Prelude to Foundation

So while he behaved himself, Cleon was safe. With no ambitions of his own, Demerzel would serve him faithfully.

And now here was Demerzel, dressed so severely and simply that it made Cleon uneasily conscious of the useless ornamentation of his robes of state, now thankfully removed with the aid of two valets. Naturally, it would not be until he was alone and in dishabille that Demerzel would glide into view. “Demerzel,” said the Emperor of all the Galaxy, “I am tired!”

“State functions are tiring, Sire,” murmured Demerzel.

“Then must I have them every evening?”

“Not every evening, but they are essential. It gratifies others to see you and to be taken note of by you. It helps keep the Empire ru

“The Empire used to be kept ru

“If all that keeps the peace, Sire, there is much to be said for it. And your reign proceeds well.”

“You know why-because I have you at my side. My only real gift is that I am aware of your importance.” He looked at Demerzel slyly. “My son need not be my heir. He is not a talented boy. What if I make you my heir?”

Demerzel said freezingly, “Sire, that is unthinkable. I would not usurp the throne. I would not steal it from your rightful heir. Besides, if I have displeased you, punish me justly. Surely, nothing I have done or could possibly do deserves the punishment of being made Emperor.”

Cleon laughed. “For that true assessment of the value of the Imperial throne, Demerzel, I abandon any thought of punishing you. Come now, let us talk about something. I would sleep, but I am not yet ready for the ceremonies with which they put me to bed. Let us talk.”

“About what, Sire?”

“About anything.-About that mathematician and his psychohistory. I think about him every once in a while, you know. I thought of him at di

“I somehow think, Sire, that even the cleverest psychohistorian could not manage that.”

“Well, tell me the latest. Is he still hiding among those peculiar baldheads of Mycogen? You promised you would winkle him out of there.”

“So I did, Sire, and I moved in that direction, but I regret that I must say that I failed.”

“Failed?” The Emperor allowed himself to frown. “I don’t like that.”

“Nor I, Sire. I pla

“I dare say,” said Cleon, “but it failed. Did the Mayor of Mycogen “He is called the High Elder, Sire.”

“Do not quibble over titles. Did this High Elder refuse?”

“On the contrary, Sire, he agreed and the mathematician, Seldon, fell into the trap neatly.”

“Well then?”

“He was allowed to leave unharmed.”

“Why?” said Cleon indignantly.

“Of this I am not certain, Sire, but I suspect we were outbid.”

“By whom? By the Mayor of Wye?”

“Possibly, Sire, but I doubt that. I have Wye under constant surveillance. If they had gained the mathematician, I would know it by now.”

The Emperor was not merely frowning. He was clearly enraged. “Demerzel, this is bad. I am greatly displeased. A failure like this makes me wonder if you are perhaps not the man you once were. What measures shall we take against Mycogen for this clear defiance of the Emperor’s wishes?”

Demerzel bowed low in recognition of the storm unleashed, but he said in steely tones, “It would be a mistake to move against Mycogen now, Sire. The disruption that would follow would play into the hands of Wye.”

“But we must do something.”

“Perhaps not, Sire. It is not as bad as it may seem.”

“How can it be not as bad as it seems?”

“You’ll remember, Sire, that this mathematician was convinced that psychohistory was impractical.”

“Of course I remember that, but that doesn’t matter, does it? For our purposes?”

“Perhaps not. But if it were to become practical, it would serve our purposes to an infinitely great extent, Sire. And from what I have been able to find out, the mathematician is now attempting to make psychohistory practical. His blasphemous attempt in Mycogen was, I understand, part of an attempt at solving the problem of psychohistory. In that case, it may pay us, Sire, to leave him to himself. It will serve us better to pick him up when he is closer to his goal or has reached it.”

“Not if Wye gets him first.”

“That, I shall see to it, will not happen.”

“In the same way that you succeeded in winkling the mathematician out of Mycogen just now?”

“I will not make a mistake the next time, Sire,” said Demerzel coldly.

The Emperor said, “Demerzel, you had better not. I will not tolerate another mistake in this respect.” And then he added pettishly, “I think I shall not sleep tonight after all.”

Jirad Tisalver of the Dahl Sector was short. The top of his head came up only to Hari Seldon’s nose. He did not seem to take that to heart, however. He had handsome, even features, was given to smiling, and sported a thick black mustache and crisply curling black hair.

He lived, with his wife and a half-grown daughter, in an apartment of seven small rooms, kept meticulously clean, but almost bare of furnishings. Tisalver said, “I apologize, Master Seldon and Mistress Venabili, that I ca

“The more reason,” responded Seldon, “that we must apologize to you for placing the burden of our presence upon you.”

“No burden, Master Seldon. Master Hummin has arranged to pay us generously for your use of our humble quarters and the credits would be welcome even if you were not-and you are.”

Seldon remembered Hummin’s parting words when they finally arrived in Dahl. “Seldon” he had said, “this is the third place I’ve arranged as sanctuary. The first two were notoriously beyond the reach of the Imperium, which might well have served to attract their attention; after all, they were logical places for you. This one is different. It is poor, unremarkable, and, as a matter of fact, unsafe in some ways. It is not a natural refuge for you, so that the Emperor and his Chief of Staff may not think to turn their eyes in this direction. Would you mind staying out of trouble this time, then?”

“I will try, Hummin,” said Seldon, a little offended. “Please be aware that the trouble is not of my seeking. I am trying to learn what may well take me thirty lifetimes to learn if I am to have the slightest chance of organizing psychohistory.”

“I understand,” said Hummin. “Your efforts at learning brought you to Upperside in Streeling and to the Elders’ aerie in Mycogen and to who can guess where in Dahl. As for you, Dr. Venabili, I know you’ve been trying to take care of Seldon, but you must try harder. Get it fixed in your head that he is the most important person on Trantor-or in the Galaxy, for that matter-and that he must be kept secure at any cost.”

“I will continue to do my best,” said Dors stiffly. “And as for your host family, they have their peculiarities, but they are essentially good people with whom I have dealt before. Try not to get them in trouble either.”