Prelude to Foundation

“Just this one time,” said Dors.

But later, when Seldon and Dors were sitting in her room, Dors said, “Why do you have to see him, Hari? Is interviewing a heatsinker important to psychohistory too?”

Seldon thought he detected a small edge of sarcasm in her voice and he said tartly, “I don’t have to base everything on this huge project of mine, in which I have very little faith anyway. I am also a human being with human curiosities. We were down in the heatsinks for hours and you saw what the working people there were like. They were obviously uneducated. They were low-level individuals-no play on words intended-and yet here was one who recognized me. He must have seen me on holovision on the occasion of the Dece

“Because it pleases your vanity to have become known even to heatsinkers in Dahl?”

“Well… perhaps. But it also piques my curiosity.”

“And how do you know he hasn’t been briefed and intends to lead you into trouble as has happened before.”

Seldon winced. “I won’t let him run his fingers through my hair. In any case, we’re more nearly prepared now, aren’t we? And I’m sure you’ll be with me. I mean, you let me go Upperside alone, you let me go with Raindrop Forty-Three to the microfarms alone, and you’re not going to do that again, are you?”

“You can be absolutely sure I won’t,” said Dors.

“Well then, I’ll talk to the young man and you can watch out for traps. I have every faith in you.”

Amaryl arrived a few minutes before 1400, looking warily about. His hair was neat and his thick mustache was combed and turned up slightly at the edges. His T-shirt was startlingly white. He did smell, but it was a fruity odor that undoubtedly came from the slightly overenthusiastic use of scent. He had a bag with him.

Seldon, who had been waiting outside for him, seized one elbow lightly, while Dors seized the other, and they moved rapidly into the elevator. Having reached the correct level, they passed through the apartment into Seldon’s room. Amaryl said in a low hangdog voice, “Nobody home, huh?”

“Everyone’s busy,” said Seldon neutrally. He indicated the only chair in the room, a pad directly on the floor.

“No,” said Amaryl. “I don’t need that. One of you two use it.” He squatted on the floor with a graceful downward motion.

Dors imitated the movement, sitting on the edge of Seldon’s floor-based mattress, but Seldon dropped down rather clumsily, having to make use of his hands and unable, quite, to find a comfortable position for his legs. Seldon said, “Well, young man, why do you want to see me?”

“Because you’re a mathematician. You’re the first mathematician I ever saw-close up-so I could touch him, you know.”

“Mathematicians feel like anyone else.”

“Not to me, Dr… Dr… Seldon?”

“That’s my name.”

Amaryl looked pleased. “I finally remembered.-You see, I want to be a mathematician too.”

“Very good. What’s stopping you?”

Amaryl suddenly frowned. “Are you serious?”

“I presume something is stopping you. Yes, I’m serious.”

“What’s stopping me is I’m a Dahlite, a heatsinker on Dahl. I don’t have the money to get an education and I can’t get the credits to get an education. A real education, I mean. All they taught me was to read and cipher and use a computer and then I knew enough to be a heatsinker. But I wanted more. So I taught myself.”

“In some ways, that’s the best kind of teaching. How did you do that?”

“I knew a librarian. She was willing to help me. She was a very nice woman and she showed me how to use computers for learning mathematics. And she set up a software system that would co

(Maybe, thought Seldon briefly, there was some other emotion involved too, but he put the thought away. None of his business.)

“I liked number theory,” said Amaryl. “I worked some things out from what I learned from the computer and from the book-films it used to teach me mathematics. I came up with some new things that weren’t in the book-films.” Seldon raised his eyebrows. “That’s interesting. Like what?”

“I’ve brought some of them to you. I’ve never showed them to anyone. The people around me-” He shrugged. “They’d either laugh or be a

“Quite all right. Believe me.”

Seldon held out his hand and after a brief hesitation, Amaryl handed him the bag he was carrying.

For a long time, Seldon looked over Amaryl’s papers. The work was naive in the extreme, but he allowed no smile to cross his face. He followed the demonstrations, not one of which was new, of course-or even nearly new-or of any importance.

But that didn’t matter.

Seldon looked up. “Did you do all of this yourself?”

Amaryl, looking more than half-frightened, nodded his head. Seldon extracted several sheets. “What made you think of this?” His finger ran down a line of mathematical reasoning.

Amaryl looked it over, frowned, and thought about it. Then he explained his line of thinking.

Seldon listened and said, “Did you ever read a book by Anat Bigell?”

“On number theory?”

“The title was Mathematical Deduction. It wasn’t about number theory, particularly.”

Amaryl shook his head. “I never heard of him. I’m sorry.”

“He worked out this theorem of yours three hundred years ago.’

Amaryl looked stricken. “I didn’t know that.”

“I’m sure you didn’t. You did it more cleverly, though. It’s not rigorous, but-”

“What do you mean, ‘rigorous’?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Seldon put the papers back together in a sheaf, restored it to the bag, and said, “Make several copies of all this. Take one copy, have it dated by an official computer, and place it under computerized seal. My friend here, Mistress Venabili, can get you into Streeling University without tuition on some sort of scholarship. You’ll have to start at the begi

By now Amaryl had caught his breath. “Into Streeling University? They won’t take me.”

“Why not? Dors, you can arrange it, can’t you?”

“I’m sure I can.”

“No, you can’t,” said Amaryl hotly. “They won’t take me. I’m from Dahl.”

“Well?”

“They won’t take people from Dahl.”

Seldon looked at Dors. “What’s he talking about?”

Dors shook her head. “I really don’t know.”

Amaryl said, “You’re an Outworlder, Mistress. How long have you been at Streeling?”

“A little over two years, Mr. Amaryl.”

“Have you ever seen Dahlites there-short, curly black hair, big mustaches?”

“There are students with all kinds of appearances.”

“But no Dahlites. Look again the next time you’re there.”

“Why not?” said Seldon.

“They don’t like us. We look different. They don’t like our mustaches.”

“You can shave your-” but Seldon’s voice died under the other’s furious glance.

“Never. Why should I? My mustache is my manhood.”

“You shave your beard. That’s your manhood too.”

“To my people it is the mustache.”

Seldon looked at Dors again and murmured, “Bald heads, mustaches… madness.”

“What?” said Amaryl angrily.

“Nothing. Tell me what else they don’t like about Dahlites.”