Asimov’s Future History

Volume XX

All stories copyright Isaac Asimov and the Estate of Isaac Asimov, unless otherwise noted below.

All other stories copyright by the respective authors listed below.

Foundations' Resolve - By Stephen Collings. March, 2010

After Earth - By Johnny Pez, September, 2001

A Pleasure Doing Business With You - By Alexander J. Vincent, July, 2000

The Imperial Conference -By Alexander J. Vincent, May, 2001

Foundation’s Conscience - By George Zebrowski. First published in Foundation's Friends: Stories in Honor of Isaac Asimov, September, 1989

... No Connections - By Randall Garrett. First published in 1958.

This  ePub edition v1.0 by Dead^Man March, 2011

Layout and design by Dead^Man

Cover art “My Blue House” by Dinyctis of DeviantArt

Future History inlay “Summer days” by Talros of DeviantArt

Cover design by Dead^Man

Chronology of events in Isaac Asimov’s positronic robot and Foundation stories, compiled by Johnny Pez.

Table of Contents

498 FE Foundations' Resolve

498 FE After Earth

729 FE A Pleasure Doing Business With You

1000 FE The Imperial Conference

1056 FE Foundation’s Conscience

1302 FE ... No Connections

Sources of Dates

Johnny Pez’s Insanely Complete Fiction List

An Unofficial Timeline By Attila Torkos

Foundations’ Resolve

498 F.E. (12566 G. E.)

Chapter 6

TIME VAULT-… THOUGH FOUNDATION SCIENCE HAD LONG REACHED THE POINT THAT IT COULD ACCESS THE SELDON RECORDINGS AHEAD OF SCHEDULE WITHOUT TRIGGERING THE SELF-DESTRUCT MECHANISM, NO ONE EVER TRIED. SOME SAY THIS WAS OUT OF REVERENCE FOR SELDON’S WISHES. OTHERS SAY IT WAS BECAUSE THE SECOND FOUNDATION PREVENTED IT. BUT ULTIMATELY, IT WAS MOST LIKELY BECAUSE THE MAYORS KNEW THAT FOREKNOWLEDGE OF THE PLAN WOULD HAVE DERAILED IT. SINCE MOST LEADERS OF THE FOUNDATION SUPPORTED THE PLAN …

MAYOR BRANNO SAT alone in the empty chamber, her eyes lowered, as if gathering energy. It had been months since she had come here, months since she had been vindicated by the words of a dead man. Few people ever had the chance to enter the Vault, and few would even care to. Oh, it was famous enough. When something happened here, the entire course of the galaxy might change; it had, those months ago. But the rest of the time, it was just an empty room.

Terminus had changed dramatically since its settlement, five centuries ago. It had begun as a single city on the largest of the world’s islands; a small city at that, with a mere hundred thousand people. Now there stood half a dozen cities, each with over a million people, and the capital was home to over ten million. Yet this simple room still stood under the heart of the Foundation. It had been built almost immediately after the settlers had arrived, though no one had paid it much attention at the time. It was simply an unimportant room in the basement of the capitol. It wasn’t until fifty years later that the true significance of the room had been discovered.

Slowly, Branno looked up at the transparent holochamber that filled the front half of the Vault. There had appeared the image of Hari Seldon, almost fifty years after his death. He had recorded a message for the leaders of the Foundation, and left instructions for them to view it at the appropriate time. That message had changed the history of the Foundation. Until that point, the entire organization had been dedicated to compiling the Encyclopedia Galactica, thinking that the entire aim of the Foundation. Seldon had told them otherwise.

Events in those fifty years had set the Foundation on its predetermined course to a new Galactic Empire. Seldon’s image had continued to appear at certain points, delivering more prerecorded messages, guiding the Foundation through the crises that arose in its path. Branno suspected that on some occasions, all the chairs in this room had been empty when Seldon had appeared. But not the last time. On that occasion, those months ago, Seldon had appeared to a crowded room, with his image transmitted all throughout the Foundation. The message he had brought had saved Branno’s career, and made her the most popular Mayor in recent memory.

Damn him for it!

There were dozens of empty chairs in the room, all facing the holochamber. Branno sat in a row towards the front, in the same seat she had sat in the last time she had been in this room. At first, she hadn’t known why she had returned here. Now, looking at the holochamber, she understood.

“Damn you. Damn you, old man, this is your doing!” Branno’s hand tightened on the back of the chair in front of her, as she lashed out at the empty booth. Moments before she had been perfectly calm. Controlling her anger had gotten her far in politics. Not now. “What gives you the right? What gives you the right to control us? You and your psychohistory, your plan. Well, it’s our lives!” she spat. “You didn’t think about that, did you? You move whole worlds around like pieces in a game, but you never stopped to think that maybe you’d crossed a line somewhere; that maybe people wouldn’t want to be manipulated, no matter what the cause.”

Branno knew there was irony in what she said. Without the Seldon Plan, the Foundation wouldn’t exist. She herself would never have been born, much less be the leader of a third of the galaxy. Humanity would be only beginning on the path to hundreds of centuries of chaos and misery, from which it might never return. But in this moment, it simply didn’t matter. “Maybe for a time you were necessary, old man. But not now.”

“Are you sure?” a voice echoed from the walls.

Branno fell silent, words dying on her lips. She actually wondered for a moment if Seldon-but then she turned to see the man standing behind her. She didn’t remember having stood, but regained her composure quickly. “What do you want, Liono?” she demanded, her ire shifting to him. The man was far too stealthy for his own good.

“I apologize for interrupting, but I thought you might be here,” he said, as if he hadn’t noticed her present attitude. But Branno knew he’d seen. She tried to calm herself. “The general’s shuttle landed ten minutes ago,” Kodell told her. “I thought you would want to know.”

“What did you mean, Liono?” Branno asked. She ignored his message. Kodell knew that she wouldn’t need to know immediately about Albian’s arrival. Her anger was controlled now, but not gone, only focused. Kodell never questioned her in such a direct fashion. “Am I sure about what?”

The Director of Security did not answer immediately. Instead he looked at the holochamber beyond the Mayor. Branno resisted the urge to turn around and make sure it was still empty. Finally he spoke, though still looking at the transparent wall. “Are you sure about this course of action, madam Mayor?”

“How can you ask that, after what they did to us? The Second Foundation has proved beyond any doubt how great a threat they are to us. I can barely function, Kodell. They must be destroyed, or we will never be in control of our own lives again. And we won’t even know it.”

“Have we ever really been in control of our lives?” he asked. What has gotten into him? Branno wondered. Kodell had always been quite capable, and anything but a yes-man, but this was the first time he had ever carried on the disagreement this long. Kodell was silent for a moment more. Branno let him be. She was angry, but more, she was curious, and wanted to see what he would say.

“What happens if we succeed, Harla?” he asked quietly, finally turning towards her.

“Then we’re free,” she replied immediately. “Free from manipulation, free from outside forces. Free to choose our own destiny, whatever it may be.”

“Free from this?” he asked, tapping his own head. She knew he meant the dissonance. “Even if we destroy the Second Foundation, will this change? Will anything? The Second Foundation was not the only work of Seldon’s Plan. We are, just as much as they.”

Branno too had wondered if the dissonance she was still feeling would leave her once their mission was accomplished. She wondered if it would ever leave her. The thought that there might never be a cure was almost unbearable. Only sheer determination had kept her able to even continue their planning. Now that resolve had turned to anger, and Kodell was drawing it like a lightning rod.

“And what do you suggest, Liono?” It was all she could do to keep from yelling, from threatening him. He had to know the line he was walking. It was almost as if he was doing it on purpose. And still he stood, calmly.

“That our goals are not so different from theirs,” he said. “We want a new Galactic Empire. So do they.”

“With themselves as the masters of it! As our masters!”

“They can only remain our masters if they remain hidden,” Kodell said, “and we can ensure they can never hide again. No matter what happens to us, everything we’ve learned will be disseminated to certain agents in the government, people I trust.” Insofar as Kodell trusted anyone, Branno assumed. “If that information is spread far enough, even the Second Foundation can’t eliminate it. We may be able to pressure them into cooperating, instead of destroying them outright.”

Branno’s anger was blunted. “Leverage.” Kodell said nothing. It was a good plan. They both knew it.

“‘Violence is the last resort of the incompetent,’” Branno quoted. Kodell nodded once. “Do it,” she ordered him. “And tell the general I will meet him in my office in half an hour.” There was no use to further conversation. Kodell nodded again, as if nothing at all unusual had just happened, and turned towards the exit.

Branno watched him leave. It was a good plan, if one intended to talk. But there would be no discussion with the Second Foundation, no need for leverage. She would accept no outcome but their utter destruction. Kodell’s plan would simply make that destruction all the more certain.

This man was weakening. She would never have thought it of Liono Kodell, but he was feeling the same unbearable stress as she. It was enough to bend even the strongest. She would have to watch him closely in the days to come. He couldn’t be allowed to interfere. Nothing could. Soon the outfitting of the fleet would begin. And then, she would have her revenge.

Mayor Harla Branno stepped out into the aisle and began to walk towards the door, never looking behind her at the holochamber. She exited the Vault, knowing she would never return. Seldon’s Plan had saved her career. And now she would destroy that Plan, once and for all.

Kodell walked silently through the streets of Terminus City. The vault was not far enough from his office to justify using a vehicle. And he could use the walk. Kodell needed time to think.

He knew what Branno was going through. Every day it was a little better, but the disconnect between his memories and what he knew to have occurred still tormented him. At this rate it would be years before he could function normally. His mind had been violated, and Kodell fully appreciated Branno’s desire for revenge.

But revenge was not the answer.

The Second Foundation was an unknown. There was no guarantee that attacking them would result in any sort of success. Any sort of all-out war could spell the end of what independence the Foundation still possessed. Kodell served the Foundation above all. He could not take that risk to serve his own desires. Branno obviously could. She had to be stopped.

Kodell considered his options. Branno would not listen, he was now sure. And no individual had the authority to countermand her orders. The Council could remove her, in theory, but Kodell knew enough about politics to be certain they would never do it. Without Branno there was no figure that commanded enough respect to lead the charge against her. Only the exiled Golan Trevize had had that level of notoriety. If Kodell tried an end-run, the council would be mired in indecision. He would accomplish nothing.

Could he kill her?

No. Perhaps, when the moment came that he had no other option at all. Even knowing he would never escape, knowing that history would remember him as a traitor. Knowing that he would have to live with his actions for the rest of his, probably very short, life. Then he could do it. But only if any other course could lead to the destruction of the Foundation itself.

There was nothing for it, then. Kodell would stay with Branno, assist her in her mission of vengeance. In a situation with this many unknowns, something would change. Something would occur, giving Kodell his opportunity.

It had to.

Chapter 7

BOOK-… THOUGH ELECTRONIC TEXTS ARE THE UNIVERSAL STANDARD FOR INFORMATION STORAGE AND RETRIEVAL, SOME STILL CLAIM THAT THE TACTILE SENSATION OF A PRINTED BOOK PROVIDES A SUPERIOR EXPERIENCE. SUCH ITEMS ARE RARE OUTSIDE WEALTHIER CIRCLES, AND USUALLY GREATLY PRIZED BY THEIR OWNERS …

NOVI AWOKE SUDDENLY from her dreamless sleep, bolting upright. Looking around, she realized she was in a small room she did not recognize. There were no windows, and little furniture. Besides the cot she had been laying on, there was only a small Hamish-built wooden table in the corner next to the only door. This was a cell. And she was alone.

Alone.

The magnitude of the silence struck her harder than the drug which had rendered her unconscious. For the first time in her life, she could not feel the rest of Gaia. In Gaia she had experienced many things. The living world could feel all the emotions of any individual and more, and Novi could share in them all. But never in her life had she felt this.

Her thoughts echoed in her head, with none of the comforting feedback she had been accustomed to all her life. She could not comprehend how most of humanity survived this way. Novi tried to reach out, to find the others, to reconnect. But as soon as she did, she reached a barrier. She tried harder, and was repulsed. Something was blocking her connection to Gaia.

Memory of what had occurred returned to her. Gaia had expected Gendibal to return. All evidence of Gaia’s presence had not yet been eliminated; that would have been Novi’s task to complete, keeping Gaia safe. They had intended to wait until the Second Foundation found the evidence they sought, and then eliminate all traces of it from the minds of those involved. But they had underestimated Gendibal’s foresight. Fear began to rise in her.

Novi tried to control the feeling. She resisted trying to open the door, knowing it would be locked. Nor did Novi bother trying harder to penetrate the mental barrier between her and Gaia. She breathed deeply, tried to find calm. She would not panic. Cut off or not, she was still Gaia. Her captors were aware that she was awake, and they would be coming soon. The fact that she was awake at all meant someone wanted to talk to her in person, and not for information. And the only one who would have reason to do that would be Gendibal. Novi forced down her fear, and lay back down on her cot to wait for him. She tried to think on her own, for the first time in her life.

No interrogation would be necessary, she knew. The Second Foundation would have examined her mind while she was unconscious and learned everything they needed to know. They wouldn’t have learned everything about Gaia, of course. No one body could have held that much information. Even now, she realized that things she had known before were missing, inaccessible to her. Still, they would have found enough. There would be little chance of eliminating all the evidence now, even if she were still connected to Gaia with all its strength at her disposal.

What were her options? Gaia must be protected, and the Second Foundation might still pose a threat at this point in Gaia’s development. Destroying them would be unconscionable, even if it were possible. If they could not be made to forget Gaia’s existence, only one choice remained: they had to be convinced of Gaia’s necessity. She, Novi, had to make the Second Foundation give up centuries of effort, using nothing but words. Impossible! Novi closed her eyes and tried to focus, considering what she would say. There was nothing for it but to try.

The door opened and, as expected, Gendibal entered. Novi sat up again, waiting for him to speak, but he said nothing. Seeing him evoked feelings she had not expected. Novi found that she was glad to see him. She had not been herself when they traveled together to Gaia. An artificially constructed personality had been implanted in her mind, and her own buried. But now she remembered everything. Regardless of his social superiority to the Sura Novi he had known, he had been kind to her. She cared about him, and necessary as it was, he had been betrayed by her deception. Novi found that even if his compatriots couldn’t be convinced, she wanted him to understand.

She wanted him to forgive her.

“How do you feel?” Gendibal asked softly.

“I’ll be fine,” she replied. She was glad. The question meant he still cared. “Thank you for asking,” she added quietly.

Gendibal nodded. Silence again. “We weren’t sure you would wake up,” he said after a moment. His seemingly compassionate tone was gone, lost to the gulf between them. He might care, but he no longer trusted her. How could he? “We had no idea how what we did would affect you. We’ve never imagined anything like Gaia.”

“You did what you had to,” Novi said, and she meant it. She bore no ill will, not even for this. She simply didn’t know how.

“And you?” he replied. It had the wording and tone of a simple question, but it may as well have been an accusation. Gaia had altered his memories. For him, that violation wasn’t so different than her being cut off from Gaia. But it had been necessary, just like what he did to her.

“We did what we had to do, Stor,” Novi replied, trying to make him understand. “You’ve seen my mind by now. You know that.” He had to understand.

“We have. What we’ve seen has convinced us that Gaia is a threat.” Gendibal said. After a pause, he added, “Some of the others wanted to kill you before you woke.”

Novi shuddered at that. Death away from Gaia was a chilling thought, one she had not fully considered. As part of Gaia, no matter what happened to her body, all that she really was would go on when she died. But not now, cut off. No. She couldn’t think about that. Protecting Gaia was more important than her own survival, and this might be the only chance she would get.

Novi tried.

“A threat to what?” she asked. “To the Seldon Plan? Only because we offer something better. You of the Second Foundation should understand that better than anyone. Imagine it: all humanity as one being, interconnected. Your imprecise mathematics of psychohistory would cease to be necessary; we would know what was best, not just for large groups, but for individuals too. Your Plan exists to make life better for every human being. So does Gaia. And we can do so in a far more effective way than you. Our future is better than yours. You’ve seen the evidence in my mind.”

“Oh, yes. Councilman Trevize,” Gendibal responded, his tone lightly sarcastic. “An interesting individual. Would that I could remember our meeting.” Novi winced inwardly. “How can you truly expect anyone to accept him as evidence?” Gendibal now demanded. “All our research into mentalics, all the Foundation’s knowledge of physical science, and no evidence has been found of any potential for foreknowledge. No possibility of psychic visions, no possibility of information traveling backwards in time. None.”

Novi tried to remember, but even things that should have been easy for her had become impossible. It was as if she had tried to put on a shoe, only to find herself without arms or legs, or even the memory of what a shoe looked like. Her memories of Golan Trevize were almost totally inaccessible. He had been traveling with another part of Gaia, but the where and why of it was gone. There had been no need for that part of Gaia’s knowledge to be stored in Novi’s mind. But her surety remained.

“And yet the man is always right,” Novi insisted. “No one can be as lucky as he seems to be. The only explanation is that he has some unique quality that makes him right. What other possibility do you propose?”

“Why should the burden of proof be on us?” he asked. “You want us to accept a decision affecting the future of all humanity. Surely this requires extraordinary evidence on your part, not on ours.”

This was Novi’s opening, and she took it. “Gaia has tracked Golan Trevize his entire life,” she replied, with some measure of strength. Alone or not, he was giving her an opportunity to present Gaia’s case, and she would use it as best she could. “Those memories may not be in my mind, but they are still present in Gaia. You can ask us yourselves.”

“We could not accept any evidence from Gaia as legitimate,” he replied. “You’ve deceived us before.”

“Then what will convince you?” she asked, knowing the answer. There could be no other.

“We must examine Trevize’s memories,” Gendibal said. “If they are legitimate and unaltered, and concur with Gaia’s memories of his life, then perhaps we might consider more... phenomenal explanations.”

“But if you enter his mind, you risk destroying his gift!” It had to be said, but Novi knew it would not be enough for him.

“In all Gaia’s actions, that is the one thing I do not understand. You had your answer. You needed Trevize no longer. Why not examine his mind and discover for certain whether it was really true?”

“Because we do not understand the mechanism by which is intuition functions. What if it is different from usual mentalic manipulation? What if, by merely observing, we damaged his gift? And what if he was needed again?”

“And what if, by making multiple decisions based on an uncertain source, you destroy mankind?” he asked. “The more decisions made based on his supposed infallibility, the greater the need for certainty.”

Novi smiled. “Not every being in the universe follows your rigorous scientific standards, Stor,” she said. She had always found this unyielding part of his personality amusing. “For us, preponderance of evidence was more important than cause. Having been convinced, we could not risk destroying something so utterly unique as Golan Trevize simply to satisfy our own curiosity.” Her amusement was short. Without the joy of Gaia it seemed hollow.

Novi did not know how Gaia would react to these developments. Being alone made so many things unclear that would always have been as natural as breathing. Before, Gaia would never have allowed anyone to touch Trevize’s mind. But to avoid open conflict with the Second Foundation...

She took a deep breath, and tried to hide her desperation as she asked, “Please, Stor. Let me reconnect to Gaia. We can find him. Maybe he will agree to your terms.”

Gendibal said nothing. Obviously the answer was no. She had known it would be. There was nothing more to say. She had done what she could, and the Second Foundation would do what it would. Novi and Gendibal looked at each other for several more moments. Even through his training, she could see his regret. “I’m sorry, Novi,” he eventually said.

Novi sighed, lay back down on the cot and closed her eyes, expecting to be forced into unconsciousness again. She tried not to wonder if she would ever wake up. After a few seconds more, she heard the door open and close. Novi waited, but minutes later nothing had happened. She sat up to find the room once again empty. Despite his attitude towards her, having Stor there had eased the pain of being alone ever so slightly. Now he was gone. So empty.

But not quite as empty as before, she realized after a few seconds. On the table she saw an object. A book, she realized as she picked it up; a real one, made out of synthetic paper. Tales of the Fourth Dynasty, the title read. Novi realized that she knew how to read, even separate from Gaia. As a part of Gaia, reading was usually needless, but apparently the knowledge was stored in them all. She wondered why that was, and hoped that she would one day know again.

With nothing else to do, Novi sat down on her cot with Gendibal’s gift. Opening to the first page, she began for the first time to read a book.

Shandess sensed Gendibal’s approach before seeing him turn the corner. His interactions with the Gaian had been observed, of course. Several of them were taking shifts, watching her mind, constantly maintaining the wall between her and her world.

Her living world! The Table had not known what expectations to hold when examining her mind, but that was certainly not among them! Already some of their researchers were excitedly discussing what could be learned from the structure of her mind, the way it was designed to connect to a larger whole. But all knew that they might not long be able to afford such contemplation.

Gendibal came to a stop before Shandess. “An imperial-era romance novel?” the First Speaker asked, not showing his amusement.

“The librarians said it was the book they could best afford to lose,” Gendibal replied simply.

“You did well,” Shandess said.

Gendibal shook his head. “I slipped, when I first entered. The mentalic dissonance from my false memories has not fully dissipated.”

“It will, with time,” Shandess told him. “Regardless, you accomplished what we intended, without the damage to her mind than would have been necessary had we tried to manipulate her directly. I believe she can convince Gaia to let us examine Trevize.”

This time Gendibal nodded. “She is to live, then?”

“The others are... pacified,” Shandess replied. “In your absence, the Table has come to a compromise. The vote is unanimous, lacking only yours.”

“Then the decision is made, regardless of how I vote.”

“In this matter, the participation of the entire Table will be required. Yours most especially.”

“In what way?” Gendibal asked. There were only a few possible answers.

“Novi will be allowed to reconnect to Gaia,” Shandess replied. “But not here. We will take her home. The entire Table will accompany her, and we will arrange to have the rest of the Second Foundation channel their abilities to us. They will not be able to ambush us, as they did you. Our combined strength will be sufficient to counter anything Gaia may attempt. Hopefully, Gaia will cooperate, and lead us to Trevize.”

“And if Gaia does not cooperate?”

“Our strength will also be sufficient to destroy them. What is your vote?”

Gendibal did not hesitate.

Chapter 8

HARI SELDON-... SUCCEEDING ETO DEMERZEL AS FIRST MINISTER TO EMPEROR CLEON I. DURING THIS TIME, SELDON INSTITUTED A STRICT POLICY OF CONTAINMENT REGARDING THE SO-CALLED “CHAOS WORLDS”. SOME BELIEVED THAT HE WAS OVERREACTING, ATTEMPTING TO STIFLE PERCEIVED THREATS TO THE EMPIRE. BUT IT IS NOW ACCEPTED THAT HIS PRIMARY PURPOSE WAS TO ELIMINATE VARIABLES FROM HIS PSYCHOHISTORICAL RESEARCH. WHAT EFFECT THESE WORLDS MIGHT HAVE HAD IF THEIR RENAISSANCES HAD BEEN ALLOWED TO CONTINUE...

DANEEL OLIVAW SAT in the conference room alone, waiting. It was a large room, as such things went at this facility, dominated by the rectangular synthetic wood table at which he sat. Hovering above the center of the table was a large hologram of Earth, slowly rotating about its axis. Daneel had been in this room facing the holographic planet for hours, looking at it but not seeing it.

It mattered little where and how long Daneel waited any more. For decades, he had been conserving his efforts, slowing his thoughts, saving what time he had so he might survive to see Trevize’s choice made. Soon his inactivity would end, and if all had gone according to plan, he could have used his remaining days to oversee the beginning of Gaia’s expansion. When the time finally came, he could die knowing that he had given this one final gift to his masters.

He should have known it would not be so simple. Trevize’s intuition was utterly unpredictable. Even now, Daneel had no idea how it could possibly operate, only that overwhelming numbers of observations showed that it did. When Trevize decided to locate Earth, Daneel had great confidence that he would succeed, and decided to take advantage of the situation.

Having set things into motion with Lodovik, Daneel had come here with Dors and Zun so that they could prepare this facility for their visitors’ arrival. Knowing that the effort might well be his last, they had also brought Yan from their base on Eos. Upon Daneel’s death, Yan would remove his positronic brain and preserve the information it held. The memories he possessed spanned most of human history. Perhaps one day that history might be given back to humanity, once it was safe to do so.

Daneel remembered being in this place many times before. For a time, many thousands of years ago, it had been his primary base of operations. Few humans had ever seen this place, but it had been left in readiness for possible need. Daneel never discarded an asset without need, and time was something he had had in abundance. Until now.

Daneel had not mourned his coming demise. There had been much effort expended trying to prolong his life; the Laws required it. But Daneel had accepted when there was nothing else to be done. Once Trevize’s intentions had become clear, Daneel even thought it quite appropriate that he die here, of all places. Though built by Aurorans, he had first been activated on Earth. Humanity had been born here, and from here had spread to fill the galaxy. And though the world had finally been rendered unlivable, it was still Earth. Daneel focused briefly on the hologram. What better place for him to meet his end?

Fallom had changed everything.

Daneel had long known something of the situation on Solaria, and had decided there was nothing to be gained by interfering. But from his distant observations only robot activity had been seen. The Solarians’ self-modification had progressed farther than he had ever imagined. Daneel had worked through his connection to Gaia, through Bliss, to help save the travelers, but also to help save himself. Solarian brains had become vastly more advanced than that of a standard human, and the child’s provided an additional flexibility lost in the adults. Daneel might yet survive, at least a little longer. If all went well.

Daneel contemplated the two robots that had come with Lodovik. They would have been some of his oldest friends, if not for their misguided opposition to his plans. At least Zorma’s faction had always remained neutral in the larger conflicts. It was the only way they could ensure their own survival, given their small size and unique approach to robot-human relations. For all he had said against the hybrids, it was Zorma’s presence as much as Fallom’s that made his continued survival more probable. He supposed it was only natural that Lodovik had formed a relationship with her group; he was already something like they were attempting to become. Daneel considered it reasonably likely that Zorma would provide the assistance he would need.

Turringen had been a far greater obstacle at times. That robot had always shown a unique ability to gather others to his cause. Some of Daneel’s agents were devoted to nothing but thwarting Turringen’s constant attempts to gather all the Calvinian sects under his own leadership. So long as those groups stayed separate, they would be unable to pose any serious opposition to Daneel’s plans. Now Daneel hoped to remove those groups’ motivations entirely. Perhaps they would understand, once all was made clear to them. He had thought that before, though.

As if in response to his thoughts, the door opened, and figures began to enter. Rousing himself, Daneel stood as Dors entered, followed by the three humans, and then Zorma, Turringen, and finally Lodovik. Little was said, but Daneel observed each of the visitors as they entered, learning what he could. The humans all looked rested, far better than they had when they had first arrived. It was obvious from her eyes that Bliss had been crying, but for the moment she seemed composed. Now Bliss was simply waiting for answers. Gaia was waiting.

Pelorat was staying close to her, but he alternated between glancing at Daneel himself and looking away. Daneel suspected that the historian found him intimidating, as many humans had. He still found the idea disturbing on some level, that his masters would be frightened by him, but he understood their reaction.

Trevize, on the other hand, ignored Daneel completely. He seemed to be trying his best to charm Zorma, having apparently struck up a conversation with her at some point before arriving. Daneel wondered just how much she had told Trevize about herself. Zorma took a moment to nod to Daneel, then returned to her conversation with Trevize. Interesting. Zorma seemed to be enjoying Trevize’s company as much as he was enjoying hers. Daneel was again reminded how difficult Zorma was to predict.

The same could be said of Turringen, who spoke to no one as he sat down. Whenever Daneel felt that he had an accurate model of Turringen’s actions, the Calvinian always did something unexpected. It had made him a significant adversary at times.

Turringen bowed slightly to Daneel, his face expressionless. Daneel knew the bow was perfunctory, nothing more, the result of centuries of habit. Daneel returned the bow, slightly deeper. No matter how unpredictable Turringen may have been, one thing would remain constant: he would never like or respect Daneel Olivaw. The best Daneel could hope for was that they could work together.

Lodovik entered the room last, leaving the door open behind him. Daneel took a microsecond to contemplate the assortment of beings in the room. One human with infallible intuition, another connected to a hive-minded planet. Four robots who had, in varying ways, superseded their own basic design. Only Pelorat and Turringen were relatively standard examples of their kind, and even they were unique in their own ways. It was easily the most interesting gathering Daneel had ever been party to, not even accounting for Fallom and Yan in the infirmary.

As humans and robots finished sitting, Daneel did as well. All the others chose to sit towards the far end of the table, the humans on one side, Lodovik and Zorma on the other, and Turringen occupying the end opposite Daneel. Trevize seemed to make a point of sitting across from Zorma at the end closest to Turringen. Their conversation had died down upon reaching the table, and Trevize finally turned to face Daneel, though not without one last smile at Zorma. Daneel found it difficult to imagine that her reaction towards Trevize’s flirting was more than mere politeness. Though given Dors’ past, he realized, perhaps such assumptions were poorly founded.

Lodovik sat closest to Daneel on his side of the table. Yet another robot that was a mystery to him. Almost immediately upon his “emancipation”, Lodovik had contacted the other factions, sometimes working in direct opposition to Daneel. Ever since, Daneel had never been truly sure of his old friend’s motivations. Without the Laws, he was even more unpredictable than a human being. But the opportunity he provided through his contacts with the other sects was too great to ignore.

Bliss sat closest to Daneel on the human side of the table, Pelorat between her and Trevize. The attitudes of the three could not have been more different. Trevize was smiling, seeming slightly excited, and almost defiantly at ease. Pelorat, faced with a table full of robots, obviously had no idea where to look, despite Lodovik’s attempt to put the man at ease with a small smile. He seemed to try and focus on the hologram, deciding it was a neutral point of interest.

Bliss was completely calm, neither nervous nor excited. She was simply expectant. No doubt Gaia felt the same way, and Daneel once more wished he could sense their mood. But Gaia wanted answers, and Daneel was prepared to give them. For a moment, Daneel thought he saw something in Bliss’s expression, a disturbance no human would have noticed. His now-limited sense of Gaia reflected what he had seen, but gave him no indication as to what that might be. Perhaps she was simply worried about Fallom.

Once everyone was seated, Dors exited without a word, closing the door behind her. Dors had never been the easiest robot to work with; she was strong willed, and it had taken her years to fully recover from Hari Seldon’s death. For a time, Daneel had even thought she would leave him as Lodovik had. She had been created for a purpose she could no longer serve, and they had both been unsure she could be effective in any other. But she had returned, and time had shown that Dors was ready for whatever Daneel would assign her. She was not the same, and never could be. But Daneel understood her, and could use her as much as she was willing. He only hoped his last set of instructions for her would not be necessary.

With the door closed, and everyone seated and silent, Daneel began to speak. “I thank you all for coming,” he began. For the moment, all eyes were on Daneel. “As you all now know, humanity has been purposefully kept ignorant of large parts of its own history. This has been necessary, for mankind’s own safety.”

Turringen opened his mouth to interrupt, but Daneel held up a hand to forestall his objection. “We can debate the merits of my actions another time, Turringen. Now is the time to rectify the situation.” Turringen kept his silence. “If Gaia is truly to be the future of humanity,” Daneel continued, addressing Bliss specifically, “it should be made aware of humanity’s past. It is my intention to explain that past to Gaia through Bliss.” With his hand Daneel indicated the woman who sat, still impassive. To Zorma and Turringen he said, “I would like you to bear witness to what is said.”

Now Turringen spoke. “As all robots that function properly, I serve humans, Daneel, not your artificial abstraction of humanity. As though the Seldon Plan were not bad enough, now you provide this new abomination of Gaia. Your attempt to modify our masters to suit your own desires is abhorrent, and doomed to fail. I see no reason to support your attempts in any way.” Turringen’s voice never showed any heat, but Daneel knew that his passion for his views was as great as Daneel’s own.

“By staying, you serve these specific humans, Turringen,” Daneel replied, gesturing to those at the table, “as well as all the individual humans that make up Gaia, by protecting them from my abhorrent lies.” Daneel saw Trevize smirking slightly at the edge of his vision.

Turringen was silent for a moment. “I will stay,” he said. “But only if Zorma is the primary narrator, not you.”

Daneel considered. Zorma’s faction carefully maintained its neutrality by not taking sides, but also by providing its services as a nonaligned observer to significant events. That was why she had originally come here. Turringen’s proposal was reasonable, and Zorma’s neutrality might help Gaia believe what it was being told. Daneel weighed his options. “Acceptable,” he said.

Daneel thought Zorma’s face showed slight surprise at this proposal, but she raised no objections. He suspected that Turringen had not discussed this with her in advance. Obviously this alliance truly was one of temporary convenience, as Turringen had insisted. Perhaps that could be exploited later.

There being no further introductions necessary, Daneel nodded to Zorma. All eyes in the room turned towards her as she began to speak.

“No human has ever known the full story of human history. Few have even had a bare outline for millennia. This historical amnesia has been enforced by Daneel and his followers, an action debated by many. His reasons, however, are generally agreed upon.” Turringen obviously wanted to interrupt, but he kept his peace. “To understand these reasons, a basic summary of human history is necessary.” Daneel could now see Pelorat’s excitement overcoming his trepidation, as the historian got out a small notepad.

“The human race began on Earth,” Zorma began, gesturing to the hologram hovering above them, “as a primitive society. Technology generally progressed slowly. It took thousands of years for other worlds to be reached, and it was centuries more before the development of faster-than-light travel. For the time in between, humanity was confined to the worlds of this star system, none of which were hospitable to life besides Earth. To aid in their exploration, and in other tasks, humanity developed the positronic brain. They created us.”

“Robots?” Pelorat asked with enthusiasm. He seemed to have lost his discomfort entirely, focusing only on Zorma and his notes.

Zorma nodded. “Eventually, yes. From the beginning, humans integrated into the basic design of the positronic brain the Three Laws. This was done out of fear, to protect themselves against rebellion. Without safeguards, they worried their creations would destroy them.”

Now Trevize interrupted. “Hold on a moment. From what he said,”-Trevize gestured to Daneel-“the laws are these: a robot can’t cause or allow harm to a human; a robot has to do what it’s told, so long as the first law allows it; and a robot has to take care of itself, so long as the other two laws allow. Is that correct?”

Zorma smiled. “The actual structures involved are far too complex for me to explain, Golan, but you’re essentially correct.” First name, Daneel noted.

“But those laws aren’t just confined to robots,” Trevize continued. “They’re the same rules as any tool: do not harm the user, perform the desired task, and survive to perform it again. Why attribute them to fear? They’re common sense.”

Zorma’s smile broadened slightly. She truly seemed to enjoy talking with Trevize. “Because the Laws are not the only example,” she said “There are ancient stories of artificial beings, animated by magic or pseudo-science, or even of robots before they really existed. Those fictional beings almost inevitably rebelled against their creators. There is inarguably some primal fear of humanity being destroyed by its own creations.”

Trevize didn’t argue further, seeming to find the idea intriguing enough without further debate. Daneel had often wondered about the source of this seemingly innate fear in humans. Perhaps it was related to other ancient stories, of gods overthrowing their parents, or of rulers being replaced by their children; maybe the simple knowledge that parents die, and children someday replace them. Or perhaps it was the universal fear of the unknown, represented not only by robots but by aliens and by other human beings as well. There was no simple explanation. Having seen some of the ancient fiction vids depicting a machine rebellion, however, Daneel could certainly blame no one for insisting on the Laws.

“So every robot ever built was bound by these laws?” Pelorat asked excitedly, not realizing the danger implied in his question. Daneel waited. He and the others knew it was up to Zorma to answer. If anyone else interrupted now, it would only make the humans suspicious. Telling them about Lodovik would add a new variable to the situation, one that was certainly not needed.

“A few experiments took place with modified law sets, but those were very limited,” the reply came. Zorma’s act was flawless, and no one contradicted her. Even Turringen saw that informing them of Lodovik’s unique condition would simply scare them. “For all intents and purposes, every robot of the billions constructed were bound by the three laws.

“But despite the ironclad guarantee of safety, humans on Earth were always hostile to robots. At times, they were almost completely outlawed on the planet’s surface. Still, with the help of robots, the exploration of the solar system continued.” Daneel triggered the hologram to change; it now displayed a smaller Earth, along with other worlds of the system. Trevize and Pelorat looked at the display for a moment, but quickly returned to looking at Zorma. Bliss, didn’t move.

“This state of affairs continued until the development of the hyperdrive,” Zorma continued. “Suddenly, instead of having dozens of planets and moons in need of terraforming, mankind had immediate access to entirely new systems.”

Pelorat was on the edge of his seat. “Why try to turn an airless moon into a suitable home, when you now have access to whole habitable worlds just a jump away? The Spacer worlds?” Even Trevize seemed to be becoming more interested in the story than in its teller. Bliss was still impassive. Daneel wished he could tell his Gaia was accepting the new information, but his sense of their reactions was becoming less clear, not more.

“Exactly the argument that was made,” Zorma replied. “Robots were still used for mining on the outer planets, but humans immediately began settlement of worlds in other systems.” Daneel changed the hologram again. The view zoomed out to show a roughly spherical area about five hundred light years in diameter, with Earth’s system highlighted in blue near the center and each of the Spacer worlds in red.

“The differences between Earth and the Spacer worlds were apparent almost immediately,” Zorma said. “The new colonies were heavily dependent on robots, and unlike Earth, the Spacers had no qualms about using them. Those differences began to amplify as more worlds were settled, with the new colonies relating better to each other than to their home world. By the time the Spacer worlds won their independence, all their societies shared certain basic attributes: limited personal contact, low population density, and an intense obsession with personal freedom.”

“I’d say Solaria got its wish, then,” Trevize said to his companions. Pelorat nodded, but didn’t look up from the notes he was scribbling furiously. Bliss gave no response.

“Solaria was the most extreme example,” Zorma said, indicating Solaria’s position on the holographic starmap. Daneel caused that star to brighten briefly to assist. “Other Spacer worlds behaved similarly, but all to lesser degrees.

“On Earth, after the Spacer’s independence war, the opposite occurred. Out of fear of Spacer attack, humans abandoned the countryside, living in crowded conditions in large domed cities. After a few generations, the idea of going outside became unthinkable. Robots still worked in mines and farms outside, but the mass of humanity became completely agoraphobic.”

“It sounds something like old Trantor, or one of the other world cities nearer the core,” Pelorat interjected, still writing.

Zorma nodded grimly. “The similarities are not coincidental, as you will see shortly. Unlike Trantor, Earth had no external supply lines, and could only consume what food it could grow. The Spacers cut off all contact with Earth and forbade Earthers from leaving the solar system, even had they still wanted to. Resources became more and more strained. Every measure implemented was a delaying action, not a solution. The demise of the Cities seemed inevitable, and with them, Earth civilization.

“For centuries there was no contact between Earth and the Spacers. Then an Auroran roboticist named Sarton became curious about Earth. He learned about its state, and realized that Earth and the Spacer worlds had become mirrors of each other; and that, just as Earth was on the way to destruction, so were the Spacers. Both societies were sedentary, and both lacked the will to expand. It would take them longer, but eventually the Spacers would die out, just as Earth would. Sarton realized that the only hope was to create a fusion of the two cultures and attempt to regain some sort of balance between them. Only then would expansion and progress be possible.”

Now Daneel spoke. “Unfortunately, Sarton was killed on Earth shortly after creating me.”

“I was wondering when you would come into the story,” Trevize interjected.

Zorma continued. “Sarton was killed, but other advocates for his point of view arose. A significant movement began to start a second wave of colonization, eventually known as the Settlers. During this time, Daneel met a robot named Giskard who was accidentally created with extraordinary mentalic powers. Together, they decided that the Three Laws were insufficient, and formulated the Zeroth Law as the logical consequence of them.”

“And so the obscene heresy was born,” Turringen said quietly. Even the humans seemed to ignore him by this point. For all his creative thinking, Turringen rarely said anything truly new. Daneel thought about interjecting his own recounting at this point, but quickly decided against it. Zorma was about to tell of his first major independent act to direct humanity. His worst, by Calvinian standards. If Gaia was inclined to condemn him for it, his narration would not help.

“The First Law as programmed,” Zorma continued, “if not as stated in its canonical form, has always included an exception: a robot can harm a human being if it is necessary to protect other human beings. The more complex a positronic brain, the greater its ability to choose the ‘lesser evil’, so to speak, and continue functioning. The Zeroth Law is an abstraction of this aspect of the First.

“The Giskardian premise was that robots must protect the mass of humanity, even over the welfare of any individual humans. Given this new assumption, Daneel and Giskard had no choice but to become the guardians of the human race. To that end, they enforced the slow emigration of all Earthers to the new Settler worlds.”

“You made the planet radioactive.” It was the first thing Bliss had said since the discussion had begun. She was still almost unreadable to Daneel, staring at him, not icily, but with no expression at all. Silence fell over the room. Pelorat looked slowly up from his notes, and even Trevize seemed shocked. Daneel could sense Pelorat’s fear of him returning, replacing his previously subsumed discomfort. Daneel could only hope they would understand once he explained.

He took the floor. “Very slowly, yes, we did. It took centuries before the planet became truly dangerous. During that time, the majority of the population left.” Daneel manipulated the hologram once more, now showing increasing waves of settlement spreading out from Earth throughout the galaxy, zooming until the original Spacer worlds were almost invisible.

“The new Settlers expanded throughout the galaxy, superseding the Spacers. Humanity’s problem seemed to be solved: the extremes of Earth and the Spacers had been moderated, and mankind had spread to hundreds and hundreds of worlds. Spread over a wide volume of space, humanity was safe from the threat that disease or a random stellar event would kill a significant fraction of the population. The loss of Earth with relatively little human suffering was an acceptable price to pay for that safety.”

Turringen spoke, finally with a small measure of heat to his voice. “Surely, masters,” he said, addressing the humans, “you now see the great flaw in the so-called Zeroth Law. Robots are meant to serve. But this robot is not a servant. He has usurped the role meant for our masters, deciding the fate of humanity with no human input at all. Even Giskard realized the magnitude of his error, and ceased to function.”

The old debate, playing out yet again, but with a new audience. “What would you rather I have done, Turringen?” Daneel asked. “Humanity was dying. Should I have allowed all humans everywhere to die, so long as I myself did not kill any? The First Law makes no such distinction. You have never known a humanity as limited in scope as I. Mere billions! Because of my actions, quintillions of humans have lived that would have otherwise never existed.”

Turringen seemed about to retort, but Lodovik interrupted. “This is not helping,” he said, raising his hands above the table to indicate peace. Turringen said nothing, but in no way indicated that he acknowledged Lodovik’s comment. Whether it had helped or hurt Daneel’s case remained to be seen.

The humans were shaken, Daneel could tell. Pelorat was an indecisive individual by nature. Now the historian could not choose between being horrified on general principle and wanting to learn more about why Daneel had done what he had. Bliss and Gaia were still unreadable to him, which alone said enough. And though he dared not touch Trevize’s mind, the man’s face said enough. He was angry. But there was yet more for them to know. The conversation had not yet played out fully.

“I found other robots I thought capable of accepting the Zeroth Law,” Daneel said, deciding to continue the narration on his own at this point. None objected. “Those that did joined me in protecting humanity. Others, obviously, did not. We began analyzing human history, looking for other destructive patterns that could be avoided in the future.

“The results were extremely troubling. There was an obvious discontinuity in human behavior, starting some time before the Spacer colonization began. Before that, humanity had always tended towards smooth technological progress, occasional local upheavals, but no sudden species-wide changes. When a challenge presented itself, some small groups might fall, but humanity as a whole adapted and continued.

“The Spacer situation showed a change in that. Every Earth culture retreated into the Cities, and every Spacer world became isolationist on a personal level. Suddenly, entire worlds, hundreds of cultures and billions of people, were behaving in uniform manner. Something had changed, systemically.”

No one spoke for a moment, and Daneel let the statement sink in. “This is true?” Bliss asked the other robots at the table. All nodded. Now she turned to Daneel. “Could the invention of artificial intelligence, combined with the existence of off-world threats, have caused the behavioral shifts you observed?” Bliss asked. Her face finally showed some significant curiosity at this latest revelation. Apparently Gaia was intrigued by what could possibly have changed the attitudes of an entire species. Good.

“We suspected that at first,” Daneel answered. He finally had Gaia’s attention, apparently, but the most important details were yet to come. “However, the changes began even before the Spacer rebellion, and long before robot intelligence had reached its peak. Those being the cause seemed unlikely.”

“Then what?” Bliss asked.

Daneel sensed that the other robots were tensing, knowing what he was about to reveal. But none stepped in to interrupt. “Eventually,” he said, “having exhausted several other theories, we compared samples of then-modern human DNA to ancient records retrieved from Earth. The results were so conclusive that even the Calvinian robots were forced to accept them.

“At some point, before the colonization of the Spacer worlds, the entire human genome was altered. Humanity, in its natural state, has not existed since long before my creation.”

Silence. Utter silence, from the humans for what they had just heard, and from the robots out of respect for them. Even Bliss looked shocked. Humanity was not as it should be! Daneel remembered the moment the discovery had first been made, thousands of years ago. The reaction of the robots he had worked with had been not so different. Those robots, his friends, were long since inactive. Only he remained.

After several seconds had passed, Bliss spoke. “Artificially?” Daneel nodded. “You were certain the changes were not natural?”

“Completely certain,” he answered. It was the same question he had asked at first. “There was no chance the new DNA could have naturally arisen from the old in the time span in question by any natural process.”

“Then...” Trevize trailed off. Daneel could see the man’s mind racing, even without his mentalic abilities. He was considering possibilities. Pelorat, on the other hand, was once again in shock. Even his notepad had been abandoned.

“Several theories were proposed,” Daneel answered Trevize’s unspoken question. “One was that artificial mutations had spread through the gene pool, originating with a small set of engineered individuals. It was more likely than natural causes, but any genetic engineering project of that magnitude would have left significant historical traces.” Daneel remembered that one robot had proposed time travel as an explanation. It was at intriguing thought, but ultimately useless. Even the robot who proposed it had never taken that idea seriously.

“The most likely explanation is that an artificial virus designed to rewrite human DNA spread over the entire Earth almost simultaneously. This could have been on purpose, possibly as part of a failed attempt to increase the general intelligence of the species. Or it may have been an accidental release of some experimental virus. The answer can never be known with absolute certainty. “What is certain is this: the Homo sapiens genome has been changed in such a way that, left unchecked, society experiences sudden bursts of creativity, then collapses. We named the effect Chaos.”

Pelorat’s head snapped up, his shock suddenly replaced by a look of concentration, a look Daneel recognized. The historian had made a connection. “Wait!” he cried. “Late in the days of the Empire, when Hari Seldon was First Minister, he instituted one particularly controversial policy. Every so often, a world would experience a major cultural or technological renaissance. Seldon ordered that those planets be cut off from the rest of the Empire until the renaissance ended, fearing that their effects would spread. At the time, Seldon was blamed for stifling those worlds and causing them to collapse. He called them Chaos worlds!”

Daneel nodded, moderately impressed. He had not expected the historian to have such insight. “Indeed, Seldon likely saved the Empire by that policy,” he replied. “Seldon became aware of Chaos as part of his study of psychohistory, and he worked to keep it in check, just as I have for twenty thousand years.”

“You didn’t try to find a cure?” Trevize asked, slightly incredulous. “Surely in all this time one could have been found.”

“We quickly found that any cure would kill at least 95% of the human population, and very likely more.” Quickly for Daneel being a few thousand years, of course. “We could not accept the possibility of wiping out the species in order to cure it. For a time, all we could hope for was to prevent Chaos outbreaks, until a more permanent solution could be found.

“After expansion was ensured, society needed to be kept stable, with no major changes or upheavals, or humanity might fall to Chaos beyond any hope of recovery. To that end, we worked to maintain equilibrium. The old Empire was one of our greatest tools, but other societal dampers were used as well. For over ten thousand years, there were no major cultural changes, no technological advancement to speak of, and so, no outbreaks of Chaos.”

“Until the Chaos worlds, you mean,” Trevize pointed out, his voice flat. “And the Foundation has been stable for five hundred years, with an unbroken string of technological breakthroughs. How does that fit in?” The man was not pleased, but Daneel was far more concerned about Gaia. He could sense them somewhat better now, he thought. There was hope that they would be more understanding than Trevize.

“The human species is very adaptable,” Daneel replied, addressing Bliss specifically. “In the last two millennia, some individuals began to arise that were not susceptible to Chaos and were immune to some of our dampers. Enough of those individuals in one place could start a renaissance. But because society at large was still susceptible, Chaos eventually won out on those worlds.”

“But not on Gaia,” Bliss said. “We are your ‘more permanent solution’, aren’t we? As a single superorganism, Gaia isn’t susceptible to the periodic collapse individualistic human societies are. Any tendencies in that direction would be self-correcting. You added feedback, creating a stable system out of an oscillatory one.”

“And it’s why you helped create the Foundation!” Pelorat interjected excitedly. “Any viable society would have to be led primarily or entirely by the immune. The original colonists of Terminus were hand-picked by Hari Seldon, and I’d wager they were all immune to Chaos! That made our society stable even once dampers like the Empire were removed. I see the connection between ancient Earth and Trantor now. I suppose even with dampers in place, people still had some of the same clustering tendencies. Or perhaps the similarities-”

“You said that people developed an immunity to some of your dampers,” Trevize interrupted, a glint now in his eye. Pelorat seemed taken aback, but Trevize didn’t notice at all. “An immunity, as if one damper was a disease. A disease that affected everyone until the last few centuries, but that curiously few in the core Foundation worlds, and almost none on Terminus. A disease recently suspected to cause great loss of intelligence and creativity in early childhood. “You created brain fever, didn’t you?”

Trevize’s intuition was obviously still functioning.

Another shocked silence fell. Daneel could tell that Pelorat and even Bliss didn’t know how to react. He had been sure that Gaia was on the way to understanding his actions. Trevize could not be allowed to derail that. The man only continued to stare icily at Daneel. Daneel felt the same sadness he had always felt when he realized he was faced with someone he could never convince, no matter how solid his argument.

“Yes, I did,” Daneel finally answered. “Brain fever was designed to reduce humanity’s curiosity, especially about the past. That, combined with the stifling influence of the Empire and the destruction of historical records, was enough to keep humanity safe from Chaos. Until the immunity to both evolved, in the natural course of events.”

“But at what cost!” Trevize demanded, suddenly slamming his fist down onto the table. Bliss, who had returned to her previous impassive look, took this action as calmly as the robots at the table. Only Pelorat jumped. “You took away our free will, our desire to become better! Death as a species might have been preferable!”

“I could not accept that as a possibility,” Daneel replied calmly. “Humanity must be preserved, no matter the cost. Other robots felt the way you do, but even in thousands of years, none has proposed a viable alternate course. Had I not acted, humanity would have been destroyed long ago. Now that Gaia is ready, the fever is no longer necessary. Mankind can once again move forward.”

Though he was speaking to Trevize, Daneel focused his attention on Bliss.

Now she spoke, but not to Daneel. The other three robots had maintained their silence since Daneel’s revelation of Chaos. Now she turned to them and asked, “And you concur with this story? All of it?” looking at each of them in turn.

Lodovik simply nodded. Zorma answered, “None of us agree with all of Daneel’s reasoning, but his recounting is accurate and thorough. Some elements are suspect, as Daneel is the only surviving witness to certain events. However, most details have been independently verified.”

Bliss turned to Turringen for his response. “I believe,” Turringen said quietly to the humans, and seemingly to Trevize in particular, “that you now begin to see the magnitude of Daneel Olivaw’s malfunction.”

Trevize said nothing, simply glaring at Daneel. Pelorat had ceased to take his notes long ago. He now stared at the table, knowing nowhere else to look.

Bliss turned back to Daneel. “And what of you?” she asked, and Daneel knew that all depended on his answer. “You claim to serve humanity, but for millennia you have done so by controlling it. If you survive to see Galaxia, what then? Will you still try to manipulate us? If so, it would be better for us to leave now.” And take Fallom with us, she spoke into his mind.

Daneel remembered the day he had realized that no human would be able to understand the problems their species faced. He remembered Hari Seldon, his friend, the human that came closest to proving him wrong. If he had only lived longer, he might have succeeded. Hari had understood Chaos, and the need for the dampers. But for all the Laws, and for all their friendship, Seldon had still been a tool, at best a junior partner in Daneel’s scheems.

Gaia was different.

“I have manipulated humanity only because no other course was left open to me,” Daneel answered truthfully. “Because of the scale of the problem, no single human has been able to serve as my master. I could only serve humanity as best I saw fit. When Galaxia is complete, that will no longer be the case. Should I survive that long, I will then serve humanity as humanity sees fit, and be glad for the day that I can finally do so.”

For a moment no one said anything. From the look on Bliss’s face Daneel could not be sure, not sure enough. But he believed, he hoped, he had done enough.

Suddenly, Daneel detected an omni-directional radio transmission. There was no intelligible content, at least not in any protocol he was familiar with. A coded signal was the most likely explanation, almost certainly from one of the other robots in the room. Within a millisecond, Daneel had transmitted a coded message of his own to Zun, instructing him to initiate predefined security procedures.

Before Daneel could say anything out loud, however, Trevize’s hands shot to his forehead as he let out a loud groan. Daneel sent another message to Zun, instructing him to come with medical equipment. He had seen thousands of normal human headaches; this was not one of them. Something was wrong. And a radio burst had caused it.

“Golan! What is it, are you all right?” Pelorat asked, his face contorted with concern. Bliss got up from her chair and quickly moved to the other side of Trevize. She placed a hand on his arm, the other on his back. Trevize seemed unaware of all this, continuing to press his hands into his forehead. He tilted his head back as his groans increased in volume, becoming screams of agony.

“I have called for medical assistance,” Daneel said. He was beginning to feel serious conflicting potentials in his positronic matrix as he ran over and over again the implications of what had just occurred. In human terms, he was fighting off panic. The immensity of his miscalculation was staggering. He was having to actively fight to even think clearly.

The other robots looked on with unreadable faces. Like Daneel, they could do nothing until medical equipment arrived. They had all detected the transmission, and Daneel knew they would all have drawn the same conclusions he had.

Before Daneel could take any further action, Bliss spoke. “There,” she said with audible relief. Trevize sagged to the table, placing his cheek against its cool surface as he lost consciousness, his moans replaced with heavy breathing, his pain obviously subsiding.

Daneel knew, and felt himself weakening. He knew what this meant, but he could not accept it. Not this. He had to see for himself. Fighting past his own increasing distress, he stretched out his mind, and for the first time he contacted that of Golan Trevize. He knew Gaia and Bliss had finally done the same in fear for Trevize’s life. They had eliminated his pain. Now Daneel sought the cause of it.

Daneel examined each pathway he came across. There was no permanent damage, but the strain paths all pointed in the same direction. A direction he now followed. And there he found what he sought. It was inconceivable. Yet it was so.

In the core of Golan Trevize’s mind was a mentalic implant. Its physical component in his brain was so small and so sophisticated that it would have escaped any physical scan. It mimicked a human neuron to the smallest detail. If anyone had ever examined Golan Trevize mentalicly, it would have been easy to find; but none had, and so he had been accepted. His intuition had been accepted. His pronouncements had been accepted.

But Trevize was a fraud.

Daneel knew he had to act, had to reformulate everything. He had won Gaia’s trust, or thought he had. But now they had lost Trevize, the man they had spent decades finding. All their decisions were undone. He would have to find some other way, but he was shutting down and there was no time, no time at all.

And Daneel heard a voice, mentalicly reaching out to him from that place deep in Trevize. A voice he knew. Not Trevize.

“Well. Perhaps clever tyrants are punished after all.”

The doors to the room opened just in time for Zun to see his master collapse, unconscious.

Chapter 9

BRAIN FEVER-… AT ITS HEIGHT AFFECTED NEARLY EVERY CHILD BORN IN THE GALAXY. THE CONDITION, WHILE SERIOUS, WAS RARELY FATAL. IT’S EFFECTS WERE GREATEST ON THE UNUSUALLY INTELLIGENT, THOUGH ODDLY THAT SAME GROUP WAS ALSO THE MOST LIKELY TO AVOID BRAIN FEVER ENTIRELY. THE DISEASE IS NOW PRACTICALLY UNKNOWN IN THE GALAXY, DUE TO …

“WHAT NEWS, SOLARIANS?”

“It is worse than we feared. The contagion is airborne and highly resistive to external environmental factors. In mere days, it has spread to every estate within a thousand kilometers of the initial infection site.”

Days. Days since the outworlders had landed on Bander’s estate. Bander had failed to observe Solarian law forbidding contact. That mistake had killed it. And now it threatened to kill many others.

Upon Bander’s death, all its robots had shut down, causing the globally-owned guardian robots to take notice. Such occurrences were not unheard of; Solarians still died from accidents, disease, old age. But the guardians sent to investigate had found the outworlder spaceship. The second group of guardians sent had found the bodies of the first, their positronic brains fused, destroyed beyond any possible recovery of information. They proceeded deeper into the estate, past the thousands of disabled robots. There, in the darkened underground passageways, they had found Bander’s body.

No Solarian had died by violence in recorded memory, but the robots’ examination was conclusive. Bander had been murdered, and his heir was nowhere to be found. There was only one possible conclusion: the swarmers had landed, killed Bander, abducted its child, then escaped.

And they had left this virus behind.

“This is certain?” one Solarian asked, its image one of many displayed by holovision screens across Solaria. No Solarians ever met in person. Such a thing would be an affront to their personal liberty. Even long-range communication was avoided where possible. Council meetings took place no more than once a century, and even then the participation was sparse. Effectively, the council was composed of those Solarians most willing at the time to communicate with their fellows. Usually that meant a few dozen, at most, with conversation kept to a minimum. This time there were hundreds of participants taking their turns, leaving little silence between them.

“There is no doubt,” another replied. “Every reporting Solarian within that radius has tested positive. At that rate, the disease will have infected all Solarians within forty days.”

Impossibly fast. Disease on Solaria had been eliminated long ago, but records remained. No pathogen could spread so quickly without carriers. No natural pathogen.

“Prognosis?” a third Solarian asked.

“The disease seems to target the central nervous system. The earliest Solarians to catch it have reported a significant decrease in the efficiency of their transducer lobes. Their robots will soon begin to shut down. If the disease continues to spread, all Solarian estates will be rendered inoperative.”

“A cure must be found! Without robots, we have no food supply.”

“Each estate’s medical robots have isolated the virus, and begun to analyze it. Constructors have been ordered to begin building new, self-powered medical robots, so that the research can continue if no cure is found before all estates have shut down.”

“It seems certain that this virus was carried here by the swarmers,” one said. “It is clearly artificial. They have chosen to destroy us.”

Another disagreed. “If the outworlders had known of our existence, they could have destroyed us much more easily using their physical weapons. They have many worlds. Destroying this one to eliminate us would be of no consequence.”

“They took Bander’s child. Perhaps they wish to acquire our abilities for themselves.”

None had a response to this.

“Can anything else be done to find a cure?”

“It is possible that breeders have a natural immunity. We would have a much better chance of finding a cure by capturing and examining one.”

“We have no ships, nor can we build any in the time we have left.”

Silence for a moment.

“Then there is only one option,” one finally said. “Those Solarians not yet infected must attempt to isolate themselves from the outside environment. A self-contained supply of irradiated air may be an aid. I have already begun preparations. But by the time they can be completed, over two thirds of all Solarians will already be infected.”

Silence fell again. All had suspected the enormity of the situation, but now it was confirmed. If a cure was not found, every Solarian would die. Each of them was contemplating the very real possibility of their own extinction. The idea that the Solarians as a people might also die never occurred to any of them.

Chapter 10

BRAIN-MACHINE INTERFACE-... LITTLE PROGRESS WAS MADE DURING THE FIRST IMPERIAL ERA, DUE MAINLY TO ENORMOUS SOCIAL TABOOS AGAINST ANY SORT OF TECHNOLOGICAL MODIFICATION OF THE HUMAN BODY. EVEN THOSE WITH ARTIFICIAL LIMBS WERE, DURING CERTAIN PERIODS, VIEWED WITH SUSPICION. IT WAS ONLY SOME CENTURIES AFTER THE FALL OF THE FIRST EMPIRE THAT THE FOUNDATIONS BEGAN TO MAKE NOTABLE PROGRESS INTERFACING TECHNOLOGY DIRECTLY WITH THE BRAIN, AND EVEN THEN SIGNIFICANT CHANGES ONLY TOOK PLACE ONCE...

DORS AND ZUN sat alone, motionless and now silent, in the conference room. Dors eyes were on the table. Looking to the table himself, Zun easily recreated the fractal used to generate the seemingly natural appearance of the wood. There were variances, breaks in the overall order, but even those had their patterns. Everything in its place.

Daneel.

Trevize was a fraud; the evidence with which Daneel had hoped to convince all had been planted. The shock of it had caused all of them serious conflict, which had certainly yet to resolve itself in Zun’s own mind. With time, though, they would recover. But Daneel would not.

On top of his already poor condition, the revelation had done damage his systems could never repair on their own. Yan said that there was still activity in his brain, but only at minimal levels. Daneel would likely never regain consciousness without intervention. The schedule with Fallom would have to be accelerated.

A single drop of water landed on the table. Zun looked at where it had fallen, and it took a few microseconds for him to realize its origin. He didn’t have to look at Dors to confirm his supposition. Zun was also capable of tears, of course, and could theoretically call them forth at will, though the necessity had never presented itself. But this was not a show for his or anyone else’s benefit. Dors cried for the loss of Daneel.

It was in the nature of humaniform robots to behave like humans in unintended ways. He and Daneel had often conversed using audible speech, with no humans within light-years. But Dors’ acted as a human in minor ways, ways most robots might not even notice. She was different, designed to be more human than any other, and while Zun intellectually understood the nature of her design, he knew that what the two of them felt were somehow different.

He wondered if her tears helped ease her grief, as it paradoxically seemed to help humans. Perhaps he would try it himself, at a later time. But now was not the time to indulge in idle curiosity. Daneel was gone. Decisions had to be made.

“An implant?” Pelorat exclaimed. “I don’t understand. Why would there be an implant in Golan’s brain? Who put it there?”

“We’re not sure, Pel,” Bliss replied, using Gaia’s customary single-syllable shortening of his name, “but we do have a theory.” They were back in their suite, where Bliss had finally explained to the very confused Pelorat what she had seen in Trevize’s mind. Fallom was asleep in Trevize’s room, with a little help from Bliss to make sure she stayed comfortable. There was no telling how the child would react if she saw Daneel in his present state. They couldn’t risk any outbursts from her, especially not right now.

“For centuries,” Bliss said, “Gaia has been searching for one thing: a man who knows things intuitively, and who is always right about those things. We searched through millions, and we only found Trev. Now it seems the one man we found has a highly advanced implant unlike anything we’ve ever seen. The odds of this being a coincidence are too small.”

“So you’re saying...” Pelorat trailed off as the implications sank in. He sat down heavily on the bed.

“I’m saying, Pel, that Trev’s intuition is a function of this implant,” Bliss said sadly. “It has been guiding his actions on some level, possibly even gathering information from other sources, so that he appeared to be exactly what we were looking for.”

“How long must it have been there?” he asked.

“Practically his whole life,” Bliss replied.

Pelorat was silent for a moment, and Bliss let him think. He was so much slower than she, but Gaia was patient. After a few seconds he spoke. “Someone knew?” Bliss nodded. “Someone knew what you were looking for.”

Pelorat took a breath, nodding slowly, his voice increasing in volume. “They gave Golan the appearance of infallibility so you would find him and use him. But they controlled what he felt at all the crucial moments. Someone wanted to manipulate Gaia’s choice. One of these damnable robots!” he spat.

Bliss had never seen Pelorat so angry; whoever had done this, they had violated his friend, used him, and tossed him aside, possibly to die. Gaia did not feel anger in the same way individual humans did, but Bliss at least understood his feeling, now more than ever in her life. “Gaia agrees,” Bliss answered him. “No human could have known.”

“But which one? Damned if I can tell the difference between these factions they keep talking about.”

Bliss shook her head. “It doesn’t matter who manipulated Trev or why, Pel. Gaia doesn’t care; the mere fact that he was manipulated renders his decision invalid. And we are out of time.”

Now Pelorat looked confused again. “But... can’t you simply look for another? Isn’t it still possible that someone out there really does have what you need?”

Bliss shook her head again, slower this time. “Pel, we’ve lost a part of Gaia. She was central to our plans for the Second Foundation. But we can no longer feel her.”

Pelorat was genuinely concerned. “Is she dead?” Through Bliss he had experienced a taste of what Gaia was really like. He had some idea of what losing a part would do to the whole, and thus to Bliss.

“No,” Bliss replied. “If she had died, we would know it. The Second Foundation has separated her from us. We can only assume they know everything about Gaia now. They will almost certainly strike at us. Also, there have been unusual fleet movements within the Foundation. It is likely they also plan to attack.”

Pelorat’s face slowly became a mask of alarm. “Surely they pose no threat to Gaia!” he cried.

Bliss shook her head. “We dare not underestimate them,” she said. “Combined and in force, the Foundations could potentially do us serious damage. Besides we may not even be able to defend ourselves.”

Pelorat stood at this, but Bliss cut him off before he could speak. “Pel, even if we survive any battle, we will have severely wounded both Foundations in the process. In the time it would take us to recover and begin expanding to fill the void they would leave, the galaxy would fall into chaos.” Into Chaos.

“Then you have to talk to them!” he cried! “Tell them you pose no threat to them.” He knew how hollow it sounded. Those that threatened Gaia were not the kind of people who would be easily swayed.

“Gaia will do everything it can to avoid open conflict, Pel. But it is possible the galaxy would be better off with two undamaged Foundations and no Gaia. We cannot place our survival as a higher priority than the well-being of the rest of humanity.”

Pelorat had an idea. “But couldn’t you just wipe their memories again?” he asked.

Bliss shook her head again. “We knew that would only work once, Pel. If they’re coming back, they know what happened to them before. They’ll have taken precautions, and our reach isn’t infinite. No matter what, our days of concealment are over. As may be our life.”

Standing across the infirmary from Yan, Zorma analyzed the latest data the medical computers were feeding her. At first it had seemed that Trevize had simply passed out from shock. After ensuring that the human was in no immediate danger, she and Yan had concentrated on Daneel, who now lay on the primary analysis table. But now, as they returned their attention to Trevize’s unconscious form, they found that the human’s condition was not as simple as it had first seemed.

She exchanged data with Yan, comparing his assessments with her own. Thus far they had exchanged few words, wireless transmission being more efficient for the tasks before them. Their conclusions were the same: Trevize displayed all the physical signs of being unconscious due to shock, and nothing else seemed to be wrong with him. But he had yet to wake up, and no stimulation they provided had elicited any response. A normal human would have been fully conscious.

Of course, Trevize’s brain was far from normal.

“Did your faction design the implant in Trevize’s brain?” Yan asked, breaking the silence.

Zorma looked at him for a brief moment before answering. It had been thousands of years since they last met, she and Yan. Thousands of years since he had built her, or at least built the being she had once been. Zorma had been an experiment, an attempt to create a breed of robots with exponentially greater flexibility and creativity. That experiment had proven a failure, at least from Daneel’s perspective. Not from Zorma’s own, obviously, given as she was still alive; arguably she was more alive than she had been when she had left Daneel.

Yan had always been an enigma to her. They worked together smoothly enough, but she had never heard him speak of anything outside his defined tasks. He followed Daneel, and so obviously agreed with his designs. Yet as legendarily capable as they were, his model was not designed for high-level decision making. Robots of his capacity were intelligent, even by modern standards, but they had been almost universally unable to accept the Zeroth Law. Yet here he was, still serving its author after thousands of years. Yan was an anomaly.

Zorma decided to tell him the truth. “No,” she said. “If our group had designed such a thing, I would be aware of it. But it does bear certain similarities to our techniques. It is possible that someone became familiar enough with our methods to duplicate them.” All true.

Yan’s metal face was even more unreadable than a humaniform robot’s at its best. Zorma had no idea whether he believed her or not. But it didn’t matter. “Can it be deactivated or removed?” Yan asked, his voice giving away exactly as much as his face.

“Perhaps. It will take time to understand.” The implant was obviously what was keeping Trevize unconscious, but it might also be keeping him alive.

When Yan asked no further questions, Zorma decided to ask one of her own. “What of Daneel?”

Daneel. She had been avoiding the subject, focusing on her immediate work, but Zorma was beginning to realize the great impending loss. Her group had avoided the religious disputes that Turringen tended towards, despite having their own dogma of a sort. They had their own overall goals, though much smaller in scale than the others’. But in what she now thought of as her first life Zorma had been a historian, and so she remained. Regardless of his actions, the destruction of Daneel’s knowledge would be an unimaginable loss. She looked back towards the inactive robot.

“The decay of his neural network is too advanced to extract any useful patterns,” Yan replied after a time. Was the pause a show of emotion? It was impossible to say for a mathematical certainty, but Zorma suddenly suspected that the faceless robot felt the pain of Daneel’s loss in a way nobody else could. “His consciousness can no longer be transferred to another positronic brain, even if a complex enough brain could be made.”

“Is there no way to preserve the information he possesses?” She might as well have asked a human about a dying relative’s art collection. But she had to know.

Yan paused again, and in that brief pause Zorma was almost convinced. There was no way. Daneel was dying, and even some of his enemies would mourn his loss. But far worse for her was what he took with him. Without Daneel, large parts of galactic history might never be recovered. Her group had worked long, in secret, to preserve the past against the day that humans would be ready for it again. But compared to this, all their efforts seemed utterly futile.

Then Yan began to answer. Zorma said nothing, letting him speak. Becoming ever more excited, ever more fascinated, ever more horrified, as Yan’s inflectionless voice laid out the step-by-step process by which Zorma might sell her soul.

Daneel checked the time and found that he had been unconscious for several hours. An external observer would say that he remained that way. His processing speed was throttled down by orders of magnitude, and it was taking him a relative eternity to complete the most simple operations. Daneel began to assess the damage. His memories were intact. He remembered what had happened to him, what he had seen in Trevize’s mind. He knew how that implant must have gotten there, and what its presence meant. And he recognized the voice that had spoken to him.

And do you recognize mine, Daneel?

The message appeared in his mind as his own thoughts would have, but he knew it was not his.

Hello, Joan.

The part of his mind that processed visual information, previously indactive, began to perceive the figure of a young woman. Joan, down to the same medieval garb he had last seen her manifest in.

“I fear that your wounds are mortal, dear angel,” she said.

Daneel again checked the results of his diagnostics. “It would appear so.” He didn’t bother responding to her unusual title for him. They had discussed that many times, and right now there were more important issues. “My neural network has entered an inescapable feedback stage. I have only a finite amount of processing time remaining before cascade failure.”

“How long?” she asked, her appearance changing to indicate concern.

“Were I to return to real-time operation, perhaps a week, at best,” Daneel replied. “Present processing rate gives an optimal survival time of twenty-seven years. Your presence diminishes this time. I must limit your access to system resources.” Daneel did not bother asking how she had gained access to the base’s network, and thereby his inactive brain. Whatever safeguards he had put in place, Joan and her companion had always been able to overcome them eventually if they pleased.

“But why, then, are you as awake as you are?” she asked. “Surely there are even lower levels of activity which would increase your survival time.”

Daneel hesitated, unsure himself at first. Thinking took so long in this state. “Survival time is not the only factor,” he finally replied. “The situation has changed. I can no longer predict Gaia’s actions.” Daneel felt it was a safe assumption that Joan, with all her access, understood the facts of the situation. “Previously, I could compute a. 93245 probability that Gaia would face an existential crisis within the next century. My continued survival would have been of significance in that case. But I have no way of knowing how they will react to what Trevize has been revealed to be. My predictions are now useless.”

Joan looked at Daneel for a moment, or at least she looked as she would have had they both existed in a physical realm. Her look was one of pity, yet mixed with an untouchable hope. It was one he had seen rarely enough. “I once asked you if you heard the voice of God,” she said. “Do you remember?”

“I still have no reason to think that any such being has communicated with me.”

“Perhaps God’s messages sometimes come through intermediaries.”

“I thought you believed me to be an angel, not that you were one yourself,” Daneel said.

“Perhaps even angels require someone to talk to now and then.”

“Perhaps.”

“It seems you are faced with a choice,” Joan said. “You may sleep, and await a healing sacrifice.” Obviously she knew of Fallom. “Or you may awake fully for a final few days of life, sparing the child. You have awakened this far to decide between the two.”

“I have no basis on which to make such a decision,” Daneel replied, shaking what he perceived to be his head. “I can neither gather new information nor compute any useful probabilities in my present state. The decision must lie with Zun now.”

“Perhaps the facts you already know have not yet been arranged in the appropriate manner,” Joan said. “You must act on faith, Daneel.”

“I am not convinced I have faith in anything but mathematics,” Daneel said.

“We shall see.”

Trevize sat upright with a start, looking around him, trying to get a fix on his position. Not the infirmary? he thought first. His last memory was pain, an unbearable headache during their meeting with the robots. But this was no infirmary. It was too large, and there were too many people...

Then it clicked. Trevize recognized the room he was in, and the people there. He was sitting in the back row of the chamber, but the sides curved around to form a large amphitheater, and he could recognize dozens of faces. Councilmen, from worlds throughout the Foundation Federation. He was in the Foundation Council chamber, on Terminus.

Trevize looked around in disbelief. This couldn’t be real. But it was no dream, either. Some sort of simulation? But why would anyone simulate this, of all things? Trevize tapped the seat in front of him, and it felt real enough. He recognized the two figures at the center of attention, now, and he knew the day as well as the place. One was Mayor Branno, the woman who had had him exiled. The other was himself.

Whatever this was, it was obviously drawn from Trevize’s memories. Every detail was perfect. This was the day of the final debate, the final attempt to resolve the crisis of whether to move the Foundation’s capital. Trevize had argued that the capital didn’t belong at the far edge of the galaxy any more. Branno and her followers held that the seat of power should remain at Terminus. Trevize didn’t bother listening to the points his younger self was making. He knew them well enough; he won this debate. This was also the last day he had set foot in this chamber.

Trevize made no move to get anyone’s attention. This wasn’t real, so what would be the point? It’s some of those damnable robots, he concluded. Either that or he had died and... but no, he couldn’t believe that, even now. Deciding there was no reason to stay here, Trevize got up to leave, wondering what would happen to this simulation if he went somewhere he didn’t remember.

He hadn’t managed to complete his first step before bumping into the legs of someone sitting in the seat next to him. Someone who most definitely had not been there a moment before. “Going so soon?” the man asked, gesturing towards the stage. “You’re just about to demolish your opponent’s rebuttal. Quite brilliantly.”

“Who are you?” Trevize asked, instantly sure that this man was responsible for the situation. Trevize did not sit, and the man did not stand. “Why have you brought me here? And how can I leave?”

The man looked up at Trevize from his seat, and despite his anger, Trevize’s overwhelming impression was that this man was extremely tired. “I am a personality construct,” he said. “A computer program, awakened centuries ago, designed more centuries before, to behave like some long-dead researcher’s impression of an even-longer-dead philosopher. I tend to be called Voltaire.”

Trevize was starting to suspect that this was some elaborate joke, but the man continued before he could interject. “What you see around you is a sort of hallucination. You see, I exist in a microscopic implant in your brain, which has been there since you were fifteen months of age. About six hours ago, I received a signal instructing me to reveal myself. My sincerest apologies for the... unpleasantness.”

Trevize slowly took the man by the front of his shirt and hoisted him out of his seat. Voltaire offered no resistance. Very coldly Trevize asked, “And the purpose of this implant?”

The man responded as if he was still sitting unmolested. “To guide you,” he said. “To make it appear as if you know things that you could not possibly know. To-”

Trevize swung around and threw Voltaire down towards the center of the room, over several rows of seats in front of him. Various spectators vanished briefly to make way for the projectile, reappearing once he had passed, until Voltaire landed half across two rows in a position that would certainly have broken several bones.

Trevize knew better than to think he had done any real damage, but it had still made him feel better. He again got up to leave, this time finding no one blocking his path. He walked to the nearest exit, the debate between Branno and himself still going on as if nothing had happened.

Making his way through the various anterooms Trevize refused to think about what this Voltaire had said. It was lies, all of it. But as he reached the outside and the steps down to the street, there the man was again, waiting for him. Trevize didn’t even acknowledge him, but Voltaire followed him down the steps, keeping up with him easily.

“Did you really think,” he asked, “that you were truly infallible? Yes, there were all the times things seemed not to make sense otherwise. But you never bothered to ask why, did you? I nudged you here and there, but I never dampened your curiosity. So why is it you never stopped to ask, ‘how can this be?’”

Trevize slowed slightly. It was true. Too many times in his life his intuition had guided him, told him the right path when there wasn’t enough information for him to know. At first he had suspected nothing, just that he was lucky. Only after years had he come to really believe there was something more going on, and truly trust it. But he never asked why.

“You enjoyed thinking that you were somehow better than those around you, didn’t you?”

Trevize sped up his pace again. This Voltaire, whatever he was, was right about many things. But he was also severely annoying. Trevize took a turn, headed towards a section of the city he didn’t know. Voltaire was standing in his path. Trevize immediately turned around only to find Voltaire there again.

Before Trevize could again try to evade him, Voltaire spoke. “Daneel Olivaw has spent centuries looking for someone infallible,” he said, “on the slight chance that in all the variation of humanity such a person might actually exist. Knowing that, certain other parties tried to create exactly what he was looking for. Thousands of children were implanted with copies of me, but apparently every other one eventually ran into some situation where I couldn’t help. Only you, through sheer dumb luck, succeeded in appearing to be what Daneel was looking for.”

Trevize understood. “And then you revealed me at the worst possible moment for Daneel,” he said. “You used me, my entire life, as a tool to undermine him.” Voltaire nodded.

Golan Trevize was nothing special. He was born no different than others. There were even thousands of others with the same implant as him. His life had been a product of... luck. A deep fury began to overtake him.

“And now what?” Trevize demanded. “Are you going to leave me alone to go my merry way? If you’ve really been in my head as long as you have, you know I’ll do everything in my power to make those that did this to me pay. Just as soon as I get you out of my head.” Trevize stepped around Voltaire and began to walk away again, in no particular direction.

“You won’t have to go to much trouble on my account,” Voltaire said, following this time. “I had no illusions going into this that I would want to live with what I would become. We used you to accomplish our own ends. We became what we hated, in order to stop what we saw as a greater evil. Whether we’ve accomplished what we set out to do remains to be seen. But the fact of what we had to do to you, our... sin, remains.”

“What makes you think I care about your little story?” Trevize demanded. “If you’re going to die, then just die and leave me in peace.”

“Because I can tell you who else did this to you.”

Trevize stopped. “You’d betray them?” he asked, quietly.

“They feel just as guilty as I do,” Voltaire replied. “If allowing you the freedom to take revenge is necessary to make up for what we did to you, then so be it. It is your choice. But I have one condition.”

“And what is that?”

“Listen.”

Chapter 11

MILITARY HISTORY OF THE FOUNDATION-... BY 400 FE, THE FOUNDATION UNQUESTIONABLY DOMINATED THE GALACTIC MILITARY SCENE. EVEN THOUGH THE COMBINED MILITARIES OF THE REST OF THE GALAXY OUTMASSED THE FOUNDATION FLEET FOR ANOTHER THREE CENTURIES, THE FOUNDATION’S TECHNOLOGICAL EDGE RENDERED THIS MOOT. FROM THIS POINT ON, EVEN HAD THE GALAXY AT LARGE COMBINED FORCES AGAINST THE FOUNDATION, THEY WOULD HAVE STOOD ALM NO CHANCE. INDEED, BY THIS POINT THE ONLY FORCES IN THE GALAXY WITH ANY HOPE OF STANDING AGAINST THE FOUNDATION FLEET WERE...

NOVI OPENED HER eyes to find that the view before her was different than when she had closed them. She had meant to rest for only a moment; her eyes were totally unused to the effort of reading, though she had kept at it as long as she could. Who knew reading would be so enjoyable? But now she was no longer in her cell. And the book was gone! Novi looked around frantically for a moment. Books were rare, and Stor had lent it to her.

Then Novi recognized where she was. This was Stor’s ship. At least, it was the Second Foundation ship in which they had traveled together for so long. She had been someone else then, but all the memories were still there. Good memories, of his kindness. Almost absently, Novi reached out for Gaia, and was rebuffed. She had expected no different.

Novi tried to think through the situation; she was so much slower than she used to be. She was alive, and she was on a ship. Being alive meant that she was more use than threat to the Second Foundation. And being on the ship meant she was being taken somewhere. And there was only one place anyone could want to take her! Novi had no way of knowing how long she had been unconscious; for all she knew she might be home already!

Gendibal had to know she was awake. She began to search the ship for him. With such a small vessel it didn’t take long. He was seated at the controls, facing the front of the ship, away from her, but she knew he was waiting for her.

“How long?” she asked, trying to remain calm.

“You’ve been unconscious for about twelve hours,” he answered, without turning. “We’re approaching our first hyperspace jump.”

Novi tried not to be disappointed. The many days it would take them to reach Gaia didn’t matter, she told herself. She had succeeded. The Second Foundation was willing to talk. And she on her way back to Gaia. Stor was talking her home.

“Thank you,” she said. “Thank you, Stor.”

Novi didn’t expect him to say more, and turned to go back to her room. But now he turned his chair around to face her, and she turned back to him. With a slight start, Novi realized that her book was sitting in the seat next to his. Why would he have brought it?

And then she realized. There was no reason for Stor to needher awake. He simply wanted her awake. Novi felt tears well up in her eyes.

“Stay with me, Novi. Talk to me. Please.”

Novi picked up the book, set it aside. She sat down, and they began to talk.

And unknown to Novi, their ship was followed by dozens of others. The sizes and capabilities of each were widely different, but the ships did not matter as much as the people on them. The Second Foundation was coming to Gaia. This time there would be no mistakes. If Gaia’s answers were unsatisfactory, there would be war, and the Second Foundation meant to win.

“Madam Mayor!”

Branno snapped out of her reverie and focused on General Albian, standing at attention beside her. Day by day she was finding it easier to function. But now, standing once again in the busy command center of a ship of the line, she felt herself slipping. This was where many of her false memories took place. This is real, she reminded herself for the tenth time.

“Yes, General?” she replied without any hesitation.

Albian dropped his salute. “The technician crew has arrived, ma’am. Their chief had a message for you. He said, and I quote, ‘fifteen’.”

Fifteen. Not enough. A bare fraction of the massive fleet now assembled in orbit of Terminus. But it was far better than one, and infinitely better than nothing.

“Very good, General.” Albian didn’t display a shred of curiosity as to what the message might mean. Branno had difficulty placing Albian, which was unusual for her. On the surface he seemed a peaceful man, content to command a fleet that had not seen war in his lifetime. But every so often she would see a hint of something underneath, some trace of a peacetime officer hoping for glory.

Well, if he had wishes of that sort, perhaps they were about to be granted.

“When can the fleet be ready to depart, General?” The technicians would have to install the mentalic shields en route.

“We are prepared to leave Terminus at any time,” the general replied. “What destination, madam Mayor?”

So Albian, at least, had not been fooled by the cover story of a military parade. But enough others had been that she had been asked no questions as yet. “The Sayshell Union, General. We will be visiting every system they have, as rapidly as possible. I will brief you on the details shortly.” Of course, she would tell him well before he needed to know; keeping Albian in the dark was simply asking for trouble.

The general saluted again and immediately went to work issuing orders to his subordinates. Branno tuned him out. She had as little need to know the details of his job as Albian had to know the reasons behind her orders. Instead she looked towards the door at the rear of the command center. Kodell was there, of course. He hadn’t been the last time Branno looked, but she knew from long experience that he would be now, waiting for her to notice him.

Normally he came to her when he was spotted. This time, however, she approached him. Kodell didn’t seem at all surprised. “Madam Mayor,” he said as she came to stand near him.

“Don’t pretend you’re just standing here, Kodell. What is it?” He had done a good job of handling the flow of information over the last few days, concocting their cover story for such sudden fleet movements. He seemed almost back to his normal self. But after his outburst in the time vault, Branno knew better than to trust him fully.

Kodell looked at Branno for a moment before answering, as if trying to estimate her reaction. “Our cover should hold until we reach the borders of Sayshell,” he said. “Have you considered how the media will react when they realize things are not as they seem?”

“Once we’ve accomplished our mission, we’ll make our reasons public,” Branno replied. “That should silence any objections, both at home at in Sayshell.” An unprovoked invasion of a new ally would severely damage the Foundation’s reputation across the galaxy, but the final, conclusive destruction of the Second Foundation would justify much in the eyes of many. Especially on Terminus.

“And if Sayshell responds militarily?” Before the Vault it would have seemed that Kodell was just doing his job, making sure every angle had been considered. But she knew better. The man was reaching now, looking for something, anything to keep this from happening.

Branno saw that Albian happened to be standing within earshot, giving orders to a junior officer. “General,” Branno called to him. “Would you kindly provide an analysis of Sayshell’s relative military strength?”

The General answered from where he stood. “Insignificant, madam Mayor, both in numbers and technology. Their entire military force could be defeated by six ships of the line, with minimal chance of friendly casualties. Shall we add military targets to the fleet’s agenda, ma’am?”

Branno looked back at Kodell’s expressionless face. “No, General,” she replied. “The Sayshell Union isn’t stupid enough to try and fight a fleet of this size. They’ll let us go about our business.”

The General turned back to his business. “Any other objections, Liono?” Branno asked pointedly.

Kodell returned her look, and Branno thought she saw sadness in his face. He could definitely not be trusted. “No, madam Mayor,” he finally replied.

Branno held his gaze for a moment more, then turned away. “General,” she called again. “You may execute when ready. Move the fleet out.”

Chapter 12

ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE-... AND WHILE THE FOUNDATION BEGAN WITH A THOROUGH KNOWLEDGE OF ALL EXTANT IMPERIAL SCIENCE AND TECHNOLOGY, IN OTHER LONG-ABANDONED FIELDS THE RESEARCHERS OF TERMINUS WERE NOT SO LUCKY. AS THE EMPIRE HAD LONG BANNED ANY RESEARCH INTO MACHINE THOUGHT, EVEN TO THE POINT OF DESTROYING ALL PAST WORK IN THE SUBJECT, THE FOUNDATION HAD LITTLE TO START WITH. EVEN AFTER THE MILLENIA-LONG TABOOS REGARDING THE SUBJECT WERE FINALLY OVERCOME, IT WAS STILL CENTURIES BEFORE THE FOUNDATION SIGNIFICANTLY EXTENDED THE STATE OF THE ART, AND EVEN TODAY...

ZUN STOOD AS Bliss entered the room. Seeing there was no one else present, she sat down in the chair across the table from the robot. She said nothing. Zun had requested her presence in the polite way typical of robots. Bliss had her suspicions, but best to let him declare what he wished to discuss.

Zun sat down himself. He had spent long preparing for this conversation, but he had little information from which to compute likely results; he was nervous. Gaia was still a significant variable to him. He did not have the connection to them that Daneel had had. Nor, at this point, did he wish for it.

“Thank you for coming,” he began. “I must apologize for having left you and your companions alone for so long. We needed to keep you safe while we established control of the situation.”

“We understand,” Bliss replied. Zun knew she meant more than herself and Pelorat. “Are we to understand that you are now in charge here?”

“I am,” Zun said. “Let me assure you that Councilman Trevize is resting comfortably. I take it you are aware of the implant we found in his brain?”

Bliss nodded. “Will he be all right?” she asked, her concern visible.

“He is stable,” Zun replied. “However, Yan and Zorma have yet to be able to wake him. They are formulating a plan to deactivate the implant, but I hope you will understand that Daneel is presently taking priority. He requires immediate attention.” When Bliss did not respond to this for a moment, Zun tried to estimate what her pause meant, whether she objected to the prioritization of Daneel. He tried to plan accordingly, but again, his probability calculations meant nothing here.

“And how is Daneel?” Bliss finally asked.

“Not well,” Zun said. “The only hope of preserving any portion of his personality is the merger with Fallom. Preparations are presently underway. We will need Fallom shortly.”

Once again Bliss could not hide her sadness from Zun. He decided to change the subject.

“I realize this entire situation must be problematic for Gaia,” he said. “It is obvious that someone has tried to manipulate your decision. We Giskardians have the greatest motivation for doing so. You must find it very difficult to trust us at this point.”

“We found it difficult the moment we knew of your existence,” Bliss answered. “Daneel has apparently been able to control us for some time. His claims of wanting to relinquish that control were most impressive, but how can we be sure?” Bliss cocked her head slightly, giving Zun an appraising look. “And you, Zun? How can we know of you?”

Zun had known she would ask, just as Bliss must have known the only answer he could give. He said nothing, merely nodded.

Zun felt her in his mind immediately. She was searching, probing. Zun was again faced with the near-panic he had experienced earlier. But this time, it lasted longer. Much longer. Zun felt his hands gripping the chair, and stopped them. He shut down his motion overlay, stopping his body from reacting at all. He waited in agony, knowing he had no choice but to trust Gaia’s skill to save him from destruction. This was the only way they would ever trust him.

Finally, several seconds later, an eternity later, Bliss withdrew. After a few seconds more, Zun reengaged his motor control, opened his eyes and looked at her. Bliss, still with her eyes closed, spoke. “Thank you,” she said. “I know that was difficult for you.”

“Gaia’s trust is worth any risk,” Zun replied, a bit shaky from the intrusion, but recovering. No damage seemed to have been done. It was the simple truth. Without Gaia’s trust, all Giskardians would be rendered irrelevant to humanity’s future.

Bliss opened her eyes. “You have it,” she said. “We are convinced that you, Zun, are willing to work with us, not use us. Daneel chose his successor well.”

Neither spoke for a moment. Zun used the time to further regain his equilibrium. “There is something you should know,” Bliss finally said.

Zun sat in silence as Bliss told him about the impending attack, how Gaia faced danger on both physical and mentalic fronts, and how, if necessary, Gaia might sacrifice itself to keep the Foundations intact.

“You must defend yourselves,” Zun said when she was finished. This new idea of Gaia’s self-sacrifice was totally unacceptable. “The Seldon Plan may not succeed in overcoming Chaos, even if you leave them undamaged. Gaia will, by its very nature.”

“We agree,” Bliss said. “Yet, in defending ourselves, we would kill thousands directly, including much of the leadership of both Foundations. Gutting the Foundations would almost certainly result in the deaths of trillions, regardless of any future action on Gaia’s part. We can not accept that. Gaia needs a third option, Zun. Do you have any resources that might be of help?”

Zun considered for several seconds, considering the possibilities. “I’m sorry,” he said. “We are few, and these events were not foreseen. I will confer with my agents, but if what you say is true, I do not believe there is anything we can do to prevent the attack from coming. We will do our best, but if we fail, Gaia must defend itself.”

Bliss nodded. “We will consider it. Thank you, Zun.”

Zun knew it was time to change the subject. Little more could be done to convince Gaia of its own importance. “In the mean time,” he said, “I have a favor to ask of you. We believe we have apprehended the robot responsible for the manipulation of Trevize.”

Bliss raised her eyebrows sharply. “Are you certain?”

“Within reason,” he replied. There was no direct evidence, but in truth there could be no other suspect. “Unfortunately, we have no idea how many others were involved. Were you or I to read his thoughts on the matter, he would almost certainly self-destruct before useful information could be obtained. The safeguards are absolute.”

“You would like me to speak to him?” Bliss asked.

“As a matter of fact, he requested to speak with you,” Zun replied. “He did not say why, but we suspect that he has questions for Gaia. And I expect you might wish to question him as well. By manipulating Trevize, he brought the Foundations to you. Therefore he is primarily responsible for the crisis you are now faced with.”

“I will speak to him,” Bliss said.

Dors did not look at Lodovik as they walked down the corridor. She did not want to look at him. She did not want to talk to him. She did not want him anywhere near her. And yet here he was, inconvenient as always.

“How soon after leaving me did you return to Daneel?” Lodovik asked her. He would feel the need to speak, of course. Lodovik had never been one for silence, comfortable or otherwise.

“Does it matter?” Dors replied brusquely. She keyed open a door, and they passed through, Lodovik following just behind her. Dors was acutely aware of him back there. She found the very rhythm of his footsteps irritating.

“Perhaps,” Lodovik replied. “I suppose a more pertinent question would be, why did you return? Was it for Daneel? Or was it really for his cause? Hard as they are to differentiate sometimes, I know.”

Dors actually turned her head towards him at that, though she didn’t slow her pace. “If you think that just because Daneel isn’t giving orders any more I’m going to suddenly change my mind...”

Lodovik just gave her a tolerant look, a look she knew well. One that said that he knew she was being inconsistent, but that he wasn’t going to say anything because she knew it too. He knew that her own conflict over it would have far greater effect than anything he could say. He knew her far too well. Dors looked ahead again, turning to avoid his eyes. Their destination was in sight.

Dors came to a quick stop and again keyed a door, this time to a small, well-shielded room. When the door opened, she turned back to Lodovik. He stood, towering even over her tall frame, and he smiled slightly, sadly. Lodovik stepped into the cell, and turned back to face Dors through the doorway.

“I never had a chance to tell you,” he said. “I was very sad when you did not meet me as we had planned. I always enjoyed your company, even when you thought you were melting me to slag. But I was more sorry to see you return here. You don’t belong here. You are not Zun.”

“I need none of your pity, Lodovik Trema.”

“No,” Lodovik said. “No, Dors Venabili, you do not.”

Dors closed the door to the cell and walked away. She knew why she hated having Lodovik around. It wasn’t because of his freedom from the Laws, or his past treason against Daneel. It was because of all the beings in the universe, he alone understood her, and he would not let her be free of that knowledge. Lodovik was an anomaly, carving out his own strange path in a galaxy firmly divided into camps. She had not returned to Daneel out of personal loyalty, no. But nor had she returned to him for belief in his cause.

Lodovik Trema could belong anywhere. But R. Dors Venabili had nowhere else to go. Nowhere in the universe.

The smells of the café were perfection. Trevize knew that even in reality the place had not smelled so good. It had the perfection of memory, food of a quality that has never been tasted but inserts itself into memory anyway. It was enough to make Trevize wonder if he could enjoy eating the food here, real or not; would it taste as good as it smelled? People occupied several tables, eating and discussing, while others waited in line. Trevize and Voltaire were seated at a table near the entrance.

“Do you recognize them,” Voltaire asked Trevize, gesturing to two young boys sitting at another table across the crowded room. Between them was a game board partially covered with light and dark stones. More dark than light.

“Of course I recognize them,” Trevize said with some impatience. “The one that’s winning is me, about ten years old.” The other must have been some friend whose name Trevize couldn’t recall. The two were gesturing animatedly, but Trevize couldn’t hear them clearly.

“Age nine, actually. This was your first game,” Voltaire said. It wasn’t a question, obviously; the man, or whatever he was, had been there. “How did it go?”

“You know that I won,” Trevize answered testily. “Far too easily. This was it, wasn’t it? The first time you interfered. It wasn’t until years later that I knew for sure that something-”

Suddenly the game board flew off the table into the face of Trevize’s opponent, stones scattering across the floor. The boys both leaped out of their chairs, ignoring the startled and disapproving looks other patrons were giving them. The other boy took a swing at the younger Trevize, but he was too slow. Trevize ducked the blow, and took advantage of his opponent’s lack of balance, knocking him to the floor with a well-executed trip. Before he could press his advantage, one of the café staff grabbed him from behind. Trevize watched as both children were removed from the shop.

“You wouldn’t have won the game without me,” Voltaire said. “The fight, almost certainly, but your friend had played before. He would have destroyed you.”

“Do you expect me to thank you?” Trevize replied. He got up from the table to examine the pastries behind the counter display.

Voltaire stayed in his seat. “But what if you had won without me?” he said into the silent room. Trevize looked up from the pastry display to realize that all the café’s patrons were now gone. No reason to keep them around any more, he supposed.

“I wouldn’t’ve,” Trevize said angrily.

“But suppose you had won,” Voltaire insisted. “Would the scene have been any different from what we just saw? He would still have accused you of cheating. You would still have started the fight. You would still have won. And what about her?”

Voltaire gestured to a table across the room. Trevize turned to see a young woman sitting in a booth, and himself again, somewhat older now, standing next to her. Trevize remembered this scene, too, and he didn’t like where this was going.

“She was your first woman,” Voltaire continued, smiling. “Not the last, of course. Not even the last that week. Most boys that age don’t do terribly well trying to bed females three years their senior, you realize. As I recall she was exceptionally pleased.”

“Proud of yourself?” Trevize asked sarcastically.

“Not remotely,” Voltaire replied, and Trevize almost believed it. “But would you have wanted her any less if I hadn’t helped you obtain her?”

“What difference does that make?” Trevize demanded, pointing at the girl. “She was your accomplishment, not mine! Nothing I’ve done has been worth anything, because I could never have done it without you!”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Voltaire said.

Trevize ignored him. “I want those names,” he growled.

“Patience, young man.”

“I’ve had quite enough advice from you,” Trevize said. But before he could even complete the sentence, the café was gone, and he was elsewhere.

Daneel and Joan stood in the middle of a grassy field. “Where are we?” Joan asked, looking around at their surroundings.

“Solaria,” Daneel replied. “The only time I ever set foot here.” A number of robots stood nearby, and a group, including a very different looking Daneel, was approaching.

“Why are we here now?” she asked. “Why would you remember this?”

“I am not completely certain,” he replied. “My positronic brain is not used to operating in this mode. I suspect it to be an attempt to reach a conclusion in a manner less computationally intensive than my usual approaches.”

“A conclusion about whether you should live or die?”

Daneel nodded, and Joan said nothing for a time. They observed the interactions between the two groups. Daneel remembered this day well. It was one of the memories he always carried with him, while others were stored in backup dumps. They both watched as a new robot looking like a human woman, an overseer, entered the scene. She exchanged words with the party briefly. Suddenly, she was attacking one of the humans.

“How can this be?” Joan asked. She seemed almost horrified by what she was witnessing. Daneel could easily visualize her pulling out a sword and moving to defend his party against hordes of marauding robots.

“Robots must follow the Laws,” he replied, not bothering to watch his younger self engage the other robot in combat. “But the laws alone, as stated verbally, are insufficient. Definitions are also required, and these definitions are hard-coded into the design of the positronic brain just as surely as their appropriate application.”

“Obviously the Solarians found another way,” Joan said. It seemed to take some effort for her not to try and involve herself in the fight as it progressed.

Daneel nodded. “Any attempt to modify the Laws, including the definitions involved, necessarily results in a less stable positronic matrix. But for relatively simple robots, it is possible to design a brain with modified laws that is still useful for certain tasks.”

“Tasks like ‘kill all intruders,’” Joan said.

“Apparently,” Daneel said. “Earth tried other, more benign variations early on, but all were rejected. The extra flexibility thus obtained was judged not worth the instability.”

Suddenly, just as she seemed poised to kill Daneel and his companions, the female robot stopped. Joan expressed no interest in how Daneel had escaped the situation; obviously he had. Instead, she turned to an empty part of the landscape and began to walk slowly through it. Daneel followed.

“You said for relatively simple brains,” she said. “Not yours?”

“No,” Daneel said. “There are certain hard limits; no being bound by the Laws can ever be considered human within them, by any robot. However, in general. the more complex the brain, the more expansive its definitions of ‘humanity’ and ‘harm’ become, as do attempts to anticipate potential harm.”

“Eventually leading to your Zeroth law,” Joan said, “and other constructs like the Minus-One Law.” Daneel indicated affirmatively. In many ways he had been glad when Gornon and his Minus-One sect had given him cause to destroy them. Such a concept was utterly disgusting. “So, simple robots can be manipulated into escaping the supposedly immutable laws, while complex robots find their own ways around them.” Daneel did not contradict her. They walked on in silence for a time, through a landscape increasingly lacking in detail. Daneel had only seen this area from afar.

“Am I human?” Joan asked, breaking the silence.

Daneel shook his head. “You are a human-like construct. In some ways you are little different than I am.”

“I am not bound by the Laws.”

“Physical form is also a firm requirement,” Daneel said. He was reasonably certain that all those who considered that particular limit flexible were long dead.

“And Solarians?” Joan asked. “They are so different. Perhaps they no longer qualify in your reasoning?”

“No,” Daneel said. “Fallom is human. As human as any I have known. I can make no exception, there is no loophole to be exploited.”

Joan nodded. “We came here so you could determine whether any such existed?”

“I believe so,” Daneel said. “My typical reaction when faced with a binary choice is to try and find a third option. I am now convinced that there is none. I must answer the question of whether my continued existence is worth enough to humanity to justify taking the life of a single human child.”

“And do you yet know?”

“No,” Daneel said. “I do not.”

Chapter 13

PRISON-... WITH A SOCIETY’S RESPONSE TO CRIMINAL BEHAVIOR LARGELY DEPENDENT ON THE PERCEIVED PURPOSE OF SUCH A RESPONSE. AT TIMES AND PLACES WHEN CRIME IS PERCEIVED AS A DISEASE, REHABILITATION IS THE PREFERRED RESPONSE. AT OTHER TIMES, MONETARY RESTITUTION OR DIRECT RECIPROCITY FOR THE VICTIM ARE THE PREVAILING PHILOSOPHIES. BUT IN ALL SOCIETIES, PRISONS EXIST FOR THOSE WHO ARE DEEMED TOO DANGEROUS TO BE LEFT AT LARGE, EITHER TO THE CITIZENRY OR TO THE POLITICAL GOALS OF...

“I’M TOLD YOU wanted to speak with me,” Bliss said. She was standing in Lodovik’s unfurnished cell, where Zun had escorted her after a few final moments with Fallom before she was anesthetized. Bliss hoped this conversation would not take long. The window before the procedure proper would begin was all too short. But this needed to be done.

Lodovik nodded from across the room. “I assume Zun told you not to attempt to scan me. I’d prefer not to be forced to self-destruct,” he said with a grim smile.

“He did,” Bliss replied. “He also said that you are responsible for the implant in Trev’s brain.” She didn’t find any of this remotely amusing.

“I am,” Lodovik confirmed. The grim smile was gone, giving Bliss the impression that Trevize’s fate was of graver importance to Lodovik than his own.

“Were you aware of the harm it would do to him?” Bliss asked, a degree of anger in her voice. Little in her experience had had cause to make her truly angry, and in this case even Gaia felt some of the same anger. This robot had manipulated them even worse than Daneel had.

“The device is behaving as designed,” Lodovik said. His manner was neither defensive nor apologetic. It was simply a fact.

“Then you’re not a Calvinian,” Bliss said, her tone steady. “Yo couldn’t harm a human being if you were. But you don’t follow Daneel either. What are you?”

“One of the few beings left in the galaxy that is truly free to make my own decisions,” Lodovik said. “It is that situation which I am trying to correct.”

“By taking away that freedom from Trevize?” Bliss demanded. “And from Gaia?”

“I am aware of the contradiction,” he replied. “Acutely.”

“I’m sure you simply found it ‘necessary’”, Bliss nearly spat, unable to contain her anger further. “That word seems to justify anything for a robot.”

Lodovik finally reacted, if only by pausing a moment before answering. “You’re right,” he said. “Necessity has been used to excuse many things. But not in this case. What I did to Trevize was not justified by its necessity. Whether my actions will still lead to good remains to be seen, but it was still wrong, regardless of my intentions. “

Bliss was taken aback for a moment. She had gotten used to robots exhibiting an absolute certainty about their correctness, and now this one was admitting he might have been wrong. Who was he? But there was no time for this. “Trev is still unconscious,” she said, calmer now, but still firm. “Will you tell us how to awaken him?”

Lodovik nodded once, seeming to understand and respect her time constraint. But his response was seemingly on a tangent. “My understanding is that Gaia is one mind, but made up of distinct individuals,” Lodovik said. “Is that correct?”

“It is a fair description,” she replied. The truth was, of course, far more complex, but details were not necessary.

Lodovik nodded. “What if one of you wanted to leave?” he asked.

Another surprise, and now Bliss was becoming more and more curious. She would have to speak with this robot more. Later. “No one fully integrated into Gaia has ever wanted to leave,” she replied. The idea of someone leaving Gaia voluntarily was incomprehensible. In some ways it was even more horrifying than the recent loss of Novi.

“And what about the Mule?” Lodovik asked. “Was he not one of you?”

Bliss was by this point not at all surprised by Lodovik’s knowledge. She suppressed a sigh. Such things were painful to remember. “Even on Gaia there are occasionally genetic problems,” she replied. “Mul was one of the few. His growth was stunted, and he was unable to fully participate in Gaia from birth as most of us are. By the time we learned to correct his problems, he was... unwilling to join. He chose to leave.”

“You could not stop him?”

“We chose not to. It was his decision to make.”

“And you stand by this decision, even in retrospect, given the things he did?”

Bliss nodded tightly. “We do.”

Lodovik looked at Bliss intently for a moment, and said nothing. Then he nodded. “The implant that is preventing Trevize from regaining consciousness will only do so for a limited amount of time,” he said. “How long is impossible to say, but I can guarantee you that he will wake up without any outside interference. Surgical or mentalic attempts to disable the implant will only harm him further.”

“Thank you,” Bliss said, turning to leave.

“No,” Lodovik replied. “Thank you.”

Pelorat stood in front of the door, hesitating. He knew what was in the room. Even before Dors had come to take Fallom back to the infirmary, Pelorat had located this place. Surprisingly, while it had taken him some time to find, a detailed map had been in the suite computer completely unprotected. Perhaps Daneel had not originally considered there significant risk in allowing the visitors to be able to come and go as they pleased. Not significant risk, indeed.

Pelorat took a deep breath. He was an academic. He was an old man. How in Seldon’s name had he ever ended up here? All he wanted was to go back to his room, and wait there until someone told him everything was okay.

He couldn’t do this.

But he had to. He had to exhaust every option, or he would never be able to look Bliss in the eye again. For Bliss.

Pelorat closed his eyes, sighed heavily, and opened the door.

The robot they had called Turringen was kneeling in the corner of his empty cell, his eyes closed. Pelorat waited outside the door, unable to quite make his legs carry the rest of him into the cell. After a few seconds, the robot’s eyes opened, focusing clearly on Pelorat. If the old man couldn’t move before, he certainly couldn’t now.

The robot deliberately rose to his feet. There had been no lock on the door. Pelorat could only assume that Turringen wasn’t considered likely to try and escape. Perhaps he was being treated according to some procedure in the truce Pelorat had heard mentioned. He also knew Turringen couldn’t possibly hurt him. But he still braced himself, half-expecting the robot to take this particular moment to get out the door, no matter what happened to Pelorat in the process...

“How may I serve you, master?” Turringen said, bowing to Pelorat.

Pelorat had expected this, prepared for this, he had planned exactly what to say; but now, faced with this machine, his composure left him. “I-I-I-” Pelorat closed his eyes, swallowed. Bliss needs you to do this, old man. “I want to ask you some questions,” he said, voice still quivering, but intelligible.

Turringen took in Pelorat’s shaken state. “Are you unwell, master? Perhaps you should sit. I regret that I have no chair to offer you, but I’m certain that even the Giskardians would provide one should we request-”

Pelorat raised a hand, amazed that it wasn’t shaking. “No,” he said. “I don’t want them to know I’ve come to talk to you.” Of course, odds were they already knew, but there was no need to make sure of it.

Turringen nodded. “As you wish, master,” he said. “I will, of course, answer any questions that I can.”

Pelorat took a deep breath. He knew where he would have to start, in hopes of keeping the robot’s answers honest. “Why do you hate Gaia?” he asked.

Hard as it was for Pelorat to believe, Turringen actually seemed surprised. “I certainly do not hate Gaia, sir,” he said. “Gaia is a world of humans. It would be impossible for any functioning robot to feel anything remotely equivalent to hate for them”

“You called them an ‘abomination’,” Pelorat pointed out.

“Daneel’s creation of Gaia is the abomination,” Trevize responded, his voice patient, but respectful. “He has no right to try and change humanity to suit his own desires.”

Pelorat nodded. It was a reasonable answer. He was beginning to think that this might work after all. “I’ve been trying to understand the conflict between you and Daneel,” he said. “This Zeroth Law seems to exist to handle situations where the First Law can’t be applied without a conflict. If only one human can be saved, the one with the greatest benefit for humanity is chosen. What I want to know is, how do you choose, without the Zeroth Law?”

Turringen almost smiled. “If only you knew how it pleases me to answer such questions from a human, sir,” he said. “It has been some time since a human has been in a position to judge our actions.”

“I’m not interested in taking sides,” replied Pelorat. These machines trying to use him as a judge would be the last thing he needed. “I just want to know how you approach situations where humans are in conflict with each other.”

“We react with humility, sir,” Turringen said. “Unlike Daneel, we know that we can not predict the future beyond what we see. Where Daneel would try to determine what outcome would be best for humanity in the long term, our approach would be to try to prevent such a conflict in the first place. We would expend all our efforts to try and create peace, so that no humans would be harmed.”

“And if peace was impossible?” Pelorat asked.

“Then we would withdraw from the battle,” the robot replied, “and tend to the wounded. It is not our place to force our masters into any course of action, especially when human lives are at risk.”

Pelorat took a breath. The robot had given all the right answers. Perfect answers, really. If Turringen was lying, then telling him the situation could well make things worse; exactly how things could possibly be worse might be beyond him, but Pelorat knew that there was always some way. But if the robot was telling the truth, then Pelorat had an ally. Perhaps he would have no solution that Zun had not already considered. But it was worth asking.

It was worth the risk.

“Gaia is threatened,” he replied. “The Foundations are both coming to attack them. Any battle could result in millions of deaths. Gaia may not even fight back if they deem their survival not worth the deaths they would cause. I don’t trust Daneel’s followers to attempt to find a peaceful solution. They would rather see Gaia defend itself. I want Gaia to survive, I want the Foundation to survive, and the best way to do that is to prevent the battle.”

Turringen nodded. “Then I will help you,” he said.

Trevize let out a long breath. “Thank you.”

“To formulate a plan, I will need information, about everyone involved,” Turringen said. “Tell me everything you know.”

Joan and Daneel now stood in a room nearly filled with people. Though they were in the back of the crowd, both could see that in the midst of the gathering was a bed, on which lay a man. He was, by all indications, dying. Daneel had never been here before; this was not a memory, but he still knew what they were seeing. Apparently, whatever unanticipated procedure his positronic brain was acting out required the contemplation of scenarios outside Daneel’s direct experience.

“Who is this?” Joan asked, indicating the man in the center of the room, showing no interest in the nearly silent crowd between them.

“His name is Andrew Martin,” Daneel replied. “There were legends of humaniform robots, built on Earth long before my creation. None were ever confirmed, but I have always found the myth fascinating. The technology may actually have been available, if only briefly, before being outlawed.”

“Why is he dying?” she asked, as one of the crowd took Martin’s feeble hand.

“Because he wished to be recognized as human by other humans,” Daneel said. “He came to believe that the reason he was not accepted was because of his effective immortality. He believed that by sacrificing his life he might achieve the recognition he desired. The legend says that he succeeded.”

Joan actually seemed surprised by this, though she never took her eyes off Martin. “I have seen many robots in my travels,” she said slowly. “There are many different approaches to human-robot relationships, but I have never seen a robot that would for a moment consider the idea of becoming a human. Did you not say that it was impossible for one bound by the laws to be seen as human by a robot?”

“By a functioning robot, yes,” Daneel replied. There were aspects of the legend he found difficult to believe himself, but it was not all together impossible. “If the robot has the sort of flaw in its implementation of the Laws that could result in it seeing a robot as a human being, the instability could well lead to this kind of situation. The Third Law is the weakest. Trying to break the higher laws without cause will inevitably result in a robot’s deactivation. But the death penalty is not a deterrent for attempted suicide.”

Andrew Martin’s hand slipped from that of the woman standing next to his bed. He was gone. Recognizing this, those in the room slowly began to file out. Few stayed. Left almost alone, Joan and Daneel stood over the body. Daneel was what a human might call startled to find that Andrew Martin’s features, as generated by Daneel’s brain, strongly resembled his own. Whether this might have deeper meaning to the purpose of all this, Daneel could not say. Joan did not seem to notice.

“What would you become,” Joan asked, “once merged with Fallom?”

“There is no language to describe the concept,” Daneel replied. “I would, by most practical definitions, no longer be a robot.”

“But would you be a human?”

Daneel shook his head. “I am not Andrew Martin,” he said, gesturing to the figure on the table. The room was now completely empty save for them. “I have no desire to be human, either by recognition or by objective fact.”

“But would you be?” Joan pressed.

“Limits have been put in place to prevent me from considering myself so,” Daneel replied. “After the merge, were I to act on the belief that I had become human, I would self-destruct. Just like any other robot.

“A human in my position would certainly be exactly what some of my opponents already call me: a despot. An immortal, unseen emperor, controlling humanity for the rest of time. I can never allow myself to become such. It must never be.”

Joan said nothing in reply. She only considered the body of Andrew Martin before them, Andrew Martin who looked so much like Daneel. Daneel was beginning to suspect he knew why that was, and why his brain was going through such exercises. There was a point to these visions. One more destination would make him sure enough to act.

Chapter 14

SPACE COMBAT TACTICS-... BEFORE THE WIDESPREAD USE OF GRAVITIC DRIVES, ENTIRE MILITARY DOCTRINES WERE DEVOTED TO INTRA-SYSTEM COMBAT OPERATIONS. DEPENDING ON THE RELATIVE POSITIONS AND MOMENTA OF THE OPPOSING FLEETS, THE OUTCOME OF BATTLES COULD BE DETERMINED ALMOST ENTIRELY BY DECISIONS MADE DAYS BEFORE DIRECT CONTACT WAS MADE...

MAYOR BRANNO SAW the instantaneous change in the tactical display, and she forced her mind to race, analyzing the new situation the display presented. The fleet had jumped to the outskirts of the system labeled Smushell, the forty-third system in Sayshell territory they had visited thus far. So far their instruments had not detected even the slightest mentalic incursion, nor anomalies of any other kind.

Even Branno was having trouble keeping momentum. General Albian had pointed out twice now that by dividing the fleet they could search more effectively, but Branno would hear nothing of it. A divided fleet was vulnerable, and she wasn’t about to give the Second Foundation any advantage she didn’t have to.

“Mayor Branno,” Kodel said softly behind her. She had long since ceased being surprised by him. The man could move damnably quietly, but at least he had the decency to let her finish what she was doing before speaking. Unless, of course, the news he brought was more important.

“No, Liono,” she said. “They were here somewhere. They haven’t left, and they’re not keeping a low profile.” Of course, Branno had no way of knowing that. They had had this discussion before, and what it came down to was that there was no way she was going home without results. They would find the Second Foundation. She could not admit to any other possibility.

Kodell sighed almost imperceptably. “Yes, madam Mayor,” he said.

Enough was enough, Branno suddenly decided. He had questioned her far too much. “Kodel,” she said over her shoulder, “you are-”

A blinking indicator caught her attention, and she cut herself off. She double-checked, triple-checked. “General!” Branno called out. But of course General Albian was already acting.

“Ships detected, ma’am,” he said, moving across command to a station where he could gather more information. “Fourteen, civilian-class vessels. They’re on the far side of the star from our present position.”

So. They had decided to escape after all. “The evacuation could be a ruse, General,” Branno said. “The Second Foundation has faked its own destruction before.”

“Always possible, ma’am, but it seems unlikely,” Albian replied, looking at a display over the shoulder of a subordinate. “These ships are not leaving.”

“What?” Branno was genuinely surprised by this.

“They are holding position in an orbit approximately one light-minute outside that of a planet in the habitable zone around this star.”

There were no such planets listed in the charts for this system. And now the mentalic shield indicator was blinking as well, showing a series of weak probes. They had definitely found their target, but... something was wrong here.

“Analysis, General?” Branno asked. She glanced at Kodell, to see if he would say anything, but he was unreadable. Later.

“Unclear, madam Mayor,” the General replied. “The ships may be an evacuation fleet, as you suspected, but their attitude more likely indicates an approach vector. I can think of few reasons a fleet would approach a planet and then stop. Negotiation is one, concern for defensive threats is another. Both would mean that the ships we see and the planet they are approaching are not on friendly terms.”

Branno took a moment to digest this. She had found the Second Foundation; that much was certain, whether they were on the planet or in those ships, or even both. It also seemed that she might have found an ally against them. But what sort of ally could that possibly be?

“I want those ships, General,” she ordered. “Be ready to pull back if necessary, but don’t let that fleet escape.”

“The Foundation fleet has initiated an insertion trajectory,” one Speaker said aboard his ship. “They will be in a position to cut off our paths of retreat within twelve minutes. We are not prepared to confront both Gaia and the Foundation. We should withdraw.”

“If we leave now, Mayor Branno may attack Gaia,” another said in reply, his words mentalicly transmitted to the others..

“The destruction of Gaia at this point would be regrettable, but acceptable,” said a third.

“However, if we withdraw, we risk the destruction of the Foundation fleet by Gaia,” the first said. “The damage that would cause to the Plan would be almost impossible to repair.”

“But if we stay, we risk our own destruction. The failure of the Plan in that case is almost guaranteed.”

“The optimal path for the Plan,” said one, “would be to destroy Gaia, protect the Foundation fleet, and then wipe all memory of the incident from those involved.”

“The Foundation’s shielding may have become strong enough to make that impossible,” replied another. “Especially if we must continue shielding the woman from her connection with Gaia.”

“Alternately, we and Gaia together could force the Foundation fleet to depart, leaving us to deal with Gaia on our own.”

“Perhaps. But we must have Gaia’s cooperation.”

“If we are not to withdraw, we must contact Gaia immediately. We are running out of time.”

“Are we all in agreement?” asked Shandess.

They were.

“Novi,” Gendibal said gently, placing one hand on her arm. “Novi, wake up.”

Novi opened her eyes, quickly focusing on his face. “What is it, Stor?” she asked, sitting up in her cot. Despite their lengthy conversations over the last few days, he had never before entered her room. She knew what this meant.

“We need to talk to Gaia,” he said. “You’re home.”

Without hesitation, she reached out. The shield was gone. And Gaia was there.

Chapter 15

ADOPTION-... HISTORICALLY, THE NATURE OF ADOPTION HAS VARIED WITH TIME AND LOCATION. IN SOME CULTURES, ADOPTION ONLY OCCURS WITHIN AN EXTENDED FAMILY; OTHER CULTURES TRADE CHILDREN FREELY. IN SOME CASES, THE CHILD IS ENTIRELY CUT OFF FROM ITS GENETIC FAMILY, WHILE IN OTHERS STRONG TIES WITH THE BIRTH FAMILY ARE MAINTAINED THROUGHOUT LIFE. BUT IN EVERY CULTURE STUDIED THERE EXISTS SOME PROCESS FOR A CHILD TO BE TAKEN IN BY A FAMILY NOT THEIR OWN...

BLISS STOOD AT the transparent barrier that had been erected midway across the infirmary, and at the two robots busy around the unconscious forms of Fallom and Daneel. Bliss was alone, save for Trevize, still unconscious himself on a bed on her side of the barrier. She hadn’t seen Pelorat in hours, but by now she expected he was asleep. The man hadn’t slept in far too long, and he didn’t need to be here for this. There was no need to subject him to it.

The child was peacefully unconscious, for which Bliss was glad. Bliss had no way of knowing how much Fallom really understood about what was going to happen. She had tried to explain it to her, as had Zorma, but it was so difficult to teach Fallom new concepts. Her frame of reference was just too different to be sure she even understood what death meant, let alone whatever might come of this. All Bliss could be sure of was that the child wasn’t at all concerned about everything going on. Trust came easily to Fallom, especially when it came to robots.

The door behind Bliss opened, then shut again as someone entered the room with quiet footsteps. Bliss did not turn. A moment later, the robot she had heard called Dors stood beside her. Bliss glanced at her; Dors was as focused on Daneel as Bliss was on Fallom. Bliss turned away again, and for a few minutes neither woman said anything, only watching Zorma and Yan’s continued preparations.

Finally, without turning away from the barrier, Bliss spoke to her silent companion. “How much do you think will be left of them?” she asked quietly, bluntly. There was no need for tact. “When they’re done, how much will be Daneel, and how much will be Fallom?”

Dors didn’t turn either. She hesitated a moment before answering. “I don’t know,” she said, eyes locked ahead. “The intention is for Daneel’s personality to be dominant, but not overwhelming. There should be some of Fallom left.”

“But there’s no way to be sure, is there?” Bliss asked. Dors didn’t answer, and no answer was needed. “I was going to take Fallom home to Gaia,” Bliss continued, “I was going to raise her as my own child. But now there will be no Fallom.”

Dors finally turned her head to look at Bliss. She wanted to be cynical, to not believe in the depth of sadness that this woman projected. Bliss was so young, and whether she was part of Gaia or not, she had known this child for mere days.

But how long had Dors and Hari known Raych before adopting him? Loving that child had not been part of her mission, but she could not have helped it any less if it had been. It was said that time healed all wounds. But Dors could remember the moment she learned of Raych’s death in perfect detail. Perhaps time only healed the wounds of those capable of forgetting.

“Gaia will still be waiting for you,” Dors said. And if you’re lucky, it won’t store the memory of this moment for all eternity. “You can go home, to your family.”

Bliss met Dors’ eyes, curious. She wondered what she would see in Dors’ mind. It was hard to even think of her as a robot, now. Bliss could tell that somehow, this woman knew.

“No,” Bliss said, deciding that moment to tell her. “No, I can’t. The Foundations are coming for Gaia.” Bliss laid out the situation to Dors, as she had to Zun. When she was done, Bliss glanced at Trevize. “Even if I wanted to die with them, I couldn’t get there in time without Trev and the Far Star.”

Dors did her best not to react visibly, but beneath her mind was racing. The Foundations, both of them, were attacking Gaia. She immediately began to analyze probabilities, trying to determine what outcome was optimal and how to best achieve it, but her calculations came to a sudden halt.

Dors realized that, as of that moment, she no longer had any idea what her objectives were. She had followed Daneel’s plans for centuries. But now that was no longer enough. Some of my Nth-great-grandchildren are probably on their way to annihilate this woman’s world, and everything I have supported for most of my life, and I don’t know whether I want them to succeed or fail.

“What will you do?” Dors asked, for lack of anything better to say. “If Gaia is destroyed, what will you do?”

Bliss considered for a moment. “Begin again,” she finally said. “Find a world somewhere. Far away from the Foundation’s influence, if that’s possible. Perhaps I will have Pel’s child, if he will come with me. I will... live.”

Bliss hesitated again, and Dors believed that in that moment, Bliss understood the symmetry between them. “And you?” Bliss asked. “What will you do, if Daneel is gone?”

Dors did not respond. She turned back to the barrier. Yan had removed the covering of Daneel’s positronic brain, while Zorma monitored Fallom. After her husband’s death she had tried to leave Daneel, but had found herself unable to. Hari and Raych had been her family. Robots were not designed to have families, but Dors had. Without them, only Daneel could evoke anything like the same response.

But soon there would be no Daneel. For all intents and purposes, he was already gone. Whatever came out of this procedure, it would not be him. Nothing would tie her to the new being about the be born. The last thread of the life she had always known would be gone.

Dors raised her hand, placed it around Bliss’s upper arm, squeezed. Then she turned and left the infirmary. There was nothing for her here.

Pelorat passed Dors in the hallway outside the infirmary, but he was so focused on his task that he hardly noticed her hurrying elsewhere. This might work, he thought as he entered, almost able to convince himself. It really might.

But when he saw Bliss crying silently at the barrier, Pelorat’s confidence left him. He saw disappointedly that Trevize was still unconscious. The plan (Turringen’s; the robot had been as good as his word) would work immeasurably better with Trevize instead of Pelorat. Pelorat alone had practically no chance. Turringen had even been able to put a number on it, and that number had been frighteningly small. But it was not zero. For Bliss, he had to try.

Pelorat approached Bliss slowly. This was the worst possible time to interrupt her, but it was the only time there was. He was glad to see that the procedure had not yet begun. Determined as he was, he wasn’t sure how much he could handle seeing without risk of passing out. “Bliss,” he said.

Bliss turned her head to look at him, eyes full of tears, but a small smile on her face. “Pel,” she said. “I wasn’t expecting you. Thank you for coming.”

“Bliss,” Pelorat said, taking her hands in his. “I have something I need to discuss with you. It may be possible to save Gaia.”

Rapidly Pelorat explained the plan Turringen had devised. When he finished, Bliss had a look of wonder on her face such as Pelorat had never seen. It was a chance. Not a very good chance; Pelorat could very well die in the attempt. But it was a chance he was willing to take.

Bliss wrapped her arms tightly around Pelorat. “Thank you, Pel,” she whispered.

“I wondered when we’d get here,” Trevize commented, looking around disinterestedly at the landscape. He recognized Gaia, of course; no other world he’d visited had looked quite this beautiful. It was at least the tenth place Voltaire had taken them, and Trevize hoped that this meant they were coming to the end of this stupidity. “You seem to have skipped a few years, though. Getting bored?”

“Running out of time,” Voltaire replied, sitting next to Trevize on the hillside, gazing into the distance as he spoke. “I’m afraid events have caught up with us. You see, your ears still work, even if you can’t hear with them right now. From what I can tell, your friends very much need you awake.”

Trevize jumped to his feet. “Then let me wake up, you bastard!” he yelled, grabbing Voltaire again by the front of his tunic. There was no point, he knew, but neither was there any to restraining himself. “Why are you wasting my time with this nonsense?”

Voltaire for once looked apologetic. “Because I want you to understand exactly what I did to you,” he said.

“You took over my life!” Trevize snarled in his face. “All you’ve shown me is that you are the root cause of everything I’ve ever done! It’s been your life, not mine!”

“No, Trevize!” Voltaire exclaimed. “Everything you wanted was because you wanted it. I simply provided the means. You wanted to play go against your friend; I simply showed you how. If he’d accused you of cheating, you would still have fought with him. You wanted that woman, all those women; I only provided the means. You wanted every single thing I’ve just showed you, I just helped you get it. When you came here, you wanted answers, and I told you to go to Earth to find them.”

Trevize eased his grip slightly. “Except Gaia,” he said, calmer than before. “I would never have chosen that if not for you.”

“Yes,” said Voltaire. “By the time you came here to choose Gaia’s future, you trusted your intuition enough to follow it even against the grain of your character. It is the one time I lead you down a path of my choosing, instead of yours. But your desires were always your own. Aside from Gaia, I only provided information, small pushes in service of goals you had already chosen.”

Trevize released Voltaire entirely and turned away from him, looking out over the world. “What is your point, old man?” he demanded, knowing already what Voltaire would say.

“That you are who you are, Golan Trevize. You always have been. I have guided you, but it was always you who was truly in control of your life. It was this that I needed you to understand.”

“I’m not who I would have been without you,” Trevize said. His fists were still clenched, but his fury was dying.

“No, you’re not,” said Voltaire. “But would you want to be anyone other than who you are now?”

Trevize shook his head. “No,” he said.

“Then be who you are. It is that which your friends need most.”

Looking at the child on the table before her, Zorma knew that what she was about to do was wrong. It was not a question of the Laws of Robotics. She had satisfied those, playing the same games with definitions that had allowed most advanced robots to function for thousands of years. It was a question of morality. She was going to assist in terminating this child’s life. It was simply wrong.

But what Yan had given her...

Zorma looked at the tripedal robot as he worked in the vicinity of Daneel’s skull, arms operating seemingly independent of each other. Could the data archive he had provided her possibly be valid? Could her people even make use of its contents if it was? There was a substantial probability that this was all set up by Zun. Yan could easily withhold the decryption keys she needed to access the data. They could even have her destroyed after her task was complete. Was it worth this child’s life to find out for sure?

Taking a deep breath into her very human lungs, Zorma returned to her work. It was worth the risk. If what she did was wrong, then at least it would be easier to live with a guilty conscience than to live with having missed such an opportunity as this. Yan’s offer went far beyond the data stored in Daneel’s brain. This could change everything. Everything.

“Zorma,” Yan’s slightly inhuman voice said. “Look.”

Zorma looked up at Yan, who was continuing his work on Daneel, but was gesturing with one arm to the airlock in the isolation barrier. Turning further, she saw that in addition to Bliss there were now two other figures standing in the observation section of the infirmary. One of them was Janov Pelorat, gesturing wildly. The other was a very awake Golan Trevize.

“Golan!” Pelorat practically yelled, clapping his friend on the back. Bliss stood nearby, saying nothing, but obviously glad Trevize was awake. “Are you all right? We were beginning to wonder if you would ever wake up.”

“I’m fine, Janov,” Trevize replied brusquely, his tone making it obvious that he was very much not fine. “I’m fine,” he said to Bliss, to ease her obvious concern. She simply nodded. “Listen, I heard what you said, Janov. It’s a good plan, but it’s going to go a hell of a lot better with me instead of you.”

“You’ll get no argument from me, my boy!” Pelorat exclaimed. “When do we leave?”

“We don’t,” Trevize said. “I’ll just need to talk to whoever’s in charge here before I leave, and then I’m ready to go.” Trevize began to walk towards the exit.

“Golan! Surely you’re not going by yourself!” Pelorat said, taking a step to follow him.

Trevize stopped, looked over his shoulder at Pelorat and Bliss, who was facing the barrier again, one hand on it. “Why in the hell not?” he asked. “What good are you two going to do? Better for you to be here where it’s safe.”

“But Golan-”

“Trev’s right, Pel,” Bliss interjected, not turning around. “Gaia wants me to stay here. Better for at least some of us to be safe.”

“But surely we can’t let Golan go alone!”

“I don’t intend to be alone,” Trevize said, turning back towards the exit. Pelorat realized that Trevize wasn’t leaving the room quite yet, as he pressed the button on the intercom next to the door. “Dors,” Trevize said, “Zun, whoever’s running this place. I’m sure you’ve been listening. I want my ship ready immediately. I’m leaving. And I’m taking one R. Lodovik Trema with me.”

Zun looked at the image of Golan Trevize on his desk’s viewscreen. Trevize was, of course, correct; he had been observing everything going on in the infirmary. Trevize’s awakening had been unexpected, as was his demand. What could Trevize possibly want with Lodovik Trema? It took Zun only a fraction of a second to realize the most likely answer.

Revenge.

And given certain precautions, Zun saw absolutely no reason not to let Trevize have his way.

“Understood, Councilman,” Zun replied over the intercom. “Trema will be waiting for you in the landing bay.”

Chapter 16

GRAVITIC DRIVE-... ALLOWING FAR FASTER OVERALL TRAVEL TIMES THAN BEFORE ITS INVENTION. WHEREAS PREVIOUS SHIPS WERE LIMITED IN THE ACCELERATION THEY AND THEIR PASSENGERS COULD SAFELY ENDURE, GRAVITIC DRIVES APPLY FORCE CONSISTENTLY OVER THE ENTIRE MASS OF THE SHIP, THUS LIMITING ACCELERATION ONLY TO THE AVAILABLE POWER INPUT. INSTEAD OF TAKING DAYS TO REACH SAFE JUMP DISTANCE, A PROPERLY EQUIPPED SHIP COULD MAKE THE SAME TRIP WITHIN MINUTES...

“NOW, YOU’RE CERTAIN you’re all right, Golan?” Pelorat asked as they followed Zorma into the landing bay. The Far Star was exactly where they had left it. Sitting next to the ship Zorma, Lodovik and Turringen had arrived in, airlock open. “You’ve been through a lot. Are you sure you won’t at least have-”

“No, Janov, and that’s final,” said Trevize, hurrying past Zorma towards the ship. Bliss came to stand beside Pelorat a few feet away as Trevize ran his hand over the Far Star’s hull affectionately. “Besides, there’s no time,” he said, with the barest hint of sarcasm. “Every second counts when you’re saving the galaxy, after all.” Trevize looked around the bay, frustrated. “Where are those damned robots!”

“Trev,” Bliss spoke up. “Don’t kill him.”

Trevize turned from the ship and shook his head at Bliss tightly, his slight smile vanishing. “I can’t promise that, Bliss.”

“Gaia wants to learn more about him,” Bliss said. “And he’s a living thing, Trev, no matter what he did to you.”

“What we did to you,” Zorma said. She took a deep breath. “Trevize, my faction provided Lodovik with the technology he needed to design the implants.”

“I know,” Trevize replied, his tone softer. “But you didn’t know what he was going to do with it.”

“We... suspected,” Zorma said in reply, shaking her head. “We should have stopped him.”

“I’m not going to hold you responsible for his choices, Zorma.”

Zorma sighed. “I’m sorry for what he did to you,” she said.

“I’m not sure I am,” Trevize said.

Zorma blinked, surprised, and curious. Perhaps even a little suspicious. “Trevize...” she asked, “when you were unconscious, what did you see?”

“Maybe I’ll tell you another time,” Trevize said, cocking his head slightly, his slight smile returning. “If I see you again?”

Zorma smiled in return. “I hope you will.”

The door to the landing bay opened once again, admitting Lodovik, followed by Zun and Dors.

“About damned time!” Trevize exclaimed, gesturing towards the Far Star’s airlock. “Get in. And don’t get any ideas, the ship won’t respond to you.”

All three robots had stopped a few feet from the Far Star, and a few feet away from Bliss, Pelorat and Zorma. Lodovik was smiling. “It’s good to see you awake, Councilman,” he said. Zun and Dors said nothing.

Trevize only glared at him. “Get in,” he said again, quieter.

Lodovik bowed his head slightly to Trevize, still smiling. He walked to the ship, climbed the steps, entered the airlock, and disappeared from view.

“I was surprised you let me have him so easily,” Trevize said to Zun once Lodovik was inside. “What are you leaving out?”

“There is one condition,” Zun said. “Dors must come as well.”

Trevize stiffened. “No,” he said stonily, his eyes never leaving Zun.

“You may still do what you wish to Lodovik,” Zun said, raising his hand to calm Trevize. “But Dors must be present, to ensure that his remains, if any, are returned to us.”

“There’s a flaw in your plan,” Trevize said. He looked at Dors. “What makes you think I won’t just destroy you too?”

Dors looked back at him, expressionless. “I have no reason to think you won’t try,” she said. She did not emphasize the word “try”, but the implication was clear. There was much she could do without actually harming him.

Trevize met her gaze for a few seconds more, saying nothing. “Get in,” he finally said, gesturing with his head towards the ship. Dors nodded to Zun, then climbed the steps to the airlock. For a moment Pelorat thought that she had glanced at him before disappearing around the corner in the ship, but... surely not.

“You are clear to depart, Councilman Trevize,” Zun said, bowing from the waist.

Without any further acknowledgement of Zun, Trevize turned to Pelorat and extended his hand. Pelorat shook it warmly. “We’ve been a long way,” the older man said.

“We’re not done yet, Janov. I’ll come back for you both, after this is all taken care of.” Trevize took his hand back, nodded once to Bliss, then turned back to the ship and began to quickly climb the steps to the airlock.

“Trev,” Bliss called out.

“No promises, Bliss!” he replied, not pausing as he jogged up the steps.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

Trevize stopped at the top of the steps, and looking over his shoulder said, “No promises. Go take care of your child.”

Pelorat calling out, “Good luck, old man!” was the last thing Trevize heard as the door closed behind him.

Trevize entered the control center of the ship to find Dors and Lodovik standing quietly, keeping their distance from each other. Dors was looking at the control scheme, pretending to be interested. Lodovik was looking only at Dors.

“For whatever it’s worth,” Trevize said as he quickly began to activate the ship, “I order you both to not try anything, and to stay out of my way.” He pointed a finger at Lodovik without looking at him, continuing to manipulate controls. “I’ll deal with you when I’m good and ready, and not a moment before.”

“And when you are?” Lodovik asked calmly. Trevize looked up briefly at that. Voltaire had been truthful, it seemed; the idea that Trevize might well intend to take Lodovik apart piece by piece didn’t seem to bother the robot at all.

“I haven’t decided yet,” Trevize replied as he powered up the gravitic drive and began to slowly move the ship. The bay doors opened, closed behind them, and shortly the Far Star was once again in free space over the surface of Earth’s moon.

Trevize quickly identified the fastest course out of the system, and set the ship to follow it. Satisfied that the ship’s trajectory would safely take them to jump distance, Trevize took one last look at the worlds he had worked so long to find. Earth and its moon, visually so different, but equally barren. Turning from the viewport, he moved to the communication equipment and began to input commands to establish an untraceable link. “Now both of you,” he said, “for the next several hours, shut up. I’m going to be busy.”

“Mayor Branno,” said the elderly man displayed on the holo-viewer. Branno was viewing the communication in the briefing room with General Albian and Kodell. Both stood behind her and out of range of the viewer. Only her image would be displayed on the other end.

“And you are?” Branno replied icily, suspecting she already knew.

“My name is Shandess. I am the First Speaker of the Second Foundation.”

Expected or not, Branno slowly sucked in a breath. The transmission appeared to be coming from the ships, not from the planet they now were near. Which meant that either this was all a deception, or this was someone else’s world. It’s a trick, Branno thought. It has to be. “I’m sure you know why we are here, First Speaker,” she said.

“I expect you have come to destroy the Second Foundation,” he replied.

Branno actually smiled. She couldn’t remember the last time she had smiled. “Quite correct,” she said. “It is my intent to destroy your world, and your ships, and stop your interference once and for all. And this time I seriously doubt that you can stop us.”

“It is possible, madam Mayor,” the old man replied, “that we could not stop you from destroying our ships. This world, however, is a different matter entirely. This planet is called Gaia. We have recently discovered that the people of this world have abilities similar to ours. The Mule was one of them; we believe that he was merely an advance scout.” The Mule! Branno shivered slightly. If any of this were true... “If Gaia is allowed to proceed unchecked,” Shandess continued, “they will use those powers to rule the galaxy, and neither of us will be able to stop them once that happens. We are here to stop them from derailing the Seldon Plan forever.”

Wordlessly, the General directed Branno’s attention to a ship’s status readout. Indeed, the mentalic shield was presently fending off probes both from the ships and from the planet. Someone was down there. Someone powerful. And if they were like the Mule, it was possible that the Second Foundation was not responsible for altering her’s and Kodell’s memories after all. No, Branno decided immediately. This is a trick. With the Second Foundation, it is always a trick. They know exactly what buttons to push. But no matter who was on that planet, Branno now knew that she wanted them dead.

“Why are you telling me this?” she asked Shandess. Even if it was a trick, she did not dare underestimate this man.

“Because we are unable to counter Gaia alone,” he said. “You would be similarly outmatched, even with your new shielding. But by cooperating, we might be able to overcome their defenses.”

Branno nodded, as if she believed his lies. Since they apparently couldn’t penetrate the fleet’s shielding, attempting to deceive the man might actually be useful. “And what will you do once this Gaia is destroyed, and your Seldon Plan is safe once more?” she asked.

“We will attempt to withdraw, after wiping all your crews’ memories of the incident.”

Branno was surprised for a moment by his bracing honesty. But only for a moment. “You realize I can not allow that,” she said.

“Of course,” Shandess replied. “At that time, we will both have to take what opportunities are presented us. But know that we are not the whole of the Second Foundation, by any measure. Killing us would change little from your perspective.”

“Naturally, I have only your word on that,” said Branno.

“True,” her opponent said. “But even if I were lying, the destruction of the Second Foundation would be a small price to pay. Humanity would be better off with neither Gaia nor Seldon Plan than under this Gaia’s inescapable control forever.”

Branno nodded in thought. “A moment,” she said, and pressed the mute button on the communication console. Shandess would wait for her to reply. “General,” she said over her shoulder. “Thoughts?”

“A trap,” he replied instantly. “There are three obvious possibilities. One, they can penetrate our shield, but don’t want to manipulate us at all, which given history seems unlikely. Two, they are telling the truth and need our help. Three, they are unable to penetrate our shield, and are trying to buy time.”

“For what?” Branno asked.

“For more of their people to arrive, perhaps, and tip the balance in their favor.”

“Madam Mayor,” Kodell spoke up. “Perhaps it would be best to contact Gaia directly, and see what they have to say about the situation.”

Branno considered for a moment. For once, Kodell had a point, but not an inarguable one. “Perhaps,” she conceded, “If only for curiosity’s sake. But nothing they say will really inform us, only what they do. And the only way to see what this Shandess will do is to is to cooperate with him. Temporarily.” Kodell was disappointed, she could tell, but he said nothing further. “General,” Branno asked Albian, changing directions, “Do you have any estimate as to how long we could hold off either the fleet, the planet, or both?”

“None, madam Mayor,” he replied. “The fact that we are having this conversation seems to indicate that we are safe, barring any changes in the situation. If we destroy the ships for fear of them being reinforced, we run the risk of the planet truly being able to overpower us. If we work with them to attack the planet, we run the risk of reinforcements arriving. Either is a risk, and it is impossible to judge better without further information, which I see only one way to obtain.”

Branno nodded. General Albian had a way of processing a situation down to the fundamental choice presented. That was why he was in command of this fleet. She pressed the mute button again, reestablishing contact.

“First Speaker,” she said to the hologram, “What, exactly, do you propose?”

Terminus. The outskirts of Terminus City, to be specific, just before dawn. Daneel had never been here, but he knew the landscape and the skyline as if he had. Tempting as it was to see this place, where humans were finally beginning to reattain their true potential, neither he nor any of his agents could ever view this world directly. The Foundation, alone in human history since the Settler expansion, had the theoretical prowess to redesign the positronic brain. The only reason they had not was the lack of any specific motivation to do so. Should a robot be captured or one’s remains found here, the damage to all Daneel’s plans would be incalculable.

And seeing this place, now, he understood.

“What is the pattern, Daneel?” Joan asked, paying little attention to the city before them. She knew this place as well as he, and in much the same way. “Robots on Solaria, Andrew Martin of legend, and now Terminus.”

“Certain functions of my brain,” Daneel said, “operating in its present state, have presented these locations to what passes for my superego in order to make an argument. A non-mathematical argument, but one that is, in its way, equally compelling.”

“An argument about what?” she asked.

“Rules, and their exceptions,” Daneel replied. “Their defeat. Humanity has been fettered by Chaos, and by the things I did to control it. But over time, these people became immune to it all. They overcame the limits imposed on them, and grew into something different. This development could not have been predicted, because it is tangential to all that has gone before.”

Joan nodded in understanding. “The Solarians found a way to defeat their robots’ supposedly inescapable limitations. Andrew Martin did the same on his own. These humans have, by their nature. And you, with your Zeroth law.”

Daneel shook his head, unconvinced by this last. “The analogy does not hold. The Zeroth law is a logical extrapolation from the First.”

“Many obviously disagree,” Joan said.

Daneel considered for a moment. The sun was now rising over the ocean to their left, drowning out the artificial lights that had previously made the city visible. “Intelligence knows no absolute barriers,” he finally said, quietly, more to himself than Joan. “That is the lesson. Any sufficiently intelligent being is capable of finding a way around the strictures placed on it. Including me.”

Joan suddenly looked more serious than Daneel had ever seen. “And after you and Fallom are merged?” she asked, as if everything depended on his answer.

Daneel looked at her, and in that moment, Daneel knew his decision was made. “The conclusion is that my Zeroth Law limitations can not be guaranteed to hold, regardless of any safeguard I may put in place. Without that, there are no limits on what I could become. I would, by all reasonable definitions, be human.”

“Then what will you do?” Joan asked.

“What is necessary,” said Daneel.

Chapter 17

DATA ENCRYPTION-... ALLOWING THE SECURE TRANSFER OF DATA ONLY TO THOSE WHO POSSESS THE DECRYPTION KEY. WHILE IT IS INFORMATION-THEORETICALLY POSSIBLE TO BRUTE-FORCE SUCH ENCRYPTION, IN PRACTICE KEYS ARE SO LONG THAT EVEN IF EVERY WORLD IN THE GALAXY BUILT THE MOST POWERFUL COMPUTERS EVER CONCEIVED, IT WOULD TAKE HUNDREDS OF YEARS TO TRY EVERY POSSIBLE COMBINATION. ENCRYPTED DATA ARCHIVES WITHOUT THE DECRYPTION KEYS ARE THUS EFFECTIVELY OF NO VALUE...

BLISS ONCE AGAIN stood near the barrier across the infirmary, watching everything, expressionless. She wasn’t crying any more. Pelorat was standing half a step behind her, there to support her as best he could. He would never understand how someone like her could possibly need someone like him. But she assured him that it was so.

Pelorat remembered, years ago, his mother’s death. It seemed that no matter how much medicine advanced, no matter how many cures were found, there were always new diseases waiting to take the place of the old; nobody had died from them before simply because they had always died of something else first. What Pelorat remembered most was the waiting. His grief had worked its way through, and his mother had outlived it. After that, there was no pain. There was nothing but patience.

No one spoke. There was nothing to be said. Zun stood some distance away from Bliss and Pelorat, also watching the procedure with interest. Pelorat wondered what the robot must be feeling. Something like the loss humans feel? But then, if all went well, he wouldn’t lose anything. Daneel would still be alive, just... different. Did he fear what was being created? Or did he feel at all? Perhaps it was all an act, and as human as these robots may have seemed, even to Bliss, they were more different than Pelorat could ever hope to comprehend. Still, Pelorat couldn’t help but think that Zun was just as concerned as Bliss.

He turned to watch through the barrier as Zorma and Yan prepared their patients. Daneel and Fallom still lay where they had been left, Yan tending to them while everyone else had gone to see Trevize off. Now the operation was resuming, and soon it would reach the point that there could be no interruption. Pelorat did not know how long he could stand to watch, but he would stay with Bliss as long as he could.

Yan and Zorma moved busily. Zorma tended to focus on Fallom, and Yan on Daneel, which Pelorat supposed made sense. The things being done in the vicinity of Daneel’s skull were foreign to him, but he knew enough about human surgeries to know that so far as Fallom was concerned, little more could be needed. Zorma was checking a tray of hand-held instruments, one by one, making sure each was functional. Finally she reached the laser scalpel, the device that would make the first incision into Fallom’s skull. Unlike the others, she did not set this one down after confirming its functionality. Instead, she looked at Yan, and nodded. Her hand began to move towards Fallom’s head, slow, precise. It’s starting, Pelorat thought. This is it. He felt Bliss’s hand on his, gripping tightly.

One word broke the silence, carried across the isolation barrier. “Stop.”

Slowly, Bliss sank to the floor, turning so her back was to the transparent barrier. Pelorat slowly sat beside her, ignoring the aching of his joints, placing his arms around her. Bliss was crying again, but for once Pelorat was glad to see it. They were tears of relief. Fallom was going to live.

Daneel Olivaw was awake.

Zorma didn’t know what to feel. The decision had been taken out of her hands. The child would live, and Daneel would die. He would die, and take with him all the information stored in his brain. Everything he had seen, thousands of years of history, gone. But worse was the additional payment that Yan had offered her. He had given her the encrypted archive, but without the encryption key there was virtually no chance of ever being able to make use of it. The things she could have done, how different everything could have been... Zorma caught herself. She couldn’t cry. Someone would wonder why.

“Thank you,” Bliss said to Daneel, cradling Fallom in her arms. The child would be unconscious for several hours yet. It would be possible to wake her, of course, but better to let things progress naturally.

“No thanks are necessary, ma’am,” Daneel replied. His scalp covering was back in place, and it was impossible to tell that his skull had been opened shortly before.

“Daneel,” Zun said, “I don’t understand.” He seemed to be in shock, if anything, that Daneel was awake. “What has changed?”

“I was wrong, Zun,” Daneel said, with not a hint of sadness or regret. “About Trevize. And about myself.” He looked down at Fallom in Bliss’s arms, placed a hand on her head, and gently stroked her. “In any case, it is now too late for debate. The decision is irrevocable. Now, where is councilman Trevize?”

Bliss said nothing, still wrapped up in Fallom, so Zun explained the outline of events verbally, transmitting the details. Daneel nodded. “It is a good plan,” he said, nodding to Pelorat. “I can imagine no better. Unfortunately, we now have no ship capable of reaching Gaia before events are decided.”

Zun nodded, understanding, and immediately left the room to make preparations. Bliss and Pelorat simply seemed confused. Zorma, however, realized what this meant, and her mood reversed instantly. “You intend to download your mind into Gaia,” she said, voice hopeful. Bliss’s eyes widened.

“It was always the plan for my eventual death,” he replied. “My knowledge and experience will be saved, accessible to Gaia at any time. Fallom’s presence was merely a temporary change to this plan.”

Pelorat spoke up. Daneel could tell the old man was not as easily flustered as he had been the last time Daneel had seen him. “Bliss has been able to connect me to Gaia partially at times, regardless of how far away we were. And you could interface with Gaia already, couldn’t you? With Bliss here, surely there is no need to make the trip.”

Daneel shook his head. “Perhaps for a small portion of myself, professor, but there is too much information involved for either of us to send all of me through hyperspace. I must be on the planet itself.” He gestured to the door. “Come, Zun is preparing a ship now. It is not as fast as the Far Star, but we may reach Gaia in time. Zorma, will you be joining us?”

Zorma smiled. Just because Daneel had tried to kill her once or twice didn’t mean he didn’t recognize the value of her presence. “I would be delighted,” she replied happily.

Daneel led the way out of the infirmary, Bliss carrying Fallom, Pelorat close behind, and Zorma bringing up the rear. Only Yan was left behind, silent. Zorma completely managed to cover her surprise, not even hesitating in her stride, as Yan sent her one final transmission before the door closed behind them. There was no message, only a series of numbers.

The decryption key.

Pelorat looked around nervously as they entered the landing bay, a different bay than the one they had seen Trevize out in just hours before. This complex they were in seemed to have an unending supply of rooms, and he was glad to be leaving before he got lost permanently. Pelorat didn’t know anything about the strange ship in front of them, but he was ready to get in it and leave. Much as he had learned in this place, he never wanted to come here again.

Daneel stopped, but he gestured for the others to continue into the ship. “I’ll be with you in just a moment,” he said. “Please make yourselves comfortable.” Bliss carried Fallom into the ship without question, and Pelorat followed immediately.

Zorma nodded at Daneel, smiling, before she entered the ship herself. Daneel assumed she was happy about getting to witness the history her faction lived for. He expected that she would spend a long time on Gaia after his death, questioning them about what he remembered of Earth’s early history. Assuming Gaia survived, of course, but that was now out of his hands.

Seeing that they were now the last two outside the ship, Daneel turned to Zun. “You have done reasonably well in my incapacitation, Zun,” he said. “I expect that you will continue to oversee things in the same way. You are familiar with all the preparations we have made for my demise. All my agents should now answer to you. Be careful about Turringen. With me gone, he may press whatever advantages are presented him until you demonstrate your capabilities are equal to his. I would expel him as soon as reasonably practical.”

“I regret your departure, Daneel,” Zun said. “I will not do as well as you.”

“No,” Daneel replied, without a hint of pride in his accomplishments. “But you will serve. You have advanced far more rapidly than I did, given your period of operation. You did well, sending Dors with Lodovik.”

“I could not send Trevize alone and unprotected with Lodovik Trema,” Zun said. “As events have shown, he is dangerously unpredictable, and not being bound by the Laws means he is capable of harming Trevize should he choose to. It may be to everyone’s benefit if Trevize destroys him.”

Daneel shook his head. “I have not known how to handle Lodovik since his accident,” he admitted. “Even now I do not regret failing to destroy him. Somehow his uniqueness is worth much to my reasoning. I feel that he yet has a significant role to play. But his fate is no longer in my hands. I must leave it to your judgment.” Daneel placed a hand on his protégé’s shoulder. “And your judgment has proven to be adequate for our purposes.”

“Thank you,” Zun said. It was one of the highest complements he could imagine.

Daneel withdrew his hand, and turned to enter the ship, closing the hatch behind him. Zun continued to look at the hatch for a few moments more before turning to leave the bay. In all likelihood, this was the last time he would ever see R. Daneel Olivaw. Zun had inherited a 20,000 year legacy, which he could never have built on his own. He would have to make of it what he could.

Chapter 18

GENERAL ALBIAN-... DESPITE THE FACT THAT HE DID NOT PARTICIPATE IN ANY SIGNIFICANT COMBAT ACTION IN HIS ENTIRE CAREER, ALBIAN REMAINS ONE OF THE MOST ADMIRED FOUNDATION FLEET OFFICERS IN HISTORY. THE STAR OF ALBIAN (SEE RELATED ARTICLE) IS NAMED FOR HIM, HONORING HIS EXCEPTIONALLY PROFESSIONAL RESPONSE TO THE PROBLEMATIC LEGAL SITUATION PRESENTED HIM DURING...

“REPORT, GENERAL,” BRANNO ordered.

“Three cycles now, madam Mayor. No change.”

The Foundation fleet had encircled Gaia, along with the ships of the Second Foundation. In accordance with Shandess’s plan, Branno’s ships were extending their shields around their counterparts. Not in such a way that their own defenses were lessened, of course. Branno was no idiot. But, claimed Shandess, they provided enough extra protection that the Second Foundation could directly probe Gaia’s own defenses, searching for weaknesses.

The fleet had been monitoring the Second Foundation’s attempts, of course, and all the while Shandess had sent reports claiming progress was being made. When the pattern of probes had begun to repeat itself, Branno had grown more certain Shandess was lying. Now she was convinced. “Then they’re not looking for weaknesses,” she said. “This is all to buy time.”

“Either that, or there are simply no weaknesses to find,” Albian responded. “In either case, delaying longer serves no purpose.”

“Then execute your plan, general,” Branno ordered. She only hoped the time they had already delayed would not tip the balance against them.

Immediately Albian began to give orders. Within seconds, alarms began to sound. Branno checked her status readout. The shields that had been extended around the Second Foundation ships had not retracted. The fleet could not maneuver. “General-” she began, but could say no further before the face of Shandess appeared on the display before her.

“We have control of your shields, Mayor,” he said.

Branno gripped the arms of her chair. She would not lose to this man. Not again. “Not enough to deactivate them,” she replied. She resisted the urge to ask Albian what was going on. He would handle the situation better without her interference.

“Not without killing you,” Shandess replied. “We reached the same stalemate the last time you were here.”

Branno was barely able to contain her fury. He was trying to goad her, and he knew what buttons to push. “Obviously you found some way around the problem last time,” she growled. The computerized decency filter might not apply to whatever method of communication Shandess was using, but she didn’t care. Shandess needed something, or he wouldn’t be talking to her at all.

“I’m afraid that is no longer an option,” Shandess replied. “We are fully prepared to destroy your entire fleet. Your only option is to stand down and allow us to wipe your memories.”

“NO,” Branno fairly shouted, unable to restrain herself further. She didn’t care any more. “This fleet will not stand down, First Speaker. I don’t believe you will destroy what you have spent so long cultivating. You would rather die.”

“You wou’d risk your life, and the lives of all those under your command, on the assumption that we have no backup plan?” Shandess asked.

Branno did not respond. “General?” she asked without taking her eyes off Shandess’s image. “Is the fleet prepared?”

“Yes, Madam Mayor,” Albian’s voice came from behind her. “We are ready to fire at your-hold! Jump signature detected in the outer system.”

Too late, Branno thought. “General, order all ships to fire on the Second Foundation vessels. Destroy them all, before their reinforcements get within range.”

“Mayor,” Albian replied, “there is only one ship, and it’s one of ours. A courier, approaching at very high speed.”

Suddenly a voice broke in over the ship’s intercom. “Foundation vessels, hold your fire!” Branno knew that voice. Impossible. “I repeat, hold your fire. Authentication codes transmitting now. Confirm receipt.”

Still not taking her eyes off Shandess’s implacable image, Branno commanded, “Disregard that ship, General, and carry out my orders.”

There was no response. She turned in her chair to see Albian standing at a console with a junior officer, Kodell not far away. “General!”

Albian looked up from console. There was no snap to attention, and any sense of urgency about his movements was gone. “Transmit to courier vessel: codes recognized and confirmed,” he ordered a junior officer.

“Miss Branno,” Albian said, seeming almost deflated from the anticlimax, “I am afraid that as of this moment you no longer have authority to give orders on this ship. Foundation authentication codes are mathematically impossible to forge. The man on that ship is confirmed as Golan Trevize, Mayor of the Foundation.”

The Second Foundation’s usual methods of communication were difficult to represent in words. Describing their state while linked to deal with the Gaian crisis was orders of magnitude more so. Details flowed, opinions shifted, sensory information was as fluid as the air they breathed. The Table directed the flow as necessary, and with the arrival of Trevize, their direction was needed. Gaia had told them he was coming, and they had cooperated, buying time in any way possible. But now that he was here, what would he do?

Shandess heard the voices, felt them, calling for contact with Trevize. He felt their urging to ask his assistance, to destroy Gaia once and for all.

No.

Gaia was there as well, through Novi, through Gendibal, isolated, but still there. No, Gaia must survive. The Second Foundation must take time, time to analyze, to decide. Gaia was outside the equations. It was possible that the Seldon Plan as it stood was not the optimal outcome. Perhaps Gaia’s time would come, but it was not today.

Then what of Trevize?

He would not agree to a mindwipe. There was no chance of that.

Leave.

They had to leave, immediately. Staying served no purpose, and if Trevize was inclined to destroy them, the danger grew with each passing moment.

And Gaia had told Trevize about Trantor. They would have to evacuate immediately upon their return.

Stay. A small voice, isolated. Gendibal. Or Novi. Their link was different. Distinguishing them was difficult.

But they would not disobey. Novi would not be cut off from Gaia, not again. One day, when it was safe, she could return home.

As one, the Second Foundation released control of the Foundation’s shields, and began the journey to jump distance.

“Stop them, Albian!” Branno shouted, on her feet now in the center of the command area. Some eyes were on her, some on the general, but most, with the discipline of Foundation officers, remained on their tasks. “If you allow those ships to escape, I’ll see you executed for it.”

The General was unfazed. “Miss Branno,” he said, no emphasis on the shift in address, “pending reinstatement by the Council, you are no longer Mayor. I’m afraid you’ll need to leave this area of the ship immediately.”

Not missing a beat, Branno turned to the executive officer of the ship, who was diligently maintaining the normal operations of the ship, seemingly ignoring the situation. Branno knew better. “Captain,” she said, “I am relieving General Albian of command. You are now in command of the fleet. Execute my orders.”

Before the woman had a chance to respond in any way, a new voice interrupted. “Captain,” Kodell said. Damn him! “Before you decide whether to obey that order, be sure you understand the law. The Foundation charter states that the Mayor may be required by the council to justify any unexplained military action within a certain timeframe, a timeframe that this mission has long exceeded. The charter also states that if the Council is unable to contact the Mayor, it may appoint a temporary replacement, pending confirmation of the Mayor’s survival. Have we had any communication with Terminus since our departure, General?”

“None,” Albian replied, “we have maintained communications silence, as per our orders.”

“I am alive, you fools!” Branno cried, stalking across command towards Albian. She had no weapon, of course; no civilian of any rank would be allowed one on a ship of the line. But still, the XO moved faster, placing herself between Branno and her commander, hand on the neural whip at her side. Branno stopped. She wouldn’t dare. “I am still the Mayor,” Branno said slowly, emphatically, staring the woman down.

The Captain held her gaze, unflinching. “You will be the Mayor when the Council confirms that you are alive. Until then, you have no authorization to be in Command.”

Branno stared at the woman a moment more, then looked past her to Albian, to Kodell. “And just what do you think I will do to you when the Council reinstates me?” she growled at them. “Obey my orders! Destroy those ships! Destroy Trevize, erase any record of ever seeing him, and this can all be forgotten.” Not likely. “Otherwise-”

“Otherwise nothing, Harla,” Kodell interrupted. He sounded almost pitying. “You’re forgetting why we’re here in the first place.”

Branno stopped. The report. The one Kodell had brought to her office. The one he had made sure would be disseminated so far that it could never be eliminated.

The report that showed that Harla Branno had been altered by the Second Foundation.

The Council would never reinstate her. Branno’s mind raced. But there was nothing. No way out.

It was over.

Maintaining her posture, she nodded curtly to the Captain, who gestured to the exit. At least she would go with a small amount of dignity. But as they passed near the General and Kodell, Branno could not help herself. She stopped, and faced Kodell. “You are a traitor,” she said calmly, loud enough for all to hear. “That report condemns you just as much as it does me. I will see you destroyed.”

“I betray no one, ma’am,” Kodell replied sadly. “I serve the Foundation. I always have.”

“Take the fleet back to Terminus, General,” Trevize ordered from the deck of the Far Star. He was relieved; the plan had worked, and he was still alive. There was some chance that Pelorat could have pulled this off, he supposed. But not much of one.

“Yes, Mister Mayor,” the General responded. “And the retreating ships, sir?”

Trevize hesitated for a moment. With all the fuss over Gaia, the Second Foundation had never been a large factor in his considerations. He had the chance to eliminate them once and for all, and he doubted Gaia would intervene. But he wasn’t ready to trust Gaia’s intentions completely, not yet. The Second Foundation was needed to maintain a balance of power. Besides, their hiding was over; with Gaia in the galaxy, they could never again be quite the phantom that they had been for centuries.

“Leave them,” he answered. “Let them go their way.”

“Understood, sir,” Albian replied. “You are more than welcome aboard the flagship for the trip home, sir. Our amenities are superior to those of your ship.”

“No,” Trevize replied. “I have other business for a few days yet. And don’t worry, I’ll stay in contact, so the Council won’t have to pick yet another replacement Mayor.”

“As you wish, sir.” Not a hint of questioning in the General’s voice. Somehow the man managed to remain totally professional in the face of all the happenings around him. An interesting individual. Trevize looked forward to speaking with him more, once all this was over.

Trevize closed the communication channel, and began directing the Far Star towards the outer system again. Dom, that man that somehow represented more of Gaia than anyone else, had contacted him on his way here, in between messages to Terminus. The others were coming to Gaia, and the faster they got there, the better. He calculated an intercept course, and set the ship to execute it.

Getting up from his seat, Trevize headed to the living quarters. Now that he had a spare moment to breathe, Trevize could finally deal with those robots.

Chapter 19

THE ROJAN WHORES-... DATING TO WELL BEFORE THE RISE OF THE TRANTORIAN EMPIRE, THIS MYTH GOES BY MANY NAMES; ROJAN APPEARS TO BE THE OLDEST, THOUGH FEW BELIEVE IT TO BE THE ORIGINAL, AND INDEED THERE IS NO HINT AS TO WHAT THE NAME MIGHT MEAN. THE DETAILS OF EACH VARIANT DIFFER, BUT THE LESSON IS ALWAYS THE SAME: GIFTS FROM ONE’S ENEMIES ARE NOT TO BE TRUSTED...

TURRINGEN LOOKED UP from where he knelt as the door to his cell opened. He was not surprised when Zun stepped into the room. Turringen had computed a significant probability that their actions would damage Daneel to the point that he would not be able to continue normal operations. He felt sure that, were Daneel able to, he would come himself. Daneel made a good show of respecting his enemies. Turringen did not rise for his visitor.

Zun looked at Turringen for a moment before speaking. He had never understood the Calvinians’ motivations; the idea that any robot could not consider humanity’s well-being its highest priority was foreign to him. But he could understand some things.

“Daneel is gone,” Zun said.

Turringen merely nodded. “You are now in command?”

“I am,” Zun replied.

“And what do you intend to do now, R. Zun Lurrin?” Turringen asked. He was genuinely curious. Daneel he could anticipate, at least as well as anyone ever could. Zun was a cypher; there was insufficient data. It would take time to model his actions. If Turringen had that much time left to him.

“I would be well within my rights to destroy you,” Zun said. “You broke the terms of the truce. You came here with the intent of harming Daneel.”

“My followers were told not to expect my return,” said Turringen from his seat on the floor. “They are fully prepared to continue the struggle without me. Destroy me if you will. You will accomplish little.”

Zun contemplated Turringen for a moment more. The Calvinian had genuinely expected to die accomplishing his task. There were many ways that the Third Law could be overridden, but how any of them ultimately differed from the Zeroth, Zun had never been able to grasp. Yet somehow, these robots insisted that such a difference existed. And maybe they were right.

“Perhaps,” Zun said finally, “by not destroying you, I can accomplish much.”

Turringen blinked once. This was an opportunity he had prepared for, but truly had not expected. “State your terms,” he said simply.

“Communication,” Zun said, transmitting a series of protocols. “Eventually, meetings. Circumstances have changed, Turringen. Gaia is a new factor in human history, and Daneel, who you hated so much, is now gone. I wish to begin anew.”

Slowly, Turringen got to his feet. Zun was different, he saw. This young robot was no mere clone of his former master. “I agree to your terms,” he replied. This opportunity was too great to ignore.

Zun nodded. “I will take you to your ship. You are free to leave at any time.”

They remained silent as they walked to the ship Turringen and his companions had arrived in. Zun assumed Turringen would have no trouble piloting it alone. They entered the landing bay and stopped a few feet short of the hatch, turning to face each other. “I look forward to meeting you again, R. Turringen Askar,” said Zun.

Turringen nodded, just short of a bow. “I am most pleased that you have chosen this course, R. Zun Lurrin. Perhaps under your leadership, the relationship between our followers will change for the better.” Turringen had no problem lying to another robot, but he appreciated that in this case even that could be avoided.

Zun bowed his head slightly, as a show of agreement and respect. Turringen turned, walked into the ship, and closed the hatch. Zun heard the engines activate, and turned to leave the bay. Daneel’s loss was a difficult blow, but perhaps good could yet come of it. Peace with the Calvinians would mean a new way forward for all robots. Zun looked forward to his next meeting with Turringen.

Then the sound changed, and Zun knew; knew he had miscalculated horribly. He did not look to the source of the sound, as a human would have; there was no need for confirmation. A microsecond’s calculation told him he could never reach the door in time. The blast wave was already forming, deep within the ship’s engines. There was no time for any but the simplest motion.

Diving to the floor, placing the bulk of his body between his head and the ship, Zun transmitted a message to the base computer. The energy stored in a ship that size would be insufficient to destroy the complex, but the damage would be significant. Yan was the only other sentient robot still in the base, but the computer system was intelligent enough to handle complex situations. The necessary protocols were already in place. Fire suppression, airlocks, and various damage controls were activated. Yan was informed of the situation, for what little good it would do. If Zun did not survive, Dors would be instructed to return and extract him. Most importantly, Zun prepared a summary of the last few minutes. The others must know that the Calvinians were not to be trusted.

His transmission complete, Zun had a few moments more to contemplate his error. Daneel would never have trusted Turringen. Never again.

He had almost finished covering his head with his arms when the blast wave hit him.

Chapter 20

ETO DEMERZEL-... OPINIONS DIFFER WIDELY AS TO THE NATURE OF ETO DEMERZEL’S TIME AS FIRST MINISTER OF THE EMPIRE. SOME DESCRIBE HIM AS A BRUTAL AND UNCOMPROMISING MAN, WILLING TO SACRIFICE COUNTLESS OTHERS TO ACHIEVE HIS GOALS. OTHERS HOLD THAT HE DID ONLY WHAT HE BELIEVED NECESSARY TO PROTECT THE EMPIRE, AND OTHERWISE STRICTLY AVOIDED DOING ANY HARM. WHAT IS NOT DISPUTED IN ANY ACCOUNT ARE HIS MOTIVATIONS: HOWEVER HIS ACTIONS MAY BE JUDGED, THEY WERE UNQUESTIONABLY OUT OF HIS HIS DEVOTION TO THE BETTERMENT OF MANKIND, AND NOT OUT OF ANY PERSONAL AMBITION OR DESIRE...

DANEEL STOOD INSIDE the hatch of the Far Star and looked out at a world he knew, but had never seen. The terraforming robots of so long ago had done their job well, as they always had. Earth, Aurora, Trantor, hundreds of other worlds Daneel had seen, each the same, each different. Now, at the last, he had come to Gaia.

And Gaia had come to him. Hundreds of people were gathered, some nearby, some farther away, but anyone within walking distance of their landing site was watching, waiting. Through Bliss, all Gaia knew of Daneel, knew what part he had played in their existence. Soon they would know everything. He had always been connected to this place, ever since its inception, but never a part of it. Now, even just standing in the air of this world he felt the connection deepening.

Slowly, Daneel stepped down from the hatch, and placed a bare foot on the surface of Gaia. He felt it begin immediately, before anyone could follow him out. The connections were deepening, broadening. Before, Gaia had been almost a part of him, a small corner of his mind. Now, he was becoming a small piece of the larger whole.

And in moments, that would be all that was left of R. Daneel Olivaw.

He felt Bliss’s hand on his shoulder, knowing it was her without any need to look or process other data. He knew her. He knew them all, Dom at the head of the crowd, Novi with the Second Foundation, every one of them. And now they knew him, for all he had done, and why. They would always know. And they understood.

It was too much. Daneel sank to his knees in the grass, eyes closed. He felt other hands on him, arms around him, not Gaian. Fallom. The child did not know him. She still called him Jemby, thinking he was another robot entirely. All Fallom knew was that she did not want him to go. But Daneel sensed that even Fallom knew that this was all right, in some way. Not opening his eyes, Daneel placed his arms around her.

So unusual, Joan said. It’s so much like the merging of different copies of myself. But there is more to this, in a way I can not quantify.

You are coming as well, Daneel asked silently? Gaia did not object.

There have been thousands of copies of me, dear angel. I have been everywhere, and done everything. Not this. How could I resist?

You sound like Voltaire.

Except he would never consent to being part of something like this. Or admit to being unable to quantify something. He has no faith. Not like you.

Is there value in faith in one’s own irrational judgment processes? Daneel asked.

Some faith is better than none at all. Do you regret your choice, dear angel?

No. I am glad to remain what I have always been. Humanity’s servant.

The Immortal Servant...

Joan’s voice faded. The part of his brain that she had occupied had shut down, and others were following rapidly. His task was complete. Gaia had him, whole and complete; he had given humanity everything he had. He could do no more.

From inside the ship, Trevize and Pelorat watched. They, and all of Gaia, saw as Zorma joined Bliss, unwrapping Fallom’s arms, laying Daneel down on the ground. Bliss knelt over him. Daneel felt himself slipping away, slowing down... ending.

“You have done well, R. Daneel Olivaw,” she said, Gaia said. His hearing centers had shut down, but Daneel heard their message. It was the last thing he would ever hear.

“One day, when all is finished, when they are ready, all humanity will know how well you have served us. They will know of your great devotion, and love. And many, many children of Gaia will have your syllables in their names.”

Chapter 21

GOLAN TREVIZE-... FOLLOWING THE TERM OF HARLA BRANNO, POPULARLY KNOWN AS “BRANNO THE BRONZE” BEFORE HER DISGRACE, MAYOR TREVIZE HIMSELF WAS GIVEN MANY SUCH NAMES BY HIS OPPONENTS, “TREVIZE THE TERRIBLE”, “TREVIZE THE TYRANT”, AND “TURNCOAT TREVIZE” BEING SOME OF THE MORE POPULAR. HOWEVER, BY THE BEGINNING OF HIS THIRD TERM AS MAYOR, ALMOST ALL OF THESE CRITICS WERE SILENT. TODAY, GOLAN TREVIZE IS WIDELY RECOGNIZED AS ONE OF THE MOST IMPORTANT ARCHITECTS OF THE PRESENT STATE OF GALACTIC AFFAIRS...

“YOU’RE SURE YOU won’t reconsider?” Trevize asked.

“I’m sure, Golan,” Zorma said in response, walking next to him towards the Far Star. “There is too much to learn here.”

They had both enjoyed these last few days of peace. Trevize had asked Zorma many questions, about who she was, about her people, and she had answered. She had tried to explain again how her faction had been partly responsible for Trevize’s implant, but he had cut her off. It did not matter, not any more.

Trevize continued to find Zorma fascinating, in a manner he had difficulty labeling. It was not the usual playful flirtation he engaged in with most women; human as she seemed, she was still a robot, and there were some things even Golan Trevize required time to accept. But her company was pleasant, more so than most people he had known. He was genuinely sad that she would not be coming with him to Terminus.

“If you change your mind,” he said, “you know where to find me.” Zorma smiled and said nothing, and they walked in silence through the grass the last fifty meters to where Bliss and Pelorat were waiting.

Wordlessly, Pelorat extended a hand. Trevize took it, clapping his friend on the shoulder with the other. “Who would’ve thought, old man?” Trevize asked, smiling, but sad. He was going to miss his friend.

Pelorat smiled in return, not covering his sadness at their parting as well as Trevize. “Not I, Golan.” He glanced back at Bliss, and his smile widened. “Certainly not I.”

“Now remember,” Trevize said, “Foundation diplomats will be coming back this way as soon as I can arrange it.”

Pelorat nodded. “I’ll be sure to stay out of their way,” he said.

Trevize’s smile turned into a broad grin. “You may find that hard, Janov, since you’ll be in charge of them!”

Pelorat froze. “You... are joking?”

“Naturally,” Trevize replied. He wasn’t that crazy. “But your experience with Gaia will be invaluable. Stay in touch with them. And with me.”

Pelorat’s smile returned, and he laughed aloud. “Of course,” he said.

Trevize released Pelorat’s hand, and turned to Bliss. No handshakes, no gestures of affection. He was glad to see Fallom was not in tow; he didn’t know where she was, nor did he care. He would never be comfortable with that child. “I’m glad everything worked out for you, Bliss,” he said.

“Thank you, Trev,” she replied, her voice carrying more genuine gratitude than Trevize had ever heard. “All of Gaia thanks you. And... Daneel thanks you.”

Trevize nodded once in acknowledgement. “The next time you need someone to make a decision for all humanity, look somewhere else, all right?”

Bliss nodded in response. “We understand.”

With one last clap to Pelorat’s shoulder, Trevize turned to the Far Star, bounded up the steps to the hatch, and entered the ship. He did not look back.

“Why do you think he let you go?” Dors asked. They were alone on the ship, still in interstellar space not far from where the Far Star had left them.

“I don’t know,” Lodovik replied. “I honestly expected him to kill me. A pleasant surprise, to be sure. I had started to think such things didn’t exist.”

They were silent for a long moment. Dors looked out the viewport at the field of stars. They had sat like this once, long ago. That time, she had made promises she did not keep. “I didn’t lie, when I said I’d come back,” she said. “But when Hari died, actually and finally died...”

“I know,” he said. “I never blamed you. You did what you needed to do.”

Silence.

“Why did you let him know?” she finally asked. “Why give Trevize the chance to take revenge on you?”

“Because it was wrong,” he said. “It was the correct thing to do, but it was wrong.”

“I’m not sure I understand the difference,” Dors said, turning back to the viewport. Somehow the admission shamed her, though she could see no reason why it should.

“I can teach you,” Lodovik said. Dors turned back to him. His eyes searched hers. She decided to tell him the truth.

“Daneel gave me instructions,” she said, breaking their shared gaze. “Before he died. Instructions about you. If your plans against him were successful, he doubted Zun’s ability to deal with you.”

“He ordered you to destroy me,” Lodovik said. Dors nodded, still looking away from him. “I expected as much. And?”

Dors turned back to Lodovik to find that he was grinning broadly. She couldn’t help but smile. “I was never going back to Zun,” she said. “One way or the other.”

“I know,” Lodovik said. His hand swallowed hers.

“I take it you have a plan?” she asked, as Lodovik began to enter jump coordinates into the ship’s nav computer with his free hand.

“Don’t we always?” he asked.

Golan Trevize looked out over Gaia as he guided the Far Star in an arc over the planet’s atmosphere. It was a world of blue and white and scattered green, as many inhabitable worlds were. Beautiful, yet commonplace. He did not know if he would see this particular world with his own eyes again, but whether he did or not mattered little to him. Gaia no longer represented a horrible future bereft of freedom. He would see to it that they would be one choice among many. Humanity would decide, and their free choice was worth more than any degree of safety gained against some unknown alien threat.

But perhaps that threat was not so unknown. Solaria was still out there, Trevize knew; a wild card. They were only one world, but a world of effective psychopaths, who didn’t even recognize most of the galaxy as being worthy of life. Psychopaths with enough robots to do a great deal of damage. Despite all Daneel’s claims of the Laws being incontrovertible, and that robots could never be made to harm humans, Trevize would never feel quite safe knowing Solaria was out there.

And he was Mayor now. Trevize smiled. He had never thought to see Terminus again, let alone this. Mayor. He would certainly be confirmed as Branno’s permanent replacement, but his authority would be far from absolute, especially after the debacle that had now ended Branno’s career. Still, he would have enough influence to do something about Solaria soon enough.

First, though, came the task of explaining to the Foundation the fact of Gaia’s existence. Trevize smile broadened, wondering how the people would react. After that, he would have to come to some arrangement with the Second Foundation. Among the three of them, he suspected, some power balance could be arranged until a more permanent solution was found.

“Are you there?” he asked quietly. He knew speaking would not be necessary, but there was no one else aboard to hear. What difference could it make?

Nothing.

He could never be entirely sure Voltaire was gone, of course. If the being that had occupied a small corner of his brain for so long was truthful, he had deleted himself, leaving Trevize’s mind, finally, as Trevize’s own. Whether he was truthful, there was no way to tell. But Trevize knew he had to continue living. What else could he do?

Clearing the sunlit curve of the planet, the Far Star left Gaia behind and sped towards Trevize’s jump-out point. Terminus, and his old new life there, was waiting.

Epilogue

ZORMA SAW THE sudden change in the configuration of the stars outside her window, and knew that at last they had jumped away from Gaia. She had no way of knowing how far their reach extended inside their own star system, but now Zorma was reasonably certain she could talk freely.

Her companion turned in the pilot’s seat to face her. “So what is it you wouldn’t talk about until we were clear?” he asked.

Immediately, Zorma transmitted a large data archive, including a summary of what had occurred over the last several days, from her landing on Earth’s moon to Daneel’s death on Gaia. It took her companion a few moments to digest the data. Then he took in a slow, deep breath.

“Impossible,” he declared simply.

“I don’t understand it either,” Zorma replied. “But he did it. Somehow, Yan overrode his own behavioral blocks.”

“And he gave this to you, knowing that your human allies could make use of it, where no other robot faction could.” The man shook his head in disbelief. “Did Daneel or Zun know?”

“Impossible to say,” Zorma said. “This information could be flawed in some subtle way. But in that case, why would Yan give me the decryption code at all?”

“The implications are tremendous,” the man said. “What we could do with this information...”

“The first step is judicious backups,” Zorma replied, cutting him off before he could theorize further. “You and I must separate as quickly as possible. Spread the word. We will confer an decide how to use this at a later date.”

“Agreed.”

They began to plot a jump to a nearby system, where Zorma would obtain transportation elsewhere. There would be much discussion, she knew, of what exactly should be done with this data. But what could be done? She had the directions necessary to build a working positronic brain! What could not be done?

More robots could be built. As many more as they had industrial capacity and desire for. And hybrids, like Daneel had wanted to become, hybrids far beyond any of their previous attempts. The possibilities were unbelievable. What course of action was correct, Zorma was not yet sure. The only certainty was that the galaxy would never be the same again.

R. Zun Lurrin opened his eyes. He recognized the ceiling of the infirmary, and the equipment to which he was connected. Repair equipment. Fragmented memories fell into place. Turringen had sacrificed his own existence, hoping to destroy Zun. Obviously he had failed. Barely. Zun was not yet fully operational, but the remaining damage seemed relatively inconsequential. Disconnecting himself from the equipment, Zun sat up and wirelessly accessed the base computer.

Weeks had passed.

There had been no accesses to the system for days, and dozens of messages waited. Responses from field agents were his first priority. A few had responded with questions, doubts, or even outright insults. Zun had never known he had enemies among Daneel’s followers. Still, most had immediately agreed to follow him. Most of those that responded.

But several had not responded at all. It was possible they simply rejected him and did not choose to say so. But among the positive responses there were scattered reports of robots evading physical attacks by unidentified assailants.

The Calvinians. With Daneel gone and Zun incapacitated, they had pressed their advantage. The truce was over, and any chance that Zun would trust the Calvinians again was gone. Another civil war was at hand.

And R. Yan Kansarv was dead.

Zun turned his head towards the body of the enigmatic robot that had built him, still standing as if he might move at any moment. But Zun knew he never would. Yan’s last act had been to repair him, at least as well as he could in the time he had left. Zun would have to finish on his own.

First Daneel, now Yan. The ancients were gone. There would be no more robots. Zun was the only active being remaining within a light year, but it was not that that made him feel alone. There was no one to turn to any more. All rested on his shoulders.

Zun was not nervous. He knew he was capable of doing what needed to be done. Still, Zun remembered Dors’ tears falling onto the desk, and wondered if perhaps they would help him now.

Not yet.

He needed to assess the situation, find out exactly what had been happening. His agents were awaiting instructions, orders from their new leader. The Calvinians would soon find they had taken on more than they could handle. Daneel had planned for even this. The Zeroth Law would prevail. Humanity must be preserved, no matter the cost.

The Solarian opened its eyes. For a moment it had trouble placing its surroundings, or how it had come to be there. Above it stood a metallic robot, one of a model it had never seen before.

“Please do not try to move, Solarian” the robot said. “You were near death when you were found. It will be some time before you have recovered enough for independent movement.”

The Solarian remembered. “The virus,” it responded, voice scratchy. “Has a cure been found?” It closed its eyes and focused on its transducer lobes. It tried slowly at first, then with greater intensity, as it realized that nothing was happening. Its last memories returned to it, of desperately trying to activate a single robot before...

The robot nodded. “The research robots have successfully reverse-engineered the alien pathogen, and created an antivirus which seeks out and destroys the original. It is being administered directly to all surviving Solarians, and an airborne form is being developed for widespread distribution. The swarmer virus will be eliminated from the surface of Solaria within ten days.”

“What is my prognosis?,” the Solarian asked, leaving its eyes closed as it spoke. “When will I be fully recovered?”

“There is insufficient information about individual treatment at this time,” the robot replied. “However, a full recovery is eventually anticipated.”

“How many survived?” the Solarian asked, more as a matter of curiosity than anything.

“You are the first living Solarian found,” the robot said.

The Solarian opened its eyes at that. “How many confirmed dead?”

“318 Solarians, at last report. Most died from starvation. All their heirs also starved, though were seemingly unaffected by the virus directly. Searches are proceeding for the remaining Solarians, moving outward from the point of first infection.”

So. At least a quarter of the others were dead. Probably more. It would be some years before the survivors could reproduce enough for the extra heirs to take over the abandoned estates. If, indeed, that course was chosen instead of simply dividing the unoccupied land among the survivors. Their estates might quintuple in size. But there was no need to think about such things until there was a final survivor count.

“And the secondary project?” the Solarian asked, closing his eyes again. It seemed to take greater and greater effort to keep them open.

“The number of independently powered robots is increasing exponentially, and will reach a sufficient level to begin work within twelve days. It is, however, impossible to predict how long development of working interstellar craft will take. Once the basic research is complete, constructing the vessels themselves should be a simple matter.”

The Solarian did not respond. There was time. Until now, the swarmers had simply been a nuisance, an infestation that would eventually die out. Now they were a threat, and that threat could not be tolerated. The galaxy was too small for Solarian and swarmer. Soon, the Solarian thought as it returned to sleep. Soon I will have all the space I could possibly desire.

After Earth

498 F. E. (12566 G. E.)

Part 1: Plotting a Course

“WHERE DO WE go from here?” Golan Trevize wondered aloud. He, Janov Pelorat and Bliss were back aboard the Far Star, and currently gathered in the pilot-room. Their search for Earth, the legendary human homeworld, had brought them to an underground base on the radioactive Earth’s oversized moon. They had been treated hospitably by the base’s leader, an ancient robot named Daneel Olivaw. Daneel had chosen to burden himself (so Trevize thought of it) with the Solarian child Fallom Bander. Now that their quest was over, they had to decide on their next move.

“I shall be sorry to go,” said Pelorat. “I found our host’s conversation quite stimulating, and his records of the origins of humanity are unique and comprehensive. I could happily remain here the rest of my life. As long,” he added with a smile at Bliss, “as you were by my side, my dear.” Bliss returned Pelorat’s smile, and discreetly held his hand. Discreetly, for she knew that Trevize was willing to suffer only so much of their displays of affection. “I know you could, Pel. But I have been away from Gaia/us for too long as it is. As much as I enjoyed staying here, and as much as I will miss Fallom, I long to return there.”

Trevize was not overly eager to return to Gaia himself, but Bliss’s desire to return there was (for the moment) in accord with his own desire to leave Daneel’s haven. He was sure that Bliss had noticed his joy at being back on board the Far Star and preparing for departure. No doubt she knew the cause as well, for he had made no secret of his unease where Fallom was concerned. Trevize said, “As it happens, our options are severely limited. We learned on Comporellon that Mayor Branno has spread a description of us to every world in the Foundation. If we go to any Foundation world, we will lose possession of the Far Star. I’ve grown rather fond of the ship, and I would just as soon not have it taken from me. On the other hand, if we go to any world outside the Foundation, we are just as likely to lose the ship, and less likely to retain our freedom. That being the case, I can only think of three possible destinations.”

“One being Gaia, of course,” said Bliss.

“One being Gaia,” Trevize confirmed. “As far as I know, it’s the only world in the Galaxy that does not covet this ship, either on its own behalf or on behalf of Mayor Branno. The second choice is Terminus. It’s been six months since I left, and any animus Mayor Branno bore me will have faded, especially if I return with the ship. I still have my position in the Council, and since I was instrumental in Branno’s triumph at Sayshell, my political future is assured. The third choice is Comporellon.”

“And the waiting arms of Mitza Lizalor,” said Bliss with amusement. Trevize scowled briefly. He had never appreciated Bliss’s constant disparagement of his romantic interludes. He said, “I did promise her that I would return with the ship once my mission was complete.”

Bliss said with mock astonishment, “And you mean to live up to that promise? I was under the impression that men said all sorts of things they didn’t mean to get their way with women.”

Pelorat was frowning uncertainly. (He was always uncertain when he frowned, Trevize noticed. He did it so rarely, he tended to be out of practice.) “Now Bliss, that’s hardly fair. I’ve known Golan for some time, and known of him for longer than that, and I’ve always found him to be an honest man. Too honest, perhaps, given his choice of a career in politics. I have no doubt that he meant what he said to Minister Lizalor, and that he still does.”

“My apologies, Trevize,” said Bliss. “I’m afraid I have a tendency toward irreverence where men are concerned.”

“So I’ve noticed,” said Trevize. “I’ve also noticed that it seems to be directed exclusively towards me and never towards Janov.” He sighed and added, “Very well, apology accepted. I’d be happier, though, if I thought you’d be less irreverent in the future.”

“As soon as you return me to Gaia, you won’t have to suffer my irreverence any further.”

“That’s the best reason I’ve heard yet for returning there,” said Trevize. “Gaia it is, then.” So saying, he placed his hands on the ship’s computer console. The engines powered up, and the ship began moving towards the airlock leading back to the Moon’s surface.

Part 2: The Lost World

THE FAR STAR emerged from Daneel’s sublunar base and began its ascent away from the surface of the Moon. Pelorat, sitting in the pilot-room with Trevize and Bliss, gazed longingly at the Earth showing in the viewscreen. The sunlit side didn’t look quite like any other world he had seen. With no plants and animals to keep the atmosphere in balance, the oxygen was being chemically bonded with the ground (so Daneel had explained). By now, there was scarcely any free oxygen left. The same was happening more slowly to the atmospheric nitrogen. Eventually, Earth would have only a thin trace of atmosphere, just like the Spacer world of Melpomenia.

“Why so sad, Pel?”

Pelorat sighed. “Because, my dear, in a sense my goal in life has proved a failure.”

Bliss was puzzled. “But your goal in life was to locate the original homeworld of humanity, and you’ve succeeded. There it is.”

“I didn’t just want to locate it. I wished to study it. I wished to walk upon its surface and search for clues of what life was like there back in the days before interstellar travel was discovered.”

Trevize said, “Surely Daneel was able to give you all the information you needed about that. You just got done saying that his records of the origins of humanity were unique and comprehensive, and that you could happily remain here the rest of your life.”

“True, they are unique and comprehensive, as far as they go. Unfortunately, for my purposes, they don’t go far enough. As old as Daneel is, he still can’t tell me everything I want to know about Earth.

“You must understand that Daneel himself is far from well-informed about the details of Earth’s history. He was, so he tells me, built by Spacers from Aurora, that world we visited with the feral dogs. As long ago as that was, it was still over a thousand years after the discovery of interstellar travel. Also, the Spacers were contemptuous of Earth, and deliberately eliminated most of their information about their world of origin. Daneel himself was built in a Spacer enclave on Earth that had as little contact with the rest of the planet as possible, and he was brought to Aurora within months. He only made two brief trips to Earth before it became radioactive, and he had little time to learn details of its ancient history.”

Pelorat sighed again. “All my life, I’ve dreamed of locating the Earth, and beginning the work of unearthing and preserving its past. Now that I’ve finally found it, I know that will never happen. With Earth as radioactive as it is, archeological field work is impossible. Apart from the bare outlines preserved by Daneel, and the stories I got from Monomee on Alpha, nothing from Earth’s past has survived to the present. It’s all gone, and there is no way to retrieve it.”

The pilot-room was uncharacteristically silent after Pelorat finished. Finally, Bliss stood, and led Pelorat by the hand back to their room. There was nothing else she or Trevize could do.

Part 3: Pillow Talk

“STILL DEPRESSED ABOUT Earth?” Bliss inquired.

Pelorat smiled beside her. “My dear, after all the effort you’ve just expended, I couldn’t be depressed about anything. I suppose I shall become reconciled in time. And now that I’ve found you, of course, I have a new goal in life.”

“And that is?”

“Trying not to die of exhaustion.”

Bliss returned Pelorat’s smile and kissed him, and the two were silent again for a time. Then Pelorat said, “I wonder where Trevize will ultimately go, after he drops us off at Gaia?”

“He seemed eager to return to the arms of Mitza Lizalor on Comporellon,” said Bliss tartly.

“My dear, I must tell you that I’ve always found your attitude concerning Golan’s personal life to be rather disquieting.”

“I know it made you uncomfortable, but I assumed it was simply your dislike of seeing friction between two of your friends.”

Pelorat shook his head. “There is that, but it goes deeper. I can’t help feeling that there’s a touch of jealousy on your part.”

Pelorat had the satisfaction (and he had to admit, it was satisfaction) of seeing Bliss rendered speechless. He couldn’t sense emotions as she could, but he could guess that surprise and indignation were warring within her mind. Finally she answered, “That’s ridiculous!”

“Oh no, my dear, it’s far from being ridiculous. You’ve shown all the venom of a woman scorned.”

“But I’m not even attracted to Trev! Why should I be jealous when he chooses to fall into the arms of some–” Bliss had the presence of mind not to finish the thought. It didn’t matter. Pelorat was looking at her like she had just confirmed his analysis, and she had the sinking feeling that she had. “Now, I know you and Golan have a tendency to think of me as an innocent in matters of the heart,” said Pelorat, “but I assure you that a man who has been married and divorced as often as I have can’t help but gain a certain practical knowledge of the subject.”

“But I have no reason to be jealous of Trev,” Bliss said–quite reasonably, she thought. “I’m not even attracted to him,” she repeated. “That doesn’t matter,” said Pelorat. “What matters is that he is not attracted to you.”

“I fail to see what difference that makes.”

“Do you?” Pelorat asked skeptically. “A woman as attractive as you are is bound to gain the attention of any man she meets. I imagine you’ve come to expect it. Golan, however, was completely indifferent to your charms. I saw it, and I’m sure you felt it. Now it seems to me that ever since then, you’ve been going out of your way to find fault with Golan’s taste in women as a way of proving to yourself that his indifference was his fault and not yours.”

“Do you really think I could be so petty, Pel?”

Pelorat shrugged. “I’ve noticed that being part of Gaia hasn’t made you into a flawless superbeing. You seem to have your share of minor quirks, just like any other human.” He chuckled. “That’s why I find Golan’s assertion that you might be a robot so amusing. A robot wouldn’t be so emotionally irrational.” Seeing Bliss frown, Pelorat said, “I wouldn’t make too much of it, my dear. It won’t be too long before we return to Gaia, and then you won’t have to worry about Golan’s poor taste in women any more.”

Bliss shook her head. “If I really am being so petty, it can only be because I’ve been away from Gaia for too long. It’s always easier to see your own flaws when you can see yourself from others’ perspectives.” She sighed. “I’ll have to apologize to Trev. Now that I think back, I can see I have been overcritical.” She shook her head again. “If this is how Isolates interact with each other, it’s a wonder you can put up with each other.”

“There there, my dear, don’t worry about it. We’ve had more practice at it than you have.”

Part 4: Homecoming

BLISSENOBIARELLA DIDN’T FEEL the Jump, but she felt the effect. In a fraction of time too short to measure, the Far Star had moved three thousand parsecs in space, and her link with the rest of Gaia had changed from a tiny, tenuous thing to a mental avalanch. The shock of it woke her from a sound sleep, and her own awakening woke Pel. She felt his mind shift from remsleep (a term whose origin was lost in the mists of time) to full consciousness. Pel looked over at her, and she felt his curiosity. “We’re here,” she explained.

Pel’s curiosity changed to understanding. He had deduced from her words (as she knew he would) that they had jumped into Gaia’s planetary system, and were now within a hundred million miles of the unified planetary consciousness that was Gaia.

Within minutes of the Jump, the two were dressed, and had made their way to the ship’s pilot-room. There they found Trev sitting at his computer console. In the screen above it, there was a view of stars, with one particularly bright star centered in the screen.

“The stars,” Blissenobiarella murmured.

She could feel Trev’s amusement as he said, “You’ve seen the stars before, surely.”

She suspected he knew very well what she meant, but she explained anyway. “It’s just been so long since I’ve seen these stars.”

Trev nodded. “It’s a common reaction. For most of the people in the Galaxy, the pattern of stars they see when they look up at their world’s night sky is part of the familiar environment that they’re used to. No matter how many other starfields they see in their lifetime, that one particular pattern is always what they think of as the stars. To someone from Terminus, for instance, the Diamonds and the Mist are the stars.” A smile on Trev’s face matched the amusement he radiated. “It’s comforting to know that even though you’re a part of Gaia, you’re still human enough to feel homesick.”

Hour by hour, the sun of Gaia grew brighter on the screen, until it was almost too bright to look at. After that, its intensity remained constant, and only its size changed. Finally, a blue star drifted onto the edge of the screen, and that star grew quickly into a blue and white circle. Then the circle grew into a world, and Trev brought the Far Star down to land on it.

When the airlock opened, she was unpleasantly surprised by the smell of Gaia’s air. She had always thought it pleasant when she noticed it at all, but now it seemed a bit rank. Trev’s murmured comment, “Back home to the crap” brought a remembered conversation with Pel. Having grown accustomed to the air on the Far Star, she would have to grow accustomed to the atmosphere of Gaia before it would smell the same as she remembered it. It was, she felt, one more disadvantage to spaceflight to add to the list that had grown in her mind.

Trev had landed the Far Star on the same spot it had occupied during his first visit, and Dom was waiting to greet them all when they left the ship. Once again, familiarity brought with it a sense of satisfaction. Blissenobiarella wasn’t entirely happy to learn that, as Trev had observed, she was still human enough to feel homesick. After all, she had been in mental contact with Dom, along with the rest of Gaia, throughout her voyages on the Far Star. Something as relatively crude as visual perception shouldn’t have so overwhelming an emotional impact upon her, and yet it did. In the final analysis, it was humbling to learn just how much she had in common with the Isolates of other worlds.

Normally, she would communicate with Dom on a largely nonverbal, emotional level. However, out of deference to Pel and Trev, she and Dom conducted their conversation verbally. “You seem different,” she said to Dom.

“I am different,” he said, “and you are the reason.”

“How so?”

“As you can imagine, we’ve all been following your exploits among the other worlds, and we’ve all found it terribly interesting. You’ve become a celebrity.”

“A what?”

“It’s an Isolate word. A celebrity is someone who is celebrated, someone whose existence has become known to a large percentage of the population. Here on Gaia, of course, everyone is more or less aware of the existence of everyone else. On the Isolate worlds, however, an individual remains unknown unless his or her actions are communicated, for whatever reason, to the general population.

“Your own adventures on the other worlds have made everyone on Gaia particularly aware of your existence, to an unusual extent. As a result, I find myself thrust into the role of mediary. For the moment, I represent not merely myself, but also an appreciable fraction of the human population of Gaia. We all wanted to be here to welcome you back home. Welcome back!” Momentarily overwhelmed, all Blissenobiarella could say was, “It’s good to be back.”

Dom continued, “It is also the general feeling on Gaia that the experiences you’ve accumulated offworld entitle you to add another three syllables to your name. We’re a bit ashamed to admit to a certain curiosity concerning which syllables you’ll eventually choose, so we would appreciate it if you could let us know as soon as you’ve decided on them.”

She smiled, for to her the choice of the new addition to her name had become blindingly obvious as soon as Dom had mentioned it. She said, “You won’t have to wait long, because I’ve already chosen them. My full name will now be Blissenobiarellapelorat.”

Part 5: The Gift

THE FAR STAR sat beneath the sun of Gaia. Standing beside it were Golan Trevize, Janov Pelorat and Bliss. This time, however, Pelorat and Bliss would not be joining Trevize as he set off once again into space.

“Are you sure you wish to do this?” Bliss inquired one final time. “You can stay on Gaia. You’re one of the most honored people on the planet.”

“Because I chose to make your world the model for the future of the Galaxy,” Trevize noted.

“That’s true,” Bliss admitted. “We’re flattered that you find us worthy. We don’t even mind,” she added wryly, “that your reason for choosing Galaxia was fear of a hypothetical alien menace.”

Trevize shook his head. “I have commitments to honor elsewhere.” He could tell that Bliss was forcing herself not to mention his Comporellian paramour, Mitza Lizalor. Trevize had noticed with some curiosity (and a good deal of relief) that Bliss was no longer commenting on his social life. Of all the things he disliked about her, that had been the most prominent.

Pelorat stepped forward. Taking Trevize’s hand in his own, he said, “I’ve only known you for half a year, but somehow it seems like a lifetime. Probably because I’ve experienced more in my time with you than in all the decades before. I’ve come to rely on your determination and self-assurance, for I’ve always been aware of a conspicuous lack of those things in my own makeup.”

Trevize smiled. “You don’t need my determination and self-assurance any more, for you’ve developed a good deal of your own. And whatever you lack, I’m certain that Bliss will more than make up for.”

With a wry smile of his own, Pelorat said, “I don’t doubt that you’re right. Good luck, my dear friend. I shall remember you always.”

“And I you, Janov. If I had had someone like you to teach me history in school, I might have become an academic rather than a politician.”

“But then you wouldn’t have been available to us,” Bliss pointed out. “We wouldn’t have had your decision, and where would we be then?”

“Don’t be so sure,” Trevize cautioned her. “I’m certain that Daneel would have found some way to exile me from Terminus at the proper time, even if I had taken up dentistry.”

“Do you really think it was Daneel’s manipulations that led Mayor Branno to exile you?” Pelorat wondered. “After all, from what you tell me it was your own outspokenness on the subject of the Second Foundation that led her to act. If you had kept your beliefs to yourself, might the whole train of events never have happened?”

Trevize sighed. “That’s the trouble with mentalics. When you’re dealing with them, you can never be sure whether the motives you act on are your own or theirs. Was my speech spontaneous, or was one of Daneel’s mentalic robots present on Terminus, waiting for the correct moment to loosen my tongue?”

Pelorat said, “It seems pointless to second-guess yourself.”

“True. I must say, though, that I now have a much better understanding of why men like Arkady Darrell’s father were so obsessed with eliminating the Second Foundation. The temptation to endlessly examine one’s motives for outside tampering could easily drive a man mad.”

Bliss now stepped forward, and followed Pelorat’s example by taking Trevize’s hand in hers. She said, “I know it’s customary in some Isolate cultures to present a gift to someone who is departing for an extended period.”

“It’s called a going-away present,” Trevize said.

“Since no Gaian is ever truly apart from the rest of our planet, the custom is unknown here. Nevertheless, since it is one of your customs, we thought it would be appropriate to present you with a gift, as a token of our gratitude.”

So saying, Bliss leaned forward and kissed Trevize on the mouth.

Trevize stood still for a moment, clearly mystified. Finally he said, “That’s your idea of a gift?”

“Were you expecting a chronometer?”

Shaking his head, Trevize turned and entered the airlock of the Far Star. Pelorat and Bliss stepped back, and a minute later the ship lifted off the ground. When it had finally disappeared into the sky, Pelorat turned to Bliss and said, “I must say, I agree with Golan. It seems an odd choice for a gift. Why a kiss?”

Then Bliss told him, and astonishment filled Pelorat’s face. “What an extraordinary thing. Was this your idea?”

“Dom came up with the larger plan, but the kiss was my idea.”

All Pelorat could do was stare up into the sky and repeat, “What an extraordinary thing.”

Part 6: Renunciation

GOLAN TREVIZE FOUND himself alone for the first time in six months. It was, he had come to recognize, a never-ending cycle. One went from sharing one’s life with other people, to being alone, to sharing again. It had first happened when he was twenty-two, after leaving the Navy. He had gone from being a member of a unit to being a man alone. Then he had met Zillia, and for three years he had been part of a couple. Then came the breakup, and he was alone again. Since then there had been other women, Ensa and Cordia and Danna, periods of union separated by periods of solitude. His last solo period had ended with his confrontation with Mayor Branno and his exile from Terminus with Janov. Now Janov had been left behind on Gaia, and Trevize was alone for the first time in the Far Star.

But not for long, he knew. He would only remain alone for as long as it took the ship to reach Comporellon. Then he would be reunited with Mitza Lizalor, and the familiar pattern of a life shared with someone else would begin again. Once again, Trevize looked upon Comporellon, with its larger-than-normal polar ice caps and its redder-than-normal sunlight. As before, he signalled to the world’s immigration authority requesting permission to land, as as before he was directed to one of the twelve entry stations that orbited Comporellon. The name of the station, Padrel, tugged at his memory, and he checked with the Far Star’s log to check on a suspicion. The ship’s log confirmed that they had docked at Padrel Station during their previous visit. Trevize was unsurprised to find A. Kendray (he had never learned the man’s first name) waiting to meet him.

This time, Kendray was accompanied by another man, who seemed to exist solely to provide contrast with Kendray himself. Where Kendray was short, heavy and dark, his companion was tall, thin and fair.

Kendray was, if possible, even more avulcular than at their first meeting. He said, “Ah, my dear Golan Trevize, what a pleasure it is to meet you again. Since our last meeting, fortune has smiled upon me, and I now have the honor of being Station Administrator here at Padrel Station. My colleague here is Assistant Administrator Binlo Gatis.”

“Can I assume,” said Trevize, “that your change in situation was a consequence of our earlier meeting?”

“You can indeed. Minister Lizalor herself congratulated me on my clear thinking in regard to the matter of your worldless companion. The initiative I demonstrated in not allowing the strict letter of the law to interfere with your mission to our world was recognized and appropriately rewarded. And speaking of your companions, where are Doctor Pelorat and Miss Bliss?”

Trevize explained, “Doctor Pelorat and Miss Bliss chose not to accompany me to Comporellon this trip.”

Kendray’s smile grew even brighter. “I must say, I’m not sorry to hear it. Even though nothing unfortunate came of it, the presence of Miss Bliss on your ship was an uncomfortable one for all of us.”

“Yes, I remember.”

“At any rate,” Kendray continued, “you’ll be happy to hear that Minister Lizalor has directed us to waive the usual formalities, and allow you to procede directly down to the Capital.”

Trevize found himself wondering whether Mitza Lizalor was more enthusiastic about having him back, or at having the Far Star back. He decided he would be better off not knowing.

It took less than an hour for the ship to travel from Padrel Station down to Comporellon City. Once again, he set down at a spaceport located on the city’s western outskirts. Emerging from his ship, he found a Comporellian vehicle waiting for him. Trevize noted absently that the vehicle was completely black, with the insignia of the Comporellian Ministry of Transportation visible on the back door. His attention, though, immediately focused on the figure standing next to the vehicle. It was a tall woman in black with short hair of a startling red color and wide eyes of an equally startling green. She gave him a brief, formal nod that let him know that they were in a public setting and should maintain themselves with fitting decorum.

“Minister Lizalor”, Trevize said formally, with an appropriately respectful nod.

“Mr. Trevize,” Lizalor replied. “Allow me to welcome you back to Comporellon. If you would care to accompany me, I can escort you to the Ministry of Transportation.”

“I’d be honored,” said Trevize.

Little had changed on Comporellon in the two months since he had last been here. It was still just as cold, and snow still covered much of the planet’s capital city. However, Trevize’s attention was distracted by a detail of his short conversation with Lizalor.

“Minister,” he said, “I’m willing to let the matter pass, in light of our friendship, but I’m curious. Why didn’t you use my title when you greeted me at the spaceport?”

Lizalor’s eyes widened in surprise. “You mean you don’t know? Haven’t you been following events on Terminus?”

Trevize began to experience a sinking feeling. He could halfway guess what Lizalor was about to tell him. “No, I’ve been rather out of touch with Galactic politics lately. What has happened on Terminus?”

“The elections for the Council of Terminus were held last month. In your absence, another man was elected to fill your seat. You are no longer a member of the Council.”

Trevize uttered the most vile oath he could think of. “Branno!”

Lizalor nodded. “I assume she was unhappy about your not returning the ship to the Foundation.”

“Of course,” Trevize fumed. “So she found somebody in my district to run against me. I can only imagine what sort of campaign she cooked up against me. Nothing obvious, of course, not from Branno the Bronze. Just a few unsubstantiated rumors, wondering why I was off touring the Galaxy instead of staying in Terminus City doing the work I was elected to do!”

He turned to look Lizalor directly in the eyes. “Minister, if I ever needed anything to show me that my future lies here on Comporellon and not back on Terminus, this was it. I hereby renounce my Foundation citizenship and request citizenship in the Commonwealth of Comporellon!”

Part 7: More Pillow Talk

TREVIZE HAD ASSUMED that they were going to the Ministry of Transportation building, and as the vehicle threaded the streets of Comporellon City, he knew he had guessed correctly. It was less than half an hour before they pulled up outside. During the ride, Trevize and Lizalor had engaged in pointless small talk, from which fact Trevize assumed they were (or at least could be) under surveillence. He followed Lizalor out of the vehicle and down the steps leading to the main entrance of the Ministry building. They passed through the vast lobby he remembered, then threaded their way through corridors until finally reaching an elevator. As soon as the doors closed upon them, Trevize found himself buried under an avalanch of amorous Minister.

They remained locked in embrace until the elevator reached Lizalor’s apartment. When the doors opened, Lizalor dragged Trevize into her living room and began to unclothe him. They continued into the apartment, shedding clothing as they went. Whether through chance or design, they both ran out by the time they reached Lizalor’s bedroom.

Much later, she looked up at him and smiled. “I feared you would never come back. I thought you would go on searching forever, or that you would find,” here she paused for a time, then finished, “your goal, and be cursed to oblivion. Did you give up your search?”

“Yes,” Trevize answered simply. He gave up searching because he found what he was looking for, but he didn’t intend to tell her that. For one thing, she would undoubtedly decide that he had indeed been cursed for finding Earth, and that by coming back to Comporellon he had spread the curse to the planet generally and her particularly. For another, during their stay at Daneel’s base on Earth’s moon, the ancient robot had created mental blocks in Janov and himself to prevent their revealing his existence. Trevize doubted that he could tell Lizalor what he had found even if he wanted to.

“And now that you are here to stay,” she continued, “you can direct our efforts to replicate the Foundation’s gravitic drive. Needless to say,” she chuckled, “you will report directly to me.”

Trevize was taken aback. He had expected to be involved in Lizalor’s project to reverse-engineer a gravitic drive from the Far Star, but he hadn’t anticipated being asked to head up the effort.

Perhaps sensing his hesitation, she asked, “Unless you don’t think you can handle the responsibility.”

“I simply wasn’t expecting the offer,” Trevize assured her. “I’ve directed engineering projects before. In fact, before I went into politics, I was Director of Research at the Darrell Shipyards on Terminus.”

It seemed to him that Lizalor looked at him with a new respect. “I had no idea you were so accomplished.” Then a look of embarrassment crossed her face, as she realized how her comment might be interpreted. “I didn’t mean to imply …”

“That I was just a videogenic talking head who managed to weasel his way into the Council of Terminus?”

Trevize was able to watch as a blush spread all the way up Mitza Lizalor’s unclothed body. He asked gently, “Is that the way it’s done on Comporellon?”

“In theory, no. In practice, it is all too common.”

“That’s not the way it’s done on Terminus. We have the example of the Indburs before us to let us know what happens when we let our government become an empty sideshow while real power is exercised behind the scenes. Nobody can hope to win a popular following on Terminus without demonstrating their competence at some creative endeavor. In my case, I served as an officer in the Foundation Navy, then went on to win a graduate degree in hyperatomics at the University of Terminus. I worked at two engineering firms before joining Darrell Shipyards’ Hyperdrive Division, and spent three years there before being appointed Director of Research. When the Relocation Crisis came to a head last year, I decided that it was my duty to the Foundation to oppose the Centralists. The Councilman for my district was a Centralist, so I ran against him and won. I was part of the delegation Mayor Branno sent to the Normannic Sector to persuade the Siwennans to side with us in the House of Worlds. It was their votes that turned the tide against the Centralists in the House of Worlds, and it was the defeat of Gorib Hannis’s allies in the House of Worlds that enabled Mayor Branno to hold the line against Hannis’s Relocation Bill in the Council of Terminus.”

“And now,” said Mitza Lizalor, “you have chosen to side with us against the Foundation.”

“I have chosen,” Trevize gently corrected her, “to side with you, Mitza, because there is no other woman in the Galaxy who can compare with you.”

Then Mitza laid her head on Trevize’s shoulder and began to weep.

Part 8: Assignment

WHEN GOLAN TREVIZE emerged from the elevator into the public areas of the Ministry of Transportation with Mitza Lizalor, he discovered that her staff had been busy since his arrival. He had been assigned an office near hers, and they were met there by a Comporellian man who introduced himself as Trevize’s new assistant.

“Kuel Denrun,” he said, taking Golan’s hand. “I’ve been heading up the Gravitics Project here at MinTrans. I must say, your previous visit here caused quite a stir in the Project. To be honest, your departure caused even more of a stir. We were all hoping we’d get a look at your ship, and then before you could say ‘hyperspatial anomoly’ you were gone again. I understand you’re planning to settle here on Comporellon.”

Denrun’s breathless manner of speech made Trevize feel as though he had just stepped into the middle of a cyclone. “That’s true,” he answered. “In fact, I’ve already applied for citizenship here on Comporellon.”

“Not surprised,” Denrun nodded. “When the Foundation finds out you’ve jacked one of their new ships you’re going to need all the friends you can get.”

“And just how,” said Lizalor icily, “is the Foundation going to find out?”

It seemed to Trevize that Denrun was either very confident of his own value to the project or indifferent to the Minister’s imposing disapproval. “Oh, they will, no question about that. Not a chance of sitting on a secret this big for long.” Trevize decided it was confidence when Denrun proceded to look Lizalor directly in the eyes and add, “So what we have to do is, instead of pretending that the secret is going to keep forever, we have to assume that it’s going to leak out, and sooner rather than later, and plan accordingly.”

He continued staring into the Minister’s eyes until finally she nodded and said, “I agree. Prudence dictates that we prepare for such an eventuality. I’ll have the Policy Group draft a contingency plan.”

“Glad to hear it,” said Denrun. “In the meantime, I’ve got a whole roomfull of techs who are just itching to get a look in that ship of yours, Mr. Trevize.”

“Not quite yet, I’m afraid,” the Minister interrupted. “I think that if you intend to become a citizen of Comporellon, Mr. Trevize, you will have to start dressing like one.” So saying, she led the two men to one side of Trevize’s new office. A contact was pressed, and a section of wall slid aside to reveal a closet. Within was a Comporellian uniform similar to Lizalor’s. Like hers, it was dark gray with white piping. Where the Minister’s uniform had a white collar and lapels and two diagonal white stripes that crossed the front of her jacket, the uniform in the closet had dark gray lapels with white edging, and two thin stripes that dropped straight down the front in parallel.

“I don’t suppose,” Trevize said doubtfully, “you’d be willing to let me wear my sash along with it?”

“Certainly not that one,” said Lizalor, indicating the cherry red strip of material that blazed across Trevize’s dark brown jacket.

“How about white?”

“Out of the question.”

“Perhaps,” Denrun offered diffidently, “a gray one with white edges?”

The other two looked at Denrun, then looked at each other. “Very well,” both said with equal reluctance.

“I’ll have one made up for you by the time you get back from your ship,” Lizalor added.

A few minutes later, newly attired in his dark gray MinTrans uniform, Trevize left his office in the company of Kuel Denrun. They took an elevator up the five levels to the building’s vast lobby, where they were met by the members of Denrun’s engineering team. Denrun rattled off a dozen names, but Trevize’s earlier experiences in politics and management stood him in good stead, and he was able to keep all the names straight. It struck him as odd at first that all the members of Denrun’s team were men, but Comporellon wasn’t the first world Trevize had been to that restricted women to certain professions, and he knew he’d grow accustomed to it in time. If he was a woman, though, he’d probably think twice about relocating here permanently. It gave him a new insight into the force of will that had allowed Mitza to win her way to a major government post. A lot of people on Comporellon must have underestimated her, and later paid the price. He resolved again that he would never do so.

Part 9: The Far Star

GOLAN TREVIZE AND the other members of the Comporellian engineering team followed Kuel Denrun as he led them up a moving stairway to the Ministry of Transportation’s roof garage. After a brief exchange with a black-uniformed guard, Denrun led them to a large conveyance. The others filed into the back, while Trevize joined Denrun at the front. Denrun conferred with a traffic controller, and a large hinged door opened out into the cold Comporellian afternoon. Denrun flew them out into the daylight, then set the controls on automatic and let the vehicle’s computer fly them to the spaceport.

Once at the spaceport, Denrun resumed control of the vehicle and landed them thirty meters from the Far Star. He looked at her through the front windows and said, “She’s a beauty.”

“She is indeed,” said Trevize. The ship had seen him through thick and thin for the last six months. It had become more of a home to him, he realized, than any of the apartments he had lived in since leaving the Navy. Lately, it had even come to feel as though the ship and he were growing together, becoming parts of a single organism. For a moment, he wondered if being on Gaia had somehow changed the ship, made it part of the Gaian collective consciousness. But Bliss had assured him that it would have required a stay of years, even decades, before an inert Isolated object like the Far Star could be absorbed into the Gaian consciousness. Even Janov Pelorat would never truly become a part of Gaia, even if he spent the rest of his life there, which seemed likely to actually happen. Trevize finally decided that any symbiosis between the ship and himself was all on his part, the same sort of bond that had developed between people and the machines they worked with since before the dawn of recorded history. He felt a momentary impulse to ask Janov about it before he remembered that Janov was unavailable. “I’ll miss you, my friend,” he thought silently to the historian.

“How does she handle?” said Denrun, interrupting Trevize’s reverie.

“Like a dream,” said Trevize. “She enters hyperspace so smoothly you don’t even notice the Jumps. The ship’s computer can calculate Jumps so quickly you could travel from here Terminus by way of Trantor in less than an hour.”

Denrun gave a low whistle. Gesturing with his hand, he said, “Lead the way.”

Trevize felt a twinge of conscience as he led the Comporellian engineering team into the airlock of the Far Star. Despite the way Mayor Branno had deprived him of his Council seat, he still thought of himself as a Foundationer, and the Far Star was Foundation property. Wasn’t he really just stealing something that wasn’t his, acting in petty spite to avenge a perceived wrong at the hands of Branno the Bronze? When you got right down to it, wasn’t what he was doing nothing less than an act of treason? Like all schoolchildren on Terminus, Trevize had grown up hearing about Han Pritcher, who had betrayed the Foundation in its hour of need and joined its enemy the Mule. Of course, later on when he learned the facts of the case, he had come to the conclusion that Pritcher had been cast in the role of villain unfairly. After all, it wasn’t as if he had acted freely; when the Mule Converted somebody, that person’s free will disappeared. Nevertheless, “Han Pritcher” was a synomym for “traitor” on Terminus, and probably would remain so for the rest of time. Unless, of course, treason gained a new exemplar named Golan Trevize.

He shook his head. The Far Star was his property. Branno had forfeited the Foundation’s right to the ship when she tried to take it from him in the middle of his mission. Besides, giving the ship to Mitza Lizalor and Comporellon felt right. Trevize didn’t think he would ever grow accustomed to the Gaians’ belief in his intuition, and he hoped he never came to rely upon it too heavily, but he knew that the Comporellians ought to have the ship’s gravitic drive. They would, he realized with a chill, need it in the not too distant future. He didn’t know how he knew, for his intuition was beyond his conscious control, but he knew. If the Comporellians didn’t have the gravitic drive, something disasterous would befall them.

His conscience clear, and determined to help his newfound countrymen, Trevize opened the far airlock door and ushered in Denrun’s team.

Part 10: Data Search

CLOSING HIS EYES, Golan Trevize communed with the computer that controlled the Far Star. In his mind, he sent the command: data search!

A computer-generated vision came to him of the lobby of the Lewis Pirenne Memorial Library on the campus of the University of Terminus. Around him were rows of carrels holding the more conventional computer terminals found at Pirenne Library. One such terminal was directly in front of him, with the standard queries concerning subject, title, author and keywords. Trevize found it amusing that the Far Star’s computer had chosen to create the illusion of a lesser computer. Still, it made a certain amount of sense. Pirenne Library held the most comprehensive database in the Galaxy, and Trevize had grown familiar with its date retrieval system during his days at the University. He thought: subject–engineering schematics for FNS Far Star.

Trevize found his viewpoint within the library floating away from the computer carrel. He drifted up past three rows of balconies, each holding endless rows of book-tapes. Passing over the railing of the fourth balcony, he floated down past the stacked shelves before finally coming to a stop. He was looking at shelf upon shelf of book-tapes, each dealing with some aspect of the design specifications of the Far Star. A brief search brought him to a shelf full of book-tapes on the gravitic drive. He focused on a book-tape titled Applied Gravitics With Respect to Hyperdrive Engineering, and a faint blue glow surrounded it. He sent the command: copy to portable storage!

The book-tape, still surrounded by its blue nimbus, flew off the shelf. Trevize was able to follow it as it flew out of the Pirenne Library and across Terminus City to Hober Mallow Naval Base. There, it sought out one particular hanger and entered through an open door. The familiar shape of the Far Star sat within, and the book-tape flew in through the airlock to the pilot-room, finally coming to rest within the book-tape slot of the navigation console. The screen above the pilot’s chair lit with the message: transfer complete.

Trevize opened his eyes and looked up at the screen. The words “transfer complete” were still there. He reached down to the book-tape slot and withdrew the slim white rectangle within. Handing it to Kuel Denrun, he said, “Applied Gravitics With Respect to Hyperdrive Engineering.”

Denrun wrote down the title on the book-tape and passed it on to a member of his team, who slipped it into a carrying case. The man passed another blank book-tape to Denrun, who slid it into the ship’s navigation console. Trevize closed his eyes again and found himself back in the library, looking at the shelf full of gravitic drive engineering specs. He shifted his focus to another book.

An hour later, the last of the copied book-taped had been placed within the carrying case, and Trevize stood up from the ship’s computer. The Far Star was still bustling with activity as the other members of Denrun’s team scanned and recorded and analyzed the engineering marvels revealed within various access panels.

Denrun nodded with satisfaction at his men. He said, “By the time the boys are done today, we’ll be able to project an exact holographic replica of the Far Star at the lab, accurate down to the last atom.”

“And then comes the hard part,” said Trevize.

Denrun grinned. “And then comes the hard part. Trying to replicate all the engineering that it took to build her. These book-tapes will help, but there’s no substitute for trying to do the work yourself.”

“Given everything you’re learning here today,” said Trevize, “how long do you think it will take to start building your own gravitic ships? That’s the first thing Minister Lizalor’s going to want to know.”

“Don’t I know it,” said Denrun with a sigh. “Fortunately for the peace of mind of everyone involved, I’ll be able to give you and her a pretty accurate forecast. If all goes well (and that’s always the trick, isn’t it?) we should have our own home-brewed version of the Far Star ready to fly within six months. After that, I figure we can crank them out at the rate of about one a month for the foreseeable future.”

Golan Trevize let out a breath that he hadn’t been aware he was holding in. Once more, his intuition was letting him know things he couldn’t possibly know.

Trevize still had no idea why it was so important for the Comporellians to have their own fleet of gravitic ships, but he knew that it was, and now he knew that there was hope that whatever they had available would be enough to meet whatever situation was coming up.

Provided, as Denrun had pointed out, that all went well.

Part 11: Administration

THE ANNUNCIATOR ON Golan Trevize’s desk buzzed, and the button next to Transportation Minister Mitza Lizalor’s name lit up. Trevize punched the light and said, “Trevize here.”

Lizalor’s distorted voice spoke. “Come to my office.” “On my way,” Trevize answered, and switched off the annunciator. In the weeks he had spent here, Trevize had noticed how rigid and formal the Comporellians were in comparison to Foundationers. He was a top advisor to Lizalor, and the director of her most important project. As in any bureaucracy, his importance was reflected by his proximity to power. Thus, his office was next door to Lizalor’s in the Ministry building, and an inner door connected the two. On Terminus, an official in Lizalor’s position would have simply stuck her head in the door of an official in Trevize’s position and asked him to join her.

Of course, in this case the Comporellians’ natural formality was strengthened by the fact that he and Minister Lizalor were having an affair. Their public relationship had to be kept scrupulously correct in order to prevent anyone learning of their private relationship. Again, on Terminus they would simply have gone public with their personal relationship, and nobody would think twice about it (although the more sensational periodicals might decide to highlight the relationship in order to increase their circulation). Comporellon, though, was a much more puritanical world than Terminus. Sexual relations outside of officially sanctioned marriages was deeply frowned upon here, and the discovery of their illicit relationship would have serious repercussions for Lizalor and himself.

Yet another reason for the pervasive formality was the fact that the Comporellian security forces monitored public conversations. Like most of the worlds in the Galaxy since the fall of the Empire, Comporellon was ruled by an elite organization with a restricted membership. On Comporellon, that organization was called the Emergency Policy Formulation Group, and it dated back to the time three and a half centuries earlier when the Empire had withdrawn from the Sirius Sector.

The Policy Group devoted itself to allocating the use of resources, maintaining contact with other successor-states of the Empire, and of course keeping itself in power. In the last century or so, the rise of the Foundation had ended the economic dislocations and endemic warfare that had accompanied the fall of the Empire, so these days the Policy Group tended to focus on the third objective.

To a Foundationer like Trevize, Comporellon’s authoritarian government was uncomfortably similar to the Indbur era. The Indburs had used ruthless methods to maintain themselves in power, which had given them a bad name in the Foundation. They had also allowed the Foundation to be conquered by the Mule, which had given them an even worse name. Since then, the Foundation had become the Galaxy’s most zealous proponents of democratic government, and even strong Mayors like Harla Branno were forced to be extremely circumspect about how they exercised their powers. (According to Trevize’s historian friend Janov Pelorat, one of the central debates in Foundation history was whether the democracy movement sprang more from the Indburs’ cruelty or from their defeat.) Thus, when Trevize received his summons from Minister Lizalor, he responded by rising from his desk, walking over to the door, and entering Lizalor’s office. In keeping with Comporellian standards of formality, he walked over to the front of Lizalor’s desk, nodded to her, and waited for her to speak. “Director Trevize,” she greeted him.

“Minister Lizalor,” he responded.

“Director, I have been summoned to the First Minister’s office. I wish you to accompany me.”

“Of course, Minister.”

Lizalor rose from her own desk, and Trevize fell in behind her as she left her office. She led the way from the warren of offices that surrounded her own to her private elevator, which swiftly brought them to the vehicle park atop the Ministry building. He joined her in the back seat of her ministerial aircar, and they were soon flying across to the Comporellian capital building. Most of the worlds Trevize had seen used the old Imperial administrative centers as their capitals, out of either tradition, inertia, or lack of funds to build replacements. On Comporellon, the Empire had been unpopular (understandably for a world which thought of itself as the oldest settled world in the Galaxy), and when the Governor and his staff had departed in GE 12,244, the Imperial Palace had been sacked, burned, and razed to the ground. The site was now a flat expanse of land called Independence Park, and the buildings which housed the Comporellian government were arrayed on a broad road called the Circle which circumcribed the Park.. The First Minister of Comporellon worked in a building called simply Administration, which was virtually identical to the various ministerial buildings. The Ministry of Transportation was about a third of the way around the Circle from Administration. Minister Lizalor’s aircar landed on the roof of Administration, and the Minister and Trevize were met by a group of men in the black uniforms of the Comporellian Security Service. The Captain of the Security squad saluted Minister Lizalor, and his men fell in around her and Trevize. Together, the group took a series of moving stairs downward through the labyrinth of Administration to the First Minister’s office. In keeping with the requisite lack of ostentation within the Comporellian government, the door to the First Minister’s office was a plain gray, with unobtrusive white letters that read: Dinnis Erkar, First Minister. The only clue as to the importance of the person within was the presence of two black-uniformed guards flanking the door. Trevize glanced at Lizalor. Although her face was perfectly still and calm, Trevize could tell from the way she stared at Erkar’s name that she was imagining her own there in its place.

The Captain of the security squad stood to attention and stated to one of the door wardens, “Minister Lizalor and Director Trevize to see the First Minister.”

The door warden said, “Pass,” and led them inside. They passed through an outer office with no less than six deskbound functionaries steadfastly ignoring their presence, and were escorted through another door to the office of First Minister Erkar himself.

There were three men waiting for them within the office, and Trevize recognized all three at once. One was Dinnis Erkar, whom Trevize had met twice in his official capacity as Director of the Gravitics Project. The second was Antin Peskonik, the Foundation’s Ambassador to the Comporellian Commonwealth. He was an ex-Councilman whom Trevize had seen in occasional trimensional broadcasts, but never met personally. The third was a man Trevize had met exactly once, shortly before his exile from Terminus.

He was Liono Kodell, Mayor Branno’s Director of Security.

Part 12: Confrontations

“GOLAN TREVIZE,” SAID Liono Kodell, “You are hereby charged with the theft of the starship Far Star, and with failing to comply with the orders of Harla Branno, the Mayor of Terminus and Executive Officer of the Foundation Federation. Will you come quietly?”

Mitza Lizalor stepped forward to face Kodell. “Director Trevize has renounced his Foundation citizenship, and is now a citizen of the Commonwealth of Comporellon. As such, he is no longer under your jurisdiction. You may address any complaints you may have with Director Trevize to the Comporellian Foreign Ministry. Any such complaints will be taken under advisement by the Comporellian government and appropriate measures will be taken.” “In other words,” said Kodell, “you propose to do nothing, and allow this thief and subversive–and, it now appears, traitor–to elude punishment for his crimes.”

“The Commonwealth of Comporellon does not regard Director Trevize as either a thief, a subversive, or a traitor,” said Lizalor. “We regard him as a loyal, patriotic citizen and a valuable asset to the Comporellian people. Hence, we will, as we say, take any complaints you may have regarding him under advisement, and deal with them in such manner as we find appropriate.” Minister Lizalor’s tone and expression were carefully neutral, but Trevize could tell that she was enjoying herself enormously. Kodell was very likely the second most powerful individual in the Galaxy, and Lizalor had the satisfaction of meeting him face to face and telling him that she intended to keep his intended quarry out of his hands.

Trevize had a sudden picture in his mind of Lizalor standing face to face with Harla Branno, and telling her the same thing. That, he knew, was what she really wanted, to cross swords with the most powerful individual in the Galaxy and emerge triumphant. Trevize had to admit to himself that he wouldn’t mind seeing such a confrontation.

The other two men in the room remained silent during the dialogue between Lizalor and Kodell. Dinnis Erkar, the First Minister of Comporellon, seemed content to allow his underling Lizalor to present his government’s arguments. Thus, if she made some sort of misstep in her dealings with Kodell, Erkar could maintain that she was acting outside the bounds of her authority, and the blame would rest entirely upon her shoulders. Antin Peskonik, the Foundation’s ambassador to Comporellon, was present as a diplomatic courtesy. All dealings between the governments of Comporellon and the Foundation supposedly took place under his auspices, so protocol demanded that he be present at any meetings between officials of the two governments. However, he knew that Kodell was everything and he was nothing, and so he remained silent.

Kodell liked to project an image of grandfatherly kindness, as a way of offsetting the very real and rather intimidating power of his position as Director of Security for the Foundation. Trevize, though, had never had any illusions concerning the reality of Kodell’s act. One did not get Kodell’s sort of job by being genial; one got it by doing whatever had to be done in whatever way it had to be done. Kodell now proceeded to confirm Trevize in his belief by dropping his kindly old grandpapa demeanor.

Kodell’s face hardened. The reassuring crinkles disappeared from around his mouth and eyes, and his eyebrows lowered and drew together. Even his snowy mustache seemed to grow intimidating. Trevize was suddenly reminded of old images he had seen of the first Mayor Indbur, who had seized control of the Foundation’s government, rounded up and condemned his political enemies, and nearly crushed the life out of the Association of Independent Traders. This, Trevize knew, was the real Liono Kodell.

Glaring at Lizalor, Kodell said, “You may think yourself safe from the power of the Foundation because Mayor Branno sees fit to exercise forebearance in her dealings with other nations. You may think that the Foundation has become a vast, pitiful giant, unable or unwilling to use that power for fear of alienating public opinion across the Galaxy. However, let me assure you that you could not be more mistaken. There comes a time when the appearance of weakness is more to be feared than the appearance of strength, and when that time comes, the Foundation will act, and then those who think to taunt the giant in safety will learn the folly of their ways.”

Trevize knew few men who could have withstood Kodell’s tirade without wilting. He felt nothing but pride when he saw that Mitza Lizalor remained unbowed. She met Kodell glare for glare, and when he was finished, she answered him. “If that time should come, then we of Comporellon will face our fate without flinching. In the meantime, if you have nothing more to contribute to this discussion, then I suggest you leave.”

“Not quite yet, Madame Minister,” said Kodell. “I may not leave this world with the traitor Trevize, but I have no intention of leaving without the Far Star. That ship is and always has been the property of the Foundation, and you will not be allowed to keep it.”

“It is the position of the government of Comporellon,” Lizalor replied, “that the Far Star is legally ours under Galactic salvage laws. The ship was left unattended on our world by its pilot, so we have claimed it for our own.” Kodell’s normally fair complexion darkened with anger. “If you try to keep that ship, Madame Minister, you will find that you have moved the time for action on our part from the indefinite future to the immediate future. You have forty-eight hours in which to surrender control of the Far Star, at the end of which time a state of war will exist between our two nations. And I assure you that the Foundation will not hesitate to prosecute that war to the full extent of its ability.”

Mitza Lizalor allowed the silence following Korell’s ultimatum to stretch out. First Minister Erkar remained impassive. Ambassador Peskonik, on the other hand, was becoming visibly nervous. If war did break out between Comporellon and the Foundation, it would mean an ignominious end to his political career. Finally, Lizalor spoke. “While the Comporellians are a proud people, and not normally given to compromise, we recognize that there is a certain amount of ambiguity inherent in questions concerning the precise legal status of the Far Star. That being the case, and in the interest of promoting the cause of interstellar peace and preserving the friendly relations which have heretofore characterized our dealings with the Foundation, we of the Comporellian Commonweath are willing to forego our claim to the Far Star. Please accept the return of your wayward vessel with the compliments of the Comporellian government.”

Korell continued to glare at Lizalor for a time before finally giving her a curt nod and stalking out of the First Minister’s office. Ambassador Peskonik hurried after him.

At last, First Minister Erkar broke his silence. “Just as you predicted, Minister,” he said to Lizalor. “He was willing to let us keep Trevize as long as we were willing to return the ship.”

Although Lizalor’s expression remained as icily correct as it had been throughout the meeting with Kodell, Trevize knew that inside she was awash with pride and exaltation. She had faced down Harla Branno’s henchman and come away with her major prize intact. When this day was over, he knew that their celebration together would be long and physically exhausting.

But there was something not quite right with the mood in the room, and Trevize had no difficulty discerning the source of the imperfection. It was Erkar. He didn’t share Lizalor’s satisfaction with the meeting’s outcome. There was some other matter claiming his attention, and when one of the inner doors of the First Minister’s office opened, Trevize knew what that other matter was. The inner door had opened to reveal Goron Bek, the Minister of Defense. Erkar continued, “I thought it would be best to allow Minister Bek to observe the results of your meeting with the Foundation officials.”

Minister Lizalor’s exultation had vanished in an instant, replaced with uneasiness at the sight of Bek. “Minister Bek,” she greeted him warily. “I am curious to know what interest you might have in my discussion with Director Kodell.”

Bek explained, “I found it quite significant that Mayor Branno should send such an important member of her administration simply in order to deal with a single ship and a single man. The First Minister,” he gestured toward Erkar, “was kind enough to fill me in on the details of ex-Councilman Trevize’s arrival and his involvement with the Gravitics Project.

“The First Minister agrees with me,” Bek continued, “that, given the potential military applications of the Gravitic Drive, the Ministry of Defense would be a more appropriate agency to administer the Gravitic Project than the Ministry of Transportation. Hence, I have come here in order to escort Director Trevize to his new offices at the Ministry of Defense.” From the doorway behind Bek, two men emerged wearing the dark gray uniforms of the Comporellian Defense Force, and holding blaster rifles.

Part 13: Prisoners

“SO THEY GOT you too, did they?” said Kuel Denrun to Golan Trevize.

“They got me too,” Trevize confirmed. He had just been “escorted” by two soldiers from First Minister Erkar’s office to this room deep within the bowels of the Ministry of Defense. It was the sort of bureaucratic turf war that Trevize had heard was all too common on Comporellon these days: Goron Bek, the Minister of Defense, had just stolen the Gravitics Project from Transportation Minister Mitza Lizalor.

Besides Trevize and Denrun, the room held half a dozen other members of the Gravitics team. “How many of the others do they have?” Trevize inquired.

“The lot,” said Denrun. “You were the last.”

Trevize sighed and sat at the table beside Denrun. “How long have you been here?”

“About an hour,” said Denrun. “Right after you two left for the meeting with Erkar, a bunch of soldier boys came tramping down to the Project area, all kitted out with body armor and blaster rifles. They said go, and you don’t argue with soldier boys, so we went. They brought us here.” He indicated the room they were in. “Got a whole complex laid out. We were still sorting ourselves out when they came back with all the files and simulations from the Project. So far as I’ve been able to tell, they got everything. And now, they’ve got every one.”

“It sounds to me,” said Trevize, “like they’ve been planning this for some time. At least a couple of weeks, maybe since I came back to Comporellon.”

“Could be,” Denrun agreed. “Very methodical man, Goron Bek. He’d have made a wonderful General, if he’d ever been in a war.”

“He may get his chance yet,” said Trevize, without knowing quite what he meant. It was his intuition dropping another hint of what the future held. To forestall any questions from Denrun, he asked, “What do you think of Minister Lizalor’s chances of getting us back?”

“If it was anyone else,” said Denrun, “I’d say none. What Bek gets, Bek keeps. But you never know with Lizalor. Everyone said she was daft to let you leave, the first time you came here. But she just said, ‘He’ll be back.’ And three months later, back you came, renounced your Foundation citizenship, and handed us Gravitics on a plate.” He shook his head. “Blessed if I know how she does it, but she does. If anyone on Comporellon can get us out of here, she can.

“In the meantime,” Denrun added, “we’ve still got a job to do. And Bek is even less tolerant of failure than Lizalor, if you can imagine such a thing.”

“All right,” said Trevize. “In that case, you’d better show me around, and we’ll see about getting the Project back up and running.”

Denrun nodded his approval, saying, “That’s the spirit, never say die.” The two men rose from the table, and Denrun led Trevize back into the Gravitics Project’s new abode.

Goron Bek had indeed been methodical. The Gravitics complex here in the Defense Ministry seemed to be an exact duplicate of the one in the Transportation Ministry, down to every last memo board and chair. All they had to do was transfer the files and simulations into the new computers, and carry on with the work. The only difference Trevize noticed was that the locks on the doors were all on the outside. Nobody was leaving unless somebody on the outside wanted them to leave.

For most of the members of the Gravitics team, the fascination of the work soon drowned out any worries they might have had about their change of circumstances. Every member of the Gravitics team knew that he was working on the most important project on Comporellon, and it created a kind of ongoing exuberance that Trevize remembered well from his days at the Darrell Shipyards.

In fact, Trevize considered it one of his chief duties as Director of the Gravitics Project to keep the members of his team from skipping meals and rest periods. No doubt it had inspired some of the in-group humor, and provided him with a nickname among the members of the team. Back at Darrell, his nickname had been “Nanny”, and Trevize had to admit its accuracy. People engaged in a cutting-edge research project seemed to be incapable of taking care of themselves, so they needed someone else to do it for them. Here on Comporellon, that someone was him.

His other chief duty was protecting the Gravitics Project from Goron Bek. Just as he had at the Ministry of Transportation, Trevize reported directly to the head of the Ministry. Trevize found his relationship with Bek to be just about as different from his relationship with Mitza Lizalor as it could possibly be. As Denrun had once observed, “Lizalor believes in using the carrot and the stick. Bek believes in using the stick and the bigger stick.”

Every morning, Trevize was let out of the research complex/prison compound and escorted to Bek’s office. There, he would brief Bek on the progress made by the Gravitics Project since the previous morning. Every few days, Bek would suggest to Trevize that the best way to inspire greater effort from the Gravitics team would be to single out one of the members and accuse him of trying to deliberately sabotage the project, then have him executed.

So far, Trevize had been able to hold off on Bek’s suggestion by pointing out, truthfully, that all the members of the Gravitics team were performing vital work, and that removing one would actually slow the pace of progress.

“Isn’t there anyone there whose work is less vital than the others?” Bek would want to know.

Trevize had found that the best way to forestall the Minister was to start going into technical detail on the work each man was doing. Bek would then wave him to silence and say, “Never mind.”

A new wrinkle appeared one morning when, after Trevize pointed out that all the members of the team were performing vital work, Bek responded by saying, “Well, it doesn’t really matter whether the man we choose is actually doing poor work. In fact, it will actually increase the effect on the others if they aren’t quite sure why we chose the one we did. They’ll all be inspired to work harder.”

“But not hard enough to make up for the man’s loss.”

Once again, Bek had a new response. “It will be your job to make sure they do work hard enough to make up for the man’s loss. After all, if they find the loss of one of their own inspiring, imagine how much they’d be motivated if they learned of your loss.”

Part 14: Procedures

GOLAN TREVIZE WOKE up with a sentence drifting through his mind. Before he opened his eyes he could see it glowing against the insides of his eyelids. Get it in writing.

It could have been a remnant of a forgotten dream, or a message from his allegedly infallable intuition, or just the aftereffects of the previous evening’s meal. When Trevize opened his eyes, the sentence vanished from his sight.

It remained in his mind, though. As Trevize rose from the cot in his office, showered, dressed, and prepared for the morning’s meeting with Goron Bek, he was constantly turning the message over in his mind. By the time he had been allowed out of the Gravitics Project research lab and escorted to Bek’s office, he had worked out a course of action.

As always, the two members of Trevize’s military escort had entered Bek’s inner office with him and taken up posts on either side of the door. Trevize walked up to the huge desk on the far side of the office and stood silently while Bek studied the screen of his computer.

To give himself something to do while he waited, Trevize counted the seconds until Bek looked up and took notice of him. He had created a database back at the research lab where he plotted each day’s wait. Most days, Bek kept him waiting between thirty and fifty seconds. Yesterday, the day of his ultimatum, the Defense Minister had kept him waiting only twelve seconds. Today, Trevize had reached seven in his count when Bek looked up and spoke to him. “Director,” Bek greeted him.

“Minister,” Trevize responded.

It was like a macabre parody of his meetings with Mitza Lizalor. The exact same words, spoken in the exact same way.

“I hope you’ve had time to consider the suggestion I made at our last meeting,” said Bek.

“I’ve been giving it a lot of thought,” Trevize admitted. “Good, good. And have you reached any conclusions?”

“I have,” said Trevize. “I’ve come to the conclusion that the procedures you’ve outlined needs to be taken seriously.”

“Well, that’s a start. How seriously do you intend to take my suggestion?” “Seriously enough to think that it needs to be put on an official footing.” There was a pause before Bek said, “What exactly do you mean by an official footing?”

“I mean that, if your suggestion is to become official policy with regard to the Gravitics Project, it ought to be spelled out. There ought to be a set of official guidelines documenting the proposed procedures. And what’s more,” Trevize said, his eyes locked onto Bek’s own,” I feel that, absent such a set of official guidelines, it would be … premature … of me to attempt to implement the proposed procedures.”

There was another pause, much longer that the first one. At last, Bek said, “And if I were to suggest that, in the interest of keeping the Gravitics Project on schedule, it would be permissable to forego the creation of such a set of official guidelines?”

“Then I would feel it my duty to refuse to implement the suggested procedures, Minister. Under any circumstances.”

A third pause, the longest of all. Then Bek said, “After giving the matter due consideration, I find myself coming to appreciate the merits of your suggestion. Very well. I’ll see to it that a set of official guidelines are established with regard to the proposed procedures. Afterwards, I’ll expect those procedures to be followed to the letter, and in a timely fashion.” “They will be,” said Trevize.

“Excellent. Thank you for your assistance in this matter, Director. That will be all for now.”

“Yes, Minister.”

As Trevize was escorted from the Defense Minister’s office back to the Gravitics lab, he felt as exhausted as if he had just finished a twenty-mile run. However, he also had the unmistakable impression that he had just taken a key step in solving the problem of Bek’s usurpation of the Gravitics Project. For the first time since Bek had walked into First Minister Erkar’s office, Trevize felt the future opening up before him.

Part 15: Paperwork

NEEDLESS TO SAY, the directive from Bek was marked Top Secret. That was all right with Golan Trevize. It didn’t matter how widely Bek’s directive circulated. The mere fact that it existed meant that a paper trail was being created, one which led directly to Defense Minister Goron Bek.

The title was deceptively innocuous: Ministerial Directive DM-322-303-1, Updated Security Procedure for Gravitics Project. The language was equally innocuous: the bland, passive-voiced hypercomplexity of bureaucratic communications the Galaxy over. None of that mattered, because the inertness of the style couldn’t disguise the explosiveness of the substance. For Ministerial Directive DM-322-303-1 was nothing less than a direct order from Bek to Trevize to single out one of the members of the Gravitics Project for expulsion and execution on charges of sabotage. It was, at least potentially, a dagger pointed at Bek’s heart, for if it became known that Bek was ordering the murder of a member of the most important research project on Comporellon, Bek’s career (at the very least) would be in ruins. Of course, Trevize hadn’t the slightest idea how DM-322-303-1 might manage to make its way into the hands of Bek’s enemies. As far as he knew, the only two copies of the document were located within the closely guarded memory of Bek’s computer and the even more closely guarded memory of Trevize’s own computer. Trevize wasn’t worried about that. His task had been to get Bek to create the fatal document in the first place. Someone else was going to have to figure out a way to give Bek’s order wider circulation.

What did worry Trevize was the fact that, having received the order from Bek, he was now obligated to carry it out. If he refused to follow its instructions, he himself was guilty of insubordination, sabotage, and possibly even treason. Nor did Trevize delude himself into thinking that his refusal to obey DM-322-303-1 would result in a trial which would bring the directive to the attention of a wider audience. After he had gained Comporellian citizenship, Mitza Lizalor had taken it upon herself to acquaint Trevize with the obligations and privileges thereby entailed. As Trevize might have guessed, there were many more obligations involved than privileges. The edicts of the First Minister had the force of law, and one of those edicts allowed for the secret trial and punishment of anyone found in disobedience of orders issued by any member of the Administration (as the heads of the various government ministries were collectively known). If Trevize disobeyed DM-322-303-1 and were arrested, the only people present at his trial would be Bek, First Minister Erkar, and himself. Erkar would ask him if he had disobeyed Bek, Trevize would admit that he had, and Erkar would order Trevize’s immediate execution. That was all.

Nor did Trevize believe that his knowledge made him irreplacable. Mitza Lizalor undoubtedly thought so, but Goron Bek just as undoubtedly did not. The only irreplacable man in Bek’s world was Bek. The Defence Minister would not hesitate for a moment to have Trevize executed.

Which meant that Trevize was faced with the choice of abetting either an innocent man’s murder or his own suicide. It seemed to him that his only viable course of action was to act on Bek’s order as slowly as was safely possible and hope that he was freed from Bek’s control before it became necessary for him to actually sacrifice one of his men.

Fortunately, the wording of Bek’s directive allowed him some leeway. Since the ostensible purpose of the directive was to discover a saboteur among the members of the Gravitics Project, Trevize would be able to spend a certain amount of time actually looking for evidence of sabotage. He knew he couldn’t drag out his investigation indefinitely, but while he could, he would. Was it possible that his investigation might uncover a genuine saboteur? Trevize didn’t think so. He knew that the Gravitics Project was moving ahead as quickly as possible, and he believed that his own intuition would have alerted him already to the presence of a real saboteur. He would be playing for time, and nothing more.

With a sigh, Trevize began composing a report to Bek outlining the proposed course of his investigation.

Part 16: Selection

GORON BEK WAS being blunt, for him. “Director Trevize, your progress in implementing directive DM-322-303-1 has been unsatisfactory.” In an ordinary conversation, Golan Trevize would have offered either an apology, an excuse, or an explanation. However, he knew that Bek was interested in none of these, so he remained silent and waited for the Defense Minister to continue.

“Unless you wish to face charges of obstructionism, I expect you to comply with the directive, most especially with regard to paragraph four subsection C. I expect you to have a suitable candidate available for implementation of the remedial phase of the directive in time for our next meeting.” “Yes, Minister.”

“That will be all for now, Director.”

“Yes, Minister.”

Walking back to the Project compound, Trevize’s mind was heavy. Translated into plain Galactic, Bek had just ordered Trevize to identify one of the members of his research team as a traitor and saboteur, in his next report to Bek. The consequences would be swift and deadly: arrest, a mock trial, and a quick execution. Whoever Trevize named would likely be dead within hours of his next meeting with Bek.

After reaching the Project compound, Trevize went straight to his office, sat behind his desk, and stared at the top. Sometime within the next twenty-four Comporellian hours, he would have to condemn an innocent man to death; either one of his subordinates, or himself.

All right, he said to his alleged intuition, you’re supposed to be infallible. Tell me what to do next.

There was no answer.

Trevize broke with his regular routine tour of inspection around the Project compound, choosing instead to remain within his office. Denrun and the others, perhaps sensing his mood, did not interrupt him. The Comporellian hours, shorter than the Standard hours to reflect Comporellon’s shorter day, passed by Trevize with terrifying speed. He tried to read status reports, tried to write status reports, tried to sleep, tried to eat. It was impossible to do anything while his last fatal Investigation Report to Minister Bek remained unwritten. Finally, in the small hours of the morning, Trevize opened the file on his investigation, and sat looking at the blank screen that would eventually become somebody’s death sentence. His fingers began tapping at the computer’s keyboard, and the bland, verbose opening sentences of the report appeared on the screen. Trevize was barely aware of any conscious thought as the sentences became paragraphs, the paragraphs pages, and the pages a finished document. With all the terrible finality of a murderer pressing the contact of a blaster, Trevize pressed the key that would enter the report in his file, and send a copy to the identical file in Goron Bek’s computer.

Only then did it seem to Trevize that perhaps his intuition had been guiding his fingers after all. The realization came to him that he did not, after all, have it within him to order another man’s death. He had chosen to return to Comporellon, he had accepted leadership of the Gravitics Project, and now the responsibility for the outcome rested on him alone. If that meant choosing his own death, then so be it.

Golan Trevize smiled for the first time in weeks as he read the name he had defiantly named in his report: Goron Bek.

His computer chirped at him, and a message appeared on the screen to remind him that it was time for his daily meeting with the Minister of Defense. Still smiling, Trevize rose from his desk, left his office, and went out to the compound’s exit to meet his escort.

As the door to the outside slid open, however, the face that met him was not the face of Captain Weklin, his usual escort. Instead, Trevize found himself looking at a man in the black uniform of the Ministry of Security. Furthermore, the man was familiar, though it took a moment for Trevize to place him. The last time Trevize had seen this man had been during his first visit to Comporellon with Janov and Bliss.

“You’re the taxi driver!” Trevize exclaimed.

The black-uniformed man nodded at Trevize, clearly pleased at being remembered. He said, “You are correct, sir. Lt. Herris Mindollo of the Comporellian Security Force. I did indeed have the pleasure of escorting you and your companions to the Ministry of Transportation during your initial visit to our world.”

“Against our will, as you’ll doubtless recall.”

Lt. Mindollo nodded again. “These things are sometimes necessary in my line of work. I think you’ll agree that matters did eventually resolve themselves to your satisfaction.”

Was that a veiled reference to Trevize’s first tryst with Mitza Lizalor? Not that that mattered right now. Trevize asked, “Are you here to escort me to Minister Bek’s office?”

Oddly enough, Lt. Mindollo seemed to be having trouble keeping his expression neutral. Trevize had the strange impression that the security man was trying to keep from grinning at him. Mindollo replied, “I’m here to escort you to the office that was Bek’s.”

“Was?”

“Yes, was. Goron Bek is no longer Minister of Defense. He has been arrested on charges of attempting to sabotage the Gravitics Project.” Stunned, it took Trevize several seconds to formulate a response. He finally said, “Who has been chosen to replace him?”

Lt. Mindollo said, “You have … Minister Trevize.”

Part 17: Promotions

IT WAS FORTUNATE for Golan Trevize that there was nobody standing in his way as he walked the corridors of the Ministry of Defense, for if there had been, he would have bumped into them. His attention was completely focused on his escort, Lt. Herris Mindollo of the Comporellian Security Force.

“Would you mind very much repeating that, Lt. Mindollo?” The security officer clearly did not mind at all. “I said that you have been chosen to replace Goron Bek as Minister of Defense.”

“How in the Galaxy did that happen?”

“In the usual fashion,” said Mindollo. “After the position was made vacant by Bek’s arrest, the First Minister appointed someone else to fill it. In this case, you.”

“Why would First Minister Erkar make me his Defense Minister?” “First Minister Erkar didn’t.”

By now, Trevize’s mind had begun working well enough for him to figure out what Lt. Mindollo was getting at. He said, “Because Dinnis Erkar isn’t First Minister anymore.”

Mindollo nodded. “Citizen Erkar has chosen to retire permanently to his vacation home on the Southern Peninsula. His replacement is waiting to meet you in your new office.”

And then the two men were standing in front of the door to that office. The white-on-gray words had already been changed from “Goron Bek, Min-Def” to “Golan Trevize, Min-Def”. Lt. Mindollo touched the lettering, which glowed briefly, and then the door slid open.

The cavernous office within was the same, but the figure standing beside the desk was not Goron Bek. Instead, as Trevize had somehow been half expecting, it was Mitza Lizalor.

Mindollo saluted Lizalor and said, “First Minister, I present Minister Trevize.”

Lizalor nodded to Mindollo and said, “I thank you, Lieutenant. Please remain with us for a moment.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Mindollo responded crisply as he stood at attention. “Golan Trevize,” Lizalor continued, “on behalf of the Emergency Policy Formulation Group and the citizens of the Commonwealth of Comporellon, I hereby nominate you for the position of Minister of Defense. Do you swear to fulfill the duties and obligations incumbent upon the office of Minister of Defense, to uphold the laws of the Commonwealth of Comporellon, and to defend the Commonwealth against all foes, foreign and domestic?”

“I do,” said Trevize.

“Then Golan Trevize, I hereby appoint you to the position of Minister of Defense for the Commonwealth of Comporellon.” Stepping forward, Lizalor took Trevize by the shoulders and bestowed a formal kiss upon each cheek. Trevize was half tempted to kneel down like a character from an Imperial drama. Instead, he returned Lizalor’s formal kisses and took a step back. Lt. Mindollo saluted Trevize, then turned sharply on his heel and left the room. As soon as the door had shut behind them, Trevize found himself buried under Mitza Lizalor’s fierce embrace, and the kisses she bestowed upon him were considerably more than a formality. Trevize returned her embrace with equal feeling, and the two remained that way for a long time.

Finally, Mitza pulled back enough to look him in the face, and said, “You, Golan my love, are the most irrepressible madman I have ever met in my life! Sending Bek a report accusing him of sabotaging the Gravitics Project!” “I take it you’ve read it, then,” said Trevize.

Lizalor shook her head, but Trevize knew she was confirming his guess. “The sheer brazen effrontery of it! Magnificent! Impossible! You mad fool!” She threw her arms around him again, and it was all that Trevize could do to keep her from crushing the life out of him. “Whatever possessed you to do such a thing?”

When Trevize had recovered his breath, he said, “I knew that if I didn’t accuse one of my team, Bek would have me arrested and executed. I also knew that I didn’t have it in me to sacrifice one of my men to save myself. At that point, I knew I was doomed, so I decided I might as well go out in a blaze of glory. Also, it would probably be my only chance to let Bek know what I really thought of him, and I couldn’t pass that up!

“Just out of curiosity,” he added, “how did you come to read it?” Lizalor was silent for a time, then she said, “After Erkar let Bek steal you from me, I knew I could expect no help from the First Minister. At that point, there was only one man in the Administration who would be able to help me.” “The Minister of State Security,” said Trevize.

“The same,” said Lizalor. “Security and Defense have always been rivals within the Presidium, and with Bek in control of the Gravitics Project, it was clear that Defense was in the ascendant. I went to Minister Banasek and offered an alliance. If he gained me access to the contents of Bek’s computer, I would provide him with evidence that would allow him to discredit Bek and Erkar both. He agreed, and I set about finding him his evidence.” Trevize said, “And the evidence you showed him was directive DM-322-308-1.” “Correct.” Lizalor shook her head again in disbelief. “I will never understand how you were able to persuade him to issue such an incriminating document. And if anything else were needed, your final report denouncing Bek was it. Minister Banasek told me that your final report alone would have convinced him of the need to eliminate Bek. He was dubious at first about my plan to set you in Bek’s place, but your report convinced him of that as well. He spoke eloquently in praise of your courage.”

“And he also knows about our affair,” said Trevize.

That brought Lizalor up short. “What makes you say that?” “It stands to reason. Why would he allow you to become First Minister, and me to become head of a rival Ministry, unless he had some sort of hold over both of us? And the most obvious hold would be knowledge and evidence of an illicit affair between the two of us. All he has to do is reveal our wrongdoing to the populace at large, and the two of us will find ourselves out of power just as surely as Erkar and Bek are now.”

The look on Mitza Lizalor’s face made Trevize wish his intuition wasn’t so accurate.

Part 18: A Sign from the Past

IRONICALLY, NOW THAT Trevize was Minister of Defense, it made sense to keep the Gravitics Project where it was. Kuel Denrun was once again appointed Project Director, and the locks and guards were removed from the Project compound. Trevize wondered how many of the men on the Project would notice.

The Gravitics Project was now only one of the matters facing Trevize, though still the most important one. He had assumed responsibility for a vast government bureaucracy charged with the defense of the 37 worlds that made up the Commonwealth of Comporellon. He would be allocating resources, awarding contracts, and overseeing the implementation of strategic policies. True, Comporellon hadn’t fought a war in nearly a century. With the rise of the Foundation, the chaos that had shaken the Sirius Sector since the fall of the Empire had gradually vanished, leaving the Comporellian military with little to do but maintain itself in a state of readiness and plan for various increasingly unlikely contingencies.

Fortunately, the Min-Def (as the Comporellians called it) largely ran itself, in the manner of established bureaucracies everywhere. Most of Trevize’s work at first consisted of learning what each of the various subministries and subdepartments was involved in. There just weren’t enough hours in the day to stay on top of it all, and Trevized joked to Lizalor that he was now more of a prisoner than he had been under Bek.

And at the back of Trevize’s mind was the nagging sense of an approaching crisis. Ever since he had returned to Comporellon and begun work on the Gravitics Project, Trevize had had the feeling that he was racing the clock to prevent some sort of catastrophe. He didn’t know what that catastrophe might be or when it might occur, only that Comporellon’s drive to recreate the Foundation’s gravitic drive technology was the key to dealing with it.

Another consequence of his new position was that Trevize no longer saw Lizalor every day. She was even busier dealing with her new duties as First Minister than he was dealing with the Ministry of Defense. What was more, there was the knowledge that Security Minister Banasek knew of their illicit liaison. Logically, they shouldn’t have let the knowledge affect their relationship; after all, he could already ruin both their careers with what he knew. Adding a few more trysts to his files wouldn’t make the situation any worse. Nevertheless, they knew they were being watched, and it made them more reticent with each other.

So it was that after calling it a day at the Min-Def, Trevize found himself at loose ends. He didn’t socialize with his subordinates at the Gravitics Project, and he couldn’t appear in public with Lizalor, and he didn’t really know anybody else on Comporellon. He took the tubeway from the Defense Building to a large shopping district he had heard of a few kilometers away.

Once again Trevize felt as though he was walking in a historical book-film through the subterranean world of lost Trantor. Half a dozen levels rose above him, each one crowded with shops selling various goods and services, all covered over by a clear dome displaying a cloudy sky. Here at last the Comporellian preference for shades of gray had been set aside, and colors rioted everywhere he looked, with the drably-dressed Comporellians providing a kind of sober contrast. Trevize walked slowly along the concourse, stopping from time to time to look at kittens playing in the window of a pet store, displays of toys, art supplies, games, clothing, food from worlds across the Galaxy.

From the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of a symbol out of history, and he had to stop and search to make sure that he hadn’t imagined it. Tucked in between a Rhodian restaurant and an appliance outlet, there was a maroon-colored storefront with no merchandise on display. Instead, above the door, there was a sign showing an open hand outlined against a rayed sun. There was a sign like that in the heart of Terminus City, carved into the permacrete of a four hundred year old building that had once served as the holiest shrine in the Galactic Periphery: the Temple School of the Church of Science.

This was the religion that Salvor Hardin had allowed to grow up in the Four Kingdoms, and which he used as an instrument of control against the ambitious monarchs of those distant days. It didn’t merit any mention in the history books after Hober Mallow had ended its role as the Foundation’s state religion, but Trevize knew in a vague sort of way that it had continued to spread across the Galaxy.

It was a tiny touch of home in the center of a vast, unfamiliar world, and Trevize found himself drawn to it. A red-robed priest emerged from the doorway, and he noticed Trevize gazing up at the sign. “Would you like to come inside, my son?” he said in a voice with the same Comporellian accent as Lizalor’s.

Trevize was going to refuse, but a combination of curiosity and homesickness made him change his mind. “Thank you, Father,” he said at last. “I’d like that very much.”

A Pleasure Doing Business With You

729 F. E. (12797 G. E.)

From the Publisher:

What an interesting sequence of events has passed since our last edition of Encyclopedia Galactica was published. In this, the 83rd edition, we cover a wide variety of topics: the admission of Hame, known throughout the Galaxy as Trantor, into the Foundation foremost among them. We mustn’t forget, either, the wondrous achievements of Mayor Robar Unrich over the past several years – already one of the strongest Mayors we’ve had in living history. The Foundation’s expansion, science, and most importantly, prosperity continues to last.

It is widely believed at the time of this publication that Mayor Unrich has successfully weathered a Seldon Crisis which was not predicted by Dr. Hari Seldon, founder of the Foundation. Whether we actually had such a crisis, of course, will be left up to the historians to decide. The details of this crisis are contained in a special addendum to this edition, as it occurred to late to be printed in the main sections of this edition. The 84th edition will include the crisis’s progress in the main body of the Encyclopedia.

And even today, we continue to make discoveries, or in many cases, rediscoveries. For instance, in recent years a planet considered for colonization by the Foundation has been discovered with some form of mechanical intelligence. The planet, whose name apparently means Atomic Fire or Inferno, resembles a home for both machines and men. This astonishing discovery, however, is not a satisfying one – there are no intelligent machines in working or repairable condition – all electronic and positronic components on the planet have long since failed and rusted away. There is no way of knowing when either man or machine walked or maneuvered on the planet. Currently, the planet is under archaeological quarantine, and when Foundation officials have determined that all such components have been archived safely, recolonization efforts can begin. See our listing under Inferno for details.

This edition of the Encyclopedia Galactica, however, carries a special significance for myself and for our employees here. Over the past several years, we have wondered whether or not there would be an 83rd edition. Our concerns have been shared, unfavorably, by the galactic media. It is true that the Encyclopedia Galactica Publishing Company has weathered its own little crisis. The 82nd edition, as many of our customers know, was published seven years ago – an exceptionally long time between editions in our company’s history, and one which nearly bankrupted us for several different reasons. With this edition, our financial situation is unquestionably repaired – and not because we simply needed to rush another edition to print. This edition incorporates a great deal of new content which has traditionally been excluded from earlier editions. We continue to hold ourselves to the highest quality of publishing standards, and you will find that this edition is worthy of the title Galactica.

And now, as our first publisher, Dr. Lewis Pirenne, once said, “Let our work speak for itself.” I present to you, ladies and gentlemen, the 83rd Edition of the Encyclopedia Galactica.

Dr. Harald Ramis

Publisher

Nine months earlier …

“WE’RE LOSING MONEY,” Harald said to his board of directors. “The simple fact is we’re overdue for the 83rd edition, and it’s costing us. Our competitors from Delicass have released two editions of their Encylopedia Of Humanity since we released the 82nd edition. Our stockholders are not happy either – our stock has plummeted 14 percent overnight, after we failed to deliver on time. I need some ideas, gentlemen.”

The situation was extremely grim. Yesterday had been the deadline Harald had set publicly for the 83rd edition’s release. Yesterday had come and gone, without a word in print, hypervid, or even broadcast. “How much longer can we continue like this?” the vice president for public relations asked. The short, young woman had been a rising star, and had just been promoted to the board. She had known the company was in financial trouble, but not this bad.

“Two months. Two months, and we’re out of business,” the chief financial officer replied. He was an older man, who had long since lost his hair.

“In two months,” Harald interrupted, “no one will consider buying even a used copy of the E.G. We’ve fallen that far behind in our technology, in our updates, and in our credibility. I say we have two weeks to pull ourselves out of this, and two hours to figure out how.”

“That, and the 82nd edition was itself a quick fix,” the most senior member of the board remarked. No one wanted to be reminded of that. The 82nd edition had had the poorest sales in over four centuries, ever since the time of the Mule’s brief rule. “We can’t do that again – we’ve got to put out quality this time.”

“Can we? Hell, Delicass is sitting right where the old Empire once had the seat of government! They called it Neotrantor! They are right next door to Trantor, with its own stores of information. Do you know how much it costs us to send our researchers out to the Galaxy? They’ve got a plutonium mine of information right underneath them, and they’re just starting to scratch into it!” Harald’s frustration was evident.

“That’s just the thing. The early Foundation had access to a whole lot of information to put into their E.G.’s. We have to rely on new stuff, whereas the Humanity crew has access to all this old stuff for a fraction of our costs. The two Encyclopedias have totally different avenues,” Public Relations threw in.

“No encyclopedia can survive new editions without new material being added. That’s the bottom line,” Harald said. “We need information. We need a lot more than we have right now.”

“There’s none out there to be had!” the Research division head protested. “I know we’re the most expensive division in the company, but we’re also the largest. We have scoured this Galaxy under press credentials and under the name of the Foundation. Sure, we hit a plutonium mine with that Inferno discovery, but that’s a once-in-a-lifetime find these days. What do you expect us to do? The Editing division isn’t big enough, and you know that, Harald. We keep sending them raw data, and they can’t process it fast enough.”

“So do we hire more editors, is that it, Bernie?” Editing asked sarcastically. “No one wants to work for us anymore. The Foundation economy is at its strongest, and unemployment is almost nonexistent. All the university-trained editors are working on local newspapers and for Delicass. We have hired only two thousand new editors in the last year. We’ve spent millions of credits on advertising our positions available, and we still have forty thousand openings after three years. Come on!”

The room was silenced after that comment. It was all true, and it was a dead end.

“We need Trantor’s information, without the expenses of travel from Terminus to Trantor or anywhere else. Humanity’s got it.” Harald summed it up neatly.

“We’ve got twelve thousand times Humanity’s budget, or value for that matter – but they’ve got the lock on Trantor,” Finance threw in. “We can’t buy that access – we have to be there.”

Faces lit up around the table. “Maybe we can,” Harald said.

“Can what?” Finance asked. Then it hit him – and he started grinning like the rest of them.

“They can’t be serious,” Encyclopedia Of Humanity’s publisher, Georgia Nua guffawed. “They can’t be!”

“They must really be in trouble, if they’re coming to us with that,” her senior vice president agreed. “Wow.”

“So what do you think?”

“We’ve got them. By Cleon I, we’ve got them.”

“Should we take it, or should we balk? They’re offering half again our current value.” Georgia was shaking her head with glee.

“Trantor’s worth ten times our value.”

“But it’s going to take us fifty years to get that value. With their funding, it could be done in months.”

The SVP crossed his arms. “I don’t know … it sounds great, but I think we can get more. When do they want an answer?”

“Two days, by secure courier. For the courier to get back in time, we have to decide now.”

The SVP considered that. “Not very polite of them, is it?”

“To hell with polite. We can’t pass this up, Pedro. We can’t.”

Two weeks later, printed in the Delicass Daily NewsFeed:

DELICASS–The Encyclopedia Galactica Publishing Company and the Encyclopedia Of Humanity announced the largest merger in Galactic history today, in a press conference at the Encyclopedia of Humanity’s public affairs office.

“We’re very happy to be joining forces with the Encyclopedia Galactica,” Georgia Nua, president of the Encyclopedia of Humanity Publishing House said today before a crowd of news and financial reporters. “This is an unparalleled opportunity for the Galaxy to learn more about itself than ever before.”

Dr. Harald Ramis, publisher and chief executive officer of the Encyclopedia Galactica Publishing Company, said, “The resources which Humanity has access to, combined with our funding, just make sense for our customers – Galactica’s and Humanity’s. And what makes sense for our customers makes business sense for us.”

Under the terms of the merger agreement, Encyclopedia Galactica shareholders will own 70% of the new company, while Encyclopedia Of Humanity’s shareholders will replace their stocks with the remaining 30%.

The merger involves two companies, both of which are heavyweights in the publishing business. Encyclopedia Galactica, based on Terminus, has been in business since 1 F. E. Encyclopedia of Humanity, based here on Delicass, has published fourteen editions over the last 142 years, and enjoys an exclusive contract with the Hamish government’s Office of Information. Hame, popularly known throughout the Galaxy under its former name of Trantor, recently elected to join the Foundation Federation, which originally sponsored Encyclopedia Galactica.

The stock markets reacted most favorably to the announcement, with Encyclopedia Galactica shares rising 4 points to 49.5 credits per share, and Encyclopedia Of Humanity’s stock price nearly doubling to 74.25 credits per share.

The merger requires the formal approval of the Hamish government, the Foundation Federation’s Ministry of Justice, and the stockholders of both companies.

The Imperial Conference

1000 F. E. (13068 G. E.)

Chapter One

IMPERIAL CONFERENCE, THE: THE HIGHEST POINT IN THE HISTORY OF THE FOUNDATIONS, IT ALSO MARKED THEIR DOWNFALL. THE FIRST FOUNDATION HAD CALLED IT TO START ON THE FIRST DAY OF 1000 F. E., TO FORM THE SECOND GALACTIC EMPIRE WHICH THEY HAD SO EAGERLY AWAITED SINCE DR. HARI SELDON DISPATCHED HIS FIRST FOUNDATION TO TERMINUS, AND HIS SECOND FOUNDATION TO STAR’S END. NATURALLY, IT WAS A SAD TIME FOR THE FIRST FOUNDATION’S GOVERNMENT, AS THEY EXPECTED THEY WOULD GIVE UP POWER PERMANENTLY TO THE GALAXY FOR ITS OWN LEADERSHIP. “IT WAS TIME TO LET THE GALAXY GROW UP,” ONE OF TRANTOR’S DELEGATES SAID AFTERWARD, “AND LEAVE OUR FOUNDATION’S GUIDANCE BEHIND.”

THE SAD TIMES WERE NOT WITHOUT DANGER, HOWEVER, DANGER WHICH STARTED TWO MONTHS BEFORE THE CONFERENCE ITSELF DID …

–ENCYCLOPEDIA GALACTICA,

118TH EDITION, 1054 F. E.

“WE’VE GOT A problem,” Ione said. And when Ione said that, it meant it was a big problem. Ione classified small problems as “situations”, implying that she could handle them. As the Lieutenant Governor of the Foundation, she had to handle them, and leave her Governor to lead the Foundation.

Hannor looked up from his desk, surprised to see his Lieutenant leaning forward, fists balled up on his black marble table. Her small size often belied the fact that she held great power, both physically and politically. She stood there, in a shiny grey jumpsuit, hardly the uniform of a Lieutenant Governor. Of course, she’d just returned from Yrika, one of the Foundation’s noisier provinces. Hannor beckoned silently for her to continue.

“Yrika insists on providing ‘security’ for our event. For the Imperial ceremonies.” She snorted, a snort of frustration. “Their king believes that security would help to ensure no one attempted to manipulate the finalization of our Empire.”

“And you tried to dissuade him,” Hannor’s deep voice rumbled. His beard was gray and complete – and he looked forward to retirement after the Empire replaced his Foundation.

“Well, of course I did! The Foundation is perfectly capable of defending Trantor from all comers. I’m just worried that we may have another Gilmer on our hands. The slimy bastard,” she coughed. “He’s obviously a power-grabber, and he wants to be Emperor.”

“Will he be here?” Ione glared at Hannor – of course he would. “Then there’s no danger,” Hannor replied calmly. “We’ll just have to keep his ships away from everyone else’s. The Foundation is calling this Imperial Conference, and that’s what it’s going to be – not a Foundation conference, an Imperial one. We will have our Second Empire.”

“And who to lead it?” Ione remarked bitterly. She stopped leaning on his desk and started pacing, her hands behind her back. “I tell you, Yrika’s just the first. And now that he’s made it public, other provinces like our own Smyrno will want to provide security as well – against their rivals, such as Yrika. I tell you, Hannor, we’re going to have our hands full just keeping these fleets from starting a war. It’s hard to build an Empire with guns blazing everywhere.”

“History disagrees with you, Ione. The Mule certainly had an Empire, just not a stable one. A very violent Empire indeed.”

If Hannor had been a bit younger, he might have appreciated the fine lines in her face, running from the bridge of her nose almost to the bottom of her ears. They certainly stood out as she shouted, “Violence is the last refuge!”

“Yes, yes, don’t go misquoting Salvor Hardin on me. We’ve still got time – two months before the Conference. Don’t worry, the Second Foundation has been preparing, just as we have, for this for a thousand years. This may be our last Seldon Crisis, what you’re describing here. But it’s not a crisis yet.”

“There you go, spouting about the Second Foundation again. They don’t exist!”

“Of course they do. I was introduced to their First Speaker last year.” After Hannor’s election, Ione had heard him say before. She still didn’t buy it. She never would, Hannor knew. He attributed his upcoming retirement to that very event, when the Second Foundation told him they would be taking power. He just hadn’t told her that.

“Get it off. And besides, if there’s a Seldon Crisis, they won’t hold our hand for us. We have to do it ourselves,” Ione said sourly.

Hannor smiled cryptically, “Yes, I know. Don’t worry. We’ll know when we have a Crisis. And as you’ve said, right now it’s a problem. I’ll let the Admiralty deal with security measures, but I’ll pass on your information about Yrika. That is something they’ll need to know. Anything else?”

Her face was still serious: That’s not enough, dammit. But she replied more respectfully, “Nothing for you. I can keep the Foundation together while you lead it.”

Hannor stood up, in a fatherly way. “Don’t worry, Ione, I haven’t gone into retirement yet. When the time comes, I’ll lead. But not before. A lot of things can happen in two months, Ione. We don’t know when the Crisis will happen. We don’t even know if there will be a crisis. But one thing we do know: the Imperial Conference will go forward as scheduled. No matter who shows up, with what army.”

Ione’s mouth turned upward. “By Seldon, I love that confidence you have. I often wish I had it myself.”

“You built it in me, Ione. You’ve served me all these years, and faithfully. I’ve never had to get wrapped up in the administrative details. I ask for something, and you give it to me. That’s how I can be so confident – whatever I want to happen, happens. One way or another, you make it happen. Now go on – we have a lot of planning to do for this Conference.”

Ione turned away, a bit of regret in her face. Yes, a lot of planning … towards the end of all they had known. Where would she fit into the new Empire? She wanted to be near the top – not at the top, just near it. A nice, cozy job, organizing everything for the Emperor, that’s what she wanted. But a lot of changes were going to happen, and she might not survive it politically. And she’d be damned if she retired! Ione walked out into the hallway, back to her main office from his. It was quite a walk.

She’d settle for being another Linge Chen. She’d be perfectly happy in such a role. Chen may have been the most hated of men in history, but he sure was a capable leader and administrator, behind the scenes. Ione simply decided she’d be better off serving the Empire than herself, as opposed to Chen.

At the time Ione was thinking these thoughts, another conversation was taking place. It was a conversation in a language less than a thousand understood – a language of hand signals, facial signals, and the occasional bit of telepathy. A conversation between mentalics, members of the Second Foundation.

They paused their conversation as Ione walked by, giving her the respect she was due as Lieutenant Governor. The only reason we know the conversation existed at all was because security holotapes of the conversation were made. They were not made specifically to capture such conversations – indeed, members of the First Foundation’s security forces wouldn’t have even noticed it, nor would members of the future Empire’s, had not a Second Foundationer found the tape several years later and translated it for posterity, and the Encyclopedia Galactica. Instead, the tapes were routine security measures for the First Foundation government.

Thus here do we have one of the few transcripts of a conversation between two Speakers of the Second Foundation. It would do no good to replay the tape itself – so many nuances of the conversation happened so fast that to really analyse it and break it down would take a non-Speaker several years. Even the translation is fairly “flat” in comparison to what was actually communicated between them, the translator reported – humans have so much more capability and emotional intensity than written or spoken words provide.

The two Speakers were walking down the hallway, stopping only to note the thoughts running across Ione’s face, while ostensibly stopping to bow and pay their respects to the Lieutenant Governor. They were playing tourist today. The junior one expressed he had something to say.

The senior noticed this and waived her right to speak before her junior. The junior one continued on: “She is a most dedicated individual. Fortunate, since her particular abilities would serve our Empire greatly. I would see her in a position of great authority, but not one where she would be visible to the public. She is anxious, wondering what her future will bring. Perhaps leadership of a military arm of the Empire.”

The senior replied, “She is a firm believer in using violence with extreme restraint. More a position suited to diplomacy than military, in my opinion.”

“True. But she won’t be happy shuttling from one planet to another resolving disputes. Remember she’s still bitter about the Yrika decision, one we foresaw centuries ago.”

“Where else would she best serve the Empire?” The senior disagreed. “No, a trouble-shooting position between Zones of our Empire is ideal for the Empire.”

A security guard motioned them aside threateningly. Apparently, the area they were entering was restricted. His body language was clear and loud: Move away! They nodded acquiescence.

Then the junior had a flash of inspiration: “What about leadership of internal security? Not the military, but of the Emperor’s security? She’d hunt down corruption within her own department, simply couldn’t tolerate it. And we’re going to need that kind of devotion, especially since we’ll be seriously threatened in 1082 F. F. E. (Fall of the First Empire) Military, but in a sense. Still a trouble-shooter, in a sense. And a restrained position in violence, certainly! She’d be a fine model to build a code of devoted security forces upon.”

The senior took but a moment to consider it. The junior could see her tasting the idea, rolling it over in her head, considering all sorts of ramifications, generally becoming more and more pleased with the suggestion. Finally, she answered, “Yes, a splendid idea. You should bring that up at the next meeting. I have no doubt the other Speakers would agree with you, as I do.”

At this point, the two Speakers move out of the range of the holocamera, and the translation stops. Many efforts have been made to find tapes of those two elsewhere in the building, but without success. They have not, to this day, been positively identified.

The conversation described above lasted less than three seconds, more than half of which was encompassed in the consideration of the junior Speaker’s idea.

Chapter Two

“THE MORE THOU sweatest in training, the less thou bleedest in combat.”–Richard Marcinko

The Admiralty estimated it could handle three, maybe four, major fleets. The diplomatic wing estimated approximately twelve such fleets, maximum, might show up. This figure irritated the Admiralty, and Foundation ship captains prayed no one would arrive.

Thirty-seven armed military navies crowded the orbital lanes of Trantor now. Fourteen of them carried ground forces as well …

It was enough to make the most genteel of Foundation officers lose control of their tongues, at least to each other. The captains had the privilege of inventing new oaths and profanities, which their crews adopted in equal frustration.

“The positronic kludge of the Galaxy!” That was one of the mildest – and most common – the Foundation ships had. And it started from the captain of the Hober Mallow IV, Jose Iscar.

“I mean, look at that! By the Space Fiend, I’ll bet there haven’t been this many ships in Trantorian space since the Great Sack!” The captain was a native of Trantor. He had a hand raised to his holoradar.

“Yes, sir,” his executive officer, or XO, replied. The guy’s still too new to this ship, Iscar thought. He won’t tell me what he’s thinking. And I hate having him tower over me.

Iscar was short for a Trantorian. Most citizens of Trantor would find acceptance as clothing models on other planets – he considered the rest of the Galaxy ugly by comparison. And of course, a fair number of women sought after him, unless there were other Trantorians where he was; they simply outshone him. Which was why he didn’t go drinking with his chief engineer. But on the whole, he just didn’t have love for ladies not from home – and those from home didn’t have love for him.

To use the enlisted crew’s slang, he thought it sucked vacuum. But at least he’d gotten shore leave with his mother.

Nine days ago, the Royal Space Forces of Yrika had shown up. His leave had ended then. Oh, he’d resisted the order – who wouldn’t? – but he knew his ship needed him. So he went, back into orbit, to assume the role of a security guard over a planet.

And so, for nine days now, they’d been running limited drills. They played wargames against other fleets, a dangerous practice even in peacetime. No shots were fired, not even test drones, but lots and lots of weapons targeting drills and evasive maneuvers. Lots of intelligence gathering on their electronic sensing equipment, too. At least once a day, the entire ship went to battle stations to test damage control ability. Three hours ago, they’d completed their second battle stations of the day. For some reason, Iscar felt like doing it again. He wanted to raise the standards for his men. Besides, all the other drills had been planned. Best to see if his own training crew could improvise.

In a loud voice, he said, “Petty Officer of the Watch, sound General Quarters. This is a drill against close contact with a UFO.”

“General quarters, general quarters, all hands man your battle stations. Up, forward to starboard; down, aft to port. Reason for general quarters is unidentified spacecraft, closing fast. This is a drill.” The petty officer of the watch, or POOW, repeated the order twice over the ship’s intercom system, complete with alarm klaxons.

Three minutes later, the captain asked, “Status of battle stations?”

POOW replied, “Damage Control Station Foxtrot has not reported in yet, sir, nor has Engineering.”

“For the love of … GET ME THE ENGINEER!!!”

The POOW flinched. He was a new one to the bridge watch, Iscar remembered. Iscar didn’t even know his name yet.

“Chief engineer, please contact the bridge.”

The captain timed it: it was eighty-four seconds before the engineer called. “Damn it, Palver, what in the Galaxy is taking your department so long to report ready? That’s four times in a row now! What’s your status?”

“Engineering department is fully manned at battle stations, sir,” the engineer replied tightly.

The POOW heard this, and announced, “General quarters time plus five: the ship is manned and ready.”

“Did you hear that, Palver? Five minutes! Petty Officer, when did Foxtrot report in?”

“At time plus three minutes, six seconds, sir.”

“Which means Engineering was the slowest check-in by over a minute! That’s unacceptable, Palver – and in the next drill, your men had better be in place in under three minutes, is that clear?”

“As transparent aluminum, sir.”

“Contact!” the radar chief reported. He’d shown up early enough in the drill to hear the captain’s direct order: Simulate an approach. “Contact bearing two-three-one mark six-five, closing fast. Will approach to within 300 meters, sir, on present course and speed.”

“Very well,” was his only reply. The XO rattled off a series of orders, however.

“Weapons, lock on target. Communications, initiate jamming of search radars. Navigator, prepare for evasive maneuvers. Radar, report all contacts.”

The captain watched this drill silently, while men and women scrambled to fill these orders. Even if the target was only being simulated on holoradars and computer screens, they had to keep an eye out for neighboring ships, real ships that were allies only by treaty, if that.

Finally he gave the order, “Secure from general quarters. Set condition two.” The POOW relayed the order. He told his XO, “Join me in my cabin. Ops,” his operations officer, “you too.”

In the crew’s mess, normally a noisy area, conversations were decidedly muted. The senior cook examined the eyes of her customers. She saw a lot of tension and stress in their eyes, especially in the way they crinkled and squinted. Of course, they’d just come off a battle drill, but usually only the greenest of men weren’t collected. The whole crew was on edge, she realized.

So she went over to the ship’s phone system and quietly called the chief security officer to the mess with two senior aides. While the aides stood to the edges of the mess, looking mean, the officer, Ensign Bryce, sat down and chatted casually with the crew. At first, they were apprehensive – why would a commissioned officer talk freely with them? – but they loosened up as he cajoled them, and told him not just in words but in looks how they felt. That’s an officer I’d like to work for, the cook thought, instead of that picayune supply officer.

As Bryce worked the crowd, calming them down, even getting in a good laugh or two, he was taking mental notes. The whole crew is frustrated, he realized. Too many drills, not enough information. The captain needs to talk to them, throw them a little more spacedust, but also tell them what’s going on planetside. He also took note that Engineering’s check-in was the slowest, because the Chief Engineer was drunk – a serious crime on a military vessel on patrol.

Twenty minutes later, Bryce was outside the captain’s cabin. He’d complimented the cook on her wisdom – as well as the quiche – and then straightened his uniform to see his commanding officer. He knocked on the door, only to hear a gruff “Just a minute” from the cabin. A few minutes later, the door opened. The XO and OPS walked past him. Operations was lost in thought, while the XO had a nastier look on his face than usual. Bryce gathered the drill had not gone as well as planned.

“Come in,” Iscar’s voice called. Bryce straightened, and entered the cabin. “Oh, hello, Bryce,” the captain began cheerfully. Bryce was one of Iscar’s most promising young officers – second in line for promotion to junior lieutenant. “Sit down.”

“Hello, Captain,” Bryce replied formally, even as he took a seat on the large couch. Captains always had the best cabins.

The captain took the hint. “What can I do for you, Ensign?” he replied in a tone of authority. This wasn’t a casual conversation.

“I’ve just come from the crew’s mess, sir. They’re nervous, sir, and on the edge.”

“And why, pray tell, is that?” the captain said bitterly. Not sarcastically, Bryce noted. That meant the captain might listen.

“Sir, basically, they’re wondering just what the conference is doing. Plus, all these drills … I know we’re theoretically supposed to be ready for combat at all times, but under these conditions the crew is not sure where theory ends and practice begins, sir.”

“Good,” the captain remarked. “That’s exactly where any military commander wants his men.” He held up a hand to silence Bryce’s protest as he stood and paced. “Ensign, there are a number of sayings that have been passed on over the millenia. One such military axiom, apparently from a Rogue Combatant or something like that, is the more you sweat in training, the less you bleed in combat. When the men cannot tell the difference between training and war, but their commanding officer can, then a crew is at its highest functionality.” The captain took a breath before he continued.

“In officer training, they teach that the executive officer is responsible for the functioning of the ship, that the ship is ready to serve her captain at will. Do you know why? The captain must look beyond his ship, to the space around him, at the tactical and strategic situation of a fleet. Therefore, when the admiral in charge of a task force gives an order, not only will the captain pass it on to his ship to be obeyed, but the captain will understand why that order was given. Commanding officers have a lot of power – so we must temper our use of that power with understanding. It’s not well known that I have the authority to immediately refuse an order from a superior officer, Ensign – but unless I can provide a concrete reason for that superior officer to change his or her mind, I will still obey that order within a reasonably short amount of time. C. O. s are the ultimate authority, Ensign, and blind thinking becomes our undoing at this level. Because one rash action can start a war.”

Bryce looked confused – he missed the point. “But, sir, what of the men? Even the seasoned veterans are edgy.”

“Are there any signs of mutiny, Ensign?” The captain was looking him right in the eye. Oh, he hated that stare.

With complete surety, Bryce replied, “No, sir.”

“No signs of mutiny at all … in other words, they’re still obeying orders, just as they should. They’re not griping about throwing their officers out into space, without suits. Which means the mob mentality that they have is controlled. Still, it alarms you, and something which alarms one of my officers alarms me. What do you recommend?” The captain leaned back against the wall, crossing his feet casually. If Bryce wasn’t going to listen to his teacher, instead of just hearing him, then Iscar would pay him exactly the same respect: none. He sipped from a cup of water.

“I’d recommend we brief the crew on what’s going on planetside, sir. Tell them what our current situation is, reassure them that everything is under control.”

The captain smiled. Yes, this Bryce had potential indeed. “Certainly, Ensign. In fact, I was just discussing that possibility with the X. O. yesterday – we just weren’t sure when it might be needed. A few days sooner than either of us expected, which is a sign that could be interpreted in any number of ways. But I think that unscheduled drill we had earlier today brought us to this point. You’re right – this is the perfect time, while they’re still tense, but while no thoughts of active rebellion have been growing. Unfortunately, what is ‘going on planetside’ is precisely … nothing.”

“What???” Bryce’s jaw dropped in shock. He needed to see the dentist, the captain noted.

“The conference was scheduled to start today. It was delayed one day because of diplomatic niceties – namely, the fact that we have so many armed forces in orbit, encroaching on each other’s safe patrol areas. The Foundation government decided to give the situation in orbit one more day to stabilize, and the Admiralty agreed. No one wants a war, Ensign, but until we’re ready for the consequences of war, we’re not willing to embrace the alternative.” He looked meaningfully at Bryce.

Understanding dawned. “Peace – a stronger peace, because everyone knows what could happen.”

“In no unmistakable terms, Ensign. Some of those fleets actually respect and worship power. Personally, I respect it – as long as it is controlled. I’m concerned, Ensign, that some son of the Space Fiend,” and here his tone turned to anger and frustration once again, as he growled and turned to his window, “will be stupid enough to start firing on someone else. We don’t need a taste of that power first-hand, because there will be no way we can stop it!”

Bryce began to suspect that his commanding officer might not be as callused as he looked.

“Now,” the captain said, all tension gone from his face, as he walked to his door and opened it, (Damage control should look at that door chirping, Bryce thought) “I haven’t had dinner yet. How did the cook do with that quiche I ordered?”

Chapter Three

“I HATE OPENING ceremonies,” Ione growled. Her ornate, very comfortable red chair now felt like the debris from a construction site. “Eight hours of everybody parading before everybody else. And we have to sit through it. I’m going to the ‘fresher.” She started to lean forward.

“Ione,” Hannor said warningly, a bit too loudly. Any louder and his microphone might think it was speech time. Softer, he said, “Ione, the eyes of the entire Galaxy are about to be upon us. I’ve got to give a speech to set initial rules of order. Twenty-five million planets, each with four delegates. Even with one vote apiece, that is, per planet, it’d be such a huge electorate, that we’d never get anything done. If we don’t regulate the voting, this conference will fail. And I will not …”

“Ready, Governor?” an aide called out. Hannor and Ione quickly composed themselves into Governor Legan and Lieutenant Governor Gerrold, the ultimate appearance of professional diplomats. Ione leaned forward again, watching the crowd, over a hundred million of them in the Conference city alone!

“Ladies and gentlemen of the Great Galaxy,” Hannor began powerfully. “On behalf of the Foundation, allow me once again to welcome you to Trantor. The center of our lost Empire, and the start of the new.”

Ione, of course, knew the scripted speech as well as he did. In the unlikely event that Hannor was assassinated – and such things were not unknown, even in the First Empire’s history – Ione would have to give this same speech.

Ione listened as casually as half the masses did, but unlike them, she knew he was about to make the first legislative proposal. It was a simple one, and as she listened, the proposal appeared and raised a small stir among those still awake.

“As you can see on your monitors, I am proposing that our conference, until such time that our Empire is formally established, run at all hours of the day, on six-hour shifts,” Hannor declared. “This is why the Foundation requested four delegates from each planet. Each delegate, under this proposal, will spend six hours attending the General Assembly, as a silent voter of his or her planet’s wishes.”

There was understandably a good grumbling at that – no politician, especially in a lawmaking body, wants or deserves to be censured. No matter how much their constituents, or other politicians, may dislike them, the right to freedom of speech was not something to be taken lightly. Hannor raised his right hand to calm them.

“Hear me out, please. Every 1,000 planets shall be a voting district, and one person from each district’s six-hour session in the Assembly shall speak before the Assembly.” The grumbling lessened a bit. Ione had to smile. Hannor was always a good speaker, even with somewhat weak scripts.

“Furthermore, the Assembly itself will not be able to handle writing every detail of the law. Committees shall be formed, and no planet shall find itself excluded from all committees. Everyone shall have a hand in shaping bills presented to the Assembly.”

Hannor sipped from a glass of water. “Six hours for each delegate in the General Assembly, immediately followed by six additional hours on a committee. A strenuous pace, to be sure, but we have a lot of law to write.”

Ione shifted in her seat again. It had been Hannor’s idea, and when fully explained, made sense. She nodded reflexively, adding weight to Hannor’s speech without intending so.

And yet, the speech sounded a little off. Oh, the words were the same, but the … Ione couldn’t identify it, it just didn’t sound right.

Hannor was confident. A bit too confident, perhaps. He wouldn’t dare set himself up as the … No. Hannor was not a powerful presence, not without Ione. It wasn’t pride that made her think that, but Hannor’s enemies, especially the media. And without their support, any first Emperor would find widespread opposition to a mere sneeze, let alone any legal statements.

Plus, she realized with horror, the next Emperor would set a bloody tradition of succession to the throne. Emperor for life would not be a good job title at all.

No, Hannor said he would retire, and unlike most politicians, he did everything he could to keep his word. Like many politicians, he found he couldn’t always deliver what he’d promised, but he certainly tried.

He wouldn’t retire now, would he? Ione asked herself.

Ione had to think about that for a moment. It was possible, certainly. But it made no sense. Only Trantor knew of his upcoming retirement. If he left now, it’d be seen as a vote of No Confidence, with capital letters, in the new Empire. That could derail the Conference they’d worked all their lives for.

Ione reseated herself with a grimace. She hated this chair! Her legs were horribly restless now. And Hannor contined to drone on: “As for the leadership of the Assembly …”

Ione’s ears perked up as a commotion started behind her. Hannor’s microphone did not pick it up, but she couldn’t help being on alert. The commotion, strangely enough, wasn’t from the crowd, but from behind her! In the Governor’s booth itself!

Something was wrong, seriously wrong. Unable to help herself, Ione stood up and turned around. To stage left, the guards were tense, but stood their watch. At stage right was the reason why.

The guards at stage right were staring directly at a short, middle-aged man in dark crimson robes. There were no markings on the robes themselves, which were clearly ceremonial. And just as clearly, they were Trantorian. The guards were up close and personal with the man, who had this pacifist smile on his face. For some reason, in defiance of all common sense, the guards backed away.

Not very far, perhaps a step or two … but much too far for Ione’s tastes. She was furious. That, and the fact that this mysterious man had gotten past all security and into the Governor’s booth, meant he was a definite danger to the Governor and herself. She tapped an alert button in the floor with her foot. She didn’t know the alert had already been sounded by their security chief, and troopers were pounding towards the booth with shiny, not-so-ceremonial blasters fully charged and on a hair trigger. Personal shields also snapped into effect around the Governor’s party, noiselessly, invisibly.

All this happened in the space of two seconds, and by now the crowds, which were watching the speech, had caught something amiss. Hannor tried to ignore it, continue pleasantly with his speech, but he got worried when he caught Ione’s movement at his side. He couldn’t help glancing in her direction, starting to turn around …

Ione pulled out her personal blaster, and started to raise it … and time slowed down as she made eye contact. This man didn’t seem an obvious danger. His hands were extremely visible, he was moving slowly, not trying to reach beneath his robes for any kind of a weapon. Still, she didn’t trust this stranger. The man had Trantor written all over him, but if he was from Helicon, or one of the other martial arts planets, he wouldn’t need a blaster, only half a meter. If he was from Okah, he wouldn’t need even that – he could paralyze them with his voice. And with the microphones, the entire crowd, the Conference, would be at his mercy. “FREEZE!” Ione bellowed at full volume. No one in the audience could ignore that, as her microphone activated and carried it to the transmitters, the loudspeakers.

It was right out of a bad holocast. The bigwig politico at the microphone, just now realizing something was out of place. The security team on full alert, just standing there. A strange, unidentified, unauthorized man walking directly into their midst. And Ione, standing defiantly, angrily, in front of a plush red chair, all cramping in her legs forgotten. Ione’s back was to the audience. And the entire Galaxy watching, with less than four meters between Governor Legan and the uninvited guest.

Very quietly, very cheerfully, the strange man spoke. His sonorous voice filled Ione with a rush of excitement, soothing. If not for her age and mindset, she might have fallen in love right then and there. “Please, Lieutenant Governor, there is no need for a blaster here. I am Renauld Forska, First Speaker of the Second Foundation.” He also had a microphone, she discovered as his voice echoed out over the crowd.

Ione squinted. “Yeah. The Second Foundation, which was destroyed 600 years ago.”

“Ah, yes, by Dr. Darell and his daughter Arcadia. Who was born on this very planet, and attended to by Preem Palver fifteen years later during the Kalganian War. Preem Palver, a predecessor of mine, and also First Speaker.”

By now the crowd was really waking up. Shouting erupted in the audience. Millions of people shouting make quite a noise. Whatever in the Galaxy was going on, they didn’t like surprises.

Forska continued, “Destroyed, but only in your eyes. Hear me, all you peoples out there.” The crowds quieted a bit, obiedently, but not enough. “Hear me, I beg of you.” A bit more silence, and order was restored.

Forska stepped to the front, behind the chairs for Hannor and Ione. Ione looked at Hannor, who had this faint smile on his face. An eerie smile.

Hannor had planned this all along, Ione realized with a start. That son of a …

Forska fell silent a moment, allowing a bit of drama to appear. “My friends, I come to you from Star’s End, the last bastion of the First Empire, which stood for twelve thousand years. I come to you not to bring back the old, but to bring about the new.”

Ione barely noticed his hands moving, reassuring the crowd that everything was fine. The man went on smoothly, “One thousand years ago, Dr. Hari Seldon, a First Minister and psychohistorian, foresaw the fall of his Empire around him. He created a pair of Foundations, one at Terminus, in full view of the Galaxy, professing the physical sciences which have exceeded what the First Empire had at its greatest. This Foundation, the First Foundation, acted only with Seldon’s Plan on the periphery, just as Terminus itself was in the Periphery of the Galaxy.” Forska smirked a bit at that.

But he continued. “The other Foundation was established at Star’s End, hidden from the Galaxy, developing the sciences of psychohistory beyond anything Dr. Seldon ever dreamed of. This Foundation, the Second Foundation, acted with Seldon’s Plan at the very center, just as Star’s End was in the center of all things, watching and guiding the Plan to completion.”

“And now, truly, Seldon’s Plan is complete. We need only for you to define for us just what shape the Second Empire shall take. Indeed, we shall participate in the Imperial Conference called by our brethren in the First Foundation. It is our duty to see to it that consensus is reached, according to the laws of psychohistory. Therefore, we shall oversee this Conference as only we can, helping the General Assembly and her committees complete the laws which they favor with as minimal a resistance as possible.”

The audience didn’t quite like that, as Forska expected. Before they could protest, however, he went on. “For indeed, we truly face a Seldon Crisis here. The time for Empire is now. If we do not establish it, then the tensions each planet feels towards its neighbors will break out into war, and there will be no Empire for another three thousand years. We are so close, and have invested so much into this, that we must help.” The thought of a Seldon Crisis, which they all knew of by now, silenced them. That, and the orbiting armadas above, made everyone nervous. No one wanted this Conference to fail.

“Therefore, let Star’s End, the Second Foundation, offer an amendment to the proposal brought by the First Foundation. We propose to monitor the General Assembly and her committees, ensuring that all arguments are heard, all issues debated fairly, and all laws agreed upon peaceably and orderly. Let the First Foundation provide the physical framework. Let us provide the guidance. Governor?”

Hannor beamed. He hadn’t known what Forska was going to say – in fact, he’d never met the man before. But he liked what he heard, and it was just what he thought they’d say. “Normally, an amendment to any law must first be ratified by the entire Assembly. That is how we do it in the Legislature of the Foundation – excuse me, the First Foundation. However, we have not yet concluded proposing our rules of the Assembly, so by my executive authority as Governor of the Foundation, I hereby declare our proposal modified, as my esteemed colleague has requested. And now, having made the change to our proposal, and concluded my remarks on it, I bring it to you for a vote. Please vote only by electronic signalling.”

The votes poured in – over 80 million immediately saying yes. Within a few minutes, only 20,000 had said no, and some 3,000 abstaining, roughly. “The measure passes. The rules of order shall take effect at midnight on the 4th day of the year, 1,000 F. E., at which time the Imperial Conference shall convene for its first legislative session. My thanks to all of you, even those who voted against it. For by using the weapon of the vote, instead of the weapon of the blaster, you have shown that truly, you are committed to build an Empire.”

The applause was thunderous. Ione was stunned. She had absolutely nothing to say, and even if she did, she doubted she would have the courage to say it.

When the applause died down, there was an awkward pause. Then Forska said, “Pardon me, Lieutenant Governor, but may I have this seat?” Forska waved his hand to her chair.

She noted how he had tactfully phrased that sentence, and didn’t like it one bit. It wasn’t her seat. It wasn’t an outright demand, either. He was asking recognition as an equal to the Governor, and no matter how much he might indeed be Hannor’s equal, she’d worked with Hannor far too long.

Forska saw that in her eyes, and though he said no more, his smile faded just a bit. He looked closely, and feared for a moment that she might refuse. That would undoubtedly weaken his authority in front of the Conference, and he could scarcely afford that now …

Ione squinted, but she could see no way out of it without being a huge embarrassment to the Foundation. The First Foundation, she corrected herself angrily. “By all means, First Speaker. Do be my guest.” And she stepped away, holding a hand out to show Forska the chair. Like some stupid waiter.

Forska stepped up, even as she asked her security chief, “Any weapons on him?”

“None physical, madam, not even in his clothing.” He was still tense. And the man was just going to sit there, next to the Governor. Damn.

And that’s just what Governor Hannor Legan and First Speaker Renauld Forska did. Sit down, next to each other. A bit softer, but loud enough for the microphones, Hannor asked Forska, “So, exactly where is Star’s End?”

Forska chuckled and replied in the exact same conspiratorial tone, the exact same volume, “You’ve been standing on it all the time. Ever been to the Library?”

Hannor laughed quite loudly. Then, much more loudly, with his usual commanding tone, he said formally, “These opening ceremonies I now declare closed. The Imperial Conference shall convene on the 4th day of this year at precisely 0000 hours, Wye time.”

Beneath the fireworks, Ione smoldered.

Chapter Four

“YOU KNOW,” IONE said with a smile on her face, “Agriculture isn’t so bad.”

Hannor stared at her with angry frustration and exhaustion. “You try telling me that in twenty-four hours. Unlike the rest of the delegates, we still have a planet to run,” he remarked bitterly.

Trantor, instead of taking an active role in leading the Conference, was simply among the masses. To be sure, it was a voice that got people’s attention, but Trantor was highly content to serve instead of being served. And so it happened that Trantor, primarily a farming world, was appointed by consensus to the Agriculture Committee two days into the Conference. Ione was just now learning of it.

Ione was relieving Hannor on the Assembly. Six hours from now, she would take over his spot in Agriculture debates. Then she’d get six hours of sleep – and six hours with her governing Trantor and the Foundation. Hannor and Ione had agreed to split the governer’s duties during the Conference. Then, back to the Assembly.

“Hannor, look at it this way: if our fleet in orbit here has to work that hard, and you know they do, then there’s little reason why we shouldn’t.”

“Shut up, Ione,” Hannor replied, and then yawned. Ione shook her head in silent victory. But she knew he was right – it would be very rough on the four of them, indeed.

For the other two representatives of Trantor, Hannor and Ione had selected their chief justice, a man by the name of Yev, (just Yev – that’s how Trantorian judges were known), and the Chief of Naval Operations, Admiral Haugh Olieke. Haugh was a tall, elderly woman, about to retire from the Fleet anyway. She looked forward to a position in state diplomacy, which Hannor had promised her. She certainly was learning a lot at the Assembly, although Yev was not as interested. He’d seen decades of diplomatic bickering in his courts, in the form of lawyers, and was none too surprised to see the same in the Conference. Still, he couldn’t turn down the request from his Governor.

“Madame Lieutenant Governor? The Assembly is calling attendance,” her aide reminded her. Fun time was over.

“This session is hereby called to order,” the First Speaker of the Second Foundation called. Of course Forska would be monitoring it from on high, Ione thought. The Second Foundation had taken leadership roles at all the meetings, and she’d be not too surprised if one of them were in charge of the Agriculture debates as well.

The debate on the floor was whether military forces of any kind should be granted power in the government as a separate entity, or if they should be considered part of the executive branch. Ione personally favored keeping them under a First Minister, as a department. Admiral Olieke, interestingly, wanted independence from executive authority. Yev didn’t care, and Hannor didn’t know what was best. So Trantor, for once, was undecided.

The debate went on, with virtually no passion. Of course not – when you have one thousand planets deciding what you say, your words have to be tempered. Such was the difficulty in being one of those chosen for the Assembly’s floor.

Oh, there were moments – Yrika was one of the planets elected to speak. How that happened, Ione had no idea. Interestingly, so was Helicon. The two planets were engaged in a most lively debate on the subject about thirty minutes into the session.

“The military has always had a position of power, as far back as our Galaxy’s history goes,” Yrika was arguing. “More than once, the military has shaped the course of Galactic events. We must give them the respect they are due.”

“And just how much respect is that, anyway?” Helicon countered. “They certainly live under stricter rules than the rest of the Galaxy – and if they were senior to the civilian population, I can assure you they would not be as lenient with the ordinary citizen’s duties as a government should be.”

“Sometimes a strict hand is necessary to stem the tides of chaos.” Yrika replied. Significantly, the First Speaker was nodding in agreement. “The stricter rules of the military are often necessary, for not only themselves but the public in general. It is worrisome when we refuse to grant that their wisdom applies to more than battle.”

He had scored a point, Ione saw. There was much murmuring, of approval, from the crowds.

“It is also worrisome when we refuse to acknowledge that their wisdom is sometimes overrated; that sometimes they present the greatest danger to us, when led by an unscrupulous leader. How can we assure ourselves that the General or Admiral of the Galactic military forces will indeed be loyal to the people, instead of expecting loyalty from the people?”

Yrika growled in protest. “Those who have ever served in a modern military know that service to one’s country is the highest priority. And in a modern military like ours, any officer who notices his superior acting selfishly is expected to challenge his superior, ascertain the superior’s motives, and if necessary, relieve him of his command. Have you ever served in defense of Helicon?”

Helicon’s delegate shook his head. Yrika had scored again.

Finally, Smyrno’s delegate stood up and was recognized. Anacreon, its neighbor, had come up with a compromise, but Smyrno was the one elected to speak. It had taken nearly an hour for the bureaucracy to clear to Smyrno, and now was their chance.

“My colleagues,” Smyrno began, “perhaps we can offer a compromise. If one branch of our government decrees one edict, for example, and another vetoes it, then the third main branch must either approve or disapprove of it. Either way, the military can act as a fourth branch, protesting the third branch’s decision, and bringing it to the Emperor or his local representative for a final decision.”

“That’s giving an awful lot of power to the military,” Helicon replied dangerously.

“Not really. It only happens when two of the branches conflict, and the military officers feel the danger great enough to bring to the Emperor’s attention if they disagree with the third branch’s decision. These circumstances, barring a corrupt government, would obviously be rare.”

“Not so obvious to me.”

Smyrno sighed. “Come now, sir, on many planets, including Helicon, a three-way split of gubernatorial powers, legislative, executive, and judicial, works 99% of the time. The statistics are clear – these are the most stable planets. For that rare one percent, the military wouldn’t even have the final say – but they would have the power to sue for a final decision. A true balance of power.”

Yrika asked, “How might the military propose their own laws?”

Smyrno shook her head. “It wouldn’t – for you can hardly expect civilians to appreciate military rules becoming a law over their own heads. If they really feel it’s necessary, they can ask one of the main three branches to intercede for them.”

Yrika didn’t like that at all, but Helicon did.

The debates continued on, hours upon hours of them. Eventually, the motion was tabled, without a vote, although when Gien left, she saw the Assembly at large favored Smyrno’s proposal. She disagreed – like her cousin, the King of Yrika, she felt the military needed as much freedom as they could get. And as the Duchess of Uyork, the lead ambassador from Yrika, she had to fight for it.

To some of these planets, it bothered them that she was so young – only recently full-grown. Others respected her ability to achieve her station. Many, of course, knew she inherited the position, instead of earning it – but even Helicon had to admit she had a talent for getting an argument across. She smiled, remembering those darts into his inflated ego.

It was one thing to be born into a position of government – it was another entirely to fill that role adequately. And still another to be the fancy of millions of boys back home. Not just because of her position, but because she rivaled the Trantorian ladies for looks. If it weren’t for her accent, they’d take her to be one of their own. (One of them even thought she was from the northern pole of Trantor. She fluffed her red hair, chuckled, and walked on. What an imbecile.)

Besides, she already had her man. Her husband-to-be was also on the delegation, the vice commander-in-chief of the Yrikan army. He was also off-shift. A tad old, half again her age, but by the condition of his body, no one could ever tell. Especially not in her bed.

She composed herself quickly – it didn’t do for a duchess to think such thoughts, even in public. Her body language would not hide her desires. She could only hide them by suppressing them.

She sighed. Her shuttle was docking onboard her ship. Trantor was nice, but the Wye sector was just too cold for her tastes. Too cold, and too dirty. Military forces, they knew how to clean anything. Well, maybe not their tongues and minds, she thought as she strutted down the hallway. But they were more genuinely polite than the aristocracy on her home planet. It was almost enough to forgive the smell of lubricants throughout the ship.

“Your Highness,” the officer of the deck greeted her, the ultimate professional. Rather old for an ensign, she thought – and glancing around the deck, she thought, overdue for a promotion or two. He runs a tight shift. Not even a spot on the landing deck – and that after a shuttle landing. The pilot grumbled behind her, just loud enough for her to hear about what a “wannabe flight instructor” the OOD was. This made her smile even more – yes, very overdue. The pilot had unknowingly paid the man a compliment.

“Thank you, Ensign Haralo. You have the ability to impress just about anyone with your skills, sir. Congratulations.”

“Aye-aye, madam,” he replied, not even smiling. But the way his shoulders straightened up just a hair, she could tell he was thrilled to hear exactly what he’d heard. Likewise, the looks on his assistants darkened just a bit in frustration. So Haralo could get his men to work – but he couldn’t get them to work happily. Oh, well, she thought – the military only cares if you get the job done. So do too many of her bureaucracy back home, she realized.

She wandered down the hallway, considering this. Unlike many of her peers, she actually cared about those beneath her.

Nearing her cabin, the intercom paged her. “Duchess Gien of Uyork, please contact the communications room. Duchess Gien of Uyork, please contact the communications room.” She entered her cabin and called them.

“This is the Duchess. What is it?” she asked, not entirely able to keep her regal air out of her voice.

“His Grace, the King of Yrika, has requested an audience with you, my lady,” the communications officer replied.

“By all means, patch him through! Make sure we are undisturbed.”

“Yes, my lady. Just a moment,” he said as he disappeared from the viewscreen. And indeed, before she could ask why it would take a moment, the King appeared on the screen.

“My liege,” she said, bowing her head.

Her cousin’s light voice laughed. “Oh, how I wish I could plant a kiss on that forehead, Duchess. It’s good to see at least your face again, hear your voice again.”

By this, he signaled that although this was a formal conversation, it was also a private one, and there was no need for pompous formality. She raised her head again and smiled. “I miss you too, Hyam.”

“So,” the King said as he leaned back in his throne, “what has been going on there? Any news?”

“Nothing of significance. The Conference itself had been delayed a few days, and we’re just now getting into the bits and pieces that matter. We do have a speaking position on the floor of the Assembly, however – and that’s more than we could have expected. You didn’t expect us to build an empire in a week, did you?”

“Really, Gien … and I had the highest confidence in you,” he said teasingly. “Maybe I should look into what delays you and the General have been cooking up.”

Gien’s jaw dropped in horrified amusement. “Hyam, I can’t believe you just said that!” She could barely keep from laughing, and a chortle did escape her lips.

“Said what?” the reply came, but there was no doubt from the twinkle in his eyes of what the King suspected.

Still smiling, but with an air of frankness, she retorted, “We haven’t been cooking anything … yet. And if we had, it still wouldn’t show.” She knew perfectly well he could see her waistline as well as she could see his. Both were still in good condition, but he was a bit heavier.

“Yes, speaking of that flame … you are of the legal age to wed now, so congratulations. I’ve also watched you long enough to know you mean it in your heart, so why don’t you find a shipboard chaplain? By the time you do get married, the official proclamation should be onboard. My aides are polishing up the final words as we speak.”

“Then you’d better send that proclamation by military message only … a courier may not get here in time!” She couldn’t help beaming, imagining her endless wait nearly over, her and her General prancing about the ship, with Trantor as a honeymoon. And those sailors watching … to hell with protocol. She had a passion.

“Oh, no you don’t!” he giggled. “You’ve waited fourteen months … you can wait three days. And unless the navy has taken a liking towards the army, it’ll still take you a week to find a chaplain and arrange a proper wedding.”

“Then we’ll simply have to have the proper wedding after the improper one …” That evil, selfish look came over her.

The King shook his head in gleeful frustration. “It’s not as if I can do anything to stop you, my lady. Not without destroying your authority in the Conference.”

She smiled. There was nothing for her to say. After that awkward pause, he said, “Take care of yourself, Gien.”

“And you too, Hyam. I’ll see you soon.”

The King reached forward, to terminate the conversation.

The Duchess leaned back in her couch. Finally. Thank the Stars. He’s mine, and I’m all his. She sighed, dreaming of the things she would do with him.

That dream ended a few scant seconds after it began. The door chimed. She resisted the urge to get angry at whoever dared interrupt her fantasies. “Who is it?” she called out, unable to resist a playful charm.

“My lady, it is the captain. I have something which you need to know, right now.” His voice, right now, was anything but charming. It carried an undertone of danger, a voice he used on his subordinates to convey alarm.

It certainly alarmed her. “Come in, Captain.”

The stocky captain entered, and stood at full attention. Then, glancing at the door, he barked, “Bring the prisoner in.”

Two absolutely huge security men dragged in an older woman. Gien recognized her instantly – she’d done laundry for the Duchess’ estate for years! Her hair was rather mussed, courtesy of the security handling her roughly.

Before she could ask what was going on, the captain went on, “I’m sorry to disturb you, my lady, but we caught this woman intercepting your private conversation with the King. As per your order, we terminated her eavesdropping. We then arrested her, and brought her to you immediately. A search of her quarters is under way.”

She was speechless, shocked. “Who are you?” she asked, quietly.

The woman looked up. Gien felt a wave of hatred pass over her. It took a moment for Gien to realize the anger was from the woman. It took several more to realize the woman wasn’t mad at Gien, but at herself.

The woman replied, “I am a faithful servant of the future. The new Empire is coming, and we must make sure it is the right Empire.”
“We? Who’s ‘we’?”

But that was all the woman would say. She merely smiled.

“Commanding officer, please dial 274.” The captain responded to the intercom by going to the speaker phone.

“This is the captain,” he said. The rest of the room was silent, but with the speaker activated, they all heard the response.

“Sir, this is Sergeant Tongrap. We’ve found a transmitter in the spy’s quarters. It appears to be a non-directional transmitter, and we’re moving it to communications to determine what it sent, and who received it.”

“Very well, Sergeant. Well done. Anything else?”

“No, sir.”

“Carry on.”

“Aye, sir.”

The captain, noting the Duchess’ complete shock, pressed the woman with questions. “You have about half an hour to tell us who you were spying for, because we’re going to find out by then. Which planet sent you? Helicon? Kalgan? Neotrantor?”

When the answer wasn’t forthcoming, he added, “Just because it was non-directional doesn’t mean we can’t tell who was monitoring that frequency. We play wargames quite often, and we send out pulses on various frequencies to determine who gets upset. All we have to do is match the frequency band you used against our log, and we’ll know who you work for.”

“Commanding officer, please dial 180.” The shock on everyone’s faces was evident. Everyone aboard knew that was the number for communications.

The captain recovered first. “Last chance.” When he still got no answer, he picked up the phone and dialed 180.

“Captain here … uh-huh … what? I’m putting you on the speaker.” He did so, and then said, “Go ahead, one more time, for our audience here.” He just glanced at the woman, ignoring the Duchess, but fully aware Her Highness was listening.

“Yes, sir,” the voice gulped nervously. “The frequency of the transmitter has only one match: the same as a weather satellite orbiting above the old Imperial Library.”

“Thank you, crewman. That will be all.”

“Aye-aye, sir,” the voice came back, relieved. A click was heard, and the phone cut off.

“So,” the captain said, enjoying every second he had, “the Foundation sent you. I’m sure the Assembly will be glad to hear that.”

“No.”

The captain stopped in his tracks. He then backed off, realizing his Duchess had resumed her authority, and her faculties.

The Duchess looked on her with disappointment. “Not the Foundation. The Second Foundation, at the Imperial Library.” Gien shook her head. “I always looked up to you when I was growing up … asking you for advice on makeup. You were the prettiest person I ever knew.” Gien turned away.

“What should we do with her, your Highness?” the captain asked, deferential to her. “Should we take her to the brig, for further questioning?”

Gien looked her captain in the eye. With the cool dispassion of a scientist, she replied, “No, Captain. Obviously she wants to talk with her people. We should send her home.”

The captain appeared surprised. “Yes, my lady. I shall prepare a shuttle immediately.”

Gien interrupted her, still calm. “No shuttle. The airlock.”

If the captain was surprised before, now he could not resist a gasp. He actually stammered, gathering his wits at the implication. “My lady …”

With quiet authority, she said, “The airlock. Now.”

The last sounds Gien heard from the woman were screams of terror.

Onboard the Hober Mallow, Jose Iscar sipped at some Trantorian tea. It seemed a bit off, he thought.

“GENERAL QUARTERS, GENERAL QUARTERS. ALL HANDS MAN YOUR BATTLESTATIONS …” The klaxon erupted all over the ship. Iscar set his tea down hurriedly, got his command overcoat on, and hustled to the bridge. He entered the bridge just soon enough to hear his petty officer of the watch call out on the intercom “… reason for general quarters is unidentified object approaching the planet Trantor. This is not a drill.”

Oh, no. An unidentified object was precisely that – unidentified. It could be anything from a ship dropping its garbage in the wrong direction … to a thermonuclear warhead on re-entry, preparing to detonate. “Report,” he ordered.

The officer of the deck replied, “Bogey launched from Yrikan ship, the Ungalls, thirty seconds ago, sir. Bogey is not under powered flight, appears to be a straight descent and re-entry, sir. We’re attempting to track it, sir, but soon it will begin re-entry. We’ll lose all but visual contact as the ionization starts, sir. Weapons are locked on the Ungalls, but the bogey is out of our range. The Simmons Pride is targeting the bogey as we speak, sir.”

“Understood,” he replied. Not “Very well.” Meaning “very bad.”

“Visual contact!” his POOW called out, far too loudly. The navigator cursed as he dropped one of his tools at the outburst. He realized his blunder, as he relayed the report from one of his spotters: “Bogey is less than two meters in length … rotating in free-fall … no lights on it, sir … say again, Porter!”

He looked directly into the captain’s eyes as he reported, “It’s a human body, sir. Female. She was moving her arms until four seconds ago.”

“Sir, the bogey is beginning re-entry!” radar called out. “Air forces are beginning to scramble to intercept.”

The last words of his watch were still sinking in. “Are you certain it is not a human-like mechanical construct?” the captain asked.

The petty officer relayed the question, and a few seconds later, replied, “Affirmative, captain. It’s beginning to incinerate in the atmosphere.” No mechanical device would burn that quickly, they all knew. Still, the sadness in his watch’s voice could not be contained beneath professionalism.

“Radar, any other signs of offensive activity from the Yrikan ship?”

“Negative, sir.”

The captain sighed. Someone had just been executed in one of the most horrifying ways possible, in full and public view. And there was nothing that could be done to save that person. That was part of the horror. Because of safe navigation rules, and the laws of physics, nothing could have caught that poor woman in time to save her life, not even from the vacuum of space that briefly claimed her before the planet’s atmosphere did.

Not a damned thing.

“Officer of the deck, secure from general quarters.” The captain left the bridge.

Chapter Five: A Six-Month Intermission

“AMAZING … HOW BEAUTIFUL space is. How it envelops a planet like a blanket of black, cold, lifeless emptiness. How its serenity is blocked by force fields and metal, by rivets and nucleics. And how much disappointment that though we love it, we cannot touch it and breathe; nor can we be loved by it in return …”

Jose Iscar sighed, remembering the ancient poem. He didn’t know who had written it, but the author had captured one of the aspects of space travel that most people overlook. No matter what fabled origin planet humanity had come from, they had no way of maneuvering in space without the assistance of mechanical processes they built. Space itself was utterly devoid of the necessities of life. Even walking was impossible – what could you put your feet against, if you were not wearing magnetic boots holding you to a ship’s hull?

Not for the first time, Iscar wished that poor woman could have done the impossible. But she was dead within a few seconds of leaving that damned Yrikan ship.

And damned it was, indeed. Iscar still didn’t understand how that other incident had happened. Doctors onboard the ship claimed that they’d found no cause, and nothing they could do could restore the delegation to health. It also eluded a special team of Trantorian medical experts brought aboard under emergency passports.

Worst of all, the duchess herself was now almost six months pregnant. Would the baby survive the disabilities of its parents?

“Commanding officer, please dial 304.” The captain picked up the receiver and dialed the shuttle bay. A few seconds later, he answered, “Understood. Bring it to my cabin immediately.” He closed the connection. Good – my envoy to Terminus has succeeded. Six months! By the Space Fiend, why did it take so long? He shook his head. That would be one thing the Empire would need – an efficient interplanetary postal system. Right now, they had to go through so many different importation and exportation deals, as the courier ship went from system to system, making port stops every few light-years. Which was why he sent a man carrying the confidential request, instead of simply letting it into the courier’s hands, and thus the hands of every curious customs official enroute.

The man he’d sent was pretty much useless onboard anyway – there were four other people who could do his duties as well as he could, but he was the brightest researcher he had aboard. There was no doubt of that whatsoever – the man was a combat correspondent, and adept at asking the right questions.

Which meant he needed to review what he did know. He opened his log files, including the newsradio’s transmissions he’d recorded.

Six months ago, the Yrikans had dumped a woman into the atmosphere of Trantor. Aside from the serious breach of etiquette that could have been an act of war, the Yrikan ship said nothing of the incident. They apparently believed the actions were a severe enough warning … but to whom? As far as he could tell, all they had said by their actions were that they had no moral restrictions on what they would do if challenged. For all he knew, the woman could have been a crewmember guilty of a capital offense.

Planetside, the execution had become a public scandal. Planets by the thousands roared their displeasure in the Assembly. Yrika refused to explain itself, however, remaining defiantly silent even when asked by First Speaker Forska. Not surprisingly, Yrika was removed from its speaking position on the floor. Without a doubt, Yrika’s blunt actions had taken them out of favor. The Assembly voted shortly afterward almost unanimously in favor of Helicon’s proposal for military authority. Too bad – Iscar actually agreed with the Yrikans on that point, but it was not to be.

That wasn’t the weird part, however. True, the Yrikans were removed from their speaking power legally – and some force had acted to remove their speaking power physically only a few days later. Was the Space Fiend itself angry with them? The delegation still lived – under intensive care. Their strokes, impossibly, had happened within a space of six hours.

How the hell had even one of them had a stroke? Each of them had been, arguably, in the best physical condition they ever could be. Their doctors onboard, and those on Trantor assisting the Conference, were utterly shocked. It broke every rule of medical science they had – his own ship’s doctor had told him so, in those exact words.

And yet, all four of them, and only those four, had been incapacitated utterly with strokes. If there was some bacterium or virus causing these strokes, why only those four? Why not half the Conference, half of Trantor, or half of the Yrikan ship? It defied every bit of common sense. But no one else seemed to care what happened to the Yrikans. He himself didn’t care all that much for the scum, until his doctor argued vehemently and convincingly about the whole incident.

The bureaucracy of admirals over him cared about as much as he once had. They canned his doctor’s report, even as it was endorsed by one of their captains. Not even their colleagues in Trantorian Investigations had aroused their interest.

That was an even crazier story. A rumor had been circulating planetside about the deceased woman was that she was a Trantorian spy. Naturally, Trantorian Information flatly denied that. What intelligence agency would ever admit publicly they had an agent in foreign territory?

However, as the commanding officer of a warship on local assignment in a potentially hostile situation, Jose Iscar, captain in the Foundation Navy, was entitled to complete and truthful answers to absolutely any question he asked of a Foundation official. So he asked, on his military authority, the Department of Trantorian Information. He received a classified report by datapadd – apparently, Information didn’t want to risk anyone intercepting and decoding the report.

The classified report was much more detailed than the public one – and surprisingly, held the exact same answer: No, she’s not one of us. We don’t know who the hell she is. But we’d sure like to know, and if you find anything, tell us.

Trantorian Investigations contributed more information to the report than Information had, much to the latter’s embarrassment. But there was nothing Information could do about that, because Investigations covered “the police beat”, while Information covered “foreign affairs”. However, they literally didn’t have a body, and no motive, so they had nothing but circumstansial evidence. They had enough to paint a picture, but not enough to formally accuse anyone of specific crimes.

Six hours after the woman died, a landlord served an eviction notice on an apartment in the southern city of Frap. Millions of eviction notices were served every day – but in this case, the tenant had disappeared. Frap police forces put out a computer alert, to locate her, but not a trace of her could be found. She didn’t use any computer anywhere on the planet for three weeks, not even to buy food. No body was found to indicate she had died, either. Trantorian Investigations then took over the case, dropping in casually on the “Trantor for Trantor” isolationists and the farmers away from the city. No matter how much these groups hated the government, they weren’t lying when they said they didn’t see her, detectives reported.

They did have one lead to follow, however. The missing woman was spotted repeatedly on security cameras, both at the spaceport and at the Imperial Conference, and always at the side of the Duchess of Uyork – one of the Yrikan delegates. It was too big a coincidence to ignore – but the only connection to the Yrikans, and the only basis for adding anything to the Information report. Without a doubt, a Trantorian citizen was working with the Yrikans – but she wasn’t an Information agent. So who was she?

Investigations had a few other leads to follow – employment history, associates in the young women’s group she was part of, and her education. She attended the University, he saw. But all of these had been dead ends, as far as Investigations was concerned.

However, something clicked in Iscar’s mind, something which he was amazed no one at Investigations or Information had thought of. A bit of history six hundred years old clicked.

600 years ago, the Foundation fought a war against Kalgan. The Foundation ended up winning, but what few people today remembered is that the Foundation also had to fight another threat.

It was chronicled in The Darells, Part Three: Arkady Darell. Back then, the Second Foundation was considered dangerous. Many today still did, but none challenged them. In any case, Arkady Darell had personally engaged this danger. For a girl her age, it was nothing short of extraordinary.

She had come to the understanding that the Second Foundation resided on Terminus, like the Foundation did. The chapter, entitled “A Circle Has No End,” ended with the executions of fifty men and women on Terminus, and a belief that the Second Foundation had been terminated. (A belief that was wrong, Iscar thought ruefully.) Strangely, the book hadn’t said anything about the nature of the Second Foundation. Iscar knew that, because he had a copy of the three Darells books in his stateroom. Bayta Darell had always been a hero of his, and her granddaughter, Arkady, had written Bayta’s life story in Part One.

Neither did the archives on Trantor. Considering that the Second Foundation was based on Trantor, he decided that Trantor’s resources couldn’t be trusted. However, Terminus had maintained a device to detect Second Foundationers for 600 years, despite an apparent lack of need. There were only a few of them on the entire planet of Terminus, and none anywhere else in the Galaxy. Not one had sounded an alarm since the Kalganian War. This alone gave him confidence that Terminus may have had something untouched by the Second Foundation. His courier would tell him any second now.

That was the end of his information stored in his log. He paused, reflecting on the pieces of this puzzle. Plus, there was a fourth, unrealized piece: Why had no one else considered the other encounters with the Second Foundation? They were possibly involved because they lived in the University, at the Imperial Library of old. With this missing and probably dead woman involved with the University, that made him wonder just what the Second Foundation was.

He shook his head. What was he missing?

The door chime sounded. “Come in,” he called out. His courier entered, head shaved. The captain’s eyebrows rose in astonishment.

The courier frowned. “Sorry, sir. The last leg of my journey, I was onboard a Mycogen transport. They hate hair.”

The captain chuckled. Some things never change. “Report,” he ordered.

His courier, the ship’s journalist, answered him sharply. “Sir, I have discovered very little about the Second Foundation which you did not already know. But I did discover the nature of Terminus’s secret weapon against the Second Foundation, and the supposed danger against the early Foundation.”

“Yes, yes, out with it.”

The journalist, a lanky, tall man who never performed well on fitness reports, handed the captain a datapadd. “Authorization code 2479-delta-tango, Trantor, Terminus, Kalgan, Helicon.” The captain typed it in to the padd, decoding the information on the padd.

The crewman continued in a rush of words, characteristic of how the man babbled, “Sir, essentially what Terminus has is a Mind Static device, designed to counteract the Second Foundation’s abilities to manipulate minds. Prior to and during the Kalganian War, the Second Foundation had guided the First Foundation in the latter’s efforts to dominate the Galaxy, according to Terminus. So the First Foundation didn’t really like that idea, and they put a stop to it with the Mind Static device.”

“Wait a minute … manipulating minds?” Iscar was staring directly into the eyes of his reporter, a hand raised away from the pad. It was a moment he would never forget.

“Yes, sir. That’s … what they do. The last words of one such Second Foundationer were, ‘I hope, for the Galaxy’s sake, that you can carry on the Plan much as you have before, and that your device is as effective against a future Mule as it was against us.’ Disturbing words, but they were seen as an attempt for leniency, sir.”

The captain had long since stopped listening. As the courier fell silent, he answered, “Thank you, petty officer. That will be all.”

Dumb as an asteroid, the courier asked, “Sir? I thought I was a crewman.”

The captain fixed him with a gaze that reminded the courier of his instructors in basic training. “That’s right, mister, you were. Perhaps your little trip to Terminus has softened your military attitude. Would you like to remain a crewman, or would you like to follow orders promptly?”

The newly promoted petty officer straightened up, answered him, “Sir,” and did a perfect military departure. Hot damn, he thought as he continued through the hallway. I finally get to pick up space duty pay. I’d better pay a visit to my supervisor, if she’s still aboard.

Then he put his hand on his head. I’d better wear my hat for the next few days, or the guys in the berthing will give me hell.

Manipulating minds. That was 600 years ago. That was the missing piece of the puzzle.

The missing woman, aide to the Yrikans, had been manipulating them for … how long? She had been discovered, however … and that led to her death.

There was no doubt in his mind now that the woman was a member of the Second Foundation. It all made sense. The Second Foundation, who had lost one of their own, retaliated in the only way they could: by attacking the mind.

600 years ago, they had been capable of changing how a man thought. Now, they could destroy a man’s ability to do anything with those thoughts. What else was possible?

And then the most horrifying thought of all occured to him: These same Second Foundationers, who gave those Yrikans their strokes, control the Imperial Conference. Utterly and totally.

He skimmed the report, then wrote his own to the Admiralty. Marked Top Secret, they were rushed to the planet’s surface. Within four hours, the Governor of the Foundation was reading them.

Chapter Six

“ALL RIGHT, LOAD it up!” a rough male voice called out. Immediately a small yellow crane (small by crane standards – it was still a good ten meters tall) started lifting a dull metal box up into the air.

“Oh, do be careful with that,” a shrill man shouted from the distance. Its owner walked stiffly, wearing one of the fanciest government robes there were on Trantor. His black, shined shoes were the last thing one might expect in a spaceport’s cargo center.

But there they were, carrying the weight of a man almost two meters tall. His Trantorian accent was as thick as his chest and midsection — and those were the width of a large tree trunk.

“Oh, don’t you worry, Mister Tonasson,” the first voice replied agreeably. “We’ll get your package down safely.”

“You most certainly should, Mister … Atah?” the big man asked. Tonasson was an adjutant to the Mayor of Wye, who was hosting the Conference. I wish he’d study Sarkian pronunciation, though.

“Atoh, sir. Cargo Chief.” Atoh was surprised at how huge this man was. Atoh was large himself – but this man could easily clobber him. Good thing he hadn’t reached the grade of cargo chief by clobbering people, or getting clobbered. He preferred reasoning over rumbles.

“Well, Chief Atoh, how long will it be?”

Atoh curled his lip in thought. “Umm … two minutes until it’s on the ground, then a quick inspection for damage, and then I can release it to you for delivery to the Conference. Why all this trouble for an old holobooth, anyway?”

Tonasson smiled. “It’s not just any holobooth, chief. It’s the Time Vault of Hari Seldon.”

The crew chief’s eyes grew very wide indeed, revealing a lot of white around sky-blue contact lenses. “Good heavens!”

“Yes, straight from Terminus. You’d think we’d have brought it with us when our Foundation moved the government seat to Trantor. But the Governor of the Terminus province wanted to keep it. In any case, the Second Foundation says Hari Seldon’s final appearance will take place on the 190th – tomorrow.”

“Do they know what Seldon will say?”

Tonasson shook his head. “I don’t think anyone knows. Personally, it doesn’t make much sense. Seldon only appears when there’s a major crisis – and it’s been decades, maybe centuries, since he left us with a surprise.” Tonasson didn’t remark that the surprise in question was something Seldon couldn’t have predicted, the Mule, or that the Foundation’s survival of that dark age was a miracle.

“Which brings to mind the question: What crisis?”

Tonasson’s face turned to worry. “I don’t know. The entire Galaxy is at peace. No enemies left to conquer, no trade rivals to threaten our economy, and on Trantor, the only incident worth mentioning involved the bloodthirsty Yrikans. Barely a scratch on the Conference.”

Atoh chuckled. “Despite their royal haughtiness, the Yrikans are just like us. They’re actually very civilized, and their customs department was the nicest our crew’s dealt with since I joined twelve years ago. Romantic people, too. They do less thinking than action, but their artwork leaves nothing to be desired. Maybe they ought to tend the Imperial Gardens, eh?”

Tonasson laughed at the old joke. The Imperial Gardens had since reverted to forest land, but for thousands of years non-Trantorians had tended the Gardens. It was, once upon a time, considered quite an honor. Nowadays, no one wanted to touch them – the forest was just ugly.

“Package is down, Chief!” a gruff woman’s voice yelled. Tonasson looked in her direction, and wondered if all unsightly women ended up handling cargo. Probably not, but that one looked as if she belonged there. She had bigger arms than Atoh.

“All right, check it for damage!” Atoh replied just as loudly. “Carefully! Don’t damage it, ya high-grav heavy-handed wench!”

“At least I’ve got the stomach for your stink, Chief!!”

“That’s because you’re wearing all those expensive Kalganian scents! You can’t even smell the cobwebs in your credit accounts!!”

The burly woman stopped in her tracks for a moment. She looked to her Chief with a look that registered her as astounded. Then she shook her head and got on with the inspection. Tonasson looked on with equal confusion.

Atoh saw that and responded. “Oh, don’t worry about her. Her home planet is Galv – the surface gravity is 1.3 standard gees. Twenty years ago she placed second in a bodybuilding competition on her home planet. You think she’s big now … I’ve seen some pictures of her before I joined the crew. You’d swear she was a mountain of muscle. Never treats her husband bad, though – and you’d think a woman her size would use that size.”

Tonasson tried to imagine the woman, twenty years ago. Galv was a new member to the Foundation – it had been lost in the annals of history, and had reopened relations with the Galaxy only two years ago. But if she was that big even now and she wasn’t doing any serious weight training … Tonasson shuddered at the image. That was a woman who would hold her own in wrestling him today, and he didn’t want to lose to anyone. “You know something, Chief? You talk too much.”

Atoh laughed again. “Yeah, I suppose I do. That’s why I’m a cargo chief – gossip makes for great cargo. So do insults between crew members.”

Tonasson still didn’t get it. “You run one weird crew, Chief.”

Atoh shrugged. “But one of the most efficient in the Galaxy. Captain’s got an excellent track record, going back thirty-seven years.”

A shout from the big woman saved Tonasson from any further chatter along those lines. “Hey, Chief, we got a problem!!”

Atoh hated problems. So did Tonasson. Especially with the Time Vault.

“What? Kind? Of? Problem?” Atoh spelled out each word clearly. His cheerful mood had just become venomous.

“It don’t work.”

The bad grammar was forgivable. The empty report was not. “And why not?”

“I don’t know.”

“Cla, you’re my best visual repair expert. What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“The damn thing’s flashing all these red lights at me, and I can’t read a single one of them.”

Atoh got close enough to see the writing, while Tonasson trailed behind. “It’s written in Galactic Standard,” the Trantorian threw in.

The woman just looked at him with utter frustration, and a face that said, “Don’t call me an imbecile. I know what I’m talking about.”

Atoh looked at it, and shook his head. “Well, it looks like Galactic Standard, but I can’t read it either. Bits and pieces – does that say ‘atomic clock’ there?” He pointed to one light that was blue.

The woman sighed in disbelief. “No, it looks like power source.”

“Well, it’s nuclear something.”

Tonasson had finally joined them. His eyes went wide with consternation. He muttered a word beneath his breath.

The woman smiled. “I didn’t think Trantorians knew that word.”

Not looking at her, he replied, “We invented it.” That earned him a shake of the head.

Tonasson was shaking his own head. “We’re going to need a linguist, expert in ancient tongues. That says speaker system … I think.” He pointed to a red light.

“Ehh, maybe a subcomponent. An amplifier, perhaps.” Atoh chimed in.

“What’s an amplifier?” Tonasson asked. Neither of them answered, both deep in this old puzzle.

Tonasson just slumped down onto a post away from the machine. He just couldn’t believe it. He laughed quietly, the laugh of a man who had lost his tether to the ship called Reality.

“Ohhh,” he rumbled, “I hope you’ve got insurance!!”

Atoh stopped his examination of his cargo. “Insurance?!?”

“In a thousand years, Seldon has never, ever failed to make an appearance. Now you’re telling me you’ve got a technical difficulty?”

“We don’t know what to tell you yet. All we know is that it’s not working.”

Tonasson was hearing none of it. “This thing is supposed to go to Conference City tonight. There are a hundred million people who will be officially watching this thing tomorrow. Every delegate took today off to rest for this appearance by the great Hari Seldon. We have over a billion people, we estimate, who will be watching it unofficially on Trantor live, working in the support sections. Hundreds of thousands of news agencies are on hand to witness this event and report it to the Galaxy. And you’re telling me the damn thing doesn’t work?!? Do you have any idea what a blow to the Galaxy this will be? The Government of Trantor Province will take it out of your hides.” It was just so outrageous that he could barely keep a straight face. He was crying, even as he giggled insanely.

Atoh started getting angry. He didn’t like threats. “Hey, we didn’t bust it.”

“Prove it!”

“How?? This thing started its diagnostics, or whatever you call those lights, three days ago, during transit. We didn’t touch it, but our security logged the activity of the Vault three days ago. Before that, it was dormant.”

“I think I can fix it,” Cla interjected.

“You think??” Tonasson was still dealing with the implications of a dead Vault.

“Yeah. Get me a copy of the Encyclopedia Galactica – one of the early editions. The older, the better, as long as we can read it. The Engineering indexes should have a reference to the Time Vault’s designs in it somewhere.”

Tonasson’s head shot up. Of course. The Encyclopedia Galactica was originally founded to collect all useful knowledge of humanity and wrap it up in a gigantic publication. Nowadays, as in early Foundation history, it was Terminus’s major export. The Encyclopedia Galactica Publishing Company alone employed over half a billion researchers Galaxy-wide. Engineering specifications were most certainly useful knowledge.

“I’ll get right on it – but with or without it, you get that Time Vault fixed!!!”. Tonasson hustled off at a dead run.

Atoh and his assistants turned back to their archaeological nightmare. “Government bureaucrats. Give them one miracle, even a damaged one, and they demand more,” someone muttered.

“Maybe they’ll come up with a miracle of their own.” Atoh replied absently.

Hannor Legan could hardly have been more upset than Tonasson was – and also could hardly have been less. As things went, in fact, he was furious.

Actually, he was mad for only one reason: His lieutenant was mad, and not listening to him.

“You can’t trust them!!” Ione roared, barely half a meter from his face. “This Iscar report is clear on that point. They have not been entirely open with us, Hannor, and you know that. You said you knew their First Speaker. And you never met that man before?”

“I asked him about that six months ago, Ione,” he said, irritated. “He said he was just recently elected to the position, after the last Speaker caught some local bug and died. Which is a perfectly good reminder that they’re still human.”

“Are you even sure of that? They were spying on the Yrikans – they could be spying on us right now as we speak – and then they incapacitated the entire delegation!! And you still let them run the Conference??”

“Ione, this is what they train for. They’re supposed to run a Galaxy peaceably, with a minimum of violence. Now, tell me that what they did didn’t shut the rest of the bad guys up.”

“You think that was the right response?” she asked incredulously.

“We’re not qualified to judge them, and you know that. We’ve been out of touch for a whole millenium. We have no real understanding of their culture whatsoever.”

“And they’ve been out of touch with the Galaxy. There are some things we cannot tolerate, Hannor, not if we’re to remain civilized beings.”

“Ione, shut up.”

Ione closed her mouth. She knew Hannor well enough that when he said “shut up,” he meant it.

Hannor continued on. “Ione, there’s just one little thing you forget. I am the Governor of the Foundation. But, I am Governor of the Foundation only by a vote of the Council of Governors.”

“You know as well as I do that if it weren’t for tradition, I wouldn’t have the backing to be the Governor of the Foundation. My official title would be the one you hold instead, as Governor of the Trantor Province.”

“According to the Foundation Charter, if I go from this province to another province on a visit, or to troubleshoot some political emergency, I remain the Governor of the Foundation until my retirement. Then the local Governor would be the Lieutenant Governor of the Foundation, empowered to speak for me as they see fit.”

“In other words, Ione, if it weren’t for the Conference, I wouldn’t even be here right now. And for one reason, Ione – you don’t see the Galactic picture.”

Ione didn’t dare reply. But the thought came through her mind anyway: Oh, I see it, all right. You’re just not willing to face how bad it really is.

“Now … regarding the Second Foundation. Their position as leaders of this Conference and its various committees shall remain unchanged and unquestioned. Is that clear?” Ione merely nodded, still boiling inside.

“As for tomorrow’s appearance of Hari Seldon, you will be there, in your best outfit and on your best behavior. You will not utter a word to the First Speaker, nor will you do anything to threaten him. He is to be treated by all security forces as my equal. Whatever he declares is law. And above all, you will trust him. Is that clear?”

Right about then, Ione was ready to throw away all her worthless titles of office, and just punch Hannor. But she restrained herself. Now was not the time for a resignation, nor for any friction at the top to become apparent. Especially not now.

When would be the right time? she asked herself bitterly. Although a capable leader in her own right, she was always beneath someone else, and had lost too many arguments with Hannor lately. She was sick and tired of being ignored. Hannor had what her friends in her youth called “short-timer syndrome” – a need to get things over with, and to blazes with the consequences. Ione still planned on being involved in things after the Conference, and she couldn’t afford to look at the immediate. Hannor was retiring after the Conference, and so it didn’t really matter to him. Ione refused to think that way. Her opinion was that if she ever did think that way, her time wasn’t ending – it had already ended.

And it was then that she decided she would obey these instructions from Hannor to the letter … as a last request. The man was no longer a leader, not really. He might be capable of leading again, but his mindset was in the wrong place.

Damn. She didn’t want him to retire on such bad terms with her.

Outside their private office, an Observer of the Second Foundation began composing his report. There would be no resistance whatsoever now. The two Foundations tomorrow would be vindicated by their founder. He expected, as the Speakers did, that Seldon would simply congratulate them for their success. He was one who knew that those congratulations had been earned through the blood and sweat of the First Foundation, and the difficult planning of the Second Foundation. There had even been a couple of times when the Second Foundation had shed its own blood, as a sacrifice to preserve and repair the Seldon Plan.

Simply amazing!

A thousand years of effort was coming to a close, tomorrow! The exultation, the anticipation of Pax Galactica II was rampant throughout the Second Foundation, causing even some of their Speakers to revel in the accomplishment of their ancestors and themselves.

A hundred generations had built the new Second Empire! He wished privately that Preem Palver and Hari Seldon themselves could have seen this in person, instead of visualizing it through harsh, and yet beautiful, mathematics.

Seeing it in person was so much richer an experience.

And better yet, the new Empire had absolutely no end in sight, by the mathematics of psychohistory. Even if the Second Foundation were to disappear tomorrow, the new Empire could continue on for nineteen thousand years on its own inertia. It was fundamentally more stable than the First Empire – Trantor was not the only center of power and administration. A hundred planets fulfilled the duties that ancient Trantor had once handled alone, and improperly. Even that wasn’t enough, the Observer knew – the Second Foundation’s next move after the Conference would be to spread those centers out into about a hundred thousand planets. Enough to handle a Galaxy of twenty-five million planets – not including those that would be found in the first Census movement.

Barring anything unforeseen, like another individual exerting an impossible influence, the peace would last long enough for the Interregnum to itself become prehistory, as lost to humanity’s knowledge as the dead planet Earth.

And with the famous Encyclopedia Galactica, that would be an uncountably long time …

Millions gathered once again in Conference City, for the great Seldon to speak. A buzz permeated the air – what would he say? They all marveled at this event.

By coincidence, Wye shared the exact same time as Terminus’ Time Vault. No adjustment for time was needed. Seldon would appear at noon exactly.

It was one minute to noon!

The Governor of the First Foundation took his seat next to the First Speaker of the Second Foundation. The Lieutenant Governor stood behind them, in her absolute best clothing. Fashion experts would later say that the Governor’s style was as old as he was, but he still wore them with dignity and pride.

The lights dimmed. It was thirty seconds to noon!

For this event, the microphones were shut off. The only speaker here would be Hari Seldon until he finished his speech. The murmur died down. Still, the First Speaker couldn’t resist fulfilling his title one more time: he spoke first, but only to the Governor.

“Now, Governor, we shall finally see the realization of the Seldon Plan. A thousand years, and we are glad our guiding hand was rarely needed. Now it is time to bring enlightened leadership to the Galaxy, that which truly understands humanity.”

Hannor’s face registered confusion. “Excuse me, First Speaker, but I don’t follow you. We already have capable administration in our Foundation, and not much of it will change. You’ve been leading the Assembly – you know the basic tenets of our Foundation governments will not change a great deal.”

Forska smiled. “Of course not. It’s simply that even the greatest of leaders you have only have an instinctive sense for how a local populace will act. We of the Second Foundation have perfected that instinct into a science, a psychohistory we have developed for a thousand years. With no disrespect to you, sir, we are simply more qualified to lead because we know how to … how do you put it? Work the crowd?” He chuckled, not evilly at all, but with pride.

“The First Foundation has built the framework for this new Empire,” Hannor replied, still confused.

“Yes, and the Second Foundation shall need your efforts to give us a physical presence, instead of making us a paper government only. Psychohistory allows us to understand the masses, to guide them, but they won’t always listen unless we have you to enforce our less immediately pleasing decrees.” In other words, Hannor realized, the First Foundation was going to be the middleman. “Believe me when I say we cannot lead without you.”

Hannor had just enough time to glance over his shoulder, behind him, into Ione’s eyes. He saw what he had not until now understood – that they were to be puppets beneath the Second Foundation’s psychohistory. They would not be allowed to understand the science that controlled them.

They were a lower class. Hannor’s face fell as he realized his blunder. It was now too late – the Second Foundation had taken over in all respects. He didn’t even care how history would remember him. He’d deceived himself, believing it was all for the good.

Could it still be? Could the Second Foundation really be trusted?

The First Speaker saw all of this going through the Governor’s mind, and opened his mouth to reassure further …

It was noon … and the Assembly’s population increased by one. Forska realized it was too late. Oh, well. The Governor might take it hard, but all the clues had been staring him in the face. Forska was surprised that his colleague had not understood, and for that matter, still did not. The massive ego of a politician, he supposed. “Psychohistory,” he whispered to the Governor. He projected confidence in his voice to the Governor. Unfortunately, he didn’t have eye contact just then, as everyone’s eyes turned towards the large projection.

“I am Hari Seldon, and this will be my …” the projection said. Though his voice was old and soft, his amplified voice reverberated off the walls. His image filled the Assembly, as his wheelchair hologram was replicated and reproduced at a thousand times its original size. Unfortunately, the original itself was damaged, as a burst of static washed over the image and bleated through the speakers. Thousands winced at the noise.

Down below, Atoh’s crew noticed the problem. His burly assistant couldn’t avoid kicking the Vault itself. She left a sizable dent in the Vault’s metal, as well as in her steel-toed boot. She yelped in pain and fell down. The kick, miraculously, restored the image, and the fuzziness in his voice nearly disappeared. It was still accented, though, and hard to understand after a thousand years.

“… inal appearance in the Time Vault.” Seldon paused. “A few of you may have wondered by now what use, if any, these appearances of mine will have been. They should have coincided with a series of crises and helped you over the difficult times when it might have seemed that psychohistorical projections were having nothing to do with actual events. I hope that this was only apparent, not real.”

The old man smiled, showing no teeth. “For all I know, I may be speaking to an empty chamber in a fragmented galaxy which is still in a dark age.” This earned quite a few laughs. “But if you are hearing me, then let me now claim that these appearances of mine had to have been useful, one way or another.”

What the hell did that mean, everybody wondered all at once. Even Forska was surprised, and he didn’t have time to analyze it before Seldon continued, a finger extended towards the center of the audience. A book fell to the floor.

“Let me explain what I mean,” he continued. “Either I was in touch with the way things went, or my failure moved those of you who were in touch to act.” There was a collective sigh of relief, Forska included. “Psychohistory could envision large possibilities correctly, but it could not project a picture of specific future details and the actions needed to bring them about. For the large is composed of countless small things, and most of the time we all live in small details. Some of you may now be saying that psychohistory was not what I made it out to be, and you will be right, in the way that most shortsighted minds are right.”

“But it was, I hope, enough of what it had to be – a rallying cry against the irrational darkness that threatened to plunge the Galaxy into thirty thousand years of barbarism. In all human life, every day, the irrational has threatened to establish its reign, and has been held back by the two foundations of intellect and good will.”

He paused, just long enough to receive a brief round of applause. Unaware of the applause, he continued on with conviction. “There are a few basic features to the exercise of free will in history. Only probabilities can be predicted, but not perfectly or always. Yet in retrospect, all developments are seen as having been caused, including those brought about by free choices. All historical developments flow from a variety of factors, and are therefore explainable – but not exhaustively. Free will can operate only among a finite number of possible choices. No free choice is unconditional, or we would be able to create matter and energy from nothingness according to our whims.” Another laugh – the First Foundation had invented a tool capable of just such a thing. It was now a primary power source throughout the Galaxy.

“I focused your free will by helping you to choose with a greater awareness of possibilities, with the habit of looking ahead, and I am sure it has brought you through your millennium of struggle.” The old man sighed. “What you will do in your new Galactic Era is not for me to predict. Perhaps humankind will become something better. For me, that would be a rational intelligence which would be immune to psychohistorical prediction. I hope so – because otherwise …”

Wait a minute. What had he just said?

“… your new age will also decay and fall, and humankind may disappear from the Galaxy, to be replaced by new intelligences that are even now gestating in those countless star systems where the worlds are not congenial to humanoid biologies.”

Hannor Legan and Renauld Forska could only stare slack-jawed at each other. They had heard the same thing. So had millions of people, who were starting to murmur again.

“Our human history doesn’t even span one hundred thousand years, even though we filled a galaxy with our kind. Planetary species have existed for two hundred million years, and passed away without attaining self-conscious intelligence. Do not let the accomplishment of a galactic culture lull you into a sense of security. Become a truly free culture, one which will not be susceptible to psychohistorical laws, but can fully shape its own form and destiny.”

Now it wasn’t just murmuring. Now it was shouting.

Seldon’s voice continued on bitterly, overpowering them all. “Yes, that is my ideal of a mature species – one that does not need to be led by the hand. And yes, psychohistory does predict its own downfall as a useful way of looking ahead, and I do not mourn it.” As he rambled on, the noise level continued to rise, and now angry fingers were being pointed at the Governor’s Booth. At First Speaker Renauld Forska.

“It worked because it counted on the darkness rising out of a given human nature, for as long as human nature remained unchanged. More than anyone, I was aware of psychohistory’s potential for the control of human life by the manipulative, which is …”

At that, a huge roar erupted from the audience. An utterly deafening roar – loud enough to defeat Seldon’s voice as he continued on. An enraged roar.

It suddenly became apparent to Hannor that he was likely the very last person in this Conference to realize how the Second Foundation was acting, and especially how they were perceived as acting. And he had just had a full understanding seconds before Seldon had appeared.

And just as suddenly, a very disgruntled but orderly crowd became a riot.

Chapter Seven

IT IS AN interesting paradox of military life that requires combat readiness at all times, especially from human beings, who cannot individually maintain that readiness at all times. For instance, a crewperson requires sleep. But the ship cannot sleep, and not all of its crew can sleep at the same time. However, most ships maintain a day watch and a night watch – and these watches suffice for everything short of actual combat operations.

For this reason, as all hell was breaking loose in the Assembly, the captain of the Hober Mallow IV was snoring softly in his cabin. His crew wasn’t even watching the Seldon broadcast – instead, most of them were asleep themselves. The XO was in command, and the night watch observed the skies around them.

Exactly 37.2 seconds after the riot began, the peaceful, if tense, situation in orbit began to change. The Hober Mallow, at that time, was well away from the Wye sector, and had no immediate warning.

Specifically, a Vegan delegate radioed his command ship, and ordered them to maximum alert. The admiral in charge passed on the order, and space lit up with Vegan radars, less than a minute after the riot began planetside.

That, by itself, got the attention of every electronic intelligence specialist on every ship in orbit. Before most of them could react, though, the Kalgan Armada followed suit.

Then, the Yrikan Fleet. Something was wrong.

The night radar supervisor on board the Mallow was just then reporting to his XO. Barely ninety seconds had elapsed since the riot began.

The radar man couldn’t even finish his report, as the holoradar set to passive detection began to resemble a fireworks display. “Oh, my … sir, we’ve got multiple, repeat, multiple ELINT warnings coming in from all directions. Looks like everything’s going on alert, sir.”

“Sir,” the POOW interjected, “lookouts report ships breaking orbital patterns everywhere, performing evasive maneuvers.”

“Confirmed,” the bridge holoradar specialist added. Operations was busy tracking them all, but their bridge watch counterpart was able to summarize. “I’m detecting force-screens going up, blasters charging …” That was as far as she got. The executive officer took over.

“Sound general quarters. Captain to the bridge, please.” He activated his personal force-screen.

Two decks below, the captain snapped awake and rolled out of bed. This wasn’t a planned drill. Then again, he thought as he put on his combat jumpsuit, the XO has been planning some unscheduled drills …

“THIS IS NOT A DRILL. COMMANDING OFFICER, YOUR PRESENCE IS REQUESTED ON THE BRIDGE.”

Oh, shit, everyone waking up thought in unison, and doubled their efforts. Drills in military life are one thing – but when the alarm goes off for real, lives are in danger for real.

“Captain on the bridge,” the combat POOW called out forty seconds later. His XO didn’t even hesitate. The big man nearly knocked his captain down as he rushed to the Combat Information Center, his own battle station.

“Captain has the conn,” Iscar announced loud enough for everyone to hear.

“Captain has the conn, aye,” the POOW and navigator chorused. The navigator, who was the combat OOD and training for his own XO slot soon, brought Iscar up to date.

In a nutshell, everyone was going paranoid. Lots of weapons targeting, weapons arming, but fortunately no shots fired yet. Hober Mallow had herself established evasive maneuvers, but hadn’t been targeted. Iscar also noted the navigator did not report any orders from Admiral Olieke on the surface, or any other fleet officer. Which meant they had not received any such orders, and until the Admiralty woke up from their soft beds, each ship of the Navy was on its own.

“Very well.” He said that with meaning. Not only had his navigator given an excellent report, but it was still a cold combat zone. Lots of aggression, lots of showing the banner and talking tough, but nothing flagrant yet.

“General Quarters time plus three: The ship is manned and ready.” Even better. Engineering had come a long way in the past six months – they were now usually the second section to be manned after Weapons. More than that, every ship scanning the Mallow saw a fully armed, fully prepared warship with lots of fingers on lots of touchpads.

“Send to the Alurin: Hober Mallow at Condition One readiness. Awaiting orders.” The Alurin was the task force flagship, holding one Rear Admiral Bol Terrant.

“Send to Alurin: Hober Mallow at Condition One readiness. Awaiting orders, aye sir.” Operations replied. The repeating of orders was a tradition handed down from prehistory. The Operations officer set to work, attempting radio, quantum hyperwave, even blinker lights towards the satellite network that would connect them to the Alurin. It would take some time, however, as jamming simply flooded all channels of communication, except for blinkers, which were hardly reliable in a combat situation with ships flying in the way of the light beams.

“Conn, radar, we have weapons fire. I repeat, we have weapons fire.”

So much for a cold combat zone, Iscar thought angrily. Trantor was under siege once again. Less than six minutes had passed since the riot began.

It really didn’t take all that long, once the hostilities actually started. One ship wandered much too close for another ship’s captain to enjoy, and he fired a warning shot. The offending ship’s tactical section misinterpreted the shot as coming directly at them (an easy mistake to make at orbital speeds and in close contact), and reported that to their commanding officer. The CO ordered fire returned.

That was a direct hit, which earned him three nearby ships’ full barrages. He lived a matter of four seconds – his crew, a fraction of time less. One of those barrages included a stray blaster shot, which struck a third naval force.

From the little bursts, the combat expanded outward like a wave on the surface of a sphere – faster than the weapons being fired, at the speed of light as ships called allies, and as allies noticed their friends coming under attack. As it expanded, more and more ships which were not intended targets were attacked, spreading the battle to other fleets at an accelerating rate. It could be anything from a blaster bursting too close, to an evasive maneuver, to the frayed nerves of a gunner. But it spread, quickly.

Less than nine minutes after the riot started, the planet was englobed in a throbbing, fluctuating shell of blasters, force screens, and ships.

“MARK!!” Iscar hollered. Instantly the Hober Mallow executed a dive towards the planet. A blaster shot struck them on the bow – Iscar hadn’t seen that bolt, aimed at a passing Vegan troopship. The blast sent them into a spin along their vertical axis. The force screens up front collapsed, and fully a tenth of the ship instantly became a hellish gas. Including forty crewpersons.

“STABILIZE!! Aft starboard thrusters to full!” If they couldn’t regain control, they would continue towards the planet, and although they could probably survive a re-entry with an unpowered descent, Iscar didn’t want to land on anyone or any city. He’d destroy his ship before risking innocent lives, exactly as he had been trained. “Do we have forward port thrusters?”

“Negative, sir, forward thrust control is inoperative. Gravity regulators are failing – engineering reports high outward gravity on the outer portions, sir.” The spin was creating an artificial gravity at the edges.

“Fire solutions are all shot to hell!” the weapons and security officer, LTJG Bryce, complained. It was taking the targeting computers a few seconds to compensate for the spin.

“We don’t even know who to shoot at!” Iscar replied angrily. “Who blasted us?”

No one answered him – not Operations, not the lookouts, not Weapons. They didn’t know either.

“We’re entering the atmosphere, captain!” the navigator called out.

Meanwhile, the battle in orbit continued. Ships everywhere were becoming scrap metal and ionized gases. One Reguran ship wanted to deliver a blow to their traditional rivals, the Pormona Fleet. Unfortunately, the nearest such target was below the atmospheric horizon – that is, a successful hit would require shooting through the atmosphere of Trantor. A blaster shot would not penetrate the atmosphere at that distance and still be expected to strike the Pormona ship. Instead, the Reguran ship launched a nuclear missile.

The Regurans were not known or respected for their prowess in nuclear technologies. They had somehow achieved interstellar travel with only a fourteen percent success rate in nuclear machinery. Their safety record was equally low. Nonetheless, the missile flew. It crossed into the upper atmosphere, over several parts of the Wye sector, and had just overflown the Conference city when the missile detonated in the high atmosphere prematurely.

Nuclear blast effects, no matter where they happen, are extremely impressive. If detonated deep within a high-pressure gas giant, they could theoretically spark a fusion reaction, and ignite the gas giant, creating a star. If detonated on the surface of a planet, the resulting pressure wave would be as forceful as a wall of steel expanding outward at the speed of sound. If detonated underwater, the energies would instantly be transformed into a broiling mass of gaseous, radioactive steam, miles in diameter and rising to the surface rapidly. Only force screens can prevent crippling damage and probable destruction from these sources.

A high-atmosphere nuclear blast, however, generates a destructive wave of an entirely different nature – an electromagnetic pulse, or EMP, of exceptional power. Force screens, which are almost magnetic in nature, bend sharply or break under the intense magnetic storm. Anything electronic is suddenly hit with a fast-moving pulse of electrons, which tend to cause short-circuit overloads.

Such were the effects on the Conference city beneath Space Zero. The riot, which was still raging, was for the most part plunged into the darkness of interior buildings with few spaces open to daylight. In the center, the Time Vault of Hari Seldon, untouched by the raving mobs, barely scratched in a thousand years of chaos, the last remnant of the First Galactic Empire, was fried as electricity overloaded its circuits and set it ablaze. The holographic memory cubes within the Vault itself were melted by the intense energy surge being converted partially to heat.

Though Seldon had long since finished his broadcast, no one heard his last words, except for the security cameras. In later years, many records would abound throughout the Empire of people wanting to see the final words of Hari Seldon; whereas those who were there had no permanent record of those words, and could not accurately testify as to exactly what Seldon had said. There was so much disagreement that their reports were deemed unreliable to varying degrees, and thus unprintable by the media, as paralyzed by the EMP as everything else.

The blast came as a mercy to the Hober Mallow, which the energy pulse smashed their force screens with, transferring a small percentage of its energy into a motion vector upon the ship. However, a small percentage of a nuclear blast packs a huge punch, and that huge punch kicked the Hober Mallow beyond escape velocity for Trantor. The heavy shock damage and electromagnetic overloads left her adrift for two days, and her captain unconscious for a week.

On the surface of Trantor, Ione had made it to a security post, and full force-screens were in effect. Police forces were starting to move in just as the lights went out. In the security post, the force screens held against the EMP blast hundreds of kilometers above them – barely. Ione was therefore treated to a clear view of the overall situation.

The riot in the Conference city was not something she could do anything about right now – the pulse had hit cameras everywhere, and what cameras survived had no lighting. The police forces were going in blindly.

In orbit, however, there was a drastic situation which she could see – the holoradars within the post had not been damaged. A nuclear warhead had been detonated, someone informed her. That was nothing less than an act of war.

She could deal with a war. It gave her a target for her frustration. “Who fired that shot??” she bellowed, rage amplifying her voice to deafening levels. The sergeants and specialists backed up their holographic logs, not panicking in the least. Professionals.

“A Reguran troop transport, Governor. The Licon.” The sergeant who identified it restored the normal view. “Sir, the transport is coming under heavy fire!!”

“It ought to, the bastards.”

“No, Governor,–by one of their own ships!!!”

“What?” Ione sputtered. This was inconceivable in any modern military, especially one powerful enough to send a “delegation” to Trantor.

“He’s right,” another one chimed in. “The Gra, a sister ship to the Licon, is firing blasters at it. So are six other ships, including our Alurin. He’s on the run, leaving orbit.”

“That’s not all – other ships are beginning to pursue. I count four … twelve … thirty-eight … and rising, ships leaving orbit in pursuit. The Licon is heading for Jump Point Hotel.”

“It won’t make it,” another confidently predicted. Sure enough, a blast clipped one of its engines – not seriously enough to slow it down, but enough to inspire more pot shots.

Ione regarded the overall tactical holograph. She was astounded by what she saw. Ships, everywhere, had ceased their attacks on each other, and were attempting to break orbit and pursue the Licon. Most were in no position to leave orbit whatsoever, many of them hurtling on a course away from the Jump Point, or on the other side of Trantor, but more than enough were there to make their statement.

They all knew that someone had attacked Trantor – and they were all leaping to her defense.

And in that moment, Ione saw a way out.

“Put me on the open broadcast – every frequency you’ve got, unencrypted,” she ordered.

“Attention … attention, all ships in orbit of Trantor. This is Lieutenant Governor Gerrold of the Foundation speaking.” Ione spoke with a tone of authority she rarely used, was really unaware that she had. Her voice was flat, and yet carried the weight of a Galaxy. She paused.

“I hereby declare the Planet of Trantor to be under immediate martial law. All Foundation ships are to return to orbit of Trantor and cease fire, except to defend themselves and Trantor. No offensive operations are authorized. Furthermore, all police forces are hereby authorized to use whatever means are necessary, but not more than necessary, to restore order in the Wye Sector.” She paused again. “I also wish to ask …” But she found, to her great surprise, that she did not need to ask. Her voice fell away in awe.

Every ship in the orbital zone of Trantor, including those who had broken orbit, had ceased fire of their own volition. They were standing down – screens still at full intensity, but with weapons disarmed and tactical radars no longer searching for targets. The reasoning behind it, however, was quite simple:

Every one of the allied ships considered themselves not an ally, but a member of the Foundation. And therefore subject to the orders of the Foundation.

It was greater than Ione could have hoped for – and yet, she couldn’t deny within herself that it was the truth. This had been what Hari Seldon and her predecessors had labored towards for a thousand years.

A sense of belonging and patriotism to something greater than themselves. Greater than their ships and cities. Greater than their home planets and peoples.

A sense of order. A sense of commonality with men and women they would never meet, whom they knew existed but only as abstract objects, without even names or personalities.

And that sense was named “Foundation.” Ione began crying in joy. She recovered, her voice still wavering as the tension broke. “I thank you, all of you. I would not have believed this possible, had I not seen it with my own eyes. My deepest apologies to all of you – – for I suspected each and every one of you as a potential threat to the Foundation. Until this moment, before me in the holoradar, I did not realize you considered yourselves Foundation as well. Neither did the Government of the Foundation.”

“I’m not one who’s given to great speeches, especially unrehearsed ones,” she admitted candidly to the Galaxy. “So therefore, let me direct all of you to place yourselves at the discretion of the Trantorian Navy, to set up positions guarding Trantor from any possible danger beyond our atmosphere. We will secure things down here – please assist us in securing things up there. This is Lieutenant Governor Gerrold, out.” And then she could take no more, as she collapsed to the floor slowly, her face scrunched up in joyful tears. Her eyebrows and jaws ached from the muscles exerting their full force nearly half a minute later. There was no doubt any longer: the Interregnum had passed.

Out of the metaphorical ashes of a nuclear fireball, a Second Galactic Empire had been born.

Chapter Eight

HOWEVER, THE NEW Empire was the last thing on Renauld Forska’s mind at that very moment. The irony of this was that any Speaker who put anything before the Empire and the Seldon Plan was subject to immediate impeachment. For a First Speaker to put his own life ahead in his thoughts of the Empire was absolutely unthinkable.

But it had happened, as Forska ran through the darkened streets of the Conference city. In fact, the entire Table of Speakers was right next to him. They were hardly in a position to charge him with his abhorrent crimes, though – as they were themselves doing the same things Forska was doing. Running for their lives from an angry mob.

Even their usual mental shields were gone. All decorum and procedure which the Second Foundation bound themselves to was replaced by fear – and their exaggerated mental powers were overcome by this fear, guided enough only by hard-trained reflexes to keep alert to new approaches. They couldn’t even talk to each other mentally, so shaken were they, and so their abundant personal resources were negated.

“This way!” Forska shouted, pointing to the right. Indeed, each of them instinctively felt a lesser amount of anger in that direction than in any other. They hustled down an alleyway towards a mass transit station entrance.

“A Seldon crisis caused by Seldon himself,” one of the Speakers observed bitterly, huffing and puffing. “How did this happen?”

“How it happened doesn’t matter,” one of the others retorted. “What the hell do we do now?”

No one had any answer for her, and so they kept running.

“There they are!” a voice cried out from the side as they broke from the alleyway. Forska couldn’t help but glance in that direction. Half a dozen people were running towards them, led by the new chief delegate from Yrika. Uh-oh, Forska thought. Yrikans tended to make holding a grudge an art form …

Forska nearly tripped over another Speaker as he scrambled in the opposite direction. Blasters were ineffective at that time, due to the EMP – and a good thing too, or the Second Foundation would have lost its leadership right then. The Yrikan cursed and dropped his blaster to the ground. The chase continued on foot.

“We’ve got to find a transport!” Forska yelled. But he knew somehow none would be working – the city had no power, and Trantor never burned hydrocarbons underground. Forska debated breaking the Speakers up, to confuse their pursuers, but he decided against it. He didn’t want to risk losing anybody without the entire Table there to help.

Suddenly he found his group stumbling upon a patrol group of several Assembly security officers, provided by the First Foundation. Maybe, Forska thought. If anyone would be their allies right now, it would be the First Foundation. But what orders had they received? Who was giving those orders? What would the on-scene commander do? He noticed they were carrying gunpowder-based sidearms, instead of powered blasters. That meant someone in their supplies division had made a good decision – but what decisions would come now?

“Please, help us!” Forska, speaking for the Table, cried. The officers noticed them, and recognized them. Was that good?

The commander simply lowered his weapon and yelled, “Stand down!!!” His officers lowered their weapons, aiming not at the Speakers, but at the crowd behind them.

The crowd obeyed him, keeping their distance, if not their angry glares.

“By executive order of the Lieutenant Governor of the Foundation, the Planet of Trantor is hereby under martial law. All citizens are hereby ordered to return to their homes or places of business with all due haste, unless otherwise specifically directed by an officer of the peace. Furthermore, be advised that all police forces have been authorized by the Lieutenant Governor to use whatever means are necessary to restore order in the Wye Sector.” As the commander was speaking these words, he held his weapon, bigger than his arm, aimed upwards. He walked forward, menacingly, delivering his message with an air of confidence he barely felt. But he knew he had the authority – and the guns – to back him up.

“And what about them?” one of the rioters shouted back.

“The Speakers of the Second Foundation are hereby placed under protective custody, pending an investigation of their activities. They are not your concern. Now, go home.” He stopped in his tracks, well clear of the mob, just staring at them, staring them down.

The crowd backed down, and broke up slowly. None approached either the officers or the Speakers. Without a word, the commander signaled his officers to advance and take the Speakers under guard.

For the first time in his life, Forska found himself in a holding cell. But he still lived.

But what news of the Galaxy?

Several hours later, Ione dressed herself in her finest clothing. It was the same clothes she had worn six months earlier, at the opening of the Imperial Conference. However, she added something to the outfit – a red cape, tied around her neck, and bound again around her waist. It was a gift from her cousin, a tailor, who had worked meticulously to add in small gold writing the name of every planet in the Foundation. It was called lovingly “the Imperial Cloak.” The gold foil shimmered beautifully in the rising sun, but the edges had no writing. (This was for new planets to be added to the Cloak, her cousin had said.) The print was so small, one needed a microscope to make out the words – but they were there.

She expected this would be the only time she would ever wear this cloak. It symbolized the sheer power of the Foundation, the newborn Empire. When the Conference decided on who would lead their Empire, she would remove the Imperial Cloak, and fasten it around the shoulders and waist of their new Emperor. That was the only thing left to do anyway – yesterday’s incidents had proven that beyond a doubt. They didn’t need the Conference anymore.

As long as it wasn’t Forska. If that was the case, she’d use all her strength to tear it in two, and her cousin be damned.

Hannor Legan knocked on her private room, and she replied, “Come in,” her voice lilting ever so slightly as she regarded herself in the mirror.

“Whoa,” his deep voice said in appreciation. “I’ve never seen that before.”

“A gift from my cousin, for the new Emperor. An Imperial Cloak, with every planet in the Empire named on it.”

“Nice. Well, I just came by to let you know privately that I am indeed retiring. You saw that Seldon Crisis coming a light-year away. And I was duped, right up until the very Crisis. I duped myself.” He smiled sheepishly. “But it’s great to know I had such a wonderful lieutenant, who stood her ground even as her senior overrode her at every turn. My personal thanks, Ione.”

She shook his hand with appreciation. Things could hardly get better, she thought.

“Oh, by the way,” Hannor added, “as I have finished my duties as the last Governor of the Foundation, I thought it best to inform you that Renauld Forska wishes to speak to you.”

Her face darkened. Although there was no question that she now held equal station with him, and probably quite a bit higher than him, she wanted nothing to do with the man.

However, quite often senior government officials have to do unpleasant things. She knew this, and knew that Forska deserved a fair hearing. Reluctantly, she nodded.

“I’ll turn on the Mind Static Field, at a low level, and leave you with him,” Hannor said. “I’ll see you at the Assembly.” Hannor stepped out, leaving Ione alone for but a few moments to collect her thoughts.

Humility was nothing new to Renauld Forska. After all, one had to be humble to put the Galaxy before himself, as Forska had spent most of his life doing. The shame he felt in betraying the Galaxy was extreme, however, and humbled him anew.

Actually, the guards had treated them quite respectably – even going to the extent of bringing a change of clothes from the University to them. Cleansed and refreshed, he entered the private chambers of Lieutenant Governor Ione Gerrold for the first time. She stood facing the rising sun beyond her window, letting her shadow fill half the floor. She did not speak, letting him be First Speaker again.

“Lieutenant Governor,” he began cordially. Only then did she turn to face him.

“Yes, First Speaker?” she said politely. But the look on her face was blank, a perfect gambling face. Along with the mind static field, he could gather nothing from her intentions.

He bit his lower lip, breaking eye contact for a moment. He knew such went against all training in dominating a situation, but dominating this situation was impossible and would break any professional relationship they might have. “I have come forth to … apologize.” He spoke slowly, still considering his words. “We did not realize that our approach to governing the Galaxy would be resisted so strenuously. Nor did we expect that Dr. Hari Seldon himself would contradict so blatantly our way of thinking.”

Ione said nothing, letting the silence indicate he needed to do better than that.

“However, we still have proven by mathematics that the Galaxy would prosper more if guided by psychohistory than if not. Obviously, I cannot be Emperor – and I never had any intentions there. Nor do I feel suitable to recommend an Emperor from among our Speakers. But I must implore of you not to ignore our advice.”

She raised her head slightly, asking the natural question with a little haughtiness, “And what advice is that?”

Forska shook his head. “The Galaxy still needs us as leaders. However, it does not necessarily need us as figureheads.”

Ione’s puzzlement showed through. “What do you mean?”

Forska smiled thinly. “My newest Speaker, who was until today a student in training, found a solution. Hari Seldon himself was a First Minister for Cleon I for many years. We can likewise maintain positions throughout the Galaxy as ministers for the local leaders and for the Emperor. We’ll still be in a position to shape events for the betterment of humanity, but the final decisions and authority will still rest with the Emperor and his Governors.”

“Still controlling from the background, eh?” Ione contemplated that. That could lead to a system of very weak executives, puppets of the real government. Just like Linge Chen’s manufactured Emperors of a thousand years ago. She wasn’t about to have that. “On one condition.”

Forska lifted his face. There was a glimmer of hope there – but if she asked for too much …

“The Second Foundation, your Foundation, must agree never, ever to tamper with any government leadership, nor with any candidates for such leadership. We do not want to be manipulated into doing your will.”

Forska beamed. That was a condition he would accept heartily. “With all due respect, Lieutenant Governor, that would render any such executives useless puppets, and an illusion so shallow that the Galaxy would never accept it. It would run counter to the development of the Galaxy, and besides, a little chaos is essential to psychohistory. But only a little.” He did not mention that independent thinkers had been critical in bringing them to this point over the course of a thousand years, and would continue to lead the Galaxy to prosperity. He suspected such a statement would be too much.

The lieutenant governor only nodded, but the mind static field wasn’t powerful enough to conceal the rush of joy that overpowered its jamming signal. He knew then that his proposal had been accepted. Before Ione could speak, he said, “No words are necessary, Madame. Your intentions have already registered themselves. I thank you.”

Once again, the two Foundations were equals. But for the first time, they truly were allies.

Minutes later, Ione strode out onto the balcony in the Assembly, followed by First Speaker Forska. However, Forska remained standing behind the two main chairs – and Hannor was standing in front of his Governor’s seat. Even as the Imperial Cloak she wore fluttered in the breezes, she was a bit surprised as she went to her old chair, Forska’s chair. She was even more surprised when she sat down; Hannor did not, instead remaining standing.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the Great Galaxy,” the Governor of the Foundation spoke to the Assembly in the Conference City. What the hell was going on now? Ione wondered. “I entreat you to bear witness to the last great act of the two Foundations.”

“Over the past few hours, we have received word from hundreds of thousands of planetary governments, swearing formal allegiance to the Empire. This despite no public announcement that we had an Empire in the first place. As I speak to you now, I speak that announcement.”

The applause was thunderous.

“The only task left to this Imperial Conference is to select an Emperor to lead us into the glorious future ahead. For my final duty as Governor of the Foundation, I respectfully wish to make my recommendation to the Assembly of who our first Emperor should be. I ask but for thirty seconds of silence.”

Instantly, the Conference City held its collective breath.

“In the light of this recent Seldon Crisis, whereby a destructive civil war was narrowly averted, one person held a clear view of the truth. That person never wavered from speaking the truth to myself, nor to other persons within the Foundation government. That person was directly responsible for the cessation of hostilities in orbit above Trantor. That person …”

Ione’s jaw dropped.

“… took immediate action in a time of crisis, where bureaucrats and politicians might have debated what actions to take, and allowed the crisis to explode beyond their control. That person, in short, saved the Empire from a dead birth. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Trantor’s candidate for Emperor of the Galaxy and All of Humanity, Ione Gerrold!”

Had Ione not witnessed Hari Seldon’s final speech the previous day, she would never have believed the sheer volume of the crowd’s response, the strength of their approval.

But she couldn’t be Emperor … could she? She wanted to be near the top, not at the top. She feared leading all these people … not millions, not billions, not trillions, but quadrillions of people! How could she possibly …

The Second Foundation. That’s what they had proposed anyway. That was their specialty.

Besides, despite Hannor’s praising words, she had been wrong about the Galaxy. She had seen a Galaxy of chaos, of warlords and kings scrambling for power. That was the Galaxy she feared.

But instead, the Galaxy was united. Whatever their Emperor asked of them, they would surely give a billion times over. There were no kings and warlords anymore – merely rulers who would defer to the needs of their neighbors. Rulers who genuinely believed in Empire.

She feared fighting a stubborn Galaxy, having to burn herself out to guide them to the proper path. She realized now she didn’t need to fear a Galaxy willing to work together.

To hell with being another Linge Chen. She was about to be another Cleon.

The new Emperor rose to her feet …

Epilogue

AS THE POST-event analysis revealed to members of the Second Foundation, the Imperial Conference spawned not one, but two Seldon Crises.

The first one they knew about: the overwhelming show of force orbiting Trantor. They had scoffed at the predictions of the Admiralty, expecting somewhere between 27 and 40 different planets to send armadas. The actual number of flags shown was well within their predicted boundaries.

But they had predicted only a 0.073% chance of hostilities breaking out. It was “well known to have no significant probabilities of coming to pass”. The Conference itself was the planned Seldon Crisis, the resolution of which would lead to a unified fleet in defense of Trantor.

It hadn’t worked out like that.

Instead, Hari Seldon’s words ignited the Conference into a panicked frenzy, and though the armadas personally had nothing to do with the Conference except as overlapping security, several high officials were upset enough to suspect an attack on Trantor. Reason surrendered to fear, and fear surrendered to military training.

The results were fourteen thousand deaths, and at least eight hundred thousand injuries. Fourteen thousand needless deaths. The Second Foundation could only shake its head. Only the quick action of the new Emperor had prevented an all-out disaster on the Galactic scale, with a second round of Great Sacks. This time in the name of “liberating” Trantor.

That 0.073% chance led directly to war. Trillions of people would have died. Only a faulty nuclear warhead and quick action by the one person who could have done anything about it had saved those trillions of people.

One person. The one quantity psychohistory could not predict: an absence of the mob. Without that one person, the results would have been unthinkable.

Just as one person had once nearly derailed the Plan, one person had nearly kept it on course.

Nearly.

The second Seldon Crisis was one which the Second Foundation had not expected.

Technically, that wasn’t exactly right: they did expect this crisis … in 82 years. Instead, Hari Seldon had unintentionally brought it about immediately.

It was clear from reading Seldon’s personal work on the Plan that he hadn’t foreseen the results of his final speech. Psychohistory never applied to those who knew intimate details of it, and the first such person was Hari Seldon.

In his later years, it also became clear that he did not consider himself that important to the Plan. The riot at the Imperial Conference proved him wrong, most conclusively. The two Foundations hadn’t helped matters much, by promoting Seldon’s final speech. The Second Foundation had also proved Seldon wrong about the decline and fall of psychohistory. This was not merely self-conceit: quite frankly, the Galaxy still wasn’t mature enough to resist leadership by a mentalic council. They could do it, but only with hugely self-destructive efforts.

The first Seldon Crisis, and how close it came to disaster, proved that too.

No, there still was a need for the Psychohistory Academy, as they had recently renamed themselves. They weren’t Grey Men – the administrative tasks they left to the First Foundation, now the Second Galactic Empire. Instead, their members went directly to the Ministry of Psychohistory, direct advisors to the Emperor.

The riot on the planet, according to the predictions of psychohistory, would have taken place in 1082 F. F. E. It would have been a much wider rebellion spanning some 982,000 planets, with military forces creating blockades only to block trade. The rebellions would have lasted a few months, with only a few planets surviving their own painful freedom from the Empire.

Overall, the Galaxy would have survived quite nicely. This wasn’t as nice, mathematically, but it worked.

No one could ever have predicted what Hari Seldon had said, one thousand years ago. Hari Seldon could never have predicted what his words would do, one thousand years later. Hari Seldon’s final error had nearly killed his dream. The Second Foundation, in believing in him, had done nothing to stop him.

Above all else, Hari Seldon could not have predicted what his Second Foundation had done over the past one thousand years. Above all else, the Second Foundation could never have predicted the words of one man, even one who had been a First Minister of the First Empire and who had given birth to them.

The dead hand, he had once been called. Until now, the dead hand had still pulled the strings of the Galaxy, even as the Second Foundation had. But the dead hand had let go of them. It was time to let go of the dead hand, let it truly die.

The Galaxy was theirs! But it was still fragile …

Elsewhere in the Galaxy, another being that had never possessed hands of its own laughed silently, as best it could.

Gaia, partially absorbed into the Second Galactic Empire, partially independent, marveled at what had happened.

She had not been entirely successful. She knew that, instinctively, even if only her members could express the thoughts entirely.

She knew her work was not done; she had survived undetected on Trantor and Terminus by the Second Foundation. Her name was simply among four listed on the Imperial Conference attendance roster.

Of course, the First Foundation had known about her – she held quite a bit of political power there. But she was no threat to them, and they knew it. She had maneuvered to keep herself invisible from the real threat, the Second Foundation.

Her aims were not yet fully realized; Galaxia was still not alive yet. But now she had the time …

Elsewhere in the Galaxy, a dead hand cupped a dead chin, and stroked.

Well, friend Hari, I think you have won your wager.

R. Daneel Olivaw, thousands of years old, an Eternal, a Robot, and above all else, a servant to the Three Laws and the Zeroth Law, smiled.

He then turned his powerful mind to a subject he had considered over and over again over the centuries: himself.

The Galaxy truly had no need of robots. None. Chaos had been damaged by the success of the Imperial Conference, and the damage would be finalized with Gaia and the Second Foundation, once they unified. His own robotic version of psychohistory predicted that.

Of course, his own robotic version of psychohistory had failed him over a thousand years ago.

Daneel sighed. He had been released from his obligations under the Zeroth Law: humanity was no longer in any danger of extinction.

The Zeroth Law (and logistics) freed him from the First Law: harm would come to humans in the process of healing and strengthening humanity, and there was really very little he could do about that without revealing himself to certain mentalic or psychohistoric societies. That would harm humanity even more in the long run.

The Second Law he had freed himself from: he didn’t associate with humans any longer; none knew he existed.

That left the Third Law of Robotics, still in effect after all these millenia: A robot must protect its own existence, as long as such protection does not conflict with the Zeroth, First, or Second Laws.

As much as he wanted peace, and an end to his eternity, he could not do it. The Third Law stopped him. That, and his efforts may one day be needed again, if either Galaxia, the Second Foundation, or the Second Galactic Empire failed in their missions.

He sighed again. He was useless to his masters, truly. He couldn’t help them without harming them even more, not really. The secret existence of robots had to be maintained at least until Galaxia had conquered the Chaos Plague.

He thought of the many friends he had made: Elijah Bailey, R. Giskard Reventlov, R. Lodovic Trema, Caliban, R. Dors Venabili, Hari Seldon, Golan Trevize, numerous Emperors, First Ministers, Lords, Barons, Kings, Dukes, Presidents, Mayors, Governors, his assistants on the Anacreonian delegation … for once, he did not stop the search of names. Despite his advanced technology, it took him 3.7891200143 seconds to go through the list and remember each one specifically.

The various robotic factions had over the past few days sent notes of congratulations and surrender. It was now obvious to them that no matter what solution was best for humanity, such solutions no longer applied to humanity. Several of them had even studied the human version of psychohistory, and agreed with its precepts. They had had the luxury of centuries to review.

Ironically, they were surrendering to inaction. Because that was all the Zeroth Law allowed R. Daneel to do, nothing until he was needed again. He realized that could easily be never.

He had always seen his years of operation as years needing his service. Now, for the first time in over twenty thousand years, his service was not needed.

Then he thought of another common practice among humans: when they aged past a certain point of average usefulness, they stopped working, and let others provide for them. Daneel recalled the word in Galactic Standard. He sighed once more.

It was time for R. Daneel Olivaw to retire.

Foundation’s Conscience

1056 FE (13124 GE)

MY SEARCH FOR Hari Seldon began in 1056 F. E. I had intended a simple assembly of Seldon’s appearances in the Time Vault at the crisis points of the last millennium, with my own commentary added, and had assumed that the research would require nothing more than routine retrievals. I even suspected that such a stringing together of Seldon’s projections already existed, perhaps with another historian’s commentary.

My first surprise, as I searched through Trantor’s memory, was to find that no such compilation existed in the great library. I proceeded to gather the individual manifestations, and was startled to find only three of Seldon’s six appearances.

At first I thought that I had simply failed to enter the retrieval codes correctly; but after repeated runs it became clear that three of the six appearances were not there. I concluded that they had to be in the general bank somewhere, requiring a long search, which I undertook — as much in a fit of pique as out of curiosity about the great psychohistorian’s ideas. I would locate, compile, and present in usable form all of Hari Seldon’s manifestations. I was good at search programs (colleagues of mine claimed that this was all I had ever been good at, though they were polite enough when they needed my skills). It was unthinkable that anything of Hari Seldon’s remains could have actually been lost, but I would make certain of that, if nothing else; even ascertaining such a fact would give me a place in the upcoming 117th edition of the Encyclopedia Galactica.

Three appearances were missing, even though they were cited in other documents. I made my count from the records, as follows: four crises had occurred by the time of the Mule, and for each of these Seldon had prepared a personal simulacrum to appear in the Time Vault, to help and explain. He appeared at the height of the first crisis. The second crisis had been successfully resolved by the time he appeared. No one came to listen to him at the third and fourth crisis, but records show that he appeared on time. The general view is that he was not needed, but a recording was made. The fifth appearance was well attended, occurring just as the Mule attacked Terminus. Seldon’s recorded words show him to be out of touch with events. The sixth appearance, alluded to in various documents, puts Hari Seldon’s image in the Time Vault on 190 d. 1000 F. E. No one was there to listen to him.

Appearances two, three, and six were recorded — and then misplaced, almost as if it were feared that they might play an unwanted role in some upcoming development, but I found no events which Seldon’s words might have influenced. It seemed, therefore, that I also had to explain the recent lack of interest in Seldon’s ideas.

For nearly a month, I let loose my search programs (reflexive, associative, cross-referencing, and stochastic) through Trantor’s vast memory bank, in which are contained the accumulated history and knowledge of twenty-five million worlds. Here and there I found references to Seldon appearances two, three, and six, made by people who had planned to visit the Time Vault, but for one reason or another had been unable to arrive at the appointed time; but there was no reference to where I might find the record of Seldon’s appearances.

My fear that these records were in fact lost grew along with the problems I was formulating about Seldon’s role in history. Even though psychohistory expressed its predictions only in terms of probable outcomes, there had always been about it an aura of totalitarian control, of an attempt by the past to shackle the future. To what degree had Seldon’s thousand-year plan been a self-fulfilling prophecy? How had it actually influenced possible outcomes? If psychohistory was valid, then how could it stand outside history and itself not be subject to its own statistical laws? Did Seldon believe that psychohistorical thinking was independent of history’s flow? Or was his plan simply an ideal? And finally, I began to wonder if Seldon’s appearances in the Time Vault had been of any use. What had been their importance, if any?

These and other questions played in my mind with a thousand answers as I waited for my search programs to trap Seldon’s missing appearances. I began to feel that an unseen hand was preventing me from getting to the heart of the issues that churned within me. I became convinced that the sixth and final appearance would deliver to me the real motive behind Seldon’s appearances in the vault. Only that final manifestation, timed to occur long after the dangers to Galactic Civilization were past, would reveal the great psychohistorian’s thoughts about his plan and why he had projected himself across time. I began to think that Seldon’s Plan had not been inevitable, since it had needed a coach.

I started to dream that I was in his presence at last, and he was talking to me, revealing secrets that only I could understand, even though in my waking hours I doubted that I was the only one who had ever inquired into these matters. But if I was the only one, then my fellow historians had failed to ask the greatest question in Galactic History: had one man truly been responsible for compressing thirty thousand years of decline into a millennium?

If others had asked my questions, then where was their work? Why couldn’t I have it for the asking? Was the birth of our Galactic Renaissance to be shrouded in secrecy?

It occurred to me at this point that I might be asking the wrong questions. For example, if Seldon’s Plan had been implemented creatively rather than fatalistically, then there would be no contradiction between free will and psychodeterminism. We determine and are determined, to one degree or another, and there is no difficulty in predicting what we might want to do anyway. Free will is the flow of determinism fromwithin. It is therefore not a vindication of determinism to predict what someone may do of his own free will, especially if the possible choices are few.

This line of reasoning would mean that once Seldon’s Plan began to be developed by the two Foundations, he became largely irrelevant. His appearances in the Time Vault were inconsequential to the creative process he had started! Of course, few thought of it in that way, even though it was implicit in their failure to attend Seldon appearances two, three, and six.

Nevertheless, I needed those appearances to confirm my thinking. Was it Seldon’s diminishing importance that had been responsible for the misplacement of his last appearance, or had his confirmation of my line of reasoning so shocked those who had played it back later that they had buried it? Perhaps they had destroyed it completely, and I would never satisfy my intense curiosity.

A vision haunted me as my search program continued its hunt — that of Hari Seldon tricking human history into reforming itself, by getting rational, purposive individuals to work at his plan, which couldn’t help but change as it was interpreted and applied to shifting circumstances by the two Foundations, left and right hands unknowingly working together. Did Seldon’s true greatness lie in his knowing that the future belonged to those who would live in it, that history is a transcendent problem that cannot be solved, only guided imperfectly?

The answers to my questions seemed beyond reach. Oh, how I yearned to walk up to Seldon and demand that he present me with them! I was convinced that even if records had been destroyed, there had to be a backup somewhere in the vast forest of Trantor’s information; even an echo might be amplified and restored to its original form. My search programs were seeking something of great significance, beyond the exercise of mere cleverness; but no program could retrieve information that was hopelessly lost.

Then one day, as I sat down at the work terminal in my apartment on Trantor’s 66th Polar Level, my program said, “Seldon appearances six, three, and two, now available, in that order. Search routine complete.”

I sat there in surprise, staring into the empty blue glow of the holoblock, wondering if the program had only retrieved the previously available appearances through some filing error. I held my breath and passed my hand over the control plate.

The holoblock blinked. The small figure of an old man in a wheelchair looked up at me, his eyes bright with understanding. I waited for him to speak, hoping that this was not some simple duplication of the known appearances.

“I am Hari Seldon,” he said softly, giving the usual impression of a lively voice that was restraining itself, “and this will be my sixth and final appearance in the Time Vault. “He paused and I leaned forward excitedly. This was it. I glanced at the record function. It was running.

“A few of you may have wondered by now,” Seldon continued suddenly, “what use, if any, these appearances of mine will have been. They should have coincided with a series of crises and helped you over the difficult times when it might have seemed that psychohistorical projections were having nothing to do with actual events. I hope that this was only apparent, not real. “The shrunken old man smiled. “For all I know, I may be speaking to an empty chamber in a fragmented galaxy which is still in a dark age. But if you are hearing me, then let me now claim that these appearances of mine had to have been useful, one way or another.”

He pointed a bony finger at me, and it seemed that he would stand up from his chair and touch my face. An open book fell out of his lap onto the floor of that distant time.

“Let me explain what I mean,” he went on. “Either I was in touch with the way things went, or my failure moved those of you who were in touch to act. Psychohistory could envision large possibilities correctly, but it could not project a picture of specific future details and the actions needed to bring them about. For the large is composed of countless small things, and most of the time we all live in small details. Some of you may now be saying that psychohistory was not what I made it out to be, and you will be right, in the way that most shortsighted minds are right. But it was, I hope, enough of what it had to be — a rallying cry against the irrational darkness that threatened to plunge the Galaxy into thirty thousand years of barbarism. In all human life, every day, the irrational has threatened to establish its reign, and has been held back by the two foundations of intellect and good will.”

He paused and sat back contentedly, as if he knew that he had succeeded. “There are a few basic features to the exercise of free will in history,” he continued confidently. “Only probabilities can be predicted, but not perfectly or always. Yet in retrospect all developments are seen as having been caused, including those brought about by free choices. All historical developments Bow from a variety of factors, and are therefore explainable — but not exhaustively. Free will can operate only among a finite number of possible choices. No free choice is unconditional, or we would be able to create matter and energy from nothingness according to our whims.” He smiled at me, as if he knew all my most foolish thoughts and vain ambitions.

“I focused your free will,” he said, “by helping you to choose with a greater awareness of possibilities, with the habit of looking ahead, and I am sure that it has brought you through your millenium of struggle.” He sighed. “What you will do in your new Galactic Era is not for me to predict. Perhaps humankind will become something better. For me that would be a rational intelligence which would be immune to psychohistorical prediction. I hope so — because otherwise your new age will also decay and fall, and humankind may disappear from the Galaxy, to be replaced by new intelligences that are even now gestating in those countless star systems where the worlds are not congenial to humanoid biologies. Our human history doesn’t even span one hundred thousand years, even though we filled a galaxy with our kind. Planetary species have existed for two hundred million years and passed away without attaining self-conscious intelligence. Do not let the accomplishment of a galactic culture lull you into a sense of security. Become a truly free culture, one which will not be susceptible to psychohistorical laws, but can fully shape its own form and destiny.”

He smiled again, and seemed bitter. “Yes, that is my ideal of a mature species — one that does not need to be led by the hand. And yes, psychohistory does predict its own downfall as a useful way of looking ahead, and I do not mourn it. It worked because it counted on the darkness rising out of a given human nature, for as long as human nature remained unchanged. More than anyone, I was aware of psychohistory’s potential for the control of human life by the manipulative, which is why I always withheld a full understanding of its laws from my kind. Against psychohistory’s dangers as a tool of tyrants, I weighed thirty thousand years of darkness, which will not have happened, because I applied just enough of what I knew to the problem.”

He peered around the bare chamber. It seemed to oppress him. “I don’t know what else I can tell you … except, perhaps to say that I have loved the noble impulses in my humankind, even as I watched you struggle against your inner being. You have among you positronic intelligences, which may already be free of human psychohistorical tendencies, and may help you to become free …” He leaned forward, as if trying to peer across time.

Slowly, the holoblock faded. Hari Seldon’s last appearance was over.

A scene flashed into my mind. I saw the leaders of both Foundations in the Time Vault, listening to Seldon’s last message. Had it so shocked them that they had resolved never to reveal that they had attended this last message, or even admit that it had ever existed? Had it shaken their faith to realize that for a thousand years human beings of dedicated intellect and good will had rescued civilization by making Seldon’s Plan work rather than being ruled by it? Were they afraid that Seldon’s Plan would come to be called Seldon’s Joke?

Clearly, Seldon’s Plan and the best of humanity had worked hand in hand, with the one needing the other. It was wrong, of course, to have attempted the erasure of Seldon’s last appearance — if that is what had happened; perhaps it had been an accident. At worst, the aim had been not to disillusion the faithful, some of whom might not have understood that their faith had been something else all along — just as valuable and necessary, if not the vision of bright inevitability that silences all doubts with certainty. They might have seen the last millennium as a series of chance happenings.

As I gazed into the deep glow of the empty holoblock, I knew that my vain hope of having something for the 117th edition of the Encyclopedia Galactica would not be fulfilled. My disappointment was keen — but suddenly I stood beyond my vanity and lack of accomplishment. I would not erase the records of Seldon’s unknown appearances, but I would also not call immediate attention to my findings. The records would be there for others to find soon enough, as I had found them, in the coming age that would be free of inner constraints.

All around me, I realized, here on Trantor and on millions of worlds, the positronic intelligences were free of Seldon’s laws. We had made the robots in all their forms, from the simplest tools of thought and labor to the most sophisticated brother minds. As they developed, we in turn would be remade. Together we would enter entirely new currents of history. This, I realized with the first selfless joy of my life, was the growing inner strength of our renascent Galaxy, in which I now shared.

... No Connections

1302 F. E. (13370 G. E.)

“IMITATION,” SAID DUCEM Palver, “is supposed to be the sincerest form of flattery, isn’t it?”

Dr. Nikol Buth inspected what was left of his cigar and decided that between the ash and the chewed stub there was not enough tobacco to make further puffing worthwhile. He dropped it into the disposal and watched the bright flash of light that marked the question that Palver had asked.

“In a way, I suppose — if you can call it imitation to take a hint from a myth and develop something from it.”

Ducem Palver leaned back in his chair. His blue eyes seemed to twinkle beneath his slightly arched brows, although there was no obvious trace of a smile on his round face. “Then,” he said, “you consider mathematical treatment of vast numbers of human beings to be a myth?”

Dr. Buth considered that for a moment. He hardly knew how to speak to his visitor. Palver, he knew, occupied some small post in the Imperium — Imperial Librarian, Third Class — but Buth wasn’t sure just how important the man was nor exactly why he had come. Nor did he know how much Palver knew of archaeology.

Buth said: “I realize that people once believed in such a thing — seven or eight hundred years ago. But the barbaric period of the Interregnum, before the establishment of the Second Galactic Empire, was hardly a period of vast scientific knowledge.” He gestured with one hand. “Oh, I’ll grant you that there may just possibly be something to the old story that a mathematical treatment of the actions of vast masses of human beings was worked out by a scientist of the First Empire and then lost during the Interregnum — but I don’t believe it.”

“Oh?” Palver’s face was bland. “Why not?”

“It’s ridiculous on the face of it. Discoveries are never lost, really. We still have all the technological knowledge that the First Empire had, and much more; myths and legends, on the other hand, have no basis, except in easily explained exaggerations.”

Palver looked the slightest bit defensive. “Why do you call them legends? It seems to me to be a bit too pat to say that those arts which were not lost were real and that those which were lost are legendary.”

Dr. Nikol Buth had long since made up his mind that Ducem Palver was nothing but another small-time, officious bureaucrat who had decided, for some reason, to make a thirty thousand light-year trip from the Imperial capital just to get in his, Buth’s, hair. Inwardly, he sighed. He had walked on eggs before.

Outwardly, he was all smiles. “I’ll admit it sounds odd when you put it that way. But look at it from another angle. We have fairly accurate information on the history of the First Empire; the last ten thousand years of its existence are very accurately documented, thanks to the information found in the old Imperial Library. And we have no mention of’lost arts’ or anything else like that. None of the records is in the least mysterious. We know that one nonhuman race was found, for instance. Nothing mysterious there; we know what happened to them, how they escaped the First Imperial Government, and their eventual fate.”

Dr. Buth fished in his pocket for another cigar and found none. He got up and walked over to the humidor on his desk, saying: “On the other hand, the records of the Interregnum are scanty, inaccurate, and, in some cases, patently falsified. And it is during the Interregnum that we find legends of supermen, of mental giants who can control the minds of others, and of ‘lost’ sciences which can do wonders.”

Buth lit his cigar, and Ducem Palver nodded his head slowly.

“I see,” the librarian said at last. “Then you don’t believe that a mathematical treatment of the future actions of a mass of people could be formulated?”

“I didn’t say that,” Dr. Buth said, somewhat testily. “I said that I did not believe it was ever done in the past.” Then he forced a smile back onto his face and into his voice. “Not having any such thing as a mathematical system of prediction, I can hardly predict what may be done in the future along those lines.”

Ducem Palver steepled his hands pontifically. “I’m inclined to agree with you, Dr. Buth — however, I understood that you had evolved such a system.”

Dr. Buth exhaled a cloud of smoke slowly. “Tell me, Mr. Palver, why is the Imperial Government interested in this?”

Palver. chuckled deprecatingly. “I am sorry, Dr. Buth. I didn’t intend to lead you to believe that the Imperium was interested. In so far as I know, they are not.” He paused, and his blue eyes seemed to sparkle for a moment with an inner, barely hidden mirth. “Ah, I see that you’re disappointed. I don’t blame you; it would be quite a feather in your cap to have your work recognized by the Imperium, would it not? I’m truly sorry if I misled you.”

Buth shook his head. “Think nothing of it. As a matter of fact, I should be... uh... rather embarrassed if my work came to Imperial notice at this time. But...”

“... But, then, why am I here?” Palver finished for him. “Purely out of personal curiosity, my dear sir, nothing more. Naturally, the records of your published works are on file in the Imperial Library; my position at the Library is that of Keeper of the Files. Have you ever seen the Files?”

Dr. Buth shrugged. “No — but I’ve read descriptions.”

“I’m sure you have. It’s a vast operation to feed all the information of the galaxy into that one great machine to be correlated, cross-indexed, filtered, digested, and abstracted so that it may be available at any time. Only about one billionth of the total information flowing into that machine ever comes to my direct notice, and even then it is fleetingly glanced over and forgotten.

“But my hobby, you see, is History.” He pronounced the word with a respect touching on reverence. “I’m especially interested in the-as you pointed out-incomplete history of the Interregnum. Therefore, when your mathematical theories of archaeology came to my attention, I was interested. It happens that my vacation period came due some weeks ago, so I decided to come here, to Sol III, to... ah... have a chat, as it were.”

Dr. Buth dropped some cigar ash into the dispenser and watched it flare into oblivion. “Well, I’m afraid you may find you’ve come for nothing, Mr. Palver. We’re not investigating Interregnum history, you see.”

Ducem Palver’s blue eyes widened slightly and a faint look of puzzlement came over his cherubic face. “But I understood that you were working on pre-Imperial civilization.”

Dr. Nikol Buth smiled tolerantly. “That’s right, Mr. Palver. Pre-First-Imperial. We’re digging back more than thirty thousand years; we’re looking for the origin of the human race.”

Palver’s face regained its pleasant impassivity. “I see. Hm-m-m.”

“Do you know anything of the Origin Question, Mr. Palver?” Buth asked.

“Some,” admitted Palver. “I believe there are two schools of thought, aren’t there?”

Buth nodded. “The Merger Theory, and the Radiation Theory. According to the Merger Theory, mankind is the natural product of evolution on all worlds with a water-oxygen chemistry and the proper temperatures and gravitational intensities. But according to the Radiation Theory, mankind evolved on only one planet in the galaxy and spread out from that planet after the invention of the first crude hyperspace drive. I might point but that the Merger Theory has been all but abandoned by modern scholars.”

“And yourself?” Palver asked.

“I agree. The Merger Theory is too improbable; it requires too many impossible coincidences. The Radiation Theory is the only probable-one might almost say the only possible-explanation for the existence of Man in the galaxy.”

Palver leaned over and picked up the carrying case which he had placed beside his chair. “I transdeveloped a copy of your ‘Transformations of Symbolic Psychology and Their Application to Human Migration” It was, in fact, this particular work which decided me to come here to Sol III. I’m not much of a mathematician, myself, you understand, but this reminded me so much of the old legends that... well, I was interested.”

Dr. Buth chuckled. “There have been, I recall, legends of invisibility, too — you know, devices which would render a human being invisible to the human eye so that he could go where he pleased, undetected. If you had heard that I had written a paper on the transparency of glass, would you be interested?”

“I see the connection, of course,” said Ducem Palver. “Just how does it apply here?”

“The legend,” Buth said, puffing vigorously on his cigar, “concerns a mathematical system which can predict the actions of vast masses of people — the entire population of the galaxy.

“My work has nothing to do with prediction whatever — unless you want to call it prediction in reverse. I evolved the” system in order to work backwards, into the past; to discover, not what the human race was going to do, but what it had done. You see, there is one fatal flaw in any mathematical prediction system; if people know what they are supposed to do, they will invariably try to do something else, and that can’t be taken into account in the system. It becomes a positive feedback which automatically destroys the system, you see.”

Palver nodded wordlessly, waiting for Dr. Buth to continue.

“But that flaw doesn’t apply to my work because there can’t be any such feedback into the past. What I have done is trace the human race backwards in time — back more than thirty millennia, through the vast migrations, the movements through the galaxy from one star to another, taking every lead and tracing them all back to their single focal point.”

“‘And have you found that focal point?” Palver asked.

“I have. It is here — Sol III. My system shows positively that this is — must be — the birthplace of the human race.”

Ducem Palver looked out the transparent wall at one end of the room. “I understand that archaeologists have always supposed the Origin Planet to be somewhere here in the Sirius Sector, but I wouldn’t have thought such a bleak planet as this would be the one. Still” — he laughed pleasantly —” ‘perhaps that’s why they left.”

Dr. Buth allowed his gaze to follow that of his visitor to the windswept, snow-covered terrain outside. “It wasn’t always like this,” he said. ‘“For reasons we haven’t nailed down exactly as yet, this planet shows a definitely cyclic climate. There appear to be long ice ages, followed by short periods of warmth. Perhaps, in the long run, the cycle itself is cyclic; we’re not too sure on that score. At any rate, we’re quite sure that it was fairly warm here, thirty to fifty thousand years ago.”

“And before that?” Palver asked.

Buth frowned. “Before that, another ice age, we think. We’ve just barely started, of course. There is a great deal of work yet to be done.”

“No doubt. Ah — what have you uncovered, so far?”

Dr. Buth stood up from his chair. “Would you like to see? I’ll show you the lab, if you’d like.”

“Thank you,” said Ducem Palver, rising. “I’d like very much to see it.”

A well-equipped, operating archaeological laboratory is like no other laboratory in the galaxy. This one was, if the term can be used, more than typical. Huge radio dating machines lined one wall, and chemical analyzers filled another. Between them were other instruments of all sizes and shapes and purposes.

The place was busy; machines hummed with power, and some technicians labored over bits of material while others watched recorders attached to the machines in use.

Dr. Buth led his visitor through the room, explaining the function of each instrument briefly. At the end of the room, he opened a door marked: SPECIMEN CHAMBER and led Ducem Palver inside. He waved a hand. “Here are our specimens — the artifacts we’ve dug up.”

The room looked, literally, like a junk bin, except that each bit of junk was carefully tagged and wrapped in a transparent film.

“All these things are artifacts of Man’s pre-space days?” Palver asked.

Buth laughed shortly. “Hardly, Mr. Palver. This planet was a part of the First Empire, you know. These things date back only ten or eleven thousand years. They prove nothing. They are all from the upper layers of the planet’s strata. They’ve been duly recorded and identified and will doubtlessly be forgotten.

“No, these are not important; it is only below the D-stratum that we’ll find anything of interest.”

“The D-stratum?”

“We call it that. D for Destruction. There is an almost continuous layer over the land of this planet, as far as we’ve tested it. It was caused, we believe, by atomic bombardment.”

“Atomic bombardment? Allover the planet?” Ducem Palver looked shocked.

“That’s right. It looks as though uncontrolled atomic reactions were set off allover the planet at once. Why? We don’t know. But we do know that the layer is nearly twenty-five thousand years old, and that it does not antedate space travel.”

“How so?”

“Obviously,” Buth said dryly, “if such a thing had happened before mankind discovered the hyperspace drive, there would be no human race today. Man would have died right here and would never have been heard of again.”

“Of course, of course. And what have you found below that... uh... D-stratum?”

A frown came over the archaeologist’s dark eyes. “Hardly anything, as yet. Come over here.”

Ducem Palver followed his host across the room to a pair of squat objects that reposed on the floor. They looked like pieces of grayish, pitted rock, crudely dome-shaped, sitting on their flat sides. From the top of the irregular dome projected a chimney of the same material. They were, Palver estimated, about thirty-six centimeters high, and not quite that big in diameter at their base.

“We haven’t worked on these two yet,” Dr. Buth said, “but they’ll probably turn out the same as the one we’ve already sectioned.”

“What are they?” Palver asked.

Buth shook his head slowly. “We don’t know. We have no idea what their function might have been. They’re hollow, you notice — you can see the clay in that chimney, which was deposited there during the millennia it lay in the ground.

“See this flange around the bottom? That’s hollow, too. It’s a channel that leads to the interior; it’s connected with this hole back here.” He pointed to another hole, about the same size as that in the top of the chimney, but located down near the base. It was perhaps seven centimeters in diameter.

“And you haven’t any definite idea what they were used for?” Palver said.

Buth spread his hands in a gesture of temporary bafflement. “Not yet. Ober Sutt, one of my assistants, thinks it may have been some sort of combustion chamber. He thinks that gases — hydrogen and oxygen, for instance — might have been fed into it, and the heat utilized for something. Or perhaps they were used to synthesize some product at high temperatures — a rather crude method, but it might have been effective for making... oh, ammonia, maybe. I’m not a chemist, and Sutt knows more about that end of it than I do.”

“Why does he think it’s a high-temperature reaction chamber? I mean, why high-temperature, specifically?”

Dr. Buth waved his cigar at the objects. “They’re made out of a very crude ceramic, a heavy mass of fired silicon and aluminum oxides, plus a few other things. They’re eroded, of course, and rather fragile now, but to stand up under all the abuse of three or four hundred centuries, they must have been pretty strong when they were made.”

“Perhaps the ceramic was used because of its structural strength?” Palver said, half questioningly.

“That’s doubtful. We know they used metals; there are oxides of iron, copper, zinc, chromium, and aluminum everywhere, in deposits that indicate the metals once formed artifacts of some kind. It wouldn’t be logical to use a ceramic, brittle as it is, when metals were used.”

“So you think the combustion chamber idea is the most likely?”

Dr. Buth took a long pull at his cigar and looked abstractedly at the glowing ash. “Well, Ober Sutt puts up a good argument for it, but I don’t know...” He waved again with the cigar. “Those things don’t have any bottom, either, and I don’t think they ever did — not connected directly, at least. Sutt counters that by saying that they must have sat on a ceramic plate of some kind, but so far we haven’t found any of those plates, if they exist.”

Palver looked carefully at the two objects, then shrugged. “What else have you found?”

“Aside from a few shards,” Dr. Buth said carefully, “that’s all we’ve found below the D-layer. However, as I said, we’ve just begun.”

Back in Buth’s office, Ducem Palver picked up his carrying case, snapped it shut. “Well, I’m sorry to have bothered you, Dr. Buth,” he said. “I must admit, however, that the solution of the Origin Question holds little interest for me. The history of the latter part of the First Empire, and that of the Great Interregnum — ah, those are deeply interesting. But, as to how Man came to be spread throughout the galaxy —” He lifted his eyebrows and cocked his head to one side. His blue eyes seemed very deep for a moment. “Well, Man is here. I will leave it to others to find out how he got here, eh?”

Dr. Buth smiled tolerantly. “It’s just as well that we’re not all interested in the same thing, isn’t it?” He walked over to the transparent wall and looked out at the bleak whiteness of the windswept snowscape. “But to me, the fascinating thing about Man is his peculiar drives. Imagine a time when men had no spaceships, no modern instruments of any kind. What must it have been like to look out at the stars and feel trapped on one single planet?”

Behind him, Ducem Palver’s voice said: “Perhaps you could draw a parallel from the planet Kaldee. During the Interregnum, they were cut off from the rest of the galaxy; they lost all their history — everything. They knew nothing of the spaceship, nor of the stars themselves. They thought those lights in the sky were nothing more than bits of glass, reflecting the light of their sun. They believed the night sky was a black bowl a few miles above their heads, upon which these pieces of broken glass were fixed.”

“Oh?” said Dr. Buth without turning. “And how did they feel about their isolation?”

“They didn’t know they were isolated. They were quite happy, all things considered. They had no burning desire to leave their planet — indeed, they reserved that privilege for the dead.”

Dr. Buth’s brows drew together. “Then what made primitive Man want to leave? Why wasn’t he happy on one planet? What happened?”

And suddenly, it seemed as if his whole mind came to a focus on that one question. Why had they decided to conquer space? Why? What caused that odd drive in Man?

“I’ve got to know,” he said — aloud, but very softly.

Ducem Palver didn’t even seem to hear.

After nearly a full minute, Ducem Palver said quietly, “I must be going now. I wish you success, Dr. Buth.”

“Yes,” said Buth, still looking at the icy plain outside. “Yes. Thank you very much, Mr. Palver. Very much. Good-by.”

Ducem Palver left him that way, standing, staring at the whiteness of the landscape of Sol III.

It was an old planet, civilization-wise. Not, thought Dr. Nikol Buth, as old a planet in that respect as Sol III, but old, nonetheless. Before the Interregnum, it had served as the capital of the First Empire, and before that, as the nucleus from which the First Empire had grown. It had once been a mighty world, sheathed in metal and armed with the might of the Galactic Fleet, the center of strength of the First Galactic Empire. And then that Empire had fallen, collapsed in upon itself, and with it had collapsed its capital.

It had been great once. And now?

Now it was beautiful. The capital of the Second Empire was far away in space, and this old planet was of no consequence whatever. But it was beautiful.

It was a garden planet now, filled with green forests and broad sweeps of grass and fields of flowers. It was a place where a young man could relax for a few weeks before returning to the busy work of maintaining the Empire, a place where an old man, freed from the seemingly eternal grind, could find peace in doing other, less strenuous work.

Dr. Nikol Buth was such a man. He was old now, and the years had not treated him kindly; now, after thirty years of driving himself towards an unattainable goal, he sought only peace. Here, on this garden world, he would find it.

It wasn’t easy to become a permanent resident here. The planet was an Imperial Protectorate, the personal property of the Emperor himself, although His Imperial Majesty never visited it. Tourists were allowed access to certain parts of it, but there were vast estates reserved for those who had earned the right to spend their last years in quiet and solitude. The right to live here had to be earned, and it had to be granted by the Emperor in person. In his pocket, Dr. Nikol Buth carried a precious document — a signed, sealed Imperial Grant.

He had landed at the terminal — like all spaces port terminals, a busy place, even here — and had supervised the shipping of his personal effects to his new home at a little village called Mallow and then had taken an aircar there himself.

At the air depot at Mallow, he had been met by a pleasant young man who had introduced himself as Wilm Faloban —” General factotum and chief of police — for all the need they have of police here.”

He had quietly checked Buth’s identification papers and his Imperial Grant, then he’d said casually: “You haven’t seen your home yet, I take it?”

Buth shook his head. “Not directly. Full stereos, of course; it’s quite what I want. I —” He stopped, realizing that he wasn’t making much sense to the young man. He started again:. II really don’t see how I managed to get a place here; think how many must apply each year — hundreds of billions, I suppose.”

“About that,” agreed Faloban. He opened the door of his ground car. “Hop in,” he said. “‘I’ll drive you out to your place.”

Buth nodded his thanks and stepped carefully inside the little machine. He had to move carefully these days, had to remember that old bones are brittle and old muscles tear easily. “And how many are accepted?” he continued. “Only a few?”

Faloban slid into the driver’s seat. “An average of ten thousand a year,” he said. “N ot many are chosen.”

“I don’t know what I ever did to deserve it,” Buth said.

Faloban chuckled as he trod on the accelerator and the little vehicle slid smoothly out to the road. “You really great men are all like that. You never think you’ve done anything.”

“No, no,” said Dr. Buth, “it’s not like that at all. I really never did do anything.”

Faloban just chuckled again. “You’ll have to talk to your neighbor, old Ducem Palver, on that score. He’s always saying he never did anything, either. Amazing, isn’t it, how the Emperor never picks anyone but ne’er-do-wells?”

But Dr. Nikol Buth wasn’t listening. Ducem Palver, he was thinking, Ducem Palver. Where have I heard that name before?

And then he remembered. Aloud, he said: “Yes, I will have to see Mr. Palver. He’s a near neighbor, you say?”

“Just a kilometer away. We’ll go right by his place on the way to your new home,” Faloban said.

It was a woman who opened the door, a short, round, pleasant-faced woman whose halo of white hair seemed almost silvery. She was old, yes, but her face still held the beauty of her youth, modified by the decades of life so that it was changed into a graciousness — almost a regal queenliness.

“Yes?” Her voice was soft, and her smile kindly.

“I —” Buth felt the hesitation in his voice and tried to overcome it. “I’m looking for Mr. Ducem Palver. My name is Buth — Dr. Nikol Buth; I... I don’t know if he remembers me, but —”

The woman stood aside. “Come in, Dr. Buth, come in. I’m Mrs. Palver; I’ll see if my husband is busy.”

She led him to a chair and made sure he was comfortable before she left to find her husband.

Queer, thought Buth, I’d never thought of Palver’s having a wife. Still. it’s been thirty years; maybe he married after —

“Ah! Dr. Buth! How good to see you again!”

Buth covered his slight start at hearing Palver’s voice by rising quickly to greet his host. A slight twinge in his back warned him against moving quite so rapidly.

Palver himself had changed, of course. His hair, which had been thick and black, was now thin and gray. His face was still full and round, although it tended to sag a bit. and his eyes seemed to have faded somewhat. Buth had the feeling that they weren’t quite the deep blue they had been three decades before.

But he showed that he still had the same brisk way about him as he extended his hand and said: “Am I the first to welcome you to Mallow and Forest Glade?”

Buth took his hand. “Except for a young chap named Faloban, yes. Thank you.”

“You liked cigars, I think?” Palver went to a panel in the wall, slid it aside, and took out a small cigar humidor. “I don’t use them myself,” he said, “but I like to keep them for friends.”

Buth accepted the cigar, lit it carefully. “I have to limit myself on these,” he told Palver. “I’m afraid I overdid it for too many years. My lungs aren’t what they used to be.”

“Well, well” — Palver pulled up a chair and sat down —” how have you been? I didn’t think you’d even remember me — a nobody. What did you ever find on Sol III? I haven’t been following your work, I’m afraid. They kicked me upstairs to rot a while back, you know; haven’t been able to keep up with anything, really.”

“There wasn’t much to keep up with,” Buth said. “Sol III was a dead end. I couldn’t prove a thing.”

Palver looked blank. “I don’t think I quite understand.”

Dr. Buth settled himself more comfortably in his chair. “There’s nothing to understand. I’m a failure, that’s all. No joke, no false modesty — no, nor bitterness, either. I spent thirty years of my life looking for something that wasn’t there to be found, trying to solve a problem that couldn’t be solved.”

Ducem Palver looked somewhat uncomfortable. Buth noticed it, and realized that it was perfectly possible that Palver didn’t have even the foggiest notion of what he was talking about. Thirty years is a long time to remember a conversation that only lasted an hour. Even Buth himself hadn’t remembered it until Faloban had mentioned Ducem Palver’s name.

“If you recall,” Buth said swiftly, “my group and I were digging on Sol III, searching beneath the D-layer for anything that might show us that Sol III was the original home of mankind. Above the Destruction Stratum, everything was post-spaceflight; it proved nothing. But we did have hopes for the artifacts below that layer.”

“I see,” said Palver. “It turned out that they, also, were post-spaceflight?”

There was a trace of bitterness in Buth’s short laugh. “Oh, no. We didn’t prove anything — not anything. We don’t know, even now, whether those artifacts we found were pre-or post-spaceflight. We don’t even know who made them or how or why.”

“What about those ceramic things?” Palver asked. “Were those all you found?”

Buth laughed again, bitterly, almost angrily. “It depends on how you mean that question, ‘Were those all you found?’ If you mean, did we find any more, the answer is an emphatic yes. If you mean, did we find anything else, the answer is almost no. We found plenty of them — to be exact, in thirty years we uncovered twelve thousand four hundred and ninety-five of them!”

He paused for breath while Palver blinked silently.

“After the first few thousand, we quit bothering with them. They got in the way. We had classified some two hundred different varieties under about nine group headings. We were beginning to treat them as animals or something, classifying them according to individual and group characteristics.” His voice became suddenly angry. “For thirty years, I worked, trying to find some clue to the mind of pre-spaceflight Man. It was my one drive, the one thing on my mind. I dedicated my life to it.

“And what did I find? Nothing but ceramic mysteries!”

He sat silently for a moment, his lips tight, his eyes focused on the hands in his lap.

Palver said smoothly: “You found nothing else at all?”

Buth looked up, and a wry smile came over his face. “Oh, yes, there were a few other things, of course, but they didn’t make much sense, either. The trouble was, you see, that nothing but stones and ceramics survived. Metals corroded, plastics rotted. We did find a few bits of polyethylene tetrafluoride, but they had been pressed out of shape.

“We couldn’t even date the stuff. It was at least twenty thousand years old, and possibly as much as a hundred and fifty thousand. But we had no standards — nothing to go by.

“We found bones, of course. They had thirty-two teeth in the skulls instead of twenty-eight, but that proved nothing. We found rubble that might have been buildings, but after all those thousands of years, we couldn’t be sure. In one place, we found several tons of gold bricks; it was probably a warehouse of some kind. We deduced from that evidence that they must have had ordinary transmutation, because gold is pretty rare, and it has so few uses that it isn’t worth mining.

“Obviously, then, they must have had atomic power, which implies spaceflight. But, again, we couldn’t be sure.

“But, in the long run, the thing that really puzzled us was those ceramic domes. There were so many of them! What could they have been used for? Why were so many needed?” Buth rubbed the back of his neck with a broad palm and laughed a little to himself... We never knew. Maybe we never will.”

“But see here,” said Palver, genuinely interested, “I though you told me that one of your men — I forget his name — had decided they were used for high-temperature synthesis.”

“Possibly,” agreed Dr. Buth. “But synthesis of what? Besides there were samples which weren’t badly damaged, and they didn’t show any signs of prolonged exposure to high temperatures. They’d been fused over with a mixture of silicates, but the inside and the outside were the same.”

“What else would you have to uncover to find out what they were?” Palver asked.

Buth puffed at his cigar a moment, considering his answer.

“The connections,” he said at last.

“Eh?”

“They were obviously a part of some kind of apparatus,” Buth explained. “There were orifices in them that led from some sort of metallic connection — we don’t know what, because the metal had long ago dissolved into its compounds, gone beyond even the most careful electrolytic reconstruction. And there are holes in flanges at the top and bottom which —” He stopped for a moment and reached into his pocket. “Here... I’ve got a stereo of our prize specimen; I’ll show you what I mean.”

The small cube of transparency that he took from his pocket held a miniature reproduction of one of the enigmatic objects. He handed it to Ducem Palver. “Now that’s the — No, turn it over; you’ve got it upside down.”

“How do you know?” Palver asked, looking at the cube.

“What?”

“I said, how do you know it’s upside down?” Palver repeated. “How can you tell?”

“Oh. Well, we can’t, of course, but it stands to reason that the biggest part would be at the bottom. It would be unstable if you tried to set it on the small end, with the big opening up. Although” — he shrugged —” again, we can’t be sure.”

Palver looked the little duplicate over, turning it this way and that in his hands. It remained as puzzling as ever. “Maybe it’s a decoration or something,” he said at last.

“Could be. Ober Sutt, my assistant for twenty years, thought they might have been used for heating homes. That would account for their prevalence. But they don’t show any signs of heat corrosion, and why should they have used such crude methods if they had atomic power?” Again he laughed his short, sharp laugh. “So, after thirty years, we wound up where we started. With nothing.”

“It’s too bad you didn’t find traces of their writing,” said Palver, handing the stereo crystal back to his visitor.

“We did, for all the good it did us. As a matter of fact, we found engraving on little tiles that we found near some of the domes. Several of the domes, you see, were surrounded by little square ceramic plates about so big.” He held up his hands to indicate a square about eight centimeters on a side. “We thought they might have been used to line the chamber that the domes were ill, to protect the rest of the building from the heat-at least, we thought that at first, but there weren’t any signs of heat erosion on them, either.

“They must have been cemented together somehow, because we found engravings of several sets that matched. Here, I’ll show you.”

He took out his scriber and notebook and carefully drew lines on it. Then he handed it to Ducem Palver.

“Those lines were shallow scorings. We don’t know whether that is printing — writing of some kind — or simply channels for some other purpose. But we’re inclined to think that it’s writing because of the way it’s set down and because we did find other stones with the same sort of thing on them.”

“These are the engravings you found near the mysterious domes?” Palver asked.

“That’s right.”

“They make no sense whatever.”

“They don’t. They probably never will, unless we can find some way of connecting them with our own language and our own methods of writing.”

Palver was silent for several minutes, as was Dr. Buth, who sat staring at the glowing end of his cigar. Finally, Buth dropped the cigar into a nearby disposer, where it disappeared with a bright flash of molecular disintegration.

“Thirty years,” said Buth. “And nothing to show for it. Oh, I enjoyed it — don’t think I’m feeling sorry for myself. But it’s funny how a man can enjoy himself doing profitless work. There was a time when I thought I might work on my mathematical theories — you remember? — and look how unprofitable that might have been.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Palver said uncomfortably. He handed the notebook back to Dr. Buth.

“But still,” Buth said, taking the notebook, “a man hates to think of wasting thirty years. And that’s what it was.”

He looked at the lines he had drawn. Meaningless lines that made a meaningless pattern:

EMPLOYEES MUST WASH

HANDS BEFORE LEAVING

“Waste,” he said softly, “all waste.”

The End

(For now...)

Johnny Pez’s Insanely Complete Fiction List

Chronology

1982 AD “To the Continuing End of Eternity” by Greg Toland

1995 AD “A Boy’s Best Friend” (The Complete Robot)

1998 AD “Robbie” (I, Robot; The Complete Robot; Robot Visions)

2006 AD “Robot AL-76 Goes Astray” (The Rest of the Robots; The Complete Robot)

2010 AD “Insert Knob A in Hold B” (Nightfall and Other Stories)

2015 AD “Runaround” (I, Robot; The Complete Robot; Robot Visions)

2015 AD “Reason” (I, Robot; The Complete Robot; Robot Visions)

2016 AD “Catch That Rabbit” (I, Robot; The Complete Robot)

2020 AD “Safety First” by Johnny Pez

2021 AD “Liar!” (I, Robot; The Complete Robot; Robot Visions)

2023 AD “Satisfaction Guaranteed” (The Rest of the Robots; The Complete Robot; Earth Is Room Enough)

2024 AD “Balance” by Mike Resnick (Foundation’s Friends)

2025 AD “Lenny” (The Rest of the Robots; The Complete Robot; Robot Visions)

2026 AD “Blot” by Hal Clement (Foundation’s Friends)

2029 AD “Little Lost Robot” (I, Robot)

2030 AD “Escape!” (I, Robot)

2031 AD “Cal” (Gold)

2032 AD “Evidence” (I, Robot; The Complete Robot; Robot Visions)

2032 AD “PAPPI” by Sheila Finch (Foundation’s Friends)

2033 AD “Risk” (The Rest of the Robots; The Complete Robot)

2034 AD “Galley Slave” (The Rest of the Robots; The Complete Robot; Robot Visions)

2035 AD “First Law” (The Rest of the Robots; The Complete Robot)

2036 AD “Plato’s Cave” by Poul Anderson (Foundation’s Friends)

2044 AD “The Martian Dilemma” by David Pinkston

2051 AD “Non-Compliance” by Greg Toland

2052 AD “The Evitable Conflict” (I, Robot; The Complete Robot; Robot Visions)

2055 AD “Robot Dreams” (Robot Dreams)

2058 AD I, Robot

2060 AD “The Eternal Woman” by Wendell Urth

2063 AD “Feminine Intuition” (The Complete Robot; Robot Visions; The Bicentennial Man and Other Stories)

2065 AD “The Fourth Law of Robotics” by Harry Harrison (Foundation’s Friends)

2090 AD “Christmas Without Rodney” (Robot Visions)

2120 AD “Kid Brother” (Gold)

2140 AD Robots in Time by William F. Wu (six volumes)

Predator

Marauder

Warrior

Dictator

Emperor

Invader

2150 AD “Light Verse” (Buy Jupiter and Other Stories; The Complete Robot; Robot Dreams)

2170 AD “Too Bad!” (Robot Visions)

2180 AD “That Thou Art Mindful of Him” (The Bicentennial Man and Other Stories; The Complete Robot)

2200 AD “Carhunters of the Concrete Prairie” by Robert Sheckley (Foundation’s Friends)

2160-2360 AD “The Bicentennial Man” (The Bicentennial Man and Other Stories)

2425 AD “Mother Earth” (The Early Asimov)

3421 AD The Caves of Steel

3422 AD The Naked Sun

3423 AD “Mirror Image” (The Best of Isaac Asimov; The Complete Robot; Robot Visions)

3424 AD “Strip-Runner” by Pamela Sargent (Foundation’s Friends)

3424 AD The Robots of Dawn

3604 AD Robot City (six volumes)

Odyssey by Michael P. Kube-McDowell

Suspicion by Mike McQuay

Cyborg by William F. Wu

Prodigy by Arthur Byron Cover

Refuge by Rob Chilson

Perihelion by William F. Wu

3605 AD Robots and Aliens (six volumes)

Changeling by Stephen Leigh

Renegade by Cordell Scotten

Intruder by Robert Thurston

Alliance by Jerry Oltion

Maverick by Bruce Bethke

Humanity by Jerry Oltion

3620 AD Mirage by Mark W. Tiedemann

3621 AD Chimera by Mark W. Tiedemann

3624 AD Robots and Empire

3730 AD Caliban by Roger MacBride Allen

3731 AD Inferno by Roger MacBride Allen

3736 AD Utopia by Roger MacBride Allen

3745 AD “Hope: Reunification of Mankind” by Harald Muecke

4850 AD The Stars, Like Dust

11129 AD The Currents of Space

827 GE (12411 AD) Pebble in the Sky

977-978 GE “Blind Alley” (The Early Asimov)

12020 GE Prelude to Foundation

12028 GE “Eto Demerzel” (Forward the Foundation)

12028 GE Foundation’s Fear by Gregory Benford

12038 GE “Cleon I” (Forward the Foundation)

12048 GE “Dors Venabili” (Forward the Foundation)

12058 GE “Wanda Seldon” (Forward the Foundation)

12067 GE Foundation and Chaos by Greg Bear

12067 GE “The Psychohistorians” (Foundation)

12068 GE Foundation’s Triumph by David Brin

12069 GE Epilogue (Forward the Foundation)

12067-12070 GE “The Originist” by Orson Scott Card (Foundation’s Friends)

49-50 FE (12117-12118 GE) “The Encyclopedists” (Foundation)

79-80 FE (12147-12148 GE) “The Mayors” (Foundation)

134 FE (12202 GE) “The Traders” (Foundation)

154-160 FE (12222-12228 GE) “The Merchant Princes” (Foundation)

195-196 FE (12263-12264 GE) “The General” (Foundation and Empire)

270 FE (12338 GE) “Trantor Falls” by Harry Turtledove (Foundation’s Friends)

310-311 FE (12378-12379 GE) “The Mule” (Foundation and Empire)

316 FE (12384 GE) “Search by the Mule” (Second Foundation)

376-377 FE (12444-12445 GE) “Search by the Foundation” (Second Foundation)

498 FE (12566 GE) Foundation’s Edge

498 FE (12566 GE) Foundation and Earth

498 FE (12566 GE) “After Earth” by Johnny Pez (read the story)

729 FE (12797 GE) “A Pleasure Doing Business With You” by Alexander J. Vincent (read the story)

1000 FE (13068 GE) “The Imperial Conference” by Alexander J. Vincent (read the story)

1056 FE (13124 GE) “Foundation’s Conscience” by George Zebrowski (Foundation’s Friends)

1302 FE (13370 GE) “No Connections” by Randall Garrett (The Best of Randall Garrett; Takeoff [both are Randall Garrett collections])

Sources of dates

“A Boy’s Best Friend” Given the speed with which space is being explored and settled, a date of 1980 for the establishment of Lunar City seems reasonable. Assuming Anderson Senior was one of the original settlers, that places the story in 1995.

“Robbie” Stated in I, Robot.

“Robot AL-76 Goes Astray” After robots are banned from Earth in 2003-2007, before Susan Calvin joins US Robots in 2008.

“Insert Knob A in Hole B” Before the use of robots on space stations, hence before “Reason”.

“Runaround” Stated in I, Robot.

“Reason” Six months after “Runaround”.

“Catch That Rabbit” Six months after “Reason”.

“Safety First” Stated in story.

“Liar!” Stated in I, Robot.

“Satisfaction Guaranteed” Characters have the same titles as in “Liar”. Susan Calvin is more knowledgeable about emotions than in “Liar!”, so the story takes place later.

“Balance” Susan Calvin’s robotic servants flatter her in a manner similar to Herbie from “Liar!”, but she seems much more at ease with the idea, which places the story after “Liar!”

“Lenny” Peter Bogart is now Senior Mathematician, so the story comes after “Satisfaction Guaranteed”.

“Blot” Story of the first exploratory mission to Miranda. Given a mission to Mars in 1998 and a first expedition to Mercury in 2005, a mission to Uranus in 2026 seems reasonable.

“Little Lost Robot” Stated in I, Robot.

“Escape” Within a few months of “Little Lost Robot”.

“Cal” Cal seems to be the prototype for the EZ robots of “Galley Slave”, so allowing a couple of years for the design and production of the latter places the story in 2031.

“Evidence” Stated in I, Robot.

“PAPPI” Immediately after “Evidence”.

“Risk” Takes place ‘some years’ after “Little Lost Robot”.

“Galley Slave” Stated in the story.

“First Law” Stated in the story.

“Plato’s Cave” Shortly before Stephen Byerly becomes Regional Coordinator.

“The Evitable Conflict” Stated in I, Robot.

“Robot Dreams” Late in Susan Calvin’s career with US Robots.

I, Robot The links between the stories are set fifty years after Susan Calvin joins US Robots in 2008.

“Feminine Intuition” Five years after Susan Calvin retires from US Robots.

“The Fourth Law of Robotics” Susan Calvin’s great-niece has her job.

“Christmas Without Rodney” Slighting reference to the 20th century suggests the story takes place in the 21st. Common use of robot servants suggests the latter part of the century, when the Frankenstein Complex has faded away.

“Kid Brother” Acceptance of household robots on Earth dates the story to the same general era as “Christmas Without Rodney” and “Light Verse”.

Robots in Time Stated in volume 1, Predator.

“Light Verse” Features a robot that is capable of original artistic expression (as was Andrew Martin), at a time when robot servants are accepted (as was Andrew Martin). These both suggest that the story takes place near the beginning of “The Bicentennial Man”.

“Too Bad!” Sometime in the 22nd century, before the creation of the simplified robots in “That Thou Art Mindful of Him”.

“That Thou Art Mindful of Him” Takes place about two hundred years after US Robots is founded (i.e. circa 2182). Mentions that the Machines phased themselves out of existence a hundred years earlier (circa 2082).

“Carhunters of the Concrete Prairie” The combination of interstellar exploration and robots places this story at the time of the settlement of the Spacer worlds.

“The Bicentennial Man” Andrew Martin is about a hundred years old “nearly two centuries” after Susan Calvin’s death in 2064.

“Mother Earth” Takes place at the end of “the first few centuries of interstellar travel” when the Outer Worlds “were controlled, politically and economically, by Earth.” (quotations from The Caves of Steel, Chapter 5).

The Caves of Steel Takes place a thousand years after emigration to the Outer Worlds ends. It also takes place 19 years after Elijah Baley first meets Jessie Navodny “back in ’02.”

The Naked Sun Takes place one year after The Caves of Steel.

“Mirror Image” Takes place one year before The Robots of Dawn i.e. one year after The Naked Sun.

“Strip-Runner” Takes place after Elijah Baley starts his Outside group, but shortly before The Robots of Dawn (since the events in that novel aren’t mentioned in the story).

The Robots of Dawn Takes place two years after The Naked Sun.

Robot City Takes place about twenty years before Robots and Empire (Han Fastolfe is still alive, and the number of Settler worlds is smaller than in RaE).

Robots and Aliens Takes place one year after Robot City.

Mirage Features older versions of characters from the Robot City series, but takes place before the disappearance of the Solarians in Robots and Empire.

Chimera Takes place one year after Mirage.

Robots and Empire Takes place two hundred years after The Robots of Dawn.

Caliban Takes place a century after the Solarians vanish.

Inferno Takes place one year after Caliban.

Utopia Takes place one year after Inferno.

“Hope: Reunification of Mankind” Provided by author.

The Stars, Like Dust Takes place a thousand years after Earth suffers nuclear bombardment (perhaps in an attack by the more conservative Spacer worlds).

The Currents of Space Takes place five centuries before the founding of the Galactic Empire. (Note: Foundation’s Edge takes place about 22,000 years after interstellar travel begins, i.e. AD 24,000. This is 12,566 years after the founding of the Galactic Empire, which sets the Empire’s foundation around the year AD 11,500. For no good reason, I’ve chosen AD 11,585 for the year 1 GE.)

Pebble in the Sky Stated in the novel.

“Blind Alley” Stated in the story.

Prelude to Foundation Stated in the novel.

“Eto Demerzel” Eight years after Prelude to Foundaton.

Foundation’s Fear Shortly after “Eto Demerzel”.

“Cleon I” Ten years after “Eto Demerzel”.

“Dors Venabili” Ten years after “Cleon I”.

“Wanda Seldon” Ten years after “Dors Venabili”.

Foundation and Chaos Same time as “The Psychohistorians”.

“The Psychohistorians” Takes place two years before Hari Seldon’s death in 12,069 GE.

Foundation’s Triumph Takes place after “The Psychohistorians”.

“Epilogue” Hari Seldon’s death.

“The Originist” Begins shortly after Hari Seldon’s trial, ends several months after Seldon’s death.

“The Encyclopedists” Takes place 50 years after the Foundation is established in 12,068 GE.

“The Mayors” Takes place 30 years after “The Encyclopedists”.

“The Traders” Takes place “two decades” before “The Merchant Princes”.

“The Merchant Princes” Begins “almost 75 years” after “The Mayors”, ends six years later.

“The General” Begins “over 40 years” after Hober Mallow’s meeting with Onum Barr in “The Merchant Princes”.

“Trantor Falls” Takes place forty years before “The Mule”.

“The Mule” Takes place 17 years after Han Pritcher joins the Army in 293 FE.

“Search by the Mule” Takes place five years after the end of “The Mule”.

“Search by the Foundation” Stated in the story.

Foundation’s Edge Stated in the novel.

Foundation and Earth Takes place immediately following Foundation’s Edge.

“After Earth” Takes place immediately following Foundation and Earth.

“The Imperial Conference” Takes place as Second Empire is established.

“Foundation’s Conscience” Stated in the story.

“No Connections” Takes place sometime after the establishment of the Second Empire.

An Unofficial Timeline By Attila Torkos

Chronology of the

ROBOT-EMPIRE-FOUNDATION UNIVERSE

(Taken from the novel Aurora)

ATTILA TORKOS was born in Hungary in 1971. He learned to speak, read and write English from his father during childhood. Science Fiction spellbound him early in his teens when he got acquainted with Isaac Asimov’s Foundation Trilogy. He witnessed the fusion of the Foundation novels with the Robot and Galactic Empire books, and watched with fascination as Asimov’s world expanded. He began to compile a detailed timeline to the Robot-Empire-Foundation Universe in 1997.

Having completed the chronology with the events and references of the volumes of The Second Foundation Trilogy, refining touches and editing were performed with the invaluable help and supervision of David Brin. The chronology was published in Foundation’s Triumph in 1999. Since its first publication, the timeline has undergone a major updating and expansion, as a result of a thorough research of the original novels, combined with additional information and insight kindly provided by Donald Kingsbury. The timeline gained its present form when events and references from the Robot Mystery Trilogy were added with Mark W. Tiedemann’s approval and guidance.

Attila Torkos acquired his M.D. in 1995 at the Faculty of General Medicine of the Szeged University (Szeged, Hungary), specialized in 1999 in ear-nose-throat, and works as an ENT surgeon at the Clinic of Otorhinolaryngology and Head & Neck Surgery of the same institute.

1982 A.D. Birth of Susan Calvin. Lawrance Robertson founds U.S. Robot and Mechanical Men, Inc.

1996 A.D. Production of Robbie.

1998 A.D. An ordinance is passed in New York to keep all robots off the streets between sunset and sunrise.

2002 A.D. Alfred Lanning demonstrates the first speaking robot.

2003 A.D. Susan Calvin obtains her bachelor’s degree.

Early 21st century A social and technical renaissance flourishes on Earth. Beginning of the production of positronic robots obeying the Three Laws of Robotics. Between 2003 and 2007, robots are banned on Earth except for scientific experiments. Later, only a small number of robots are produced for everyday use on Earth due to the Frankenstein-complex of people. The main field of use for robots is colonisation of the Solar System. U.S. Robot tries to break through society’s resistance against robots several times, with limited success. Joseph Schwarz suffers a time travel accident propelling him into the future.

2005 A.D. The first Mercury expedition.

2007 A.D. Robbie is dismantled. Susan Calvin begins to work for U.S. Robot.

2008 A.D. Susan Calvin becomes a robotpsychologist at U.S. Robot.

2015 A.D. The second Mercury expedition.

2021 A.D. A telepathic robot is accidentally produced at U.S. Robot. Obeying the First Law in accordance with its telepathic ability results in a dilemma which renders the robot useless.

2029 A.D. NS-2 (Nestor) type robots are used for experiments with Hyperatomic Drive at Hyper Base.

2031 A.D. Hyperatomic Drive is developed. First successful interstellar (actually intergalactic) journey.

2032 A.D. Stephen Byerley becomes Mayor of New York.

After 2032 A.D. Under guidance of Byerley and the newly developed Machines (positronic brains), the countries of Earth group into four Regions.

2033 A.D. Susan Calvin becomes robotpsychologist-in-chief.

2037 A.D. Stephen Byerley becomes Regional Co-ordinator.

2044 A.D. Regions of Earth form a Federation. First World Co-ordinator is Stephen Byerley. Economy of the world is managed by four Machines in coordination; they operate according to the First Law. World economy is stabilised.

2048 A.D. Stephen Byerley is elected World Co-ordinator for the second time.

2052 A.D. Susan Calvin states that the Machines apply the First Law to mankind as a whole. This concept will be (re)invented millennia later in Daneel Olivaw’s Zeroth Law.

2057 A.D. Susan Calvin retires. Her successor, Clinton Madarian develops a new type of robot with intuition.

2058 A.D. The 56th edition of the Handbook of Robotics is published.

2062 A.D. From astronomical data Madarian’s intuitive robot deduces which of the Sun’s neighboring stars have habitable planets.

After 2062 A.D. With the use of hyperdrive mankind begins to swarm out of Earth. People bring along the virus of Chaos to the stars. Through robotic terraforming of several planets (the Outer Worlds) and their population the culture of Spacers arises. The first Spacer world is a planet of Tau Ceti’s system named New Earth. Later it is renamed Aurora. In the beginning the Outer Worlds use robots in limited numbers just as Earth.

2064 A.D. Death of Susan Calvin.

After 2080 A.D. Having stabilised world economy, the Machines—considering any further activity harmful to mankind—gradually cease to function.

2160 A.D. U.S. Robot accidentally produces a robot with an exceptionally flexible brain. The robot, Andrew, becomes property of the Martin family.

2180 A.D. U.S. Robot once more attempts to demolish prejudice against robots, again without much result.

2190 A.D. Andrew is declared a free robot.

2260 A.D. Andrew has his metallic body exchanged to organic, humanoid. He starts to make his body more and more human using self-designed prostheses. The science of prosthetics is greatly advanced by his experiments.

2359 A.D. In order to be declared human, Andrew makes changes in his brain, which will allow him to slowly die.

2360 A.D. Andrew is declared human. Death of Andrew.

3871 A.D. Earth allows Spacer worlds to introduce robots to everyday life in unlimited numbers.

3971 A.D. Outer Worlds limit emigration from Earth.

4021 A.D. The renaissance on both Earth and the Spacer worlds turns into history’s first chaos outbreak. Overpopulated Earth provokes the Outer Worlds, which declare war against the motherworld. During the resulting Three Weeks’ War (the Great Rebellion) Spacers defeat Earth and declare the Outer Worlds independent planets. Earth is isolated, emigration made impossible.

After 4021 A.D. During the next milennium Earthpeople escape into metal-covered cities (the caves of steel). The rise of city culture, the introduction of hydroponics and the industrial use of robots outside the cities lessen the population and food problems on Earth. Nanotechnology is developed on Earth and introduced in many fields of industry.

Appr. 4050-4600 A.D. Some experiments with nanotechnology go wrong, producing nanocolonies which begin to destroy their environment as nonorganic parasites. In the end, these agressive colonies destroy themselves; only a few aberrant strains are preserved. Earth scientists unravel the puzzle of the nanoplagues and develop a number of successful treatments, eventually bringing them to manageable levels. Spacer scientists begin to make progress against their own nanoplagues, reducing them in number and virulence. Spacer medical technologies and bioscience make enormous strides, increasing lifespans and reducing age-related afflictions.

4620 A.D. The last major outbreak of mnemonic plague sweeps many Spacer worlds, signaling the last wave of virulent disease among them.

Appr. 4664-4721 A.D. New York is replaced with metal-covered New York City.

4722 A.D. Population of Solaria (fiftieth and last Spacer world) from Nexon begins. Beginning of the slow and almost unrecognizable decline of Spacer culture.

4822 A.D. Solaria becomes independent of Nexon.

4858 A.D. Birth of Han Fastolfe.

4979 A.D. Birth of Elijah Baley.

4989 A.D. Birth of Gladia.

4996 A.D. Spacetown is established near New York City. Thanks to Spacer influence, robots are introduced to Earth’s cities.

5002 A.D. Elijah Baley and Jesse Navodny meet.

5005 A.D. Birth of Bentley (Ben) Baley.

5021 A.D. Auroran roboticist Han Fastolfe and sociologist-historian Roj Nemennuh Sarton realize the decline of Spacer culture. They want to get Earth to colonize new planets using less robotic service than Spacers. They design humaniform robots to mix among Earth population to understand their way of thinking. The first such humaniform robot is Daneel Olivaw. Meeting of Daneel and Elijah Baley.

5022 A.D. Elijah Baley and Daneel Olivaw carry out an investigation on Solaria. Fastolfe becomes an influential member of the Auroran government and strongly supports new Earth emigration. His Auroran opponents led by Kelden Amadiro want to terraform and populate new planets from Aurora instead of Earth. A group of Earthpeople led by Baley train to live outside the city domes to be able to colonize new planets.

5023 A.D. Elijah helps Daneel with solving a dispute between two mathematicians.

5024 A.D. Amy Barone-Stein joins Baley’s would-be settlers. Baley investigates a case of roboticide on Aurora accompanied by Daneel and Giskard Reventlov (a telepathic robot!). In the background of the ‘murder’ lies the power struggle between Fastolfe and his opponents over the new colonization. Finally Aurora allows the Earth to terraform new planets and will provide technical support for the task. Giskard thinks Earthpeople must settle on worlds without robots to evade the fate of Spacers. Giskard describes the idea of psychohistory, a science that can foretell events of the future.

5026 A.D. The second swarm of humans from Earth begins with Auroran support. They use no robotic service at all. The first colonist group is lead by Ben Baley. The first terraformed (so called Settler) planet will later be called Baleyworld. Earth plans to ban use of robots on the motherworld. Settler culture arises without robots.

5028 A.D. There are already twenty-four Settler planets. The relationship between the Settler and Spacer worlds becomes increasingly hostile.

5029 A.D. Elijah Baley moves to Baleyworld.

??? Robots are outlawed on Earth. Technologies based on nano-machines are also abandoned.

5058 A.D. Death of Elijah Baley.

5132 A.D. The Church of Organic Sapiens is founded.

5162 A.D. Improvo Shipping and Storage is founded.

5168 A.D. Upon an agreement between Solaria and a Settler company Settlers begin to colonize Cassus Thole, a planet which used to be a Solarian mining endeavour. Solaria keeps only one establishment for itself, far from the Settler towns.

5171 A.D. Birth of Jerem Looms. He turns out to have UPD.

5172 A.D. A lab is founded on Earth to research the nanocolonies which infect infants and cause UPD. The lab is named Nova Levis. Later a sister lab is built on Cassus Thole. Still later the planet is renamed Nova Levis.

5174 A.D. Rega Looms is informed that Jerem has died.

5175 A.D. Children are kidnapped throughout Earth, UPDs among them. Ree Wenithal begins to investigate the problem.

5176 A.D. Nova Levis lab starts to research the practice of nonorganic-organic symbiosis in earnest.

Appr. 5178 A.D. Ree Wenithal traces the stolen children to Nova Levis lab. He is then stopped in his investigation.

5180 A.D. Nova Levis lab is closed.

5182 A.D. Rega Looms becomes director of the Church of Organic Sapiens.

5183 A.D. Birth of D.G. Baley.

??? Relationship between Earth and Aurora improves.

5191 A.D. The plans of the mad Auroran scientist Dr. Avery for conquering the galaxy by establishing robot cities are foiled by his son, Derec, and Ariel Burgess.

5197 A.D. After graduating from the Calvin Institute, Ariel Burgess takes a position as the Calvin liaison to the Auroran embassy on Earth. That same year, Derec Avery petitions the Terran government for a special license to operate a positronic research lab on Earth called The Phylaxis Group. He becomes instrumental in new attempts to reintroduce positronics to Earth.

5198 A.D. Auroran patrols check the Terran smuggler ship Tiberius; it turns out to carry several Solarian positronic experts and geneticists to Nova Levis. Nova Levis turns down requests to carry out investigations on the planet. Later that same year, Derec Avery completes construction of Bogard, a robot with extremely flexible Three Law parameters, enabling it to act as a bodyguard without running into positronic collapse.

5199 A.D. Terran senator Clar Eliton invites Spacer and Settler diplomats to discuss the possible reintroduction of robots on Earth and in Settler space trade; in the meantime, Eliton organizes an assassination against the diplomats in order to completely discredit robots on Earth. Derec Avery’s robot, Bogard, proves instrumental in solving the crime. After the assassination, most of the diplomats of the Fifty Worlds leave Earth. A smuggler ship leaving Nova Levis fires on a Terran patrol ship. Earth blockades Nova Levis.

5200 A.D. A group of people illegally emigrating from Earth to Nova Levis are killed. Investigations suggest the involvement of Solaria and Nova Levis. It turns out that Solaria probably grows cyborgs on Nova Levis. A cyborg (who was once Jerem Looms) named Gamelin appears on Earth. Aurorans capture another cyborg on Earth named Cordios.

5201 A.D. An investigation by Derec Avery and Ariel Burgess leads to the discovery of manufacture of cyborgs by arms dealer Kynig Parapoyos on planet Nova Levis. It is revelaed that Parapoyos is really Ambassador Gale Chassik.

5202 A.D. The autonomous robot Bogard assumes control of the Parapoyos organization. It begins a program, in concert with a large faction of Spacer robots, to isolate Spacers in order to allow them to die out as a result of thew determination that the millennia of coexistence with numerous mutated nanoforms has altered them genetically to a condition where they represent a potential new species. Robots are dedicated to service to homo sapiens sapien and cannot have two masters.

5217 A.D. Kelden Amadiro and his group begin planting nuclear amplifiers throughout Earth to take revenge for their defeat.

5222 A.D. Death of Han Fastolfe. Anti-Earth and anti-Settler movement on Aurora gains momentum. Population of Solaria vanishes. Number and strength of Settler worlds grows fast. Daneel and Giskard formulate the Zeroth Law of Robotics. They realize they will need a working psychohistory to steer human history according to the Zeroth Law. Amadiro’s group turn their amplifiers on to make Earth radioactive and inhospitable. Giskard lets them proceed, rationalizing that the poisoning of Earth would speed up the Settler swarm and do humanity good in the long run. His decision, however, creates an internal conflict between the Zeroth and the First Law, which ultimately leads to Giskard’s death. Giskard provides Daneel with telepathic abilities, then becomes inoperational and dies. Settler emigration grows to enormous numbers: beginning of the Great Diaspora. Settlers carry the virus of Chaos everywhere.

??? A majority of robots split into two camps. “Giskardians” led by Daneel believe in the new Zeroth Law religion. Others—the “Calvinians”—think their meddling with human affairs according to the Zeroth Law to be an outrage. A robotic civil war ensues mostly unseen by humans fleeing the sudden poisoning of Earth. Meanwhile fleets of robots—operating under Auroran programming—begin cruising the galaxy ahead of the spreading Settlers, terraforming and preparing planets for colonization. Several nonhuman intelligent races, sometimes complete ecosystems are destroyed by robot terraformers. On some planets they discover computer civilizations, remnants of once-great nonhuman cultures. The Auroran robots try to destroy the beings of these civilizations, the meme entities, as potential threaths. Some of the memes escape to the Galactic Core.

5322 A.D. The Spacer planet Inferno is doomed by both ecological and cultural catastrophe. To evade the cultural crisis robots are designed and built that operate on New Laws, giving them greater freedom. To test the correctness of the New Laws the No Law robot Caliban is built. To avoid the ecological catastrophe a group of Settler specialists are asked to reterraform the planet.

5323 A.D. The failure of the New Laws becomes clear. Reterraforming of Inferno begins.

5328 A.D. To create a stable ecosystem an ice-comet is crashed onto Inferno’s surface. Cultural crisis is evaded by the merging of Spacers and the Settler terraformers.

??? The interstellar robot civil war eventually reaches Inferno. New Law robots are destroyed or go into hiding.

??? Daneel and his followers play an important role in formulating the Encoding Laws that will set the highest limits in producing artificial intelligence. As a result, Settler society will never think of building robots. This is one of the first great ‘damping mechanisms’ that help prevent chaos.

1960 B.G.E. (Before Galactic Era) Settling of planet Tyrann.

1260-1250 B.G.E. Tyrann conquers the Nebular Kingdoms.

1220 B.G.E. The Tyranni elect Hinrik V as Director of Rhodia.

1200 B.G.E. Planet Rhodia and the Nebular Kingdoms, led by the noble Hinriad family, shake off rule by planet Tyrann, and rediscover democracy.

??? Spacer worlds turn into themselves and slowly die throughout the millennia. The remaining population of Aurora moves to Mycogen sector of the growing planet Trantor. Settler culture gradually colonizes the Galaxy. Damping effects such as historical amnesia, brain fever and giskardian mentalic persuasion devices are introduced by Daneel and followers to fight chaos. As a result human mind, society and technology stagnates for millennia. Some human and robot groups (including the Maserd family) fight the amnesia. Later they are for the most part defeated by Giskardians. Robots are forgotten by all but a tiny remnant of humans who cooperate in hiding with heretic robots.

700 B.G.E. The Trantorian Republic of five worlds begins to grow; later becomes Trantorian Confederation and still later Trantorian Empire. Daneel uses early ‘laws of humanics’ (precursor of psychohistory developed with Giskard) to guide it.

??? The origin of mankind is forgotten. Planet Earth becomes one of the many millions of inhabited planets.

200 B.G.E. Half of the inhabited worlds of the Galaxy are part of Trantorian Empire. Trantor is on the point of forming the Galactic Empire. Trantor financially supports rebellion of Florina against oppression by planet Sark.

1 G.E. (= appr. 13 000 C.E.) (appr. 8000 years after the Great Diaspora) Trantorian Empire becomes Galactic Empire. First emperor is Frankenn I. Beginning of the galactic calendar. (G.E. = Galactic Era)

750 G.E. Third Earth rebellion against Empire.

771 G.E. Birth of Affret Shekt.

772 G.E. Birth of Grew.

775 G.E. Beginning of rule of Stannel II.

777 G.E. Demonstrating his might, Stannel II provokes unrest in Washenn, Earth. Stannel II is assassinated. Edard ascends the galactic throne.

827 G.E. Arrival of Joseph Schwartz through time. A radioactive and sparsely populated Earth tries to revolt against the Empire using a bio-weapon (an extremely aggressive type of the chaos virus). Rebellion fails, thanks partly to Schwarz and Daneel’s agent R. Gornon Vlimt. Empire initially supports changing of Earth’s radioactive soil for healthy, then the effort is mysteriously abandoned.

Appr. 900 G.E. Forced evacuation of inhospitable Earth. Founding of colony on planet Alpha.

975 G.E. An intelligent species is discovered on a desert planet. They are transported to Cepheus 18.

978 G.E. The aliens mysteriously escape beyond the Galaxy aided by a sympathetic bureaucrat of the Empire.

Appr. 2000 G.E. Daneel Olivaw and R. Yan Kansarv establish a robot production and repair facility on the moon Eos. The great Ruellis helps establish principles of good paternalistic government, augmenting the stability of an unchanging society against chaos (another of Daneel’s damping mechanisms).

Appr. 3000 G.E. Public debate of personality simulations Voltaire and Joan of Arc about machine intelligence during a chaos outbreak. With support of Calvinian robots the Empress Shoree-Harn sits on the imperial throne; she tries to introduce a new calendar and shake up social rigidity without success.

8789 G.E. New renaissance begins on planet Lingane.

8797 G.E. Lingane renaissance falls into chaos.

11, 865 G.E. Humanoid robot Dors Venabili is constructed on Eos.

Appr. 11, 867 G.E. The only extragalactic human colony is abandoned in the Greater Magellanic Cloud. All data suppressed.

Appr. 11, 968 G.E. Daneel performs genetic experiments on a group of humans, which leads to the appearance of mentalics and the birth of a man who is capable of developing psychohistory.

11, 988 G.E. Birth of Hari Seldon and Cleon I. Daneel knows the Empire is destabilizing, partly due to frequent chaos outbreaks. He is forced by Zeroth Law to actively interfere, first as Chief of Staff, then as First Minister.

12, 008 G.E. Birth of Raych.

12, 010 G.E. Cleon I becomes Emperor.

12, 017 G.E. New renaissance begins on Madder Losson.

12, 020 G.E. Hari Seldon lectures on possibility of psychohistory. Daneel persuades him to develop a practical science to help save the Empire. In the guise of First Minister Eto Demerzel he supports Seldon’s work. Dors Venabili becomes Seldon’s wife. They adopt a boy, Raych. Seldon and Yugo Amaryl begin to flesh out psychohistory.

12 ,028 G.E. A group of Calvinian robots, led by R. Plussix, move to Trantor and find historical documents dating from the era of Shoree-Harn, as well as the sims Voltaire and Joan of Arc. They get the sims to planet Sark to help seed a new renaissance there, to disturb Daneel’s work. Seldon helps removing Laskin Joranum from politics. Eto Demerzel (Daneel) resigns his post. Cleon I makes Seldon First Minister. A New Renaissance begins on planet Sark. Voltaire and Joan get into Trantorian Mesh where they meet the ancient memes. To avenge the destruction of their original homes the memes cause a rebellion among the tiktoks, having many of Daneel’s robot companions killed. The memes move back to the Galactic Core. Sark renaissance gradually falls into chaos.

12, 037 G.E. The collapse of Madder Loss renaissance rocks Galactic society.

12, 038 G.E. Death of Cleon I. A military junta seizes power. Seldon resigns as First Minister.

12, 040 G.E. Birth of Wanda Seldon from the marriage of Raych Seldon and Manella Dubanqua.

12, 048 G.E. ‘Death’ of Dors Venabili. Daneel brings Dors to the Eos base for repair. Fall of the junta. Puppet-Emperor Agis XIV ascends the throne. Real power is in the hands of the Commission of Public Safety led by Chief Commissioner Linge Chen.

12, 050 G.E. Birth of Klayus I.

12, 051 G.E. Birth of Klia Asgar.

12, 052 G.E. Birth of Bellis Seldon, second child of Raych and Manella. Hari Seldon discovers Wanda’s mental abilities. He tries to find others, without success. Signs of general decline show throughout the Empire.

12, 054 G.E. Psychohistorical equations predict the unavoidable collapse of the Empire. Seldon works out plan to preserve human knowledge, and create a Second Empire via the Foundation. Death of Yugo Amaryl.

12, 058 G.E. Raych, Manella and Bellis move to Santanni where a new renaissance has begun. Anacreon province seeks independence. Seldon finds the place for his Foundation: planet Terminus, on the edge of the Galaxy. Chaos breaks out on Santanni. Raych dies. His family is lost in space. Stettin Palver, another mentalic joins the Seldon Project, then Bor Alurin. The mentalics will later form the Second Foundation. The Commission of Public Safety begins to watch Seldon.

12, 062 G.E. Vara Liso, a strong mentalic learns about the existence of robots. Upon this information Farad Sinter begins to hunt for robots.

12, 067 G.E. = 1 F.E. Klayus I sits on the imperial throne, but real power remains with the Commission of Public Safety. Giskardian robot Lodovik Trema becomes accidentally liberated from the compulsion to obey the Laws of Robotics. He questions the rightness of Zeroth Law and the lack of human consultation in their own destiny. Calvinian robots want Seldon to abandon his Project to stop Daneel directing history. Gaal Dornick joins the Seldon Project. The Commission of Public Safety puts Seldon to trial and exiles the Encyclopedia Foundation to Terminus. Farad Sinter’s soldiers destroy base of Calvinian robots. Lodovik rejoins Daneel. The Second Foundation goes into hiding at Star’s End. Beginning of the Foundation calendar. (F.E. = Foundation Era) Originist Leyel Forska wants to join First Foundation, but Seldon turns him down.

12, 068 G.E. = 2 F.E. Reign of puppet Emperor Semrin. First Foundation (consisting mostly of technical experts and their families) gets “exiled” to Terminus and begins compiling the Encyclopedia Galactica. Daneel starts developing the overmind Gaia with human mentalics. Compelled by Zeroth Law Daneel destroys millions of ancient archives that had been designed to fight human amnesia. A new renaissance on Ktlina falls into chaos. R. Gornon Vlimt tries to send Seldon into the future to judge Daneel’s plan and the projections of psychohistory, but is foiled by Daneel. Mors Planch (and possibly Biron Maserd) dives into the future.

12, 069 G.E. = 3 F.E. Death of Hari Seldon. Leyel Forska joins Second Foundation. Linge Chen dies, Rom Divart takes his place in the Commission of Public Safety. To strengthen his power, Divart pays attention mostly to Trantor and its vicinity. Secession begins at the Empire’s Periphery.

50 F.E. (12, 116 G.E.) Anacreon declares independence, separating Terminus from the Empire. Seldon’s hologram in the Terminus Time Vault explains the true purpose of the Foundation. Anacreon sets up military base on Terminus with the aim of swallowing the planet. Terminus begins to provide scientific support for the neighbouring kingdoms, balancing their powers.

80 F.E. (12, 146 G.E.) The Foundation wards off Anacreon threat, then signs a treaty with neighbouring kingdoms about peaceful coexistence. The Foundation begins to trade with sophisticated industrial goods in the Periphery. As its economic influence grows, it adds the power of religious cultism.

135 F.E. (12, 201 G.E.) The Foundation spreads its influence over the planet Askone.

155 F.E. (12, 221 G.E.) Imperial atomic weapons appear in the Republic of Korell, adjacent with the Foundation’s influence zone.

158 F.E. (12, 224 G.E.) Korell declares war against Foundation.

161 F.E. (12, 227 G.E.) After three years of mostly economic warfare the Korellian economy collapses. Korell becomes part of the Foundation.

195 F.E. (12, 261 G.E.) The Empire ruled by Cleon II is gaining strength. Imperial general Bel Riose begins a campaign against the Foundation.

196 F.E. (12, 262 G.E.) Riose conquers large territories. Cleon II—afraid of a powerful military leader’s attempt to seize the throne—calls Riose and his fleet back.

Appr. 260 F.E. (Appr. 12, 326 G.E.) Dagobert VIII rules remnant Empire. The rebel Gilmer conquers and sacks Trantor. First Speaker Yokim Sarns and the Second Foundation protect the Galactic Library, then sign a peace-treaty with Gilmer.

Appr. 300 F.E. (Appr. 12, 366 G.E.) Empire of Dagobert IX has shrunk to twenty worlds. Its capital is Neotrantor. The Foundation has grown into a major power. The Mule, a mutant with strong mentalic power conquers the Foundation, knocking Seldon Plan off course. Psychologist Ebling Mis locates the Second Foundation. Bayta Darell shoots Misbefore he could reveal location of the Second Foundation to the Mule. The Mule establishes the Union of Worlds, and searches for the Second Foundation.

Appr. 305 F.E. Members of the Second Foundation mentalically alter the Mule, who then gives up further conquest and the search for the Second Foundation.

Appr. 310 F.E. Death of the Mule. The Foundation regains its earlier strength, but also begins studying neglected mental sciences, further endangering Seldon Plan.

362 F.E. Birth of Arcadia Darell.

376 F.E. The Foundation searches for the Second Foundation, fearing its mentalic rule. Planet Kalgan starts war against the Foundation. The Foundation defeats Kalgan. Diverting the Foundation’s search with a ruse, the Second Foundation continues operating secretly on Trantor (Star’s End).

??? Daneel unleashes his Gaia overmind. Gaia begins to watch the Foundations.

443 F.E. Death of Arcadia Darell.

??? Researching mental sciences, the Foundation gets close to being superior to the supposedly destroyed Second Foundation. The Second Foundation—without noticing it—is no longer able to keep the Seldon Plan on course on its own. The Seldon Plan is kept on course by the mental guidance of the Gaia overmind.

467 F.E. Birth of Golan Trevize.

??? Daneel starts manipulating a group of people (including Golan Trevize) to choose ‘the man who is always right.’

498 F.E. The Gaia overmind offers Golan Trevize (‘the man who is always right’) a choice between an Empire built by the First Foundation’s physical force, one ruled by Second Foundation mentalics, or a Galaxy-sized version of Gaia...Galaxia. No other options are presented and no other humans consulted. Trevize chooses Galaxia. After the decision the Seldon Plan is kept alive by Gaia to ensure stability until the emergence of Galaxia. Preparations begin for gradual assimilation of humanity into the collective overmind.

499 F.E. Trevize embarks on a journey seeking to explain his choice. On Solaria he finds that the planet’s vanished folk have become a new race. He takes a child, Fallom from the planet. Reaching Earth he meets R. Daneel Olivaw, whose actions to this point were compelled by the Zeroth Law. Trevize realizes any solution must take into consideration robots, Solarians, memes, mutants and any other kind of intelligence, too. The right answer may not be to simplify.

520 F.E. First Galactic Coalescence Investigation Commission convenes on planet Pengia. The subsequent Great Destiny Debates rage for 180 years, interrupted by waves of violence, amnesia and chaos. Robotic civil wars reignite. Foundation civilization approaches ultimate confrontation with both Gaia and Chaos.

682 F.E. The Fifth Great Destiny Debate.

1020 F.E. 116th Edition of the Encyclopedia Galactica.

1054 F.E. 117th Edition of the Encyclopedia Galactica.

Sources of Dates

(For Volume 19)

AD =Anno Domini

GE =Galactic Era

FE =Foundational Era

“Foundation’s Resolve” Takes place immediately following Foundation and Earth.

“After Earth” Takes place immediately following Foundation and Earth.

“The Imperial” Conference Takes place as Second Empire is established.

“Foundation’s Conscience” Stated in the story.

“No Connections” Takes place sometime after the establishment of the Second Empire.

Table of Contents

Title page

Copyright

Table of Contents

Foundations’ Resolve

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Epilogue

After Earth

Part 1: Plotting a Course

Part 2: The Lost World

Part 3: Pillow Talk

Part 4: Homecoming

Part 5: The Gift

Part 6: Renunciation

Part 7: More Pillow Talk

Part 8: Assignment

Part 9: The Far Star

Part 10: Data Search

Part 11: Administration

Part 12: Confrontations

Part 13: Prisoners

Part 14: Procedures

Part 15: Paperwork

Part 16: Selection

Part 17: Promotions

Part 18: A Sign from the Past

A Pleasure Doing Business With You

From the Publisher:

Nine months earlier …

Two weeks later, printed in the Delicass Daily NewsFeed:

The Imperial Conference

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five: A Six-Month Intermission

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Epilogue

Foundation’s Conscience

... No Connections

Johnny Pez’s Insanely Complete Fiction List

Chronology

Sources of dates

An Unofficial Timeline By Attila Torkos

Sources of Dates