by Isaac Asimov
“Don’t tell me anything. You can tell it in court.”
Wanda said in a sweet small voice, “Officer, if you will just listen to us—”
The officer said, “You go along home, young lady.”
Wanda drew herself up. “I most certainly won’t, Officer. Where my grandfather goes, there go I.” Her eyes flashed and the security officer muttered, “Well, come along, then.”
18
Seldon was enraged. “I’ve never been in custody before in my entire life. A couple of months ago eight men assaulted me. I was able to fight them off with the help of my son, but while that was going on was there a security officer in sight? Did people stop to help me? No. This time, I’m better prepared and I knocked a man flat who had been about to assault me. Was there a security officer in sight? Absolutely. She put the collar on me. There were people watching, too, and they were amused at seeing an old man being taken in for assault and battery. What kind of world do we live on?”
Civ Novker, Seldon’s lawyer, sighed and said calmly, “A corrupt world, but don’t worry. Nothing will happen to you. I’ll get you out on bail and then, eventually, you’ll come back for trial before a jury of your peers and the most you’ll get—the very most—are some hard words from the bench. Your age and your reputation—”
“Forget my reputation,” said Seldon, still angry. “I’m a psychohistorian and, at the present time, that is a dirty word. They’ll be glad to see me in jail.”
“No, they won’t,” said Novker. “There may be some screwballs who have it in for you, but I’ll see to it that none of them gets on the jury.”
Wanda said, “Do we really have to subject my grandfather to all this? He’s not a young man anymore. Can’t we just appear before the magistrate and not bother with a jury trial?”
The lawyer turned to her. “It can be done. If you’re insane, maybe. Magistrates are impatient power-mad people who would just as soon put a person into jail for a year as listen to him. No one goes up before a magistrate.”
“I think we should,” said Wanda.
Seldon said, “Well now, Wanda, I think we ought to listen to Civ—” But as he said that, he felt a strong churning in his abdomen. It was Wanda’s “push.” Seldon said, “Well—if you insist.”
“She can’t insist,” said the lawyer. “I won’t allow it.”
Wanda said, “My grandfather is your client. If he wants something done his way, you’ve got to do it.”
“I can refuse to represent him.”
“Well then, leave,” said Wanda sharply, “and we’ll face the magistrate alone.”
Novker thought and said, “Very well, then—if you’re going to be so adamant. I’ve represented Hari for years and I suppose I won’t abandon him now. But I warn you, the chances are he’ll get a jail sentence and I’ll have to work like the devil to get it lifted—if I can do it at all.”
“I’m not afraid,” said Wanda.
Seldon bit his lip and the lawyer turned to him. “What about you? Are you willing to let your granddaughter call the shots?”
Seldon thought a bit, then admitted, much to the old lawyer’s surprise, “Yes. Yes, I am.”
19
The magistrate looked sourly at Seldon as he gave his story.
The magistrate said, “What makes you think it was the intention of this man you struck to attack you? Did he strike you? Did he threaten you? Did he in any way place you under bodily fear?”
“My granddaughter was aware of his approach and was quite certain that he was planning to attack me.”
“Surely, sir, that cannot be enough. Is there anything else you can tell me before I pass judgment?”
“Well now, wait a while,” said Seldon indignantly. “Don’t pass judgment so quickly. I was assaulted a few weeks ago by eight men whom I held off with the help of my son. So, you see, I have reason to think that I might be assaulted again.”
The magistrate shuffled his papers. “Assaulted by eight men. Did you report that?”
“There were no security officers around. Not one.”
“Aside from the point. Did you report it?”
“No, sir.”
“Why not?”
“For one thing, I was afraid of getting into long drawn-out legal proceedings. Since we had driven off eight men and were safe, it seemed useless to ask for more trouble.”
“How did you manage to ward off eight men—just you and your son?”
Seldon hesitated. “My son is now on Santanni and outside Trantorian control. Thus, I can tell you that he had Dahlite knives and was expert in their use. He killed one man and badly hurt two others. The rest ran, carrying off the dead and wounded.”
“But did you not report the death of a man and the wounding of two others?”
“No, sir. Same reason as before. And we fought in self-defense. However, if you can track down the three dead and wounded, you will have evidence that we were attacked.”
The magistrate said, “Track down one dead and two wounded nameless faceless Trantorians? Are you aware that on Trantor over two thousand people are found dead every day—by knife wounds alone. Unless these things are reported to us at once, we are helpless. Your story of being assaulted once before will not hold water. What we must do is deal with the events of today, which were reported and which had a security officer as a witness.
“So, let’s consider the situation as of now. Why do you think the fellow was going to attack? Simply because you happened to be passing by? Because you seemed old and defenseless? Because you looked like you might be carrying a great deal of credits? What do you think?”
“I think, Magistrate, it was because of who I am.”
The magistrate looked at his papers. “You are Hari Seldon, a professor and a scholar. Why should that make you subject to assault, particularly?”
“Because of my views.”
“Your views. Well—” The magistrate shuffled some papers perfunctorily. Suddenly he stopped and looked up, peering at Seldon. “Wait—Hari Seldon.” A look of recognition spread across his face. “You’re the psychohistory buff, aren’t you?”
“Yes, Magistrate.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know anything about it except the name and the fact that you go around predicting the end of the Empire or something like that.”
“Not quite, Magistrate. But my views have become unpopular because they are proving to be true. I believe it is for that reason that there are those who want to assault me or, even more likely, are being paid to assault me.”
The magistrate stared at Seldon and then called over the arresting security officer. “Did you check up on the man who was hurt? Does he have a record?”
The security officer cleared her throat. “Yes, sir. He’s been arrested several times. Assault, mugging.”
“Oh, he’s a repeat offender, is he? And does the professor have a record?”
“No, sir.”
“So we have an old and innocent man fighting off a known mugger—and you arrest the old and innocent man. Is that it?”
The security officer was silent.
The magistrate said, “You may go, Professor.”
“Thank you, sir. May I have my cane?”
The magistrate snapped his fingers at the officer, who handed over the cane.
“But one thing, Professor,” said the magistrate. “If you use that cane again, you had better be absolutely certain you can prove it was in self-defense. Otherwise—”
“Yes, sir.” And Hari Seldon left the magistrate’s chambers, leaning heavily on his cane but with his head held high.
20
Wanda was crying bitterly, her face wet with tears, her eyes red, her cheeks swollen.
Hari Seldon hovered over her, patting her on the back, not knowing quite how to comfort her.
“Grandpa, I’m a miserable failure. I thought I could push people—and I could when they didn’t mind being pushed too much, like Mom and Dad—and even then it took a long time. I even worked out a rating s
ystem of sorts, based on a ten-point scale—sort of a mental pushing power gauge. Only I assumed too much. I assumed that I was a ten, or at least a nine. But now I realize that, at most, I rate a seven.”
Wanda’s crying had stopped and she sniffed occasionally as Hari stroked her hand. “Usually—usually—I have no trouble. If I concentrate, I can hear people’s thoughts and when I want, I push them. But those muggers! I could hear them all right, but there was nothing I could do to push them away.”
“I thought you did very well, Wanda.”
“I didn’t. I had a fan—fantasy. I thought people would come up behind you and in one mighty push I’d send them flying. That way I was going to be your bodyguard. That’s why I offered to be your bod—bodyguard. Only I wasn’t. Those two guys came up and I couldn’t do a thing.”
“But you could. You made the first man hesitate. That gave me a chance to turn and clobber him.”
“No no. I had nothing to do with it. All I could do was warn you he was there and you did the rest.”
“The second man ran away.”
“Because you clobbered the first guy. I had nothing to do with it.” She broke out again in tears of frustration. “And then the magistrate. I insisted on the magistrate. I thought I would push and he would let you go at once.”
“He did let me go and it was practically at once.”
“No. He put you through a miserable routine and saw the light only when he realized who you were. I had nothing to do with it. I flopped everywhere. I could have gotten you into so much trouble.”
“No, I refuse to accept that, Wanda. If your pushing didn’t work quite as well as you had hoped it would, it was only because you were working under emergency conditions. You couldn’t have helped it. But, Wanda, look—I have an idea.”
Catching the excitement in his voice, she looked up. “What kind of idea, Grandpa?”
“Well, it’s like this, Wanda. You probably realize that I’ve got to have credits. Psychohistory simply can’t continue without it and I cannot bear the thought of having it all come to nothing after so many years of hard work.”
“I can’t bear it, either. But how can we get the credits?”
“Well, I’m going to request an audience with the Emperor again. I’ve seen him once already and he’s a good man and I like him. But he’s not exactly drowning in wealth. However, if I take you with me and if you push him—gently—it may be that he will find a source of credits, some source somewhere, and keep me going for a while, till I can think of something else.”
“Do you really think it will work, Grandpa?”
“Not without you. But with you—maybe. Come, isn’t it worth trying?”
Wanda smiled. “You know I’ll do anything you ask, Grandpa. Besides, it’s our only hope.”
21
It was not difficult to see the Emperor. Agis’s eyes sparkled as he greeted Hari Seldon. “Hello, old friend,” he said. “Have you come to bring me bad luck?”
“I hope not,” said Seldon.
Agis unhooked the elaborate cloak he was wearing and, with a weary grunt, threw it into the corner of the room, saying, “And you lie there.”
He looked at Seldon and shook his head. “I hate that thing. It’s as heavy as sin and as hot as blazes. I always have to wear it when I’m being smothered under meaningless words, standing there upright like a carved image. It’s just plain horrible. Cleon was born to it and he had the appearance for it. I was not and I don’t. It’s just my misery that I’m a third cousin of his on my mother’s side so that I qualified as Emperor. I’d be glad to sell it for a very small sum. Would you like to be Emperor, Hari?”
“No no, I wouldn’t dream of it, so don’t get your hopes up,” said Seldon, laughing.
“But tell me, who is this extraordinarily beautiful young woman you have brought with you today?”
Wanda flushed and the Emperor said genially, “You mustn’t let me embarrass you, my dear. One of the few perquisites an Emperor possesses is the right to say anything he chooses. No one can object or argue about it. They can only say, ‘Sire.’ However, I don’t want any ‘Sires’ from you. I hate that word. Call me Agis. That is not my birth name, either. It’s my Imperial name and I’ve got to get used to it. So . . . tell me what’s doing, Hari. What’s been happening to you since the last time we met?”
Seldon said briefly, “I’ve been attacked twice.”
The Emperor didn’t seem to be sure whether this was a joke or not. He said. “Twice? Really?”
The Emperor’s face darkened as Seldon told the story of the assaults. “I suppose there wasn’t a security officer around when those eight men threatened you.”
“Not one.”
The Emperor rose from his chair and gestured at the other two to keep theirs. He walked back and forth, as though he were trying to work off some anger. Then he turned and faced Seldon.
“For thousands of years,” he began, “whenever something like this happened, people would say, ‘Why don’t we appeal to the Emperor?’ or ‘Why doesn’t the Emperor do something?’ And, in the end, the Emperor can do something and does do something, even if it isn’t always the intelligent thing to do. But I . . . Hari, I’m powerless. Absolutely powerless.
“Oh yes, there is the so-called Commission of Public Safety, but they seem more concerned with my safety than that of the public. It’s a wonder we’re having this audience at all, for you are not at all popular with the Commission.
“There’s nothing I can do about anything. Do you know what’s happened to the status of the Emperor since the fall of the junta and the restoration of—hah!—Imperial power?”
“I think I do.”
“I’ll bet you don’t—fully. We’ve got democracy now. Do you know what democracy is?”
“Certainly.”
Agis frowned. He said, “I’ll bet you think it’s a good thing.”
“I think it can be a good thing.”
“Well, there you are. It isn’t. It’s completely upset the Empire.
“Suppose I want to order more officers onto the streets of Trantor. In the old days, I would pull over a piece of paper prepared for me by the Imperial Secretary and would sign it with a flourish—and there would be more security officers.
“Now I can’t do anything of the sort. I have to put it before the Legislature. There are seventy-five hundred men and women who instantly turn into uncounted gaggles of geese the instant a suggestion is made. In the first place, where is the funding to come from? You can’t have, say, ten thousand more officers without having to pay ten thousand more salaries. Then, even if you agreed to something of the sort, who selects the new security officers? Who controls them?
“The Legislature shouts at each other, argues, thunders, and lightens, and in the end—nothing is done. Hari, I couldn’t even do as small a thing as fix the broken dome lights you noticed. How much will it cost? Who’s in charge? Oh, the lights will be fixed, but it can easily take a few months to do it. That’s democracy.”
Hari Seldon said, “As I recall, the Emperor Cleon was forever complaining that he could not do what he wished to do.”
“The Emperor Cleon,” said Agis impatiently, “had two first-class First Ministers—Demerzel and yourself—and you each labored to keep Cleon from doing anything foolish. I have seventy-five hundred First Ministers, all of whom are foolish from start to finish. But surely, Hari, you haven’t come to complain to me about the attacks.”
“No, I haven’t. Something much worse. Sire— Agis—I need credits.”
The Emperor stared at him. “After what I’ve been telling you, Hari? I have no credits. —Oh yes, there’re credits to run this establishment, of course, but in order to get them I have to face my seventy-five hundred legislators. If you think I can go to them and say, ‘I want credits for my friend, Hari Seldon,’ and if you think I’ll get one quarter of what I ask for in anything less than two years, you’re crazy. It won’t happen.”
He shru
gged and said, more gently, “Don’t get me wrong, Hari. I would like to help you if I could. I would particularly like to help you for the sake of your granddaughter. Looking at her makes me feel as though I should give you all the credits you would like—but it can’t be done.”
Seldon said, “Agis, if I don’t get funding, psychohistory will go down the drain—after nearly forty years.”
“It’s come to nothing in nearly forty years, so why worry?”
“Agis,” said Seldon, “there’s nothing more I can do now. The assaults on me were precisely because I’m a psychohistorian. People consider me a predictor of destruction.”
The Emperor nodded. “You’re bad luck, Raven Seldon. I told you this earlier.”
Seldon stood up wretchedly. “I’m through, then.”
Wanda stood, too, next to Seldon, the top of her head reaching her grandfather’s shoulder. She gazed fixedly at the Emperor.
As Hari turned to go, the Emperor said, “Wait. Wait. There’s a little verse I once memorized:
‘Ill fares the land
To hastening ills a prey
Where wealth accumulates
And men decay.’ ”
“What does it mean?” asked a dispirited Seldon.
“It means that the Empire is steadily deteriorating and falling apart, but that doesn’t keep some individuals from growing rich. Why not turn to some of our wealthy entrepreneurs? They don’t have legislators and can, if they wish, simply sign a credit voucher.”
Seldon stared. “I’ll try that.”
22
“Mr. Bindris,” said Hari Seldon, reaching out his hand to shake the other’s. “I am so glad to be able to see you. It was good of you to agree to see me.”
“Why not?” said Terep Bindris jovially. “I know you well. Or, rather, I know of you well.”
“That’s pleasant. I take it you’ve heard of psychohistory, then.”
“Oh yes, what intelligent person hasn’t? Not that I understand anything about it, of course. And who is this young lady you have with you?”