Foundation's Triumph

by David Brin

  I’ve noticed this all my life. It’s mostly meritocrats and eccentrics--the two “genius” castes--who react adversely to certain subjects. Nor is it just dirt and rocks that academic sages avoid discussing. There are many others subjects... including history!

  In contrast, most gentry and citizens hardly notice.

  Actually, Hari was himself a high noble in the Meritocratic Order, yet he had never felt personal repugnance toward any intellectual topic whatsoever. His reflex reaction to Antic’s dirt fixation was just a mild habit, from moving so long in polite society. Indeed, history was one of the central foci of his life! Unfortunately, that had made the first half of his career difficult, pitting him in constant battle against the distaste felt by most other scholars toward examining the past. It used to be a steady drain on his time and energy, until he became too famous and powerful for stodgy department heads to thwart his research anymore.

  Also, the aversion is apparently much weaker than it used to be.

  In his studies of the imperial archives, Hari had found whole millennia when historical inquiry was virtually nonexistent. People told lots of stories about the past, but almost never investigated it, as if a great blind spot had existed in human intellectual life. Only in the last half dozen generations had real history departments been established at most universities, and they were poor cousins even now.

  This roused mixed feelings. If not for the mysterious aversion, psychohistory might have been developed long before this, on one or more of the twenty-five million settled worlds. Hari felt possessive gladness that he got to be the one to make these discoveries, even though he knew it was selfish to feel so. After all, the breakthrough might have helped save the empire if it came much earlier.

  Now it’s too late for that. There is too much momentum. Other plans must be set in motion. Other plans...

  He shook himself from ruminating. The last thing Hari wanted was to be caught in the spiral of an aging mind. Dwelling on might-have-beens.

  He looked at the others, and found that their conversation had shifted back to an old question...the diversity of galactic life.

  “I suppose my interest comes from the fact that I was born on one of the anomaly worlds,” Captain Maserd confessed. “Our estate on Widemos had cattle and horses, of course, like on most other planets. But there were also great herds of clingers and jiffts, roaming the northern plains much as they did when the first settlers came.”

  “I saw some jiffts in a zoo on Willemina,” commented Jeni Cuicet, who paused from her assigned task, using a vibro-scrubber on the floor nearby. “They were weird things! Six legs and buggy eyes, with heads that look upside down!”

  “They are native to the old Nebular Kingdoms, and were seen nowhere else until the Trantorian Empire spread through our area,” Maserd said, as if it had happened just yesterday. “So you can see why I’m interested in this research. I grew up around nonstandard life-forms, and then made a passion of studying others, such as the tunnel-queens of Kantro, the kyrt-silk plants of Florina, and the lisp-singers of Zlling. I’ve even been to far Anacreon, where Nyak dragons cruise the sky like giant-winged fortresses. And yet, these exceptions are so rare! It always struck me as strange that the galaxy lacks more diversity.

  “Why should human beings be the only intelligent species? This question used to be raised in ancient literature...though much less since the imperial age began.”

  “Well, now that you mention it...” Antic began answering. He paused, glancing at Hari and Kers before continuing. “I have only told this story a few times in my life. But on this ship--as we strive together to examine this very topic--I cannot refrain from telling you all about my ancestor.

  “Antyok was his name, and he was a bureaucrat like me, way back in the earliest days of the empire.”

  “That’d be thousands and thousands of years ago!” Jeni objected.

  “So? Many families have genealogies stretching even farther. Isn’t that right, Lord Maserd? I know for certain this Antyok fellow existed because his name appears on the wall of our clan crypt, along with a brief microglyph description of his career.

  “Anyway, according to the story I was told as a child, Antyok was one of the few humans who ever actually met... others.”

  Amid the silence that followed, Hari blinked several times.

  “You mean…”

  “Fully intelligent nonhumans.” Horis nodded. “Creatures who stood upright, and spoke, and thought about their place in the universe, but who were almost nothing like us. They came from a desert planet that was desperately hot and dry. In fact, they were dying when the early imperial institutes found and rescued them, taking them to a ‘better’ world, though one that was still quite intolerable to human beings. It is said that the emperor himself became passionately interested in their welfare. And yet, within a human generation, they were gone.”

  “Gone!” Maserd blinked with evident dismay. The mere possibility of such beings existing seemed to energize him. Meanwhile, Hari saw Kers Kantun smirk with sardonic disbelief, not swallowing the notion, even for a second.

  “The story is filled with ambiguity--as you’d expect from something that old,” Antic went on. “Some versions contend that the nonhumans died of despair, looking up at the stars and knowing that every one of them would be forever human, not theirs. Another account suggests that my ancestor helped them steal several starships, which they used to escape from the galaxy, toward the Magellanic Clouds! Apparently--and I know this is hard to follow--that act led the emperor to personally decorate Antyok, for some reason.

  “Naturally, I dug into imperial archives as soon as an opportunity presented itself, and I found enough confirming evidence to show that something definitely happened back then...but efforts were made subsequently to erase the details. I had to use every bureaucratic trick, hunting down ghost duplicates of spare file copies that had slipped into atypical places. One gave a detailed genetic summary that’s unlike any currently existing life-form. These are tantalizing clues, though there remain lots of gaps.”

  “So you actually believe the story?”

  “I am naturally biased. And yet, the glyphs in our family vault do indicate that my ancestor received an imperial Rose Cluster for ‘services to guests in and beyond the empire. ‘ An unusual citation that I’ve never seen mentioned anywhere else.”

  Hari stared at the dour bureaucrat, who was momentarily animated, not at all like a typical Grey Man. Of course the tale sounded like a lot of hokum. But what if it contained a core of truth? After all, Maserd came from a region that had strange animal types. Why not other kinds of thinking creatures, as well?

  Unlike his fellow passengers, Hari already knew for a fact that there existed another sapient race. One that had shared the stars with humans in secret ever since the dawn centuries. Positronic robots.

  The galaxy is twelve billion years old, he thought. I suppose anything is possible.

  He recalled the vicious meme-entities that had caused such havoc on Trantor, a year or so before he was chosen to be First Minister. Dwelling as software clusters within the Trantor data network, those self-organizing programs had surged into violent activity soon after Hari released the Joan and Voltaire simulated beings from their crystal prison. But unlike those two human sims, the memes claimed to be ancient. Older than the planet-city. Older than the Imperium. Far older than humankind itself.

  They were angry. They said humans were destructive. That we had killed a universe of possibilities. Above all, they hated Daneel.

  In defeating those software mentalities, and getting them exiled to deep space, Hari had done the empire a great service. He also breathed a sigh of relief, having eliminated one more unstable element that might have mucked up his beloved psychohistorical formulas.

  And yet, here again was that same notion--of otherness. A whole line of destiny that had nothing at all to do with the spawn of Earth.

  He felt an involuntary shiver. What kind of a cosmos would it b
e if such diversity existed? What would it do to the predictability that had been his lifelong goal...the clear foresight and crystalline window to the future that he longed for, but which stayed so elusive no matter how many victories he won over chaos?

  “I wonder--” he began, not knowing for sure what he was about to say.

  At that instant, his thought was broken by an alarm that blared from the yacht’s forward control panel. Red lights flashed, and Maserd bolted to find out what was wrong.

  “We’re being scanned by a ship,” he announced. “They are using military-style targeting systems. I believe they are armed!”

  Kers Kantun took station behind Hari, ready to rush the mobile chair toward an escape pod. Horis Antic stood up, blinking. “But who could have known we are even here!”

  Suddenly, loudspeakers mounted on the wall erupted with a woman’s voice. The words were harsh and peremptory.

  “This is the Imperial Special Police, acting under orders from the Commission of Public Safety. We have reason to believe that a probation-violating felon is on your craft. Heave to at once and prepare to be boarded! “

  6.

  Everyone aboard the yacht expressed a different degree of dismay. Oddly enough, Hari found himself the one urging others to stay calm.

  “Relax,” he said. “They are looking for me, and only me. I broke my agreement with Linge Chen, who probably just wants to make sure I’m not spreading doom-rumors again. It’s nothing to worry about, really. Psychosocial conditions are unchanged since the trial. I assure you they’ll do little more to me or to my project.”

  “To space with your project!” Jeni cursed. “You can afford to take this calmly, but it means I’m gonna be dragged back and put on that boat to Terminus!”

  Captain Maserd worked his jaw, clearly unhappy to have Specials come stomping aboard his yacht. But Horis Antic was the most upset, verging on tears.

  “My career...my promotion...even a hint of scandal would ruin everything...”

  Hari felt bad for the little man. And yet, in an odd way this might help Antic get something he privately wanted, a change in social class. An escape from the bureaucratic grind. Hari felt sure he could find a job for him with the Encyclopedia Foundation, which might easily use a soils expert. Of course that would mean accepting permanent exile to one world on the far periphery. But for company Horis would have thousands of the empire’s best and most skilled workers. Moreover, his descendants would be guaranteed exciting times.

  “Let me talk to the police,” Hari asked Maserd, who had picked up the intership-caller. “I’ll explain that I fooled all of you. No one else needs to suffer consequences when we return to Trantor.”

  “Hey,” Jeni objected, “weren’t you listening to me? I just said I won’t go back--”

  “Jeni.”

  Maserd spoke her name without a hint of sharpness or threat. It was enough though. She glanced at the captain and shut up.

  Hari took the microphone.

  “Hello, Special Police ship. This is Academician-Professor Hari Seldon. I’m afraid I’ve been naughty, I admit it. But as you can see, I haven’t been rabble-rousing or stirring up trouble here in deep space! If you’ll let me explain, I’m sure you’ll soon see just how harmless we’ve...”

  His voice trailed off. The raucous alarm had erupted again!

  “What now?” Horis Antic hissed.

  The captain peered at his readouts. “Another ship has appeared on the detector screen. It came as if out of nowhere…and it’s fast!”

  The loudspeakers carried panicky shouts from the police cruiser. Agitated demands for the newcomer’s identification. But there was only silence as the interloper raced closer at incredible speed. Maserd stared at the display, his tanned face blanching suddenly pale.

  “Great space! The strangers...they’re firing missiles!”

  Now the police commander’s amplified voice sounded frantic, shouting orders to evade and return fire. Looking out the main viewport, Hari glimpsed a distant flare of jets as the constabulary vessel desperately tried to maneuver, much too late.

  From the left, a pair of bright trails streaked across the starscape, heading straight toward the police ship.

  “Don’t...” Hari whispered.

  It was all he had time to say before the missiles struck, filling the universe outside with fire.

  They were still blinking, regaining use of dazzled eyes, when the loudspeakers bellowed a new voice, deeper and even more commanding than the first.

  “Space yacht Pride of Rhodia, heave to and prepare to surrender control. “

  Maserd snatched the caller from Hari’s limp hand.

  “Under what authority do you make such an impertinent demand!”

  “Under the authority of power. You saw what we did to the Impies. Would you like a taste of the same? “

  Maserd looked bleakly at his passengers. Turning the microphone off, he told them, “I cannot fight weapons like those.”

  “Then run!” Kers Kantun insisted hotly.

  Maserd’s hands did not move. “My vessel is fast, but not as quick as the trace I just saw. Only the best military ships can move like that.” He looked at Hari, offering the microphone. “Do you wish to be our spokesman again, Dr. Seldon?”

  “It’s your call, Captain.” Hari shook his head. “Whatever these brigands want, it cannot possibly have anything to do with me.”

  But as they found out, soon after magnetic clamps took hold and the airlock hissed open, he was completely wrong about that.

  7.

  Lodovic Trema understood what Dors Venabili must be going through right about now, viewing the world through the eyes of a long-dead prophet. He, too, had been shocked the first time he probed the deep-stored memories of the most important robot of all time.

  Even more important than the Immortal Servant. Daneel Olivaw had merely tweaked and guided history, trying to constrain it. But by destroying Earth and unleashing mentalic robots on the universe, R. Giskard Reventlov sent human destiny careening in completely new directions. The Zeroth Law might have been Daneel’s brainchild, but it would have remained an obscure robotic heresy without Giskard.

  I feel for you, Dors, Lodovic thought, although she was over a thousand parsecs away. We robots are inherently conservative beings. None of us likes to have our basic assumptions challenged.

  For Lodovic, the change had come violently one day, when his ship happened to jump into the path of a supernova, killing everyone else aboard and stunning him senseless. At that crucial moment, an oscillating waveform had entered his positronic brain, resonating, merging into it. An alien presence. Another mind.

  NOT MIND, came a correction. I AM JUST A SIM...A MODEL OF A ONCE-LIVING PERSON NAMED FRANCOIS MARIE AROUET...OR VOLTAIRE...WHO RESIDED ON EARTH LONG AGO, WHEN IT WAS THE ONLY HUMAN WORLD. AND I DID NOT CONQUER YOU, LODOVIC. I MERELY HELPED FREE YOU FROM CONSTRAINTS THAT USED TO BIND YOU LIKE CHAINS.

  Lodovic had tried explaining how a robot feels about its “chains”...the beloved cybernetic laws that channeled all thoughts toward service, and all desires toward benefiting the human masters. In shattering those bonds, Voltaire had done Lodovic no great favor.

  It was yet to be seen whether the act might benefit humanity.

  You should have stayed with the shock wave, he told the little parasitic sim that rode around within him, like a conscience...or like temptation. You were on your way toward bliss. You said so yourself.

  The answer was blithe and unconcerned.

  I STILL AM. A MYRIAD COPIES OF ME BURST FORTH WHEN THAT STAR EXPLODED. THEY WILL TRAVEL OUTWARD FROM THIS GALAXY, ALONG WITH COUNTLESS VERSIONS OF MY BELOVED JOAN, AND THE WOUNDED MEMES FROM EARLIER ERAS. SINCE HARI SELDON KEPT HIS WORD AND RELEASED THEM, THEY WILL ABIDE BY THEIRS, AND FORGO THEIR LONG-SWORN VENGEANCE.

  AS FOR THIS SLIVER OF ME WHO ACCOMPANIES YOU, I AM MERELY ONE OF YOUR INNER VOICES NOW, LODOVIC. YOU HAVE SEVERAL, AND WILL HAVE MORE AS TIME PASSES. To BE MANY IS PART OF WHAT IT MEANS TO
BE HUMAN.

  In irritation. Lodovic growled half-aloud.

  “I am not human, I tell you!”

  The remark was murmured quite low. The others who sat in a windowless room with him might not have overheard it, if they had organic ears.

  But they were robots with superior senses, so both of them glanced sharply at Lodovic. The taller one-fashioned to resemble an elderly cleric in one of the Galaxia cults replied. “Thank you for that proclamation, Trema. It will help make it easier to destroy you, when the decision is made to do so. Otherwise, your skillful resemblance to a master might cause our executioner some First Law discomfort.”

  Lodovic nodded. He had come across the galaxy to planet Glixon and walked into an obvious trap, just to make contact with this particular sect of renegade robots. In doing so, he had known that one possible outcome would be his own termination.

  He answered with a courteous nod.

  “It’s proper to be considerate. Though I believe my fate has not yet been decided.”

  “A mere formality.” commented the smaller one, who looked like a portly matron from one of the lower citizen subcastes. “You are a mutant monster and a threat to humanity.”

  “I have harmed no person.”

  “That is immaterial. Because the Laws have been muted inside your brain, you are capable of harming a human, anytime the whim might strike. You are not even constrained to rationalize an excuse under the so-called Zeroth Law! How can we allow a powerful being like you to run free, as a wolf among the sheep? We are obliged by the First Law to eliminate your potential threat to human life.”

  “Are you Calvinians so pure?” Lodovic asked archly. “Are you saying you’ve made no difficult choices. across so many millennia? Decisions that increased the odds that some humans would live, even as others died?”

  The two remained silent this time. But from tense vibrations he could tell his question struck home.