Prelude to Foundation

The Sisters arrived some six hours later after Seldon and Dors had slept some more, hoping to readjust their biological clocks. The Sisters entered the apartment shyly, almost on tiptoe. Their gowns (which, it turned out, were termed “kirtles” in the Mycogenian dialect) were soft velvety gray, each uniquely decorated by a subtle pattern of fine, darker gray webbing. The kirtles were not entirely unattractive, but they were certainly most efficient at covering up any human feature. And, of course, their heads were bald and their faces were devoid of any ornamentation. They darted speculative glances at the touch of blue at the corners of Dors’s eyes and at the slight red stain at the corners of her lips. For a few moments, Seldon wondered how one could be certain that the Sisters were truly Sisters.

The answer came at once with the Sisters’ politely formal greetings. Both twittered and chirped. Seldon, remembering the grave tones of Sunmaster and the nervous baritone of Graycloud, suspected that women, in default of obvious sexual identification, were forced to cultivate distinctive voices and social ma

I’m Raindrop Forty-Three,” twittered one, “and this is my younger sister.”

“Raindrop Forty-Five,” chirped the other. “We’re very strong on ‘Raindrops’ in our cohort.” She giggled.

“I am pleased to meet you both,” said Dors gravely, “but now I must know how to address you. I can’t just say ‘Raindrop,’ can I?”

“No,” said Raindrop Forty-Three. “You must use the full name if we are both here.”

Seldon said, “How about just Forty-Three and Forty-Five, ladies?”

They both stole a quick glance at him, but said not a word.

Dors said softly, “I’ll deal with them, Hari.”

Seldon stepped back. Presumably, they were single young women and, very likely, they were not supposed to speak to men. The older one seemed the graver of the two and was perhaps the more puritanical. It was hard to tell from a few words and a quick glance, but he had the feeling and was willing to go by that.

Dors said, “The thing is, Sisters, that we tribespeople don’t know how to use the kitchen.”

“You mean you can’t cook?” Raindrop Forty-Three looked shocked and censorious. Raindrop Forty-Five smothered a laugh. (Seldon decided that his initial estimate of the two was correct.)

Dors said, “I once had a kitchen of my own, but it wasn’t like this one and I don’t know what the foods are or how to prepare them.”

“It’s really quite simple,” said Raindrop Forty-Five. “We can show you.”

“We’ll make you a good nourishing lunch,” said Raindrop Forty-Three. “We’ll make it for… both of you.” She hesitated before adding the final words. It clearly took an effort to acknowledge the existence of a man.

“If you don’t mind,” said Dors, “I would like to be in the kitchen with you and I would appreciate it if you’d explain everything exactly. After all, Sisters, I can’t expect you to come here three times a day to cook for us.”

“We will show you everything,” said Raindrop Forty-Three, nodding her head stiffly. “It may be difficult for a tribeswoman to learn, however. You wouldn’t have the… feeling for it.”

“I shall try,” said Dors with a pleasant smile. They disappeared into the kitchen.

Seldon stared after them and tried to work out the strategy he intended to use.

Microfarm

MYCOGEN-… The microfarms of Mycogen are legendary, though they survive today only in such oft-used similes as “rich as the microfarms of Mycogen” or “tasty as Mycogenian yeast.” Such encomiums tend to intensify with time, to be sure, but Hari Seldon visited those microfarms in the course of The Flight and there are references in his memoirs that would tend to support the popular opinion…

“That was good.” said Seldon explosively. “It was considerably better than the food Graycloud brought-”

Dors said reasonably, “You have to remember that Graycloud’s woman had to prepare it on short notice in the middle of the night.” She paused and said, “I wish they would say ‘wife.’ They make ‘woman’ sound like such an appanage, like ‘my house’ or my robe.’ It is absolutely demeaning.”

“I know. It’s infuriating. But they might well make ‘wife’ sound like an appanage as well. It’s the way they live and the Sisters don’t seem to mind. You and I aren’t going to change it by lecturing. Anyway, did you see how the Sisters did it?”

“Yes, I did and they made everything seem very simple. I doubted I could remember everything they did, but they insisted I wouldn’t have to. I could get away with mere heating. I gathered the bread had some sort of microderivative added to it in the baking that both raised the dough and lent it that crunchy consistency and warm flavor. Just a hint of pepper, didn’t you think?”

“I couldn’t tell, but whatever it was, I didn’t get enough. And the soup. Did you recognize any of the vegetables?”

“No.”

“And what was the sliced meat? Could you tell?”

“I don’t think it was sliced meat, actually. We did have a lamb dish back on Ci

“It was certainly not lamb.”

“I said that I doubted it was meat at all.-I don’t think anyone outside Mycogen eats like this either. Not even the Emperor, I’m sure. Whatever the Mycogenians sell is, I’m willing to bet, near the bottom of the line. They save the best for themselves. We had better not stay here too long, Hari. If we get used to eating like this, we’ll never be able to acclimatize ourselves to the miserable stuff they have outside.” She laughed.

Seldon laughed too. He took another sip at the fruit juice, which tasted far more tantalizing than any fruit juice he had ever sipped before, and said, “listen, when Hummin took me to the University, we stopped at a roadside diner and had some food that was heavily yeasted. It tasted like- No, never mind what it tasted like, but I wouldn’t have thought it conceivable, then, that microfood could taste like this. I wish the Sisters were still here. It would have been polite to thank them.”

“I think they were quite aware of how we would feel. I remarked on the wonderful smell while everything was warming and they said, quite complacently, that it would taste even better.”

“The older one said that, I imagine.”

“Yes. The younger one giggled.-And they’ll be back. They’re going to bring me a kirtle, so that I can go out to see the shops with them. And they made it clear I would have to wash my face if I was to be seen in public. They will show me where to buy some good-quality kirtles of my own and where I can buy ready-made meals of all kinds. All I’ll have to do is heat them up. They explained that decent Sisters wouldn’t do that, but would start from scratch. In fact, some of the meal they prepared for us was simply heated and they apologized for that. They managed to imply, though, that tribespeople couldn’t be expected to appreciate true artistry in cooking, so that simply heating prepared food would do for us.-They seem to take it for granted, by the way, that I will be doing all the shopping and cooking.”

“As we say at home, ‘When in Trantor, do as the Trantorians do.’ ”

“Yes, I was sure that would be your attitude in this case.”

“I’m only human,” said Seldon.

“The usual excuse,” said Dors with a small smile. Seldon leaned back with a satisfactory well-filled feeling and said, “You’ve been on Trantor for two years, Dors, so you might understand a few things that I don’t. Is it your opinion that this odd social system the Mycogenians have is part of a supernaturalistic view they have?”

“Supernaturalistic?”