Prelude to Foundation

by Isaac Asimov

  It was not security that Seldon sought. At least, not security alone. He needed information too and without that he could notand would notstay here.

  38.

  Seldon looked with some distress at their quarters. It had a small but individual kitchen and a small but individual bathroom. There were two narrow beds, two clothes closets, a table, and two chairs. In short there was everything that was necessary for two people who were willing to live under cramped conditions.

  "We had an individual kitchen and bathroom at Cinna," said Dors with an air of resignation.

  "Not I," said Seldon. "Helicon may be a small world, but I lived in a modem city. Community kitchens and bathrooms. -What a waste this is. You might expect it in a hotel, where one is compelled to make a temporary stay, but if the whole sector is like this, imagine the enormous number and duplications of kitchens and bathrooms."

  "Part of the egalitarianism, I suppose," said Dors. "No fighting for favored stalls or for faster service. The same for everyone."

  "No privacy either. Not that I mind terribly, Dors, but you might and I don't want to give the appearance of taking advantage. We ought to make it clear to them that we must have separate rooms--adjoining but separate."

  Dors said, "I'm sure it won't work. Space is at a premium and I think they are amazed by their own generosity in giving us this much. We'll just make do, Hari. We're each old enough to manage. I'm not a blushing maiden and you'll never convince me that you're a callow youth."

  "You wouldn't be here, were it not for me."

  "What of it? It's an adventure."

  "All right, then. Which bed will you take? Why don't you take the one nearer the bathroom?" He sat down on the other. "There's something else that bothers me. As long as we're here, we're tribespeople, you and I, as is even Hummin. We're of the ocher tribes, not their own cohorts, and most things are none of our business. -But most things are my business. That's what I've come here for. I want to know some of the things they know."

  "Or think they know," said Dors with a historian's skepticism. "I understand they have legends that are supposed to date back to primordial times, but I can't believe they can be taken seriously."

  "We can't know that until we find out what those legends are. Are there no outside records of them?"

  "Not that I know of. These people are terribly ingrown. They're almost psychotic in their inward clinging. That Hummin can break down their barriers somewhat and even get them to take us in is remarkable-really remarkable."

  Seldon brooded. "There has to be an opening somewhere. Sunmaster was surprised--angry, in fact-that I didn't know Mycogen was an agricultural community. That seems to be something they don't want kept a secret."

  "The point is, it isn't a secret. 'Mycogen' is supposed to be from archaic words meaning 'yeast producer.' At least, that's what I've been told. I'm not a paleolinguist. In any case, they culture all varieties of microfood-yeast, of course, along with algae, bacteria, multicellular fungi, and so on."

  "Thai s not uncommon," said Seldon. "Most worlds have this microculture. We have some even on Helicon."

  "Not like Mycogen. It's their specialty. They use methods as archaic as the name of their section-secret fertilizing formulas, secret environmental influences. Who knows what? All is secret."

  "Ingrown..

  ..With a vengeance. What it amounts to is that they produce protein and subtle flavoring, so that their microfood isn't like any other in the world. They keep the volume comparatively low and the price is skyhigh. I've never tasted any and I'm sure you haven't, but it sells in great quantities to the Imperial bureaucracy and to the upper classes on other worlds. Mycogen depends on such sales for its economic health, so they want everyone to know that they are the source of this valuable food. That, at least, is no secret.'.

  "Mycogen must be rich, then."

  "They're not poor, but I suspect that it's not wealth they're after. It's protection. The Imperial government protects them because, without them, there wouldn't be these microfoods that add the subtlest flavors, the tangiest spices, to every dish. That means that

  Mycogen can maintain its odd way of life and be haughty toward its neighbors, who probably find them insupportable."

  Dors looked about. "They live an austere life. There's no holovision, I notice, and no book-films."

  "I noticed one in the closet up on the shelf." Seldon reached for it, stared at the label, and then said in clear disgust, "A cookbook."

  Dors held out her hand for it and manipulated the keys. It took a while, for the arrangement was not quite orthodox, but she finally managed to light the screen and inspect the pages. She said, "There are a few recipes, but for the most part this seems to consist of philsophical essays on gastronomy."

  She shut it off and turned it round and about. "It seems to be a single unit. I don't see how one would eject the microcard and insert another. A one-book scanner. Now that's a waste."

  "Maybe they think this one book-film is all anyone needs." He reached toward the end table that was between the two beds and picked up another object. "This could be a speaker, except that there's no screen."

  "Perhaps they consider the voice sufficient."

  "How does it work, I wonder?" Seldon lifted it and looked at it from different sides. "Did you ever see anything like this?"

  "In a museum once-if this is the same thing. Mycogen seems to keep itself deliberately archaic. I suppose they consider that another way of separating themselves from the so-called tribesmen that surround them in overwhelming numbers. Their archaism and odd customs make them indigestible, so to speak. There's a kind of perverse logic to all that."

  Seldon, still playing with the device, said, "Whoops! It went on. Or something went on. But I don't hear anything."

  Dors frowned and picked up a small felt-lined cylinder that remained behind on the end table. She put it to her ear. "There's a voice coming out of this," she said. "Here, try it." She handed it to him.

  Seldon did so and said, "Ouch! It clips on." He listened and said, "Yes, it hurt my ear. You can hear me, I take it. -Yes, this is our room. No, I don't know its number. Dors, have you any idea of the number?"

  Dors said, "There's a number on the speaker. Maybe that will do."

  "Maybe," said Seldon doubtfully. Then he said into the speaker, "The number on this device is 6LT-3648A. Will that do? -Well, where do I find out how to use this device properly and how to use the kitchen, for that matter? -What do you mean, 'It all works the usual way?' That doesn't do me any good. wee here, I'm a . . . a tribesman, an honored guest. I don't know the usual way. -Yes, I'm sorry about my accent and I'm glad you can recognize a tribesman when you hear one. -My name is Hari Seldon."

  There was a pause and Seldon looked up at Dors with a longsuffering expression on his face. "He has to look me up. And I suppose he'll tell me he can't find me. -Oh, you have me? Good! In that case, can you give me the information? -Yes. -Yes. -Yes. -And how can I call someone outside Mycogen? -Oh, then what about contacting Sunmaster Fourteen, for instance? -Well, his assistant then, his aide, whatever? -Uhhuh. -Thank you."

  He put the speaker down, unhooked the hearing device from his ear with a little difficulty, turned the whole thing off, and said, "They'll arrange to have someone show us anything we need to know, but he can't promise when that might be. You can't call outside Mycogen-not on this thing anyway--so we couldn't get Hummin if we needed him. And if I want Sunmaster Fourteen, I've got to go through a tremendous rigmarole. This tray be an egalitarian society, but there seem to be exceptions that I bet no one will openly admit."

  He looked at his watch. "In any case, Dors, I'm not going to view a cookbook and still less am I going to view learned essays. My watch is still telling University time, so I don't know if it's officially bedtime and at the moment 1 don't care. We've been awake most of the night and I would like to sleep."

  "That's all right with me. I'm tired too."

  "Thanks. And whenever a new day starts afte
r we've caught up on our sleep, I'm going to ask for a tour of their microfood plantations."

  Dors looked startled. "Are you interested?"

  "Not really, but if that's the one thing they're proud of, they should be willing to talk about it and once I get them into a talking mood then, by exerting all my charm, I may get them to talk about their legends too. Personally, I think that's a clever strategy."

  "I hope so," said Dors dubiously, "but I think that the Mycogenians will not be so easily trapped."

  "We'll see," said Seldon grimly. "I mean to get those legends."

  39.

  The next morning found Hari using the calling device again. He was angry because, for one thing, he was hungry.

  His attempt to reach Sunmaster Fourteen was deflected by someone who insisted that Sunmaster could not be disturbed.

  "Why not?" Seldon had asked waspishly.

  "Obviously, there is no need to answer that question," came back a cold voice.

  "We were not brought here to be prisoners," said Seldon with equal coldness. "Nor to starve."

  "I'm sure you have a kitchen and ample supplies of food."

  "Yes, we do," said Seldon. "And I do not know how to use the kitchen devices, nor do I know how to prepare the food. Do you eat it raw, fry it, boil it, roast it . . , ?..

  "I can't believe you are ignorant in such matters."

  Dors, who had been pacing up and down during this colloquy, reached for the device and Seldon fended her off, whispering, "He'll break the connection if a woman tries to speak to him."

  Then, into the device, he said more firmly than ever, "What you believe or don't believe doesn't matter to me in the least. You send someone here-someone who can do something about our situation-or when I reach Sunmaster Fourteen, as I will eventually, you will pay for this."

  Nevertheless, it was two hours before someone arrived (by which time Seldon was in a state of savagery and Dors had grown rather desperate in her attempt to soothe him).

  The newcomer was a young man whose bald pate was slightly freckled and who probably would have been a redhead otherwise.

  He was bearing several pots and he seethed about to explain them when he suddenly looked uneasy and turned his back on Seldon in alarm. "Tribesman," he said, obviously agitated. "Your skincap is not well adjusted."

  Seldon, whose impatience had reached the breaking point, said, "That doesn't bother me."

  Dors, however, said, "Let me adjust it, Hari. It's just a bit too high here on the left side."

  Seldon then growled, "You can turn now, young man. What is your name?"

  "I am Graycloud Five," said the Mycogenian uncertainly as he turned and looked cautiously at Seldon. "I am a novitiate. I have brought a meal for you." He hesitated. "From my own kitchen, where my woman prepared it, tribesman."

  He put the pots down on the table and Seldon raised one lid and sniffed the contents suspiciously. He looked up at Dors in surprise. "You know, it doesn't smell bad."

  Dors nodded. "You're right. I can smell it too."

  Graycloud said, "It's not as hot as it ought to be. It cooled off in transport. You must have crockery and cutlery in your kitchen."

  Dors got what was needed, and after they had eaten, largely and a bit greedily, Seldon felt civilized once more.

  Dors, who realized that the young man would feel unhappy at being alone with a woman and even unhappier if she spoke to him, found that, by default, it fell to her to carry the pots and dishes into the kitchen and wash them-once she deciphered the controls of the washing device.

  Meanwhile, Seldon asked the local time and said, somewhat abashed, "You mean it's the middle of the night?"

  "Indeed, tribesman," said Graycloud. "That's why it took a while to satisfy your need."

  Seldon understood suddenly why Sunmaster could not be disturbed and thought of Graycloud's woman having to be awakened to prepare him a meal and felt his conscience gnaw at him. "I'm sorry," he said. "We are only tribespeople and we didn't know how to use the kitchen or how to prepare the food. In the morning, could you have someone arrive to instruct us properly?"

  "The best I can do, tribesmen," said Graycloud placatingly, "is to have two Sisters sent in. I ask your pardon for inconveniencing you with feminine presence, but it is they who know these things."

  Dors, who had emerged from the kitchen, said (before remembering her place in the masculine Mycogenian society), "That's fine, Graycloud. We'd love to meet the Sisters."

  Graycloud looked at her uneasily and fleetingly, but said nothing.

  Seldon, convinced that the young Mycogenian would, on principle, refuse to have heard what a woman said to him, repeated the remark. "That's fine, Graycloud. We'd love to meet the Sisters."

  His expression cleared at once. "I will have them here as soon as it is day."

  When Graycloud had left, Seldon said with some satisfaction, "The Sisters are likely to be exactly what we need."

  "Indeed? And in what way, Hari?" asked Dors.

  "Well, surely if we treat them as though they are human beings, they will be grateful enough to speak of their legends."

  "If they know them," said Dors skeptically. "Somehow I have no faith that the Mycogenians bother to educate their women very well."

  40.

  The Sisters arrived some six hours later after Seldon and Dors had slept some more, hoping to readjust their biological clocks.

  The Sisters entered the apartment shyly, almost on tiptoe. Their gowns (which, it turned out, were termed "kirtles" in the Mycogenian dialect) were soft velvety gray, each uniquely decorated by a subtle pattern of fine, darker gray webbing. The kirtles were not entirely unattractive, but they were certainly most efficient at covering up any human feature.

  And, of course, their heads were bald and their faces were devoid of any ornamentation. They darted speculative glances at the touch of blue at the comers of Dors's eyes and at the slight red stain at the comers of her lips.

  For a few moments, Seldon wondered how one could be certain that the Sisters were truly Sisters.

  The answer came at once with the Sisters' politely formal greetings. Both twittered and chirped. Seldon, remembering the grave tones of Sunmaster and the nervous baritone of Graycloud, suspected that women, in default of obvious sexual identification, were forced to cultivate distinctive voices and social mannerisms.

  -I'm Raindrop Forty-Three," twittered one, "and this is my younger sister."

  "Raindrop Forty-Five," chirped the other. "We're very strong on 'Raindrops' in our cohort." She giggled.

  "I am pleased to meet you both," said Dors gravely, "but now I must know how to address you. I can't just say 'Raindrop,' can I?"

  "No," said Raindrop Forty-Three. "You must use the full name if we are both here."

  Seldon said, "How about just Forty-Three and Forty-Five, ladies?"

  They both stole a quick glance at him, but said not a word.

  Dors said softly, "I'll deal with them, Hari."

  Seldon stepped back. Presumably, they were single young women and, very likely, they were not supposed to speak to men. The older one seemed the graver of the two and was perhaps the more puritanical. It was hard to tell from a few words and a quick glance, but he had the feeling and was willing to go by that.

  Dors said, "The thing is, Sisters, that we tribespeople don't know how to use the kitchen."

  "You mean you can't cook?" Raindrop Forty-Three looked shocked and censorious. Raindrop Forty-Five smothered a laugh. (Seldon decided that his initial estimate of the two was correct.)

  Dors said, "I once had a kitchen of my own, but it wasn't like this one and I don't know what the foods are or how to prepare them."

  "It's really quite simple," said Raindrop Forty-Five. "We can show you."

  "We'll make you a good nourishing lunch," said Raindrop FortyThree. "We'll make it for . . . both of you." She hesitated before adding the final words. It clearly took an effort to acknowledge the existence of a man.

  "If
you don't mind," said Dors, "I would Eke to be in the kitchen with you and I would appreciate it if you'd explain everything exactly. After all, Sisters, I can't expect you to come here three times a day to cook for us."

  "We will show you everything," said Raindrop Forty-Three, nodding her head stiffly. "It may be difficult for a tribeswoman to learn, however. You wouldn't have the . . . feeling for it."

  "I shall try," said Dors with a pleasant smile.

  They disappeared into the kitchen. Seldon stared after them and tried to work out the strategy he intended to use.

  * * *

  Microfarm

  MYCOGEN- . . . The microfarms of Mycogen are legendary, though they survive today only in such oftused similes as "rich as the microfarms of Mycogen" or "tasty as Mycogenian yeast." Such encomiums tend to intensify with time, to be sure, but Hari Seldon visited those microfarms in the course of The Flight and there are references in his memoirs that would tend to support the popular opinion . . .

  ENCYCLOPEDIA GALACTICA

  41.

  "That was good." said Seldon explosively. "It was considerably better than the food Graycloud brought-"

  Dors said reasonably, "You have to remember that Graycloud's woman had to prepare it on short notice in the middle of the night." She paused and said, "I wish they would say `wife.' They make 'woman' sound like such an appanage, like 'my house' or my robe.' It is absolutely demeaning."

  "I know. It's infuriating. But they might well make 'wife' sound like an appanage as well. It's the way they live and the Sisters don't seem to mind. You and I aren't going to change it by lecturing. Anyway, did you see how the Sisters did it?"

  "Yes, I did and they made everything seem very simple. I doubted I could remember everything they did, but they insisted I wouldn't have to. I could get away with mere heating. I gathered the bread had some sort of microderivative added to it in the baking that both raised the dough and lent it that crunchy consistency and warm flavor. Just a hint of pepper, didn't you think?"

  "I couldn't tell, but whatever it was, I didn't get enough. And the soup. Did you recognize any of the vegetables?"