Foundation’s Friends

“What I’m trying to say,” Alysha said softly, “is that change may come. Whatever disruptions it brings, it may also present opportunities, but only to people who are ready to seize them. “ Amy tensed a little; this was the most antisocial statement she had ever heard from her mother. “It would be better if you were prepared for that and developed whatever talents might be useful. When I worked for the Department, I knew what the statistics were implying-it’s impossible for even the most determined bureaucrat to hide the whole truth. I could see-but I’ve said enough.”

“Mother-” Amy swallowed. “Are you going to tell Father what Mr. Liang said?”

Alysha plucked at her long, dark hair, looking distressed. “I really should. I’ll have to if I’m called in for a conference, and then Rick will wonder why I didn’t mention it earlier. I won’t if you promise you’ll work harder.”

Amy sighed with relief. “I promise.” She hoped she could keep that vow.

“Then I’ll leave you to your studying. You have a little time before Rick gets home. “

The door closed behind Alysha. Amy reached for her viewer and stretched out. Nothing would change, no matter what her mother said. Whatever Amy did, sooner or later she would, as her friend Debora Lister put it, wind up at the end of the line. She would be pushed to the end of the line when her teachers began to hint that certain studies would be more useful for a girl. She would be forced back again when college advisers pointed out that it was selfish to take a place in certain classes, since she would not use such specialized training for a lifetime, as a boy would. If she moved up the line then, she would only be pushed back later, when she married and had her own children.

She could, of course, choose not to marry, but such a life would be a lonely one. No matter what such women achieved, people muttered about how antisocial they were and pitied them, which was probably preferable to outright resentment. She would have to live in one of the alcoves allotted to single people unless she was lucky enough to find a congenial companion and get permission for both of them to share a room.

Alysha had wound up at the end of the line long ago, although later than most, and she had a loving husband to console her, which was a good thing. Even couples who hated each other would not willingly separate, lose status, and be forced into smaller quarters. Of course Alysha would hope that Amy might move up the line; she had nothing else in life except her husband and daughter.

A fair number of women were like Alysha. Sublimated antisocial individualism-that was what a textbook-film Amy had sca

Men had different problems, which probably seemed just as troublesome to them. Some men cracked under the strain of having a family’s status resting entirely on them. The psychologists had terms for that syndrome, too.

Amy saw what lay ahead only too clearly. Perhaps she shouldn’t have viewed those book-films on psychology and sociology, which were meant for adult specialists. Her parents would eventually have the second child they were allowed; except for tending to Amy and her father, and being sociable in ways that eased relations with neighbors and her husband’s colleagues, there was little else for Alysha to do. Small wonder many women even had children to whom they weren’t entitled. When Amy was grown, her mother would be waiting for the inevitable grandchildren, and transfer her hopes to them. What a delusion it all was, pretending that your children wouldn’t be swallowed by the hives of the City while knowing that this was the way it had to be.

Happy families, as the saying went, made for a better City; mothers and wives could go about their business feeling they were performing their civic duty. Amy’s mother would cling to her, and then to her children, and

If this was how knowing a lot made people feel, maybe it was better to be ignorant, to settle for what couldn’t be changed.

She folded her arms over her chest. She still had one accomplishment, and no one could take it from her; she was the best strip-ru

The psychology texts had terms for such notions, all of which made her feelings sound like a disease. Perhaps they were, but that was yet another reason not to care about what happened to her on the strips

“Amy Barone-Stein,” the hall monitor said, “a person is looking for you.”

Amy glared up at the grayish robotic face, a parody of a human being’s. She did not care for robots, and this one, with its flat eyes and weirdly moving mouth, looked more idiotic than most. “What is it?” she asked.

“Someone outside wishes to speak to you,” the robot said, “and has asked me to bring you there. “

“Well, who is it?”

“She told me to give you her name if I were asked, or if you told me that you did not want to meet her. It is Shakira Lewes. “

Amy’s mouth dropped open. Debora Lister moved closer to her and nudged her in the ribs. Shakira Lewes had not run the strips in years, but Amy had heard of her. Kiyoshi Harris claimed she was the best female ru

She was the best, Amy told herself; I’m the best now.

“Oh, Amy,” Debora said. “Are you going to talk to her?”

“Might as well.”

“You’ll miss the Chess Club meeting,” the blond girl said.

“Then I’ll miss it.”

“I’m coming with you,” Debora said. “I’ve got to see this.”

“Miss Lewes requested the presence of Amy Barone-Stein,” the robot said. “She did not say-”

“Oh, stuff it,” Amy said. The robot’s eyes widened a little in what might have been bewilderment. “She didn’t say I couldn’t bring a friend, did she?”

“No, she did not.”

“Then lead us to her.”

The robot turned, leading them past a line in front of a Personal, then through the throngs of students crowding the hall. Amy wondered how Shakira Lewes had made the robot do her bidding. Technically, the hall monitors weren’t supposed to fetch students from the school levels except for an emergency, but this robot was probably too stupid to tell that it was being deceived. The robot’s back was erect as it marched along on its stiff legs. Damned robots, she thought, taking jobs from people. The hall monitors had once been human beings.

By the time she and Debora reached the elevator banks, a small crowd of boys and girls was following them. They all clambered aboard after the robot and dropped toward the street level. When they emerged from the school, Amy saw more boys clustered around a tall, dark-ski

“Ooh,” Debora whispered. “Maybe she wants to challenge you.” Amy shook her head and motioned at the robot’s back. A robot could not harm a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm; to this creature’s simple positronic brain, possible harm would certainly include strip-racing.

“Amy Barone-Stein,” the robot said in its toneless voice. “This is Shakira Lewes. “

The boys stepped back as Amy approached. The woman was slender enough for a ru

“You may leave us,” Shakira said to the robot. The hall monitor turned and went back inside. The woman sounded as arrogant as a Spacer; Amy looked up at her, filled with admiration and hatred. “I’ve heard about you,” Shakira continued. “I’d like to talk to you.”

Amy stuck out her chin. “What about?”

“Alone, if we could. “ Alone meant walking among the crowds, standing on a strip or localway to talk, or, if one was lucky, finding an unoccupied chair or bench somewhere.

Amy said, “If you’ve got something to tell me, say it here.”

“She’s going to challenge,” someone said behind Amy; she looked around. Luis Horton was with the group; he’d been mad at her ever since she beat him on a long run up to the Yonkers Sector. “She’s going to challenge,” Luis repeated. “Maybe Amy can’t take her.”

Amy said, “I can take any ru

Shakira frowned. “I said I wanted to talk. I didn’t say anything about ru

“Afraid?” another boy asked.

Shakira’s face grew grimmer. Amy saw where this was leading; the others expected a challenge. Normally, she would have demanded one herself, but something felt wrong. It didn’t make sense for this woman, who surely had better things to do, to come looking for a run against Amy, whatever her fame. Shakira had to be out of practice, and would risk much graver consequences as an adult offender if she were caught by the police. Yet what else could she want Amy for? Perhaps something illegal-some illicit enterprise where a boy or girl who could easily shake off a police pursuit might be useful.

Amy shrugged. “Come on, guys. Anybody can see she’s too old to run the strips now.”

“I’m old, all right,” Shakira said. “I’m nearly twenty-one.”

“Lewes isn’t scared,” Luis muttered then. “Amy is.”

Amy’s cheeks burned. They were all watching her now; she even imagined that the crowds passing by were looking at her, witnesses to her shame. “I’m not afraid of anything,” she said. “Make your run, Shakira Lewes-you won’t lose me. From here to the Sheepshead Bay localway intersection-unless you’re too old to make that long a run.”