by David Brin
“And the Seldon Plan.”
Daneel nodded.
“Because of the Plan, we can proceed at all levels. The two Foundations will buy us time to prepare a real solution. One that will finally liberate human beings and bring joy to the cosmos.”
“You aren’t talking anymore about replacing humanity.”
“Not in the same sense as when I considered the pan scenario! I was experiencing a minor breakdown at that point, and regret ever contemplating it. No, I’m referring to something much better, enabling humanity to rise up and become something far greater.”
Daneel turned back toward the galactic wheel.
“The new endeavor is already under way. You and Dors have been laboring toward it for some time, without perceiving the big picture.”
“But you will explain it to me now?”
Daneel nodded.
“Soon you will share the wonder of this new destiny. Something so awesome and beautiful that it is almost beyond contemplating.”
He paused again while his assistant waited patiently. But when Daneel spoke again, it was not as much to Zun as the galaxy that he saw reflected on the frozen metal lake.
“We shall offer our masters a wonderful gift,” he said, relishing the warm possibility of hope after so long a time without it.
2.
The starscape gradually grew less crowded each time they took another hyperspatial jump away from Trantor, leaving behind the galactic center’s dense glitter and following the dusty curve of a spiral arm. Leaping from one gravitational landmark to the next, the starship headed for Santanni, where their search would begin.
Hari insisted on that starting point. This inquiry might as well start near the planet where Raych died, especially if there turned out to be some relationship between chaos worlds and Horis Antic’s geospace aberrations.
Tragic memories crossed the years. Not just of Santanni, but dozens of other chaos outbreaks.
It often commences with bright hope and bursts of amazing creativity, attracting clever immigrants from allover the galaxy...as Raych was attracted, at first, despite my misgivings.
Excitement and individualism flower from town to town, bringing a wild divergence of never-before-seen blooms. “ Innovation” abruptly becomes a compliment, not an insult. Novel technologies stimulate predictions of utopia, just around the bend.
But soon trouble starts. Some untested breakthroughs implode. Others wreak unforeseen consequences that their creators never imagined. Diseases spread alongside unprecedented perversions, while each new style of deviance is defended with indignant righteousness. Cliques proclaim the right to fortify their independence with violence, along with a duty to suppress others they disapprove of
Venerable networks of courtesy and obligation--meant to bind the five castes in mutual respect--shatter like irradiated stone.
Bizarre new artworks, intentionally provocative, erupt spontaneously in the middle of downtown intersections, gesturing obscenely even as the shouting artists are carried off by lynch mobs. Cities start to fill with soot and flames. Rioters sack the hard work of centuries, screaming slogans for ephemeral causes no one will remember when the smoke clears.
Trade collapses. Economies slump. And citizens rediscover an ancient knack for bloody war.
People who recently derided the past suddenly begin longing for it again, as their children start to starve.
It was a familiar pattern. Civilization’s mortal enemy, which Hari had battled as First Minister...and Daneel Olivaw strove against for over a dozen millennia.
Chaosism. Humanity’s curse.
As soon as a culture grows too smart, too curious, too individualistic, this mysterious rot sets in. I can model it in my equations, but I confess I still don’t understand chaos. Only that it terrifies me, and always has.
Hari recalled reading about the very first awful outbreak in A Child’s Book of Knowledge--Daneel’s gift archive from the deep past. It happened at a time when humanity first invented both robots and starflight--and nearly died of them both. The ensuing convulsions so traumatized Earth dwellers that they retreated from all challenges, huddling in Trantorlike metal cities. Meanwhile, those living on the Spacer colony worlds found their own style of insanity, becoming pathetically overdependent on android servants.
That era created Daneel Olivaw--or an early version of the mighty being Hari knew. In fact, his robot friend must have played a role in what happened next, a swing of the pendulum back to human confidence and colonization of the galaxy. It happened at a price, though. Near destruction of Earth.
At least there were few chaos outbreaks during the following five thousand years of vigorous expansion. People were too busy building and conquering new worlds to spare much attention for decadent pursuits. The curse did not return until long after the establishment of the Galactic Empire.
According to my equations, we won’t have to worry about chaos during the Interregnum, either.
Soon, when the Old empire collapsed, there would be wars, rebellions, and mass suffering. But such near-term worries would protect people from falling into the kind of egomadness that erupted on Santanni. Or on Sark. Or Lingane, Zenda, Madder Loss...
A holo projection of the galaxy shimmered across the yacht’s observation deck. Antic’s crude map overlay the finely textured Prime Radiant, again showing correlations. Sweeping out from Santanni, a reddish arc linked several notorious chaos worlds, plus others Hari knew were ripe for social disaster in coming decades. The arc passes near Siwenna, where the ship carrying Raych’s wife and son vanished.
He could never forget his personal hope of finding them. And yet, one factor led Hari forward, above all others.
The equations.
Perhaps I’ll find the clues I’ve sought for so long. The at tractor states. The damping mechanisms. Hidden parts of the story that psychohistory can model, but can’t explain.
He fiddled with the Prime Radiant, tracing future history, starting with a tiny speck at the very rim of the galactic wheel.
There, a faint little star glimmered, a mote whose sole habitable planet--Terminus--would become the stage for a great drama. Soon the Foundation would grow and burgeon, expressing a dynamism that was anything but decadent. He could envision the first few hundred years, the way a father might picture a young daughter winning academic honors or achieving glorious feats. Only Hari’s prescience was no mere daydream. It was confident, assured.
That is, for the first few centuries.
As for the rest of the Plan...my successors, the Fifty who make up the Second Foundation, feel completely sanguine. Our math predicts that a fantastic New Empire of Humanity will emerge in less than a thousand years, far greater than its predecessor. An empire that will forever after be guided by the gentle-wise heirs of Gaal and Wanda and the others.
Alone among those who intimately knew the Plan, Hari saw past its elegance to a heartrending truth.
It’s not going to happen that way.
A hundred parsecs beyond Santanni, Horis Antic began probing a patch of seemingly empty space with instruments, explaining as he worked.
“My astrophysicist friend--the one who couldn’t get a sabbatical to accompany us on this trip--told me all about the currents of space. Nearly invisible flows of gas and dust that swirl around the galaxy, sometimes spewed by supernovas or young stars. These streams form shock waves, brightening the forward edges of spiral arms. They also subtly affect the evolution of suns.
“Now at first I had trouble relating this to my own interest...the tilling question. In order to see a connection, we’ll need to start with some basic biology.”
Antic’s audience consisted of Hari, Kers Kantun, and Biron Maserd. The nobleman’s two crewmen were busy piloting the yacht, but Maserd left a door open to listen to the engines each time they made a hyperspace jump.
Antic’s holo projector showed the image of a planet. Their view plunged toward seas that shimmered a rich, soupy green. But the stone conti
nents lay barren and empty. “A great many watery worlds are like this,” he explained. “Life gets started pretty easily--basic colloido-organic chemistry happens under a wide range of conditions. So does the next stage, developing photosynthesis and a partial oxygen atmosphere. But then evolution hits a snag. Countless worlds get stuck at the level you see here, never making a leap to multicellular organisms and bigger things.
“Some biologists think further progress requires a high mutation rate to put diversity in the genetic pool. Without variance to work with, a life-world may remain stuck at the level of bacteria and amoebas.”
Hari objected. “But you said fossils occur on many worlds.”
“Indeed, Professor! It turns out there are many ways to get high mutation rates. One is if a planet has a large moon, stirring radioactive elements into the crust. Or its sun may have a big ultraviolet output. Or perhaps it orbits near a supernova remnant. There are zones where magnetic fields channel high fluxes of cosmic rays, and others...well, you get the idea. Wherever any of those conditions occur, we tend to find fossils on human-colonized worlds.”
Horis summoned a new image, depicting numerous samples of sedimentary stone--his personal collection, lovingly gathered from dozens of worlds. Each lay sliced open to reveal eerie shapes within. Symmetrical ridges or regular bumps. One rippled form hinted at a backbone. Others suggested jointed legs, a curved tail, or a bony brow. Captain Maserd walked around the display, working his jaw thoughtfully. He finally settled at the back of the room, near the door, taking in the entire scene.
“You think there’s an underlying pattern,” Hari prompted. “A galactic distribution, predicting where fossils occur?”
Antic demurred. “I’m less interested in explaining where fossil creatures existed than learning why the much later tilling effect buried so many under--”
Angry shouts erupted suddenly behind Hari. He turned, but was blinded by the darkness and could only sense two vague figures, locked in furious struggle. There were highpitched cries, and a lower voice, recognizably Maserd’s.
“Lights!” the captain ordered.
Hari blinked. Sudden illumination revealed the pair, engaged in uneven struggle near the door. Maserd had a smaller person by the arm, apparently one of his liveried crewmen, who cursed and kicked in vain.
“Well well,” the nobleman murmured. “What have we here?”
The cowl of a silvery ship uniform fell away, revealing that the wearer was not one of Maserd’s crew, after all. Hari glimpsed a young face, framed by tousled platinum hair.
Horis Antic yelped. “It’s the porter! The talkative one from Orion Elevator. But...what’s she doing here?”
Kers Kantun stepped forward with taut fists, clearly disliking surprises. “A spy,” he muttered. “Or worse.”
Hari moved to restrain his servant, who thought everyone was a potential Seldon assassin, until proved otherwise.
“More of a stowaway, I reckon,” Maserd commented, lifting the girl to her tiptoes. At last she slumped, giving a conceding nod. The captain let her down.
“Well, youngster? Is that it? Were you trying to hitch a ride to somewhere?”
She glowered...and finally answered in a low mutter, “The idea was more like to get away.”
Hari mused aloud, “Interesting. You had an enviable job, on the capital planet of the human universe. Back on Helicon, kids would dream of someday getting to visit Trantor. Few dared hope to win a residence or work permit. Yet you seek to escape from there?”
“I liked Trantor just fine!” she replied, unkempt hair covering her eyes. “I just had to break away from someone in particular.”
“Really? Who made you fearful enough to throwaway so much, in order to escape him? Tell me what he did, child. I’m not without influence. Perhaps I can help.”
The girl repaid Hari’s kindly offer with a glare that struck his eyes straight-on.
“You want to know my enemy? Well it’s you, O great Professor Seldon. I was running away from you!”
3.
Her name was Jeni Cuicet. It took just moments for Hari to understand her hatred.
“My parents work for your great big Encyclopedia
Galactica Foundation.” There was no longer any trace of the folksy accent she had used when playing the role of tour guide. “We had a good life, back on Willemina World. Mom was head of the Academy of Physics and Dad was a famous doctor. But we also had time for lots of fun together, camping and skiing and portling.”
“Ah, so you resented it when that bucolic way of life came to an end?”
“Not really. I’m no spoiled brat. I knew we’d have to stop doing all that stuff when we came to Trantor. My parents couldn’t just turn down a summons to join your Foundation. It was the chance of a lifetime for them! Anyway, I figured Trantor would have its own kinds of excitement.
“And I turned out to be right about that. Things were okay, for the first year or so.” Her frown deepened. “Then it all changed again.”
Hari let out a sigh.
“Oh, I see. The exile.”
“You got it, Prof. One minute we’re part of somethin’ really important, at the center of the known universe. Then you just had to go insult Linge Chen and the whole damn Human Empire, didn’t you? Spreading doomy-gloomy rumors, making everyone panicky with prophecies about the end of the world? Suddenly we’re all under suspicion, because we work for a crazy traitor!
“But that’s not half of it. Who do they punish for all this? You and your sickohistorian pals? Never! Instead Chen’s Special Police tell the Encyclopedists and their families--a hundred thousand decent people--we’re about to be pushed onto cattle boats, shipped to the periphery, and sentenced to stay for the rest of our lives on some dusty little flyspeck so far from civilization that it probably never even heard of gravity!”
Horis Antic chirped a nervous laugh. Kers hovered warily by Hari, as if the slight adolescent might do murder through sheer anger alone. But Captain Maserd seemed genuinely moved by Jeni’s testimony.
“Great space, I wouldn’t blame you for wanting to find a way out of that! There’s a galaxy of adventure to be found outside of Trantor. I suppose I’d have run away, too, under those circumstances.”
His eyes then narrowed. “Unfortunately, that still leaves me with a troubling question. Why did you choose to take flight with us? As a porter on the star-shunt run, you surely had other opportunities. Yet you elected to stowaway on a ship carrying your arch-enemy. Can you see why we might find that perturbing?”
Kers rumbled in his chest, but quieted at a signal from Hari.
Jeni shrugged. “I don’t know why I did it. I’d been making other plans, but then Hari Seldon came along, passing my porter station big as life, and I had a hunch. You looked like you were sneaking out of town! Maybe I figured you’d be less likely to call the Impies on me, if you weren’t exactly being legal yourselves.”
That drew a chuckle from Maserd, who clearly appreciated her logic and initiative.
“Anyway,” Jeni went on, “I stayed on Demarchia and hung around with the workers waiting outside your hotel. I managed to join the crew loading your equipment aboard ship, where I found a storage locker to hide in during takeoff.”
She looked defiantly at Hari. “Maybe what I really hoped for was a chance to look you in the face and tell you what you’ve done to a lot of good people!”
He shook his head in reply.
“My dear child, I am aware of what I’ve done...more than I could ever tell you.”
By ancient tradition, a stowaway who had no other crimes to answer for was assigned labor aboard ship. To her credit, Jeni took this with aplomb.
“I’ll work hard, don’t worry about that. Just you be sure and drop me off somewhere along the way, before you head back,” she demanded. “You better not be planning to take me home and stuff me on a boat to Terminus!”
“You are in no position to extract promises,” answered Captain Maserd, sternly. “I can on
ly assure you the matter is still open, and that I lean in your favor at this moment. Keep my goodwill, through exemplary behavior on my ship, and I will speak up for you when it is discussed.”
He said this with such graceful authority--clearly accustomed to both the rights and duties of command--that even the boisterous girl accepted it as the last word.
“Yes, m’lord,” she said with a chastened voice and a bow that was rather too deep, as if he were a nobleman of the quadrant level or higher.
Had that been true, Hari would probably have already known Maserd’s face, and this yacht would be far more impressive. But just a little lower down the gentry hierarchy, at the zone or sector level, great lords numbered over a billion. Here was a man used to exercising great influence over scores, or even hundreds of planets, yet Hari had never heard of him. The galaxy was vast.
I wonder why Maserd is here with us now. Is it zeal for amateur science? Some gentry are like that, pursuing a dilettante interest and financing the work of others, so long as it isn’t too radical.
Somehow, Hari suspected there was more underlying Maserd’s affable demeanor.
Of course the whole class system will start falling apart within a few decades. It’s already unraveling at the edges. Today meritocrats are raised up more for their ability to make friends in high places than for achievements. Members of the Eccentric Order aren’t very eccentric--they slavishly copy each other’s styles. And when one shows some real creativity, it often comes tinged with symptoms of chaos madness.
Meanwhile, the teeming mass of citizens hunker with shoulders clenched, desperately clasping their comforts as each generation sees a slow deterioration of public services, education, commerce.
As for the nobility, I used to hope the preachings of Ruellianism might hold their ambitions in check...until my equations showed just how forlorn it was.
Of the five social castes, only Grey Men--the vast army of dedicated bureaucrats--showed no sign of change. They had always been officious, narrow-minded, and dependable. They still were. Most would stay toiling at their desks, struggling in dull, unimaginative ways to maintain the empire, until the sack of Trantor brought those ancient metal walls crashing around them in three hundred years.