Prelude to Foundation

Seldon started. “Why me?”

“Don’t be a fool. For the same reason I wanted you… to use you as a tool, of course.” She sighed. “At least I am not utterly betrayed. There are still loyal soldiers to be found.-Sergeant!”

Sergeant Emmer Thalus entered with a soft cautious step that seemed incongruous, considering his size. His uniform was spruce, his long blond mustache fiercely curled.

“Madam Mayor,” he said, drawing himself to attention with a snap. He was still, in appearance, the side of beef that Hari had named him-a man still following orders blindly, totally oblivious to the new and changed state of affairs.

Rashelle smiled sadly at Raych. “And how are you, little Raych? I had meant to make something of you. It seems now I won’t be able to.”

“Hello, Missus… Madam,” said Raych awkwardly.

“And to have made something of you too, Dr. Seldon,” said Rashelle, “and there also I must crave pardon. I ca

“For me, Madam, you need have no regrets.”

“But I do. I ca

“I would not work for him, Madam, I assure you, any more than I would have worked for you.”

“It is not a matter of work. It is a matter of being used. Farewell, Dr. Seldon. Sergeant, blast him.”

The sergeant drew his blaster at once and Dors, with a loud cry, lunged forward-but Seldon reached out for her and caught her by the elbow. He hung on desperately.

“Stay back, Dors,” he shouted, “or he’ll kill you. He won’t kill me. You too, Raych. Stand back. Don’t move.”

Seldon faced the sergeant. “You hesitate, Sergeant, because you know you ca

“What are you waiting for?” snapped Rashelle. “I said shoot him down, Sergeant.”

Seldon said nothing more. He stood there while the sergeant, eyes bulging, held his blaster steady and pointed at Seldon’s head.

“You have your order!” shrieked Rashelle.

“I have your word,” said Seldon quietly.

And Sergeant Thalus said in a choked tone, “Dishonored either way.” His hand fell and his blaster clanged to the floor.

Rashelle cried out, “Then you too betray me.”

Before Seldon could move or Dors free herself from his grip, Rashelle seized the blaster, turned it on the sergeant, and closed contact. Seldon had never seen anyone blasted before. Somehow, from the name of the weapon perhaps, he had expected a loud noise, an explosion of flesh and blood. This Wyan blaster, at least, did nothing of the sort. What mangling it did to the organs inside the sergeant’s chest Seldon could not tell but, without a change in expression, without a wince of pain, the sergeant crumbled and fell, dead beyond any doubt or any hope.

And Rashelle turned the blaster on Seldon with a firmness that put to rest any hope for his own life beyond the next second.

It was Raych, however, who jumped into action the moment the sergeant fell. Racing between Seldon and Rashelle, he waved his hands wildly.

“Missus, Missus,” he called. “Don’t shoot.”

For a moment, Rashelle looked confused. “Out of the way, Raych. I don’t want to hurt you.”

That moment of hesitation was all Dors needed. Breaking loose violently, she plunged toward Rashelle with a long low dive. Rashelle went down with a cry and the blaster hit the ground a second time.

Raych retrieved it.

Seldon, with a deep and shuddering breath, said, “Raych, give that to me.” But Raych backed away.

“Ya ain’t go

“I won’t kill anyone, Raych,” said Seldon. “She killed the sergeant and would have killed me, but she didn’t shoot rather than hurt you and we’ll let her live for that.”

It was Seldon, who now sat down, the blaster held loosely in his hand, while Dors removed the neuronic whip from the dead sergeant’s other holster.

A new voice rang out. “I’ll take care of her now, Seldon.”

Seldon looked up and in sudden joy said, “Hummin! Finally!”

“I’m sorry it took so long, Seldon. I had a lot to do. How are you, Dr. Venabili? I take it this is Ma

“Raych is a young Dahlite friend of ours,” said Seldon.

Soldiers were entering and, at a small gesture from Hummin, they lifted Rashelle respectfully.

Dors, able to suspend her intent surveillance of the other woman, brushed at her clothes with her hands and smoothed her blouse. Seldon suddenly realized that he was still in his bathrobe.

Rashelle, shaking herself loose from the soldiers with contempt, pointed to Hummin and said to Seldon, “Who is this?”

Seldon said, “It is Chetter Hummin, a friend of mine and my protector on this planet.”

“Your protector.” Rashelle laughed madly. “You fool! You idiot! That man is Demerzel and if you look at your Venabili woman, you will see from her face that she is perfectly aware of that. You have been trapped all along, far worse than ever you were with me!”

Hummin and Seldon sat at lunch that day, quite alone, a pall of quiet between them for the most part. It was toward the end of the meal that Seldon stirred and said in a lively voice, “Well, sir, how do I address you? I think of you as ‘Chester Hummin’ still, but even if I accept you in your other persona, I surely ca

The other said gravely, “Call me ‘Hummin’-if you don’t mind. Or ‘Chetter.’ Yes, I am Eto Demerzel, but with respect to you I am Hummin. As a matter of fact, the two are not distinct. I told you that the Empire is decaying and failing. I believe that to be true in both my capacities. I told you that I wanted psychohistory as a way of preventing that decay and failure or of bringing about a renewal and reinvigoration if the decay and failure must run its course. I believe that in both my capacities too.”

“But you had me in your grip-I presume you were in the vicinity when I had my meeting with His Imperial Majesty.”

“With Cleon. Yes, of course.”

“And you might have spoken to me, then, exactly as you later did as Hummin.”

“And accomplished what? As Demerzel, I have enormous tasks. I have to handle Cleon, a well-meaning but not very capable ruler, and prevent him, insofar as I can, from making mistakes. I have to do my bit in governing Trantor and the Empire too. And, as you see, I had to spend a great deal of time in preventing Wye from doing harm.”

“Yes, I know,” murmured Seldon.

“It wasn’t easy and I nearly lost out. I have spent years sparring carefully with Ma

“You almost lost me as a result. I faced the muzzle of a blaster twice.”

“I know,” said Hummin, nodding. “And we might have lost you Upperside too-another accident I could not foresee.”

“But you haven’t really answered my question. Why did you send me chasing all over the face of Trantor to escape from Demerzel when you yourself were Demerzel?”

“You told Cleon that psychohistory was a purely theoretical concept, a kind of mathematical game that made no practical sense. That might indeed have been so, but if I approached you officially, I was sure you would merely have maintained your belief. Yet I was attracted to the notion of psychohistory. I wondered whether it might not be, after all, just a game. You must understand that I didn’t want merely to use you, I wanted a real and practical psychohistory.