Asimov’s Future History Volume 20

by Isaac Asimov

  “The damn thing’s flashing all these red lights at me, and I can’t read a single one of them.”

  Atoh got close enough to see the writing, while Tonasson trailed behind. “It’s written in Galactic Standard,” the Trantorian threw in.

  The woman just looked at him with utter frustration, and a face that said, “Don’t call me an imbecile. I know what I’m talking about.”

  Atoh looked at it, and shook his head. “Well, it looks like Galactic Standard, but I can’t read it either. Bits and pieces – does that say ‘atomic clock’ there?” He pointed to one light that was blue.

  The woman sighed in disbelief. “No, it looks like power source.”

  “Well, it’s nuclear something.”

  Tonasson had finally joined them. His eyes went wide with consternation. He muttered a word beneath his breath.

  The woman smiled. “I didn’t think Trantorians knew that word.”

  Not looking at her, he replied, “We invented it.” That earned him a shake of the head.

  Tonasson was shaking his own head. “We’re going to need a linguist, expert in ancient tongues. That says speaker system … I think.” He pointed to a red light.

  “Ehh, maybe a subcomponent. An amplifier, perhaps.” Atoh chimed in.

  “What’s an amplifier?” Tonasson asked. Neither of them answered, both deep in this old puzzle.

  Tonasson just slumped down onto a post away from the machine. He just couldn’t believe it. He laughed quietly, the laugh of a man who had lost his tether to the ship called Reality.

  “Ohhh,” he rumbled, “I hope you’ve got insurance!!”

  Atoh stopped his examination of his cargo. “Insurance?!?”

  “In a thousand years, Seldon has never, ever failed to make an appearance. Now you’re telling me you’ve got a technical difficulty?”

  “We don’t know what to tell you yet. All we know is that it’s not working.”

  Tonasson was hearing none of it. “This thing is supposed to go to Conference City tonight. There are a hundred million people who will be officially watching this thing tomorrow. Every delegate took today off to rest for this appearance by the great Hari Seldon. We have over a billion people, we estimate, who will be watching it unofficially on Trantor live, working in the support sections. Hundreds of thousands of news agencies are on hand to witness this event and report it to the Galaxy. And you’re telling me the damn thing doesn’t work?!? Do you have any idea what a blow to the Galaxy this will be? The Government of Trantor Province will take it out of your hides.” It was just so outrageous that he could barely keep a straight face. He was crying, even as he giggled insanely.

  Atoh started getting angry. He didn’t like threats. “Hey, we didn’t bust it.”

  “Prove it!”

  “How?? This thing started its diagnostics, or whatever you call those lights, three days ago, during transit. We didn’t touch it, but our security logged the activity of the Vault three days ago. Before that, it was dormant.”

  “I think I can fix it,” Cla interjected.

  “You think??” Tonasson was still dealing with the implications of a dead Vault.

  “Yeah. Get me a copy of the Encyclopedia Galactica – one of the early editions. The older, the better, as long as we can read it. The Engineering indexes should have a reference to the Time Vault’s designs in it somewhere.”

  Tonasson’s head shot up. Of course. The Encyclopedia Galactica was originally founded to collect all useful knowledge of humanity and wrap it up in a gigantic publication. Nowadays, as in early Foundation history, it was Terminus’s major export. The Encyclopedia Galactica Publishing Company alone employed over half a billion researchers Galaxy-wide. Engineering specifications were most certainly useful knowledge.

  “I’ll get right on it – but with or without it, you get that Time Vault fixed!!!”. Tonasson hustled off at a dead run.

  Atoh and his assistants turned back to their archaeological nightmare. “Government bureaucrats. Give them one miracle, even a damaged one, and they demand more,” someone muttered.

  “Maybe they’ll come up with a miracle of their own.” Atoh replied absently.

  Hannor Legan could hardly have been more upset than Tonasson was – and also could hardly have been less. As things went, in fact, he was furious.

  Actually, he was mad for only one reason: His lieutenant was mad, and not listening to him.

  “You can’t trust them!!” Ione roared, barely half a meter from his face. “This Iscar report is clear on that point. They have not been entirely open with us, Hannor, and you know that. You said you knew their First Speaker. And you never met that man before?”

  “I asked him about that six months ago, Ione,” he said, irritated. “He said he was just recently elected to the position, after the last Speaker caught some local bug and died. Which is a perfectly good reminder that they’re still human.”

  “Are you even sure of that? They were spying on the Yrikans – they could be spying on us right now as we speak – and then they incapacitated the entire delegation!! And you still let them run the Conference??”

  “Ione, this is what they train for. They’re supposed to run a Galaxy peaceably, with a minimum of violence. Now, tell me that what they did didn’t shut the rest of the bad guys up.”

  “You think that was the right response?” she asked incredulously.

  “We’re not qualified to judge them, and you know that. We’ve been out of touch for a whole millenium. We have no real understanding of their culture whatsoever.”

  “And they’ve been out of touch with the Galaxy. There are some things we cannot tolerate, Hannor, not if we’re to remain civilized beings.”

  “Ione, shut up.”

  Ione closed her mouth. She knew Hannor well enough that when he said “shut up,” he meant it.

  Hannor continued on. “Ione, there’s just one little thing you forget. I am the Governor of the Foundation. But, I am Governor of the Foundation only by a vote of the Council of Governors.”

  “You know as well as I do that if it weren’t for tradition, I wouldn’t have the backing to be the Governor of the Foundation. My official title would be the one you hold instead, as Governor of the Trantor Province.”

  “According to the Foundation Charter, if I go from this province to another province on a visit, or to troubleshoot some political emergency, I remain the Governor of the Foundation until my retirement. Then the local Governor would be the Lieutenant Governor of the Foundation, empowered to speak for me as they see fit.”

  “In other words, Ione, if it weren’t for the Conference, I wouldn’t even be here right now. And for one reason, Ione – you don’t see the Galactic picture.”

  Ione didn’t dare reply. But the thought came through her mind anyway: Oh, I see it, all right. You’re just not willing to face how bad it really is.

  “Now … regarding the Second Foundation. Their position as leaders of this Conference and its various committees shall remain unchanged and unquestioned. Is that clear?” Ione merely nodded, still boiling inside.

  “As for tomorrow’s appearance of Hari Seldon, you will be there, in your best outfit and on your best behavior. You will not utter a word to the First Speaker, nor will you do anything to threaten him. He is to be treated by all security forces as my equal. Whatever he declares is law. And above all, you will trust him. Is that clear?”

  Right about then, Ione was ready to throw away all her worthless titles of office, and just punch Hannor. But she restrained herself. Now was not the time for a resignation, nor for any friction at the top to become apparent. Especially not now.

  When would be the right time? she asked herself bitterly. Although a capable leader in her own right, she was always beneath someone else, and had lost too many arguments with Hannor lately. She was sick and tired of being ignored. Hannor had what her friends in her youth called “short-timer syndrome” – a need to get things over with, and to blazes with the consequences.
Ione still planned on being involved in things after the Conference, and she couldn’t afford to look at the immediate. Hannor was retiring after the Conference, and so it didn’t really matter to him. Ione refused to think that way. Her opinion was that if she ever did think that way, her time wasn’t ending – it had already ended.

  And it was then that she decided she would obey these instructions from Hannor to the letter … as a last request. The man was no longer a leader, not really. He might be capable of leading again, but his mindset was in the wrong place.

  Damn. She didn’t want him to retire on such bad terms with her.

  Outside their private office, an Observer of the Second Foundation began composing his report. There would be no resistance whatsoever now. The two Foundations tomorrow would be vindicated by their founder. He expected, as the Speakers did, that Seldon would simply congratulate them for their success. He was one who knew that those congratulations had been earned through the blood and sweat of the First Foundation, and the difficult planning of the Second Foundation. There had even been a couple of times when the Second Foundation had shed its own blood, as a sacrifice to preserve and repair the Seldon Plan.

  Simply amazing!

  A thousand years of effort was coming to a close, tomorrow! The exultation, the anticipation of Pax Galactica II was rampant throughout the Second Foundation, causing even some of their Speakers to revel in the accomplishment of their ancestors and themselves.

  A hundred generations had built the new Second Empire! He wished privately that Preem Palver and Hari Seldon themselves could have seen this in person, instead of visualizing it through harsh, and yet beautiful, mathematics.

  Seeing it in person was so much richer an experience.

  And better yet, the new Empire had absolutely no end in sight, by the mathematics of psychohistory. Even if the Second Foundation were to disappear tomorrow, the new Empire could continue on for nineteen thousand years on its own inertia. It was fundamentally more stable than the First Empire – Trantor was not the only center of power and administration. A hundred planets fulfilled the duties that ancient Trantor had once handled alone, and improperly. Even that wasn’t enough, the Observer knew – the Second Foundation’s next move after the Conference would be to spread those centers out into about a hundred thousand planets. Enough to handle a Galaxy of twenty-five million planets – not including those that would be found in the first Census movement.

  Barring anything unforeseen, like another individual exerting an impossible influence, the peace would last long enough for the Interregnum to itself become prehistory, as lost to humanity’s knowledge as the dead planet Earth.

  And with the famous Encyclopedia Galactica, that would be an uncountably long time …

  Millions gathered once again in Conference City, for the great Seldon to speak. A buzz permeated the air – what would he say? They all marveled at this event.

  By coincidence, Wye shared the exact same time as Terminus’ Time Vault. No adjustment for time was needed. Seldon would appear at noon exactly.

  It was one minute to noon!

  The Governor of the First Foundation took his seat next to the First Speaker of the Second Foundation. The Lieutenant Governor stood behind them, in her absolute best clothing. Fashion experts would later say that the Governor’s style was as old as he was, but he still wore them with dignity and pride.

  The lights dimmed. It was thirty seconds to noon!

  For this event, the microphones were shut off. The only speaker here would be Hari Seldon until he finished his speech. The murmur died down. Still, the First Speaker couldn’t resist fulfilling his title one more time: he spoke first, but only to the Governor.

  “Now, Governor, we shall finally see the realization of the Seldon Plan. A thousand years, and we are glad our guiding hand was rarely needed. Now it is time to bring enlightened leadership to the Galaxy, that which truly understands humanity.”

  Hannor’s face registered confusion. “Excuse me, First Speaker, but I don’t follow you. We already have capable administration in our Foundation, and not much of it will change. You’ve been leading the Assembly – you know the basic tenets of our Foundation governments will not change a great deal.”

  Forska smiled. “Of course not. It’s simply that even the greatest of leaders you have only have an instinctive sense for how a local populace will act. We of the Second Foundation have perfected that instinct into a science, a psychohistory we have developed for a thousand years. With no disrespect to you, sir, we are simply more qualified to lead because we know how to … how do you put it? Work the crowd?” He chuckled, not evilly at all, but with pride.

  “The First Foundation has built the framework for this new Empire,” Hannor replied, still confused.

  “Yes, and the Second Foundation shall need your efforts to give us a physical presence, instead of making us a paper government only. Psychohistory allows us to understand the masses, to guide them, but they won’t always listen unless we have you to enforce our less immediately pleasing decrees.” In other words, Hannor realized, the First Foundation was going to be the middleman. “Believe me when I say we cannot lead without you.”

  Hannor had just enough time to glance over his shoulder, behind him, into Ione’s eyes. He saw what he had not until now understood – that they were to be puppets beneath the Second Foundation’s psychohistory. They would not be allowed to understand the science that controlled them.

  They were a lower class. Hannor’s face fell as he realized his blunder. It was now too late – the Second Foundation had taken over in all respects. He didn’t even care how history would remember him. He’d deceived himself, believing it was all for the good.

  Could it still be? Could the Second Foundation really be trusted?

  The First Speaker saw all of this going through the Governor’s mind, and opened his mouth to reassure further …

  It was noon … and the Assembly’s population increased by one. Forska realized it was too late. Oh, well. The Governor might take it hard, but all the clues had been staring him in the face. Forska was surprised that his colleague had not understood, and for that matter, still did not. The massive ego of a politician, he supposed. “Psychohistory,” he whispered to the Governor. He projected confidence in his voice to the Governor. Unfortunately, he didn’t have eye contact just then, as everyone’s eyes turned towards the large projection.

  “I am Hari Seldon, and this will be my …” the projection said. Though his voice was old and soft, his amplified voice reverberated off the walls. His image filled the Assembly, as his wheelchair hologram was replicated and reproduced at a thousand times its original size. Unfortunately, the original itself was damaged, as a burst of static washed over the image and bleated through the speakers. Thousands winced at the noise.

  Down below, Atoh’s crew noticed the problem. His burly assistant couldn’t avoid kicking the Vault itself. She left a sizable dent in the Vault’s metal, as well as in her steel-toed boot. She yelped in pain and fell down. The kick, miraculously, restored the image, and the fuzziness in his voice nearly disappeared. It was still accented, though, and hard to understand after a thousand years.

  “… inal appearance in the Time Vault.” Seldon paused. “A few of you may have wondered by now what use, if any, these appearances of mine will have been. They should have coincided with a series of crises and helped you over the difficult times when it might have seemed that psychohistorical projections were having nothing to do with actual events. I hope that this was only apparent, not real.”

  The old man smiled, showing no teeth. “For all I know, I may be speaking to an empty chamber in a fragmented galaxy which is still in a dark age.” This earned quite a few laughs. “But if you are hearing me, then let me now claim that these appearances of mine had to have been useful, one way or another.”

  What the hell did that mean, everybody wondered all at once. Even Forska was surprised, and he didn’t have time to analyze it be
fore Seldon continued, a finger extended towards the center of the audience. A book fell to the floor.

  “Let me explain what I mean,” he continued. “Either I was in touch with the way things went, or my failure moved those of you who were in touch to act.” There was a collective sigh of relief, Forska included. “Psychohistory could envision large possibilities correctly, but it could not project a picture of specific future details and the actions needed to bring them about. For the large is composed of countless small things, and most of the time we all live in small details. Some of you may now be saying that psychohistory was not what I made it out to be, and you will be right, in the way that most shortsighted minds are right.”

  “But it was, I hope, enough of what it had to be – a rallying cry against the irrational darkness that threatened to plunge the Galaxy into thirty thousand years of barbarism. In all human life, every day, the irrational has threatened to establish its reign, and has been held back by the two foundations of intellect and good will.”

  He paused, just long enough to receive a brief round of applause. Unaware of the applause, he continued on with conviction. “There are a few basic features to the exercise of free will in history. Only probabilities can be predicted, but not perfectly or always. Yet in retrospect, all developments are seen as having been caused, including those brought about by free choices. All historical developments flow from a variety of factors, and are therefore explainable – but not exhaustively. Free will can operate only among a finite number of possible choices. No free choice is unconditional, or we would be able to create matter and energy from nothingness according to our whims.” Another laugh – the First Foundation had invented a tool capable of just such a thing. It was now a primary power source throughout the Galaxy.

  “I focused your free will by helping you to choose with a greater awareness of possibilities, with the habit of looking ahead, and I am sure it has brought you through your millennium of struggle.” The old man sighed. “What you will do in your new Galactic Era is not for me to predict. Perhaps humankind will become something better. For me, that would be a rational intelligence which would be immune to psychohistorical prediction. I hope so – because otherwise …”