Foundation. Isaac Asimov

centre of Empire, it becomes a greater prize. As the Imperial succession becomes more and more uncertain, and the feuds among the great families more rampant, social responsibility disappears.’

      ‘Enough. And what of the numerical probability of total destruction within five centuries?’

      ‘I couldn’t tell.’

      ‘Surely you can perform a field-differentation?’

      Gaal felt himself under pressure. He was not offered the calculator pad. It was held a foot from his eyes. He calculated furiously and felt his forehead grow slick with sweat.

      He said, ‘About 85 per cent?’

      ‘Not bad,’ said Seldon, thrusting out a lower lip, ‘but not good. The actual figure is 92.5 per cent.’

      Gaal said, ‘And so you are called Raven Seldon? I have seen none of this in the journals.’

      ‘But of course not. This is unprintable. Do you suppose the Imperium could expose its shakiness in this manner? That is a very simple demonstration in psychohistory. But some of our results have leaked out among the aristocracy.’

      ‘That’s bad.’

      ‘Not necessarily. All is taken into account.’

      ‘But is that why I’m being investigated?’

      ‘Yes. Everything about my project is being investigated.’

      ‘Are you in danger, sir?’

      ‘Oh, yes. There is a probability of 1.7 per cent that I will be executed, but of course that will not stop the project. We have taken that into account as well. Well, never mind. You will meet me, I suppose, at the University tomorrow?’

      ‘I will,’ said Gaal.

       5

      COMMISSION OF PUBLIC SAFETY … The aristocratic coterie rose to power after the assassination of Clean I, last of the Entuns. In the main, they formed an element of order during the centuries of instability and uncertainty in the Imperium. Usually under the control of the great families of the Chens and the Divarts, it degenerated into a blind instrument for maintenance of the status quo … They were not completely removed as a power in the state until after the accession of the last strong Emperor, Cleon II. The first Chief Commissioner …

       … In a way, the beginning of the Commission’s decline can be traced to the trial of Hari Seldon two years before the beginning of the Foundational Era. That trial is described in Gaal Dornick’s biography of Hari Seldon …

      ENCYCLOPEDIA GALACTICA

      Gaal did not carry out his promise. He was awakened the next morning by a muted buzzer. He answered it, and the voice of the desk clerk, as muted, polite and deprecating as it well might be, informed him that he was under detention at the order of the Commission for Public Safety.

      Gaal sprang to the door and found it would no longer open. He could only dress and wait.

      They came for him and took him elsewhere, but it was still detention. They asked him questions most politely. It was all very civilized. He explained that he was a provincial of Synnax; that he had attended such and such schools and obtained a Doctor of Mathematics degree on such and such a date. He had applied for a position on Dr Seldon’s staff and had been accepted. Over and over again he gave these details; and over and over again they returned to the question of his joining the Seldon Project. How had he heard of it; what were to be his duties; what secret instructions had he received; what was it all about?

      He answered that he did not know. He had no secret instructions. He was a scholar and a mathematician. He had no interest in politics.

      And finally the gentle inquisitor asked, ‘When will Trantor be destroyed?’

      Gaal faltered, ‘I could not say of my own knowledge.’

      ‘Could you say of anyone’s?’

      ‘How could I speak for another?’ He felt warm; over-warm.

      The inquisitor said, ‘Has anyone told you of such destruction; set a date?’ And, as the young man hesitated, he went on, ‘You have been followed, doctor. We were at the airport when you arrived; on the observation tower when you waited for your appointment; and, of course, we were able to overhear your conversation with Dr Seldon.’

      Gaal said, ‘Then you know his views on the matter.’

      ‘Perhaps. But we would like to hear them from you.’

      ‘He is of the opinion that Trantor would be destroyed within five centuries.’

      ‘He proved it – uh – mathematically?’

      ‘Yes, he did’ – defiantly.

      ‘You maintain the – uh – mathematics to be valid, I suppose?’

      ‘If Dr Seldon vouches for it, it is valid.’

      ‘Then we will return.’

      ‘Wait. I have a right to a lawyer. I demand my rights as an Imperial citizen.’

      ‘You shall have them.’

      And he did.

      It was a tall man that eventually entered, a man whose face seemed all vertical lines and so thin that one could wonder whether there was room for a smile.

      Gaal looked up. He felt dishevelled and wilted. So much had happened, yet he had been on Trantor not more than thirty hours.

      The man said, ‘I am Lors Avakim. Dr Seldon has directed me to represent you.’

      ‘Is that so? Well, then, look here. I demand an instant appeal to the Emperor. I’m being held without cause. I’m innocent of anything, of anything.’ He slashed his hands outwards, palms down. ‘You’ve got to arrange a hearing with the Emperor, instantly.’

      Avakim was carefully emptying the contents of a flat folder on to the floor. If Gaal had had the stomach for it, he might have recognized Cellomet legal forms, metal thin and tape like, adapted for insertion within the smallness of a personal capsule. He might also have recognized a pocket recorder.

      Avakim, paying no attention to Gaal’s outburst, finally looked up. He said, ‘The Commission will, of course, have a spy beam on our conversation. This is against the law, but they will use one nevertheless.’

      Gaal ground his teeth.

      ‘However,’ and Avakim seated himself deliberately, ‘the recorder I have on the table – which is a perfectly ordinary recorder to all appearances and performs its duties well – has the additional property of completely blanketing the spy beam. This is something they will not find out at once.’

      ‘Then I can speak.’

      ‘Of course.’

      ‘Then I want a hearing with the Emperor.’

      Avakim smiled frostily, and it turned out that there was room for it on his thin face after all. His cheeks wrinkled to make the room. He said, ‘You are from the provinces.’

      ‘I am none the less an Imperial citizen. As good a one as you or as any of this Commission of Public Safety.’

      ‘No doubt; no doubt. It is merely that, as a provincial, you do not understand life on Trantor as it is. There are no hearings before the Emperor.’

      ‘To whom else would one appeal from this Commission? Is there other procedure?’

      ‘None. There is no recourse in a practical sense. Legalistically, you may appeal to the Emperor, but would get no hearing. The Emperor today is not the Emperor of an Entun dynasty, you know. Trantor, I am afraid, is in the hands of the aristocratic families, members of which compose the Commission of Public Safety. This is a development which is well predicted by psychohistory.’