Forward the Foundation

He tried, at any rate, moving quickly to one side to avoid the blows and his right leg, with its sciatica, doubled under him. He fell and knew himself to be utterly helpless.

Then he heard a stentorian voice shouting, "What's going on here? Get back, you thugs! Back or I'll kill you all!"

The leader said, "Well, another old man."

"Not that old," said the newcomer. With the back of one hand, he struck the leader's face, turning it an ugly red.

Seldon said in surprise, "Raych, it's you."

Raych's hand swept back. "Stay out of this, Dad. Just get up and move away."

The leader, rubbing his cheek, said, "We'll get you for that."

"No, you won't," said Raych, drawing out a knife of Dahlite manufacture, long and gleaming. A second knife was withdrawn and he now held one in each hand.

Seldon said weakly, "Still carrying knives, Raych?"

"Always," said Raych. "Nothing will ever make me stop."

"I'll stop you," said the leader, drawing out a blaster.

Faster than the eye could follow, one of Raych's knives went sailing through the air and struck the leader's throat. He made a loud gasp, then a gurgling sound, and fell, while the other seven stared.

Raych approached and said, "I want my knife back." He drew it out of the hoodlum's throat and wiped it on the man's shirtfront. In doing so, he stepped on the man's hand, bent down, and picked up his blaster.

Raych dropped the blaster into one of his capacious pockets. He said, "I don't like to use a blaster, you bunch of good-for-nothings, because sometimes I miss. I never miss with a knife, however. Never! That man is dead. There are seven of you standing. Do you intend to stay standing or will you leave?"

"Get him!" shouted one of the hoodlums and the seven made a concerted rush.

Raych took a backward step. One knife flashed and then the other and two of the hoodlums stopped with, in each case, a knife buried in his abdomen.

"Give me back my knives," said Raych, pulling each out with a cutting motion and wiping them.

"These two are still alive, but not for long. That leaves five of you on your feet. Are you going to attack again or are you going to leave?"

They turned and Raych called out, "Pick up your dead and dying. I don't want them."

Hastily they flung the three bodies over their shoulders, then they turned tail and ran.

Raych bent to pick up Seldon's cane. "Can you walk, Dad?"

"Not very well," said Seldon. "I twisted my leg."

"Well then, get into my car. What were you doing walking, anyway?"

"Why not? Nothing's ever happened to me."

"So you waited till something did. Get into my car and I'll give you a lift back to Streeling."

He programmed the ground-car quietly, then said, "What a shame we didn't have Dors with us. Mom would have attacked them with her bare lands and left all eight dead in five minutes."

Seldon felt tears stinging his eyelids. "I know, Raych, I know. Do you think I don't miss her every day?"

"I'm sorry," said Raych in a low voice.

Seldon asked, "How did you know I was in trouble?"

"Wanda told me. She said there were evil people lying in wait for you, she told me where they were and I took right off."

"Didn't you doubt that she knew what she was talking about?"

"Not at all. We know enough about her now to know that she has some sort of contact with your mind and with the things around you."

"Did she tell you how many people were attacking me?"

"No. She just said, 'Quite a few.'"

"So you came out all by yourself, did you, Raych?"

"I had no time to put together a posse, Dad. Besides, one of me was enough."

"Yes, it was. Thank you, Raych."

They were back at Streeling now and Seldon's leg was stretched out on a hassock.

Raych looked at him somberly. "Dad," he began, "you're not to go walking around Trantor on your own from now on."

Seldon frowned. "Why, because of one incident?"

"It was enough of an incident. You can't take care of yourself any longer. You're seventy years old and your right leg will not support you in an emergency. And you have enemies-"

"Enemies!"

"Yes, indeed. And you know it. Those sewer rats were not after simply anyone. They were not looking for just any unwary person to rip off. They identified you by calling out, 'Psychohistory!' And they called you a creep. Why do you suppose that was?"

"I don't know why."

"That's because you live in a world all your own, Dad, and you don't know what's going on on Trantor. Don't you suppose the Trantorians know that their world is going downhill at a rapid rate? Don't you suppose they know that your psychohistory has been predicting this for years? Doesn't it occur to you that they may blame the messenger for the message? If things go bad-and they are going bad-there are many who think that you are responsible for it."

"I can't believe that."

"Why do you suppose there's a faction at the Galactic Library that wants you out of there? They don't want to be in the way when you are mobbed. So-you've got to take care of yourself. You can't go out alone. I'll have to be with you or you will have to have bodyguards. That's the way it's going to be, Dad."

Seldon looked dreadfully unhappy.

Raych softened and said, "But not for long, Dad. I've got a new job.'

Seldon looked up. "A new job. What kind?"

"Teaching. At a University."

"Which University?"

"Santa

Seldon's lips trembled. "Santa

"Exactly. That's why I want to go there. I've been on Trantor all my life, Dad, and I'm tired of it. There's no world in all the Empire that's deteriorating the way Trantor is. It's become a haunt of crime with no one to protect us. The economy is limping, the technology is failing. Santa

"All of you!"

"And you, Dad. And you. We wouldn't leave you behind on Trantor. You're coming with us to Santa

Seldon shook his head. "Impossible, Raych. You know that."

"Why impossible?"

"You know why. The Project. My psychohistory. Are you asking me to abandon my life's work?"

"Why not? It's abandoned you."

"You're mad."

"No, I'm not. Where are you going with it? You have no credits. You can't get any. There's no one left on Trantor who's willing to support you."

"For nearly forty year-"

"Yes, I admit that. But after all that time, you've failed Dad. There's no crime in failing. You've tried so hard and you've gone so far, but you've run into a deteriorating economy, a falling Empire. It's the very thing you've been predicting for so long that's stopping you at last. So-"

"No. I will not stop. Somehow or other, I will keep going."

"I tell you what, Dad. If you're really going to be so stubborn, then take psychohistory with you. Start it again on Santa

"And the men and women who have been working for me so faithfully?"

"Oh bull, Dad. They've been leaving you because you can't pay them. You hang around here for the rest of your life and you'll be alone. Oh, come on, Dad. Do you think I like to talk to you this way? It's because no one has wanted to-because no one has had the heart to-that you're in your present predicament. Let's be honest with each other now. When you walk the streets of Trantor and you're attacked for no reason other than that you're Hari Seldon, don't you think it's time for a little bit of truth?"

"Never mind the truth. I have no intention of leaving Trantor."

Raych shook his head. "I was sure you'd be stubborn, Dad. You've got two months to change your mind. Think about it, will you?"

It had been a long time since Hari Seldon had smiled. He had conducted the Project in the same fashion that he always did: pushing always forward in the development of psychohistory, making plans for the Foundation, studying the Prime Radiant.

But he did not smile. All he did was to force himself through his work without any feeling of impending success. Rather, there was a feeling of impending failure about everything.

And now, as he sat in his office at Streeling University, Wanda entered. He looked up at her and his heart lifted. Wanda had always been special. Seldon couldn't put his finger on just when he and the others had started accepting her pronouncements with more than the usual enthusiasm; it just seemed always to have been that way. As a little girl, she had saved his life with her unca

Although Dr. Endelecki had asserted that Wanda's genome was perfectly normal in every way, Seldon was still positive that his granddaughter possessed mental abilities far beyond those of average humans. And he was just as sure that there were others like her in the Galaxy-on Trantor, even. If only he could find them, these mentalics, what a great contribution they could make to the Foundation. The potential for such greatness all centered in his beautiful granddaughter. Seldon gazed at her, framed in his office doorway, and he felt as if his heart would break. In a few days, she would be gone.

How could he bear it? She was such a beautiful girl-eighteen. Long blond hair, face a little broad but with a tendency to smile. She was even smiling now and Seldon thought, Why not? She's heading for Santa

He said, "Well, Wanda, just a few more days."

"No. I don't think so, Grandpa."

He stared at her. "What?"

Wanda approached him and put her arms around him. "I'm not going to Santa