Asimov’s Future History Volume 16

by Isaac Asimov

  “Yes, yes! You see, Professor, tilling is not quite as universal a phenomenon as might at first appear! In my long experience as an inspector, visiting more worlds than I could count, I have found irregularities. Planets where the plains and valleys have much coarser consistencies, far more varied, with no trace of the sifting or recent heating that we find in most lowlands. Out of interest – more as a hobby or pastime than anything else – I began listing other unusual traits on these planets... such as the existence of large numbers of genetically unusual beasts. In several cases, there were signs that a supernova had gone off in the region, sometime in the last thirty thousand years. One planet has a fantastic amount of ambient radioactivity in its crust, while several others have a multitude of fused metal mounds scattered allover their surface. I began charting these anomalies, and found that they clustered along great sweeping bands...”

  “And these bands also relate to those space currents you spoke of? How did you discover that?”

  Antic smiled. “A lucky fluke. While nosing around through the galactographic files for data, I met a fellow aficionado... another bureaucrat like me, with a secret hobby. We compared our little fanaticisms – and if you think mine is strange, you should hear him go on and on about the ebb and flow of these diffuse clouds of atoms in space! He thinks he sees patterns in them that have escaped notice by the Imperial Navigation Service. Which is entirely possible, since they only care about maintaining clear routes for commerce. Even then it’s all kept as routine as poss –”

  “Horis.”

  “Uh? Oh, yes. Well, anyway, my new friend and I compared notes... I also had the temerity to apply a few of the mathematical tools that I saw described in popular accounts of your work, Professor. The result is the galactic chart that caught your interest last night.” Antic exhaled deeply. “And so here we are!”

  Hari frowned.

  “I saw only your name on the paper.”

  “Yes, well... my friend is rather shy. He feels we don’t have anywhere near enough evidence yet to go public. Without solid, tangible proof, a speculative article might jeopardize our careers.”

  “Whereas you felt the risk of coming forward was worthwhile.”

  Antic smiled while reaching into his pouch for another pill.

  “It did catch your interest, Professor Seldon. You’re sitting across from me. I know you wouldn’t waste your precious time on something that’s completely trivial.”

  Hope seemed to swell in the Grey’s voice, as if expecting the blue mantle of meritocracy to be draped across his shoulders at any moment. But Hari was too distracted to offer polite praise. His mind roiled.

  I wouldn’t waste my time on trivia? Can you be so sure, my young friend? Perhaps I’m only here tonight because of terminal boredom... or else encroaching senility. I may be missing something obvious. Something that would topple your amateurish offerings like a house of cards in a Trantorquake.

  Only Hari had not found a flaw so far. Though Antic’s analytical work seemed pedestrian, it was also meticulously honest. Hari’s check of references and public data sets revealed no apparent errors of fact.

  Whatever pattern he’s discovered – using dirt samples and drifting clouds of nothing in space – it seems to correlate roughly to the zones where chaos worlds have been most frequent... a problem I’ve been trying to solve for half my life.

  In fact, this was not essential to the success or failure of the Foundation Plan. Once the empire’s fall began accelerating, the appearance of chaos worlds would cease. People all across the galaxy would be much too busy surviving, or engaging in more classic styles of rebellion, to engage in orgies of wild, utopian individualism.

  And yet, psychohistory will always be incomplete without an answer to this hellish at tractor state.

  Then there was another factor, equally compelling.

  Santanni... where Raych died. And Siwenna, where the ship carrying Manella and Bellis was last seen before vanishing. Both worlds lie near some of Antic’s anomalies.

  Hari felt a decision welling up from within.

  One thing he knew for certain. He hated his life now. Ever since completing the time Vault recordings, he’d been sitting around as a revered historical figure, just waiting to die. That was not his style. Anyway, he had felt more alive the last two days than any time in the last year.

  Abruptly, he decided.

  “Very well, Horis Antic. I will go with you.”

  Across the table, the portly man in the gray uniform visibly paled. His eyes seemed to pop, staring back at Hari, while his Adam’s apple bobbed ludicrously.

  Finally, Antic swallowed hard.

  “How...” he began, hoarsely. “How did y-you...”

  Hari smiled.

  “How did I know that you were about to suggest a private expedition?”

  He spread his hands, feeling a bit like his old self again.

  “Well after all, young sir, I am Hari Seldon.”

  8.

  ACCORDING TO HIS plea-bargain agreement with the Commission for Public Safety, Hari wasn’t supposed to leave Trantor. He also knew that Wanda and the Fifty would never permit him to go charging off to the stars. Even though he was no longer needed for the success of the Plan, no one would take responsibility for risking the life of the father of psychohistory.

  Fortunately, Hari knew a loophole that just might let him get away. You can go quite far without officially leaving Trantor, he thought, while making the necessary arrangements.

  There was very little to pack for the journey – just a few necessities, which Kers Kantun loaded in a suitcase, plus a few of Hari’s most valued research archives, including a copy of the Foundation Plan Prime Radiant. None of it looked too out of the ordinary, slung on the back of his mobile chair.

  Hari’s servant-guardian had argued against this trip, worrying aloud about the stress of travel. But in fact, it wasn’t hard to get Kers to obey. Hari realized why the Valmoril’s objections were so mild.

  He knows that boredom is the worst threat to my health, right now. If I don’t find something useful to do, I’ll just fade away. This little escapade probably won’t amount to much. Space travel is still pretty routine. And meanwhile, I’ll be too busy to let myself die.

  So the two of them set out from his apartment the next morning, as if on a normal daily excursion. But instead of heading for the imperial gardens, Kers steered Hari onto a transitway bound for the Orion elevator.

  As their car sped along, and the surrounding metal tube seemed to flow past in a blur, Hari kept wondering if they would be stopped at some point along the way. It was a real possibility.

  Had the Special Police really been withdrawn, as Gaal assured? Or were they watching him even now, with little spy cameras and other gadgets?

  A year ago, right after the trial, official surveillance had been intense, sniffing each comer of Hari’s life and eyeing his every move. But a lot had changed since then. Linge Chen was now convinced by the cooperation of Hari and the Fifty. There had been no more disruptive news leaks about an “imminent collapse of the empire.” More importantly, the move to Terminus was going according to plan. The hundred thousand experts that Hari had recruited with promises of employment on a vast Encyclopedia Galactica project were now being prepared and sent in groups to that far-off little world and a glorious destiny they could not possibly suspect.

  In that case, why would Chen keep paying professional officers to watch a dying crackpot professor, when their skills could better be employed dealing with other crises?

  Soon a chime announced the car’s arrival at the Grand Vestibule. Hari and Kers emerged into a mammoth chamber that stretched twenty kilometers across and tapered vertically toward heights that vanished in a misty haze.

  Anchored to the ground in the very center was a huge black pillar, more than a hundred meters wide, that reared straight upward. The eye assumed that this mighty column held up the distant roof, but the eye was fooled. It wasn’t a pillar, but
a great cable, stretching outward through a hole in that remote ceiling, continuing past Trantor’s atmosphere, linking the solid surface to a massive space station that whirled in orbit, fifty thousand kilometers above.

  Along its great length, Orion elevator seemed infested with countless bulges that kept flowing up and down like parasites burrowing under the skin of a slender stalk. These were elevator cars, partly masked by a flexible membrane that protected passengers against dangerous radiation, and from having to look upon vertiginous views.

  At the very bottom of this monumental structure, people could be seen debarking from newly arrived capsules, passing through brief immigration formalities, then moving toward a maze of ramps and moving walkways. Other streams of individuals flowed in the opposite direction, aiming to depart. There were several lines for each social caste. Kers chose one of the shorter queues, clearly marked as reserved for meritocrat VIPs.

  In theory, I could use the special portal for high nobility, Hari thought, glancing toward an aisle lined with silky fabrics, where fawning attendants saw to the needs of super-planetary gentry. Any former First Minister of the Empire has that right. Even a disgraced one, like me. But that would surely attract too much attention.

  They paused at a little kiosk labeled EMIGRATION CONTROL and presented their identity cards. Kers had offered to acquire false papers through his contacts in the black market, but that act would transform this little adventure from a misdemeanor into a felony. Hari had no intention of risking harm to the Seldon Project simply to satisfy his curiosity. If this worked, fine. Otherwise, he might as well go home and let things end gracefully.

  The screen seemed to glare at Hari with its inquiry.

  DESTINATION?

  This was a crucial moment. Everything depended on a matter of legal definition.

  “Demarchia,” he said aloud. “I want to observe the imperial legislature in session for a week or two. Ultimately, I plan to return from there to my residence at Streeling University.”

  He wasn’t lying. But a lot could lie in that word –” ultimately.”

  The unit seemed to ponder his statement for a moment, while Hari mulled silently.

  Demarchia is one of twenty nearby worlds that are officially part of Trantor. There are strong political and traditional reasons for this arrangement, one that’s been reinforced by generations of emperors and ministers... But maybe the police don’t look at things the same way.

  If Hari was wrong, the computer would refuse to issue a ticket. News of this “escape attempt” would flash at the Commission of Public Safety. And Hari would have no choice but to go home and wait for Linge Chen’s agents to come and question him. Worse, Stettin Palver and the other psychohistorians would cluck and fuss, wagging their fingers and tightening their reverent guardianship. Hari would never have another unsupervised moment.

  Come on, he urged, wishing he had some of the mental powers that enabled Daneel Olivaw to meddle in the thoughts of both men and machines.

  Abruptly, the screen came alight again.

  HAPPY VOYAGE. LONG LIVE THE EMPEROR.

  Hari nodded.

  “Long life,” he answered perfunctorily, having to swallow a knot of released tension. The machine extruded a pair of tickets, assigning them to a specific elevator car, appropriate to their social class and destination. Hari looked at one of the billets as Kers picked them up.

  INTRA-TRANTOR COMMUTE, it said.

  He nodded with satisfaction. I’m not breaking the letter of my agreement with the Commission. Not yet at least.

  A crowd of uniformed figures milled nearby, wearing polished buttons and white gloves – young porters assigned to assist nongentry VIP passengers. Several of them glanced up, but they turned back to their gossip and dice games when Kers and Hari refrained from making any beckoning motions. Kers needed no assistance with their meager luggage.

  Moments later, however, a small figure suddenly spilled out of the crowd of purple uniforms, striding at a rapid pace to intercept them. The girl – wiry and no more than fifteen years old – snapped a jaunty salute at the rim of her pillbox cap. Her Corrin Sector accent was unabashed and friendly to the point of overfamiliarity.

  “Greets, m’lords! I’ll be takin’ your bags an’ seeing you safely along if it pleases ya.”

  Her name tag said JENI.

  Kers made a dismissing gesture, but in a blur she snatched the tickets from his hand. Grinning, the porter nodded with a vigorous swirl of unruly platinum hair.

  “Right this way to your chariot, m’lords!”

  When Kers refused to hand over any of the luggage, she only grinned. “No need to be afeared. I’ll see you safely all the way to Orion Station. Just follow me.”

  Kers rumbled as the girl sped ahead with their tickets, but Hari smiled and patted his servant’s burly hand. In a world of dull jobs and soul-grinding routine, it was pleasant to see someone having a little fun, even at the expense of her betters.

  They found the third member of their party at the agreed spot, next to an elevator car with DEMARCHIA flashing on its placard. Horis Antic looked infinitely relieved to see them. The Grey bureaucrat barely glanced at the porter, but he bowed to Hari more deeply than protocol required, then motioned toward the gaping door of a waiting elevator car.

  “This way, Professor. I saved us good seats.”

  Hari took a deep breath as they went aboard, and the opening slithered shut behind them.

  Here we go. Already he could feel his heart begin to lift.

  One last adventure.

  Unfortunately there were no windows. Passengers could watch the view outside through seat monitors, but few bothered. Hari’s car was half-empty, since the space elevators were being used much less these days.

  I’m partly responsible for that, he recalled. Most traffic to and from Trantor arrived by hyperspatial jump ships, which floated to the ground on their own self-generated gravity fields. A growing swarm of them shuttled up and down with food and other necessities for the empire’s administrative center. Twenty agricultural worlds had been dedicated to supplying this lifeline-up from a mere eight before Hari became First Minister.

  Trantor used to create its own basic food supply in huge solar-powered vats, operated by swarms of busy automatons who didn’t mind the stench and grinding labor. When that system collapsed during the infamous Tiktok Revolt, one of his first duties in office had been to make up the difference, multiplying the flow of imported food and other goods.

  But the new system is expensive and inefficient. And that lifeline will become a deadly trap in coming centuries. He knew this from the equations of psychohistory. Emperors and oligarchs will pay ever-greater attention to preserving it, at the expense of important business elsewhere.

  To enhance their loyalty, the agricultural worlds had been joined even closer to Trantor itself, sharing the same “planetary” government, an act that now helped to justify Hari’s ruse.

  Though he did not turn on the outside viewer, it was easy to visualize the planet’s gleaming anodized metal coat, reflecting the densely packed starfield of the galaxy’s crowded center – millions of dazzling suns that glittered like fiery gems, making night almost like day. Though many in the empire envisioned Trantor as one giant city, much of the stainless steel surface was only a veneer, just a few stories thick, laid down for show after mountains and valleys had been leveled. Those flat warrens were mostly used for storing old records. Actual office towers, factories, and habitations occupied no more than ten percent of the planet’s area... easily enough room for forty billion people to live and work efficiently.

  Still, the popular image was accurate enough. This center of empire was like the galactic core itself – a crowded place. Even knowing the psychohistorical reasons for it all left Hari bemused.

  “Right now we’re passin’ halfway point,” the young porter explained, playing up her role as tour guide. “Those of you who forgot to take your pills might be experiencin’ some upset as we h
ead toward null gee,” she went on, “but in most cases that’s just your imagination actin’ up. Try to think of somethin’ nice, and it often goes away.”

  Horis Antic wasn’t much cheered. Though he surely traveled extensively in his line of work, he might never have used this peculiar type of transport. The bureaucrat hurriedly popped several tablets from his belt dispenser and swallowed them.

  “Of course most people nowadays come to Trantor by starship,” the girl went on. “So my advice is to just keep tellin’ yourself that this here cable is over five thousand years old, made in the glory days of great engineers. So in a sense, you’re just as well anchored as if you were still connected to the ground!”

  Hari had seen other porters do this sort of thing, extroverts going beyond the call of duty while trying to make light of a prosaic job. But few ever had an audience as difficult as dour Kers Kantun and nervous Horis Antic, who kept chewing his nails, clearly wishing the girl would go away. But she went on chattering happily.

  “Sometimes visitors ask what’d happen if this cable we’re ridin’ ever broke! Well let me assure you it ain’t possible. At least that’s what the ancients who made this stringy thing promised. Though I’m sure you all know how things are goin’ these days. So you’re welcome to imagine along with me what might happen if someday...”

  She went on to describe, with evident relish, how all of Trantor’s space elevators – Orion, Lesmic, Gengi, Pliny, and Zul – might break apart in some hypothetical future calamity. The upper half of each great tether, including the transfer stations, would spin away into space, while the lower half, weighing billions of tons, would plummet into the ground at incredible speeds, releasing enough explosive force to pierce the metal veneer all the way to Trantor’s geothermal power pipes, unleashing a globe-girdling chain of new volcanoes.

  Exactly according to the doomsday scenario, calculated by our Prime Radiant, Hari marveled. Of course some stories from the Seldon Group had seeped out to the culture at large. Still, it was the first time he ever heard this particular phase of the Fall of Trantor described so vividly, or with such evident enjoyment!