voice plunged icily into the gathering enthusiasm of the other.

      ‘The map will explain it. Do you see the dark nebula?’ The shadow of his arm fell upon the screen, which took on the bespanglement of the Galaxy. The pointing finger ended on a tiny patch of black that seemed a hole in the speckled fabric of light. ‘The stellagraphical records call it Pellot’s Nebula. Watch it. I’m going to expand the image.’

      Pritcher had watched the phenomenon of Lens Image expansion before but he still caught his breath. It was like being at the visiplate of a spaceship storming through a horribly crowded Galaxy without entering hyperspace. The stars diverged towards them from a common centre, flared outwards and tumbled off the edge of the screen. Single points became double, then globular. Hazy patches dissolved into myriad points. And always that illusion of motion.

      Channis spoke through it all, ‘You’ll notice that we are moving along the direct line from Trantor to Pellot’s Nebula, so that in effect we are still looking at a stellar orientation equivalent to that of Trantor. There is probably a slight error because of the gravitic deviation of light that I haven’t the math to calculate for, but I’m sure it can’t be significant.’

      The darkness was spreading over the screen. As the rate of magnification slowed, the stars slipped off the four ends of the screen in a regretful leave-taking. At the rims of the growing nebula, the brilliant universe of stars shone abruptly in token for that light which was merely hidden behind the swirling unradiating atom fragments of sodium and calcium that filled cubic parsecs of space.

      And Channis pointed again, ‘This has been called “The Mouth”