Prelude to Foundation (52 page)

Seldon said, “Have you ever had an unhappy love affair, Dors?”

Dors considered for a moment or two, then said, “Not really. I’m too involved with my work to get a broken heart.”

“I thought as much.”

“Then why did you ask?”

“I might have been wrong.”

“How about you?”

Seldon seemed uneasy. “As a matter of fact, yes. I have spared the time for a broken heart. Badly cracked, anyway.”

“I thought as much.”

“Then why did
you
ask?”

“Not because I thought I might be wrong, I promise you. I just wanted to see if you would lie. You didn’t and I’m glad.”

There was a pause and then Seldon said, “Five days have passed and nothing has happened.”

“Except that we are being treated well, Hari.”

“If animals could think, they’d think they were being treated well when they were only being fattened for the slaughter.”

“I admit she’s fattening the Empire for the slaughter.”

“But when?”

“I presume when she’s ready.”

“She boasted she could complete the coup in a day
and the impression I got was that she could do that on
any
day.”

“Even if she could, she would want to make sure that she could cripple the Imperial reaction and that might take time.”

“How much time? She plans to cripple the reaction by using me, but she is making no effort to do so. There is no sign that she’s trying to build up my importance. Wherever I go in Wye I’m unrecognized. There are no Wyan crowds gathering to cheer me. There’s nothing on the news holocasts.”

Dors smiled. “One would almost suppose that your feelings are hurt at not being made famous. You’re naïve, Hari. Or not a historian, which is the same thing. I think you had better be more pleased that the study of psychohistory will be bound to make a historian of you than that it may save the Empire. If all human beings understood history, they might cease making the same stupid mistakes over and over.”

“In what way am I naïve?” asked Seldon, lifting his head and staring down his nose at her.

“Don’t be offended, Hari. I think it’s one of your attractive features, actually.”

“I know. It arouses your maternal instincts and you
have
been asked to take care of me. But in what way am I naïve?”

“In thinking that Rashelle would try to propagandize the population of the Empire, generally, into accepting you as seer. She would accomplish nothing in that way. Quadrillions of people are hard to move quickly. There is social and psychological inertia, as well as physical inertia. And, by coming out into the open, she would simply alert Demerzel.”

“Then what is she doing?”

“My guess is that the information about you—suitably exaggerated and glorified—is going out to a crucial few. It is going to those Viceroys of sectors, those admirals of fleets, those people of influence she feels look kindly upon her—or grimly upon the Emperor. A
hundred or so of those who might rally to her side will manage to confuse the Loyalists just long enough to allow Rashelle the First to set up her New Order firmly enough to beat off whatever resistance might develop. At least, I imagine that is how she reasons.”

“And yet we haven’t heard from Hummin.”

“I’m sure he must be doing something just the same. This is too important to ignore.”

“Has it occurred to you that he might be dead?”

“That’s a possibility, but I don’t think so. If he was, the news would reach me.”

“Here?”

“Even here.”

Seldon raised his eyebrows, but said nothing.

Raych came back in the late afternoon, happy and excited, with descriptions of monkeys and of Bakarian demoires and he dominated the conversation during dinner.

It was not until after dinner when they were in their own quarters that Dors said, “Now, tell me what happened with Madam Mayor, Raych. Tell me anything she did or said that you think we ought to know.”

“One thing,” said Raych, his face lighting up. “That’s why she didn’t show at dinner, I bet.”

“What was it?”

“The zoo was closed except for us, you know. There were lots of us—Rashelle and me and all sorts of guys in uniforms and dames in fancy clothes and like that. Then this guy in a uniform—a different guy, who wasn’t there to begin with—came in toward the end and he said something in a low voice and Rashelle turned to all the people and made with her hand like they shouldn’t move and they didn’t. And she went a little ways away with this new guy, so she could talk to him and no one could hear her. Except I kept paying no attention and kept looking at the different cages and sort of moved near to Rashelle so I could hear her.

“She said, ‘How dare they?’ like she was real mad. And the guy in the uniform, he looked nervous—I just
got quick looks because I was trying to make out like I was watching the animals—so mostly I just heard the words. He said somebody—I don’t remember the name, but he was a general or somethin’. He said this general said the officers had sworn religious to Rashelle’s old man—”

“Sworn allegiance,” said Dors.

“Somethin’ like that and they was nervous about havin’ to do what a dame says. He said they wanted the old man or else, if he was kind of sick, he should pick some guy to be Mayor, not a dame.”

“
Not
a dame? Are you sure?”

“That’s what he said. He like whispered it. He was so nervous and Rashelle was so mad she could hardly speak. She said, ‘I’ll have his head. They will all swear allegiance to me tomorrow and whoever refuses will have cause to regret it before an hour has passed.’ That’s
exactly
what she said. She broke up the whole party and we all came back and she didn’t say one word to me all the time. Just sat there, looking kinda mean and angry.”

Dors said, “Good. Don’t you mention this to anyone, Raych.”

“Course not. Is it what you wanted?”

“Very much what I wanted. You did well, Raych. Now, go to your room and forget the whole thing. Don’t even think about it.”

Once he was gone, Dors turned to Seldon and said, “This is very interesting. Daughters have succeeded fathers—or mothers, for that matter—and held Mayoralties or other high offices on any number of occasions. There have even been reigning Empresses, as you undoubtedly know, and I can’t recall that there was ever in Imperial history any serious question of serving under one. It makes one wonder why such a thing should now arise in Wye.”

Seldon said, “Why not? We’ve only recently been in Mycogen, where women are held in a total lack of
esteem and couldn’t possibly hold positions of power, however minor.”

“Yes, of course, but that’s an exception. There are other places where women dominate. For the most part, though, government and power have been more or less equisexual. If more men tend to hold high positions, it is usually because women tend to be more bound—biologically—to children.”

“But what is the situation in Wye?”

“Equisexual, as far as I know. Rashelle didn’t hesitate to assume Mayoral power and I imagine old Mannix didn’t hesitate to grant it to her. And she was surprised and furious at encountering male dissent. She can’t have expected it.”

Seldon said, “You’re clearly pleased at this. Why?”

“Simply because it’s so unnatural that it must be contrived and I imagine Hummin is doing the contriving.”

Seldon said thoughtfully, “You think so?”

“I do,” said Dors.

“You know,” said Seldon, “so do I.”

It was their tenth day in Wye and in the morning Hari Seldon’s door signal sounded and Raych’s high-pitched voice outside was crying out, “Mister! Mister Seldon! It’s war!”

Seldon took a moment to snap from sleep to wakefulness and scrambled out of bed. He was shivering slightly (the Wyans liked their domiciles on the chilly side, he had discovered quite early in his stay there) when he threw the door open.

Raych bounced in, excited and wide-eyed. “Mister Seldon, they have Mannix, the old Mayor! They have—”

“
Who
have, Raych?”

“The Imperials. Their jets came in last night all over. The news holocasts are telling all about it. It’s on in Missus’s room. She said to let ya sleep, but I figured ya would wanna know.”

“And you were quite right.” Seldon, pausing only long enough to throw on a bathrobe, burst into Dors’s room. She was fully dressed and was watching the holo-set in the alcove.

Behind the clear, small image of a desk sat a man, with the Spaceship-and-Sun sharply defined on the left-front of his tunic. On either side, two soldiers, also wearing the Spaceship-and-Sun, stood armed. The officer at the desk was saying, “—is under the peaceful control of His Imperial Majesty. Mayor Mannix is safe and well and is in full possession of his Mayoral powers under the guidance of friendly Imperial troops. He will be before you soon to urge calm on all Wyans and to ask any Wyan soldiers still in arms to lay them down.”

There were other news holocasts by various newsmen with unemotional voices, all wearing Imperial armbands. The news was all the same: surrender by this or that unit of the Wyan security forces after firing a few shots for the record—and sometimes after no resistance at all. This town center and that town center were occupied—and there were repeated views of Wyan crowds somberly watching Imperial forces marching down the streets.

Dors said, “It was perfectly executed, Hari. Surprise was complete. There was no chance of resistance and none of consequence was offered.”

Then Mayor Mannix IV appeared, as had been promised. He was standing upright and, perhaps for the sake of appearances, there were no Imperials in sight, though Seldon was reasonably certain that an adequate number were present just out of camera range.

Mannix was old, but his strength, though worn, was still apparent. His eyes did not meet the holo-camera and his words were spoken as though forced
upon him—but, as had been promised, they counseled Wyans to remain calm, to offer no resistance, to keep Wye from harm, and to cooperate with the Emperor who, it was hoped, would survive long on the throne.

“No mention of Rashelle,” said Seldon. “It’s as though his daughter doesn’t exist.”

“No one has mentioned her,” said Dors, “and this place, which is, after all, her residence—or one of them—hasn’t been attacked. Even if she manages to slip away and take refuge in some neighboring sector, I doubt she will be safe anywhere on Trantor for long.”

“Perhaps not,” came a voice, “but I’ll be safe here for a little while.”

Rashelle entered. She was properly dressed, properly calm. She was even smiling, but it was no smile of joy; it was, rather, a cold baring of teeth.

The three stared at her in surprise for a moment and Seldon wondered if she had any of her servants with her or if they had promptly deserted her at the first sign of adversity.

Dors said a little coldly, “I see, Madam Mayor, that your hopes for a coup cannot be maintained. Apparently, you have been forestalled.”

“I have not been forestalled. I have been betrayed. My officers have been tampered with and—against all history and rationality—they have refused to fight for a woman but only for their old master. And, traitors that they are, they then let their old master be seized so that he cannot lead them in resistance.”

She looked about for a chair and sat down. “And now the Empire must continue to decay and die when I was prepared to offer it new life.”

“I think,” said Dors, “the Empire has avoided an indefinite period of useless fighting and destruction. Console yourself with that, Madam Mayor.”

It was as though Rashelle did not hear her. “So many years of preparation destroyed in a night.” She sat there beaten, defeated, and seemed to have aged twenty years.

Dors said, “It could scarcely have been done in a night. The suborning of your officers—if that took place—must have taken time.”

“At that, Demerzel is a master and quite obviously I underestimated him. How he did it, I don’t know—threats, bribes, smooth and specious argument. He is a master at the art of stealth and betrayal—I should have known.”

She went on after a pause. “If this was outright force on his part, I would have had no trouble destroying anything he sent against us. Who would think that Wye would be betrayed, that an oath of allegiance would be so lightly thrown aside?”

Seldon said with automatic rationality, “But I imagine the oath was made not to you, but to your father.”

“Nonsense,” said Rashelle vigorously. “When my father gave me the Mayoral office, as he was legally entitled to do, he automatically passed on to me any oaths of allegiance made to him. There is ample precedence for this. It is customary to have the oath repeated to the new ruler, but that is a ceremony only and not a legal requirement. My officers know that, though they choose to forget. They use my womanhood as an excuse because they quake in fear of Imperial vengeance that would never have come had they been staunch or tremble with greed for promised rewards they will surely never get—if I know Demerzel.”

She turned sharply toward Seldon. “He wants you, you know. Demerzel struck at us for you.”

Seldon started. “Why me?”

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

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

“Madam Mayor,” he said, drawing himself to attention with a snap.

He was still, in appearance, the side of beef that Hari had named him—a man still following orders blindly, totally oblivious to the new and changed state of affairs.

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

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

“And to have made something of you too, Dr. Seldon,” said Rashelle, “and there also I must crave pardon. I cannot.”

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

“But I do. I cannot very well let Demerzel have you. That would be one victory too many for him and at least I can stop that.”