Asimov’s Future History Volume 20

by Isaac Asimov

  “Hear me out, please. Every 1,000 planets shall be a voting district, and one person from each district’s six-hour session in the Assembly shall speak before the Assembly.” The grumbling lessened a bit. Ione had to smile. Hannor was always a good speaker, even with somewhat weak scripts.

  “Furthermore, the Assembly itself will not be able to handle writing every detail of the law. Committees shall be formed, and no planet shall find itself excluded from all committees. Everyone shall have a hand in shaping bills presented to the Assembly.”

  Hannor sipped from a glass of water. “Six hours for each delegate in the General Assembly, immediately followed by six additional hours on a committee. A strenuous pace, to be sure, but we have a lot of law to write.”

  Ione shifted in her seat again. It had been Hannor’s idea, and when fully explained, made sense. She nodded reflexively, adding weight to Hannor’s speech without intending so.

  And yet, the speech sounded a little off. Oh, the words were the same, but the … Ione couldn’t identify it, it just didn’t sound right.

  Hannor was confident. A bit too confident, perhaps. He wouldn’t dare set himself up as the … No. Hannor was not a powerful presence, not without Ione. It wasn’t pride that made her think that, but Hannor’s enemies, especially the media. And without their support, any first Emperor would find widespread opposition to a mere sneeze, let alone any legal statements.

  Plus, she realized with horror, the next Emperor would set a bloody tradition of succession to the throne. Emperor for life would not be a good job title at all.

  No, Hannor said he would retire, and unlike most politicians, he did everything he could to keep his word. Like many politicians, he found he couldn’t always deliver what he’d promised, but he certainly tried.

  He wouldn’t retire now, would he? Ione asked herself.

  Ione had to think about that for a moment. It was possible, certainly. But it made no sense. Only Trantor knew of his upcoming retirement. If he left now, it’d be seen as a vote of No Confidence, with capital letters, in the new Empire. That could derail the Conference they’d worked all their lives for.

  Ione reseated herself with a grimace. She hated this chair! Her legs were horribly restless now. And Hannor contined to drone on: “As for the leadership of the Assembly …”

  Ione’s ears perked up as a commotion started behind her. Hannor’s microphone did not pick it up, but she couldn’t help being on alert. The commotion, strangely enough, wasn’t from the crowd, but from behind her! In the Governor’s booth itself!

  Something was wrong, seriously wrong. Unable to help herself, Ione stood up and turned around. To stage left, the guards were tense, but stood their watch. At stage right was the reason why.

  The guards at stage right were staring directly at a short, middle-aged man in dark crimson robes. There were no markings on the robes themselves, which were clearly ceremonial. And just as clearly, they were Trantorian. The guards were up close and personal with the man, who had this pacifist smile on his face. For some reason, in defiance of all common sense, the guards backed away.

  Not very far, perhaps a step or two … but much too far for Ione’s tastes. She was furious. That, and the fact that this mysterious man had gotten past all security and into the Governor’s booth, meant he was a definite danger to the Governor and herself. She tapped an alert button in the floor with her foot. She didn’t know the alert had already been sounded by their security chief, and troopers were pounding towards the booth with shiny, not-so-ceremonial blasters fully charged and on a hair trigger. Personal shields also snapped into effect around the Governor’s party, noiselessly, invisibly.

  All this happened in the space of two seconds, and by now the crowds, which were watching the speech, had caught something amiss. Hannor tried to ignore it, continue pleasantly with his speech, but he got worried when he caught Ione’s movement at his side. He couldn’t help glancing in her direction, starting to turn around …

  Ione pulled out her personal blaster, and started to raise it … and time slowed down as she made eye contact. This man didn’t seem an obvious danger. His hands were extremely visible, he was moving slowly, not trying to reach beneath his robes for any kind of a weapon. Still, she didn’t trust this stranger. The man had Trantor written all over him, but if he was from Helicon, or one of the other martial arts planets, he wouldn’t need a blaster, only half a meter. If he was from Okah, he wouldn’t need even that – he could paralyze them with his voice. And with the microphones, the entire crowd, the Conference, would be at his mercy. “FREEZE!” Ione bellowed at full volume. No one in the audience could ignore that, as her microphone activated and carried it to the transmitters, the loudspeakers.

  It was right out of a bad holocast. The bigwig politico at the microphone, just now realizing something was out of place. The security team on full alert, just standing there. A strange, unidentified, unauthorized man walking directly into their midst. And Ione, standing defiantly, angrily, in front of a plush red chair, all cramping in her legs forgotten. Ione’s back was to the audience. And the entire Galaxy watching, with less than four meters between Governor Legan and the uninvited guest.

  Very quietly, very cheerfully, the strange man spoke. His sonorous voice filled Ione with a rush of excitement, soothing. If not for her age and mindset, she might have fallen in love right then and there. “Please, Lieutenant Governor, there is no need for a blaster here. I am Renauld Forska, First Speaker of the Second Foundation.” He also had a microphone, she discovered as his voice echoed out over the crowd.

  Ione squinted. “Yeah. The Second Foundation, which was destroyed 600 years ago.”

  “Ah, yes, by Dr. Darell and his daughter Arcadia. Who was born on this very planet, and attended to by Preem Palver fifteen years later during the Kalganian War. Preem Palver, a predecessor of mine, and also First Speaker.”

  By now the crowd was really waking up. Shouting erupted in the audience. Millions of people shouting make quite a noise. Whatever in the Galaxy was going on, they didn’t like surprises.

  Forska continued, “Destroyed, but only in your eyes. Hear me, all you peoples out there.” The crowds quieted a bit, obiedently, but not enough. “Hear me, I beg of you.” A bit more silence, and order was restored.

  Forska stepped to the front, behind the chairs for Hannor and Ione. Ione looked at Hannor, who had this faint smile on his face. An eerie smile.

  Hannor had planned this all along, Ione realized with a start. That son of a …

  Forska fell silent a moment, allowing a bit of drama to appear. “My friends, I come to you from Star’s End, the last bastion of the First Empire, which stood for twelve thousand years. I come to you not to bring back the old, but to bring about the new.”

  Ione barely noticed his hands moving, reassuring the crowd that everything was fine. The man went on smoothly, “One thousand years ago, Dr. Hari Seldon, a First Minister and psychohistorian, foresaw the fall of his Empire around him. He created a pair of Foundations, one at Terminus, in full view of the Galaxy, professing the physical sciences which have exceeded what the First Empire had at its greatest. This Foundation, the First Foundation, acted only with Seldon’s Plan on the periphery, just as Terminus itself was in the Periphery of the Galaxy.” Forska smirked a bit at that.

  But he continued. “The other Foundation was established at Star’s End, hidden from the Galaxy, developing the sciences of psychohistory beyond anything Dr. Seldon ever dreamed of. This Foundation, the Second Foundation, acted with Seldon’s Plan at the very center, just as Star’s End was in the center of all things, watching and guiding the Plan to completion.”

  “And now, truly, Seldon’s Plan is complete. We need only for you to define for us just what shape the Second Empire shall take. Indeed, we shall participate in the Imperial Conference called by our brethren in the First Foundation. It is our duty to see to it that consensus is reached, according to the laws of psychohistory. Therefore, we shall oversee this
Conference as only we can, helping the General Assembly and her committees complete the laws which they favor with as minimal a resistance as possible.”

  The audience didn’t quite like that, as Forska expected. Before they could protest, however, he went on. “For indeed, we truly face a Seldon Crisis here. The time for Empire is now. If we do not establish it, then the tensions each planet feels towards its neighbors will break out into war, and there will be no Empire for another three thousand years. We are so close, and have invested so much into this, that we must help.” The thought of a Seldon Crisis, which they all knew of by now, silenced them. That, and the orbiting armadas above, made everyone nervous. No one wanted this Conference to fail.

  “Therefore, let Star’s End, the Second Foundation, offer an amendment to the proposal brought by the First Foundation. We propose to monitor the General Assembly and her committees, ensuring that all arguments are heard, all issues debated fairly, and all laws agreed upon peaceably and orderly. Let the First Foundation provide the physical framework. Let us provide the guidance. Governor?”

  Hannor beamed. He hadn’t known what Forska was going to say – in fact, he’d never met the man before. But he liked what he heard, and it was just what he thought they’d say. “Normally, an amendment to any law must first be ratified by the entire Assembly. That is how we do it in the Legislature of the Foundation – excuse me, the First Foundation. However, we have not yet concluded proposing our rules of the Assembly, so by my executive authority as Governor of the Foundation, I hereby declare our proposal modified, as my esteemed colleague has requested. And now, having made the change to our proposal, and concluded my remarks on it, I bring it to you for a vote. Please vote only by electronic signalling.”

  The votes poured in – over 80 million immediately saying yes. Within a few minutes, only 20,000 had said no, and some 3,000 abstaining, roughly. “The measure passes. The rules of order shall take effect at midnight on the 4th day of the year, 1,000 F. E., at which time the Imperial Conference shall convene for its first legislative session. My thanks to all of you, even those who voted against it. For by using the weapon of the vote, instead of the weapon of the blaster, you have shown that truly, you are committed to build an Empire.”

  The applause was thunderous. Ione was stunned. She had absolutely nothing to say, and even if she did, she doubted she would have the courage to say it.

  When the applause died down, there was an awkward pause. Then Forska said, “Pardon me, Lieutenant Governor, but may I have this seat?” Forska waved his hand to her chair.

  She noted how he had tactfully phrased that sentence, and didn’t like it one bit. It wasn’t her seat. It wasn’t an outright demand, either. He was asking recognition as an equal to the Governor, and no matter how much he might indeed be Hannor’s equal, she’d worked with Hannor far too long.

  Forska saw that in her eyes, and though he said no more, his smile faded just a bit. He looked closely, and feared for a moment that she might refuse. That would undoubtedly weaken his authority in front of the Conference, and he could scarcely afford that now …

  Ione squinted, but she could see no way out of it without being a huge embarrassment to the Foundation. The First Foundation, she corrected herself angrily. “By all means, First Speaker. Do be my guest.” And she stepped away, holding a hand out to show Forska the chair. Like some stupid waiter.

  Forska stepped up, even as she asked her security chief, “Any weapons on him?”

  “None physical, madam, not even in his clothing.” He was still tense. And the man was just going to sit there, next to the Governor. Damn.

  And that’s just what Governor Hannor Legan and First Speaker Renauld Forska did. Sit down, next to each other. A bit softer, but loud enough for the microphones, Hannor asked Forska, “So, exactly where is Star’s End?”

  Forska chuckled and replied in the exact same conspiratorial tone, the exact same volume, “You’ve been standing on it all the time. Ever been to the Library?”

  Hannor laughed quite loudly. Then, much more loudly, with his usual commanding tone, he said formally, “These opening ceremonies I now declare closed. The Imperial Conference shall convene on the 4th day of this year at precisely 0000 hours, Wye time.”

  Beneath the fireworks, Ione smoldered.

  Chapter Four

  “YOU KNOW,” IONE said with a smile on her face, “Agriculture isn’t so bad.”

  Hannor stared at her with angry frustration and exhaustion. “You try telling me that in twenty-four hours. Unlike the rest of the delegates, we still have a planet to run,” he remarked bitterly.

  Trantor, instead of taking an active role in leading the Conference, was simply among the masses. To be sure, it was a voice that got people’s attention, but Trantor was highly content to serve instead of being served. And so it happened that Trantor, primarily a farming world, was appointed by consensus to the Agriculture Committee two days into the Conference. Ione was just now learning of it.

  Ione was relieving Hannor on the Assembly. Six hours from now, she would take over his spot in Agriculture debates. Then she’d get six hours of sleep – and six hours with her governing Trantor and the Foundation. Hannor and Ione had agreed to split the governer’s duties during the Conference. Then, back to the Assembly.

  “Hannor, look at it this way: if our fleet in orbit here has to work that hard, and you know they do, then there’s little reason why we shouldn’t.”

  “Shut up, Ione,” Hannor replied, and then yawned. Ione shook her head in silent victory. But she knew he was right – it would be very rough on the four of them, indeed.

  For the other two representatives of Trantor, Hannor and Ione had selected their chief justice, a man by the name of Yev, (just Yev – that’s how Trantorian judges were known), and the Chief of Naval Operations, Admiral Haugh Olieke. Haugh was a tall, elderly woman, about to retire from the Fleet anyway. She looked forward to a position in state diplomacy, which Hannor had promised her. She certainly was learning a lot at the Assembly, although Yev was not as interested. He’d seen decades of diplomatic bickering in his courts, in the form of lawyers, and was none too surprised to see the same in the Conference. Still, he couldn’t turn down the request from his Governor.

  “Madame Lieutenant Governor? The Assembly is calling attendance,” her aide reminded her. Fun time was over.

  “This session is hereby called to order,” the First Speaker of the Second Foundation called. Of course Forska would be monitoring it from on high, Ione thought. The Second Foundation had taken leadership roles at all the meetings, and she’d be not too surprised if one of them were in charge of the Agriculture debates as well.

  The debate on the floor was whether military forces of any kind should be granted power in the government as a separate entity, or if they should be considered part of the executive branch. Ione personally favored keeping them under a First Minister, as a department. Admiral Olieke, interestingly, wanted independence from executive authority. Yev didn’t care, and Hannor didn’t know what was best. So Trantor, for once, was undecided.

  The debate went on, with virtually no passion. Of course not – when you have one thousand planets deciding what you say, your words have to be tempered. Such was the difficulty in being one of those chosen for the Assembly’s floor.

  Oh, there were moments – Yrika was one of the planets elected to speak. How that happened, Ione had no idea. Interestingly, so was Helicon. The two planets were engaged in a most lively debate on the subject about thirty minutes into the session.

  “The military has always had a position of power, as far back as our Galaxy’s history goes,” Yrika was arguing. “More than once, the military has shaped the course of Galactic events. We must give them the respect they are due.”

  “And just how much respect is that, anyway?” Helicon countered. “They certainly live under stricter rules than the rest of the Galaxy – and if they were senior to the civilian population, I can assure you they woul
d not be as lenient with the ordinary citizen’s duties as a government should be.”

  “Sometimes a strict hand is necessary to stem the tides of chaos.” Yrika replied. Significantly, the First Speaker was nodding in agreement. “The stricter rules of the military are often necessary, for not only themselves but the public in general. It is worrisome when we refuse to grant that their wisdom applies to more than battle.”

  He had scored a point, Ione saw. There was much murmuring, of approval, from the crowds.

  “It is also worrisome when we refuse to acknowledge that their wisdom is sometimes overrated; that sometimes they present the greatest danger to us, when led by an unscrupulous leader. How can we assure ourselves that the General or Admiral of the Galactic military forces will indeed be loyal to the people, instead of expecting loyalty from the people?”

  Yrika growled in protest. “Those who have ever served in a modern military know that service to one’s country is the highest priority. And in a modern military like ours, any officer who notices his superior acting selfishly is expected to challenge his superior, ascertain the superior’s motives, and if necessary, relieve him of his command. Have you ever served in defense of Helicon?”

  Helicon’s delegate shook his head. Yrika had scored again.

  Finally, Smyrno’s delegate stood up and was recognized. Anacreon, its neighbor, had come up with a compromise, but Smyrno was the one elected to speak. It had taken nearly an hour for the bureaucracy to clear to Smyrno, and now was their chance.

  “My colleagues,” Smyrno began, “perhaps we can offer a compromise. If one branch of our government decrees one edict, for example, and another vetoes it, then the third main branch must either approve or disapprove of it. Either way, the military can act as a fourth branch, protesting the third branch’s decision, and bringing it to the Emperor or his local representative for a final decision.”