Prelude to Foundation (5 page)

“No. Zero talent there.”

“Oh.” Seldon was disappointed. “You said you saw me at the Decennial Convention.”

“I was there as an onlooker. I’m a journalist.” He waved his teleprints, seemed suddenly aware that he was holding them and shoved them into his jacket pouch. “I supply the material for the news holocasts.” Then, thoughtfully, “Actually, I’m rather tired of it.”

“The job?”

Hummin nodded. “I’m sick of gathering together all
the nonsense from every world. I hate the downward spiral.”

He glanced speculatively at Seldon. “Sometimes something interesting turns up, though. I’ve heard you were seen in the company of an Imperial Guard and making for the Palace gate. You weren’t by any chance seen by the Emperor, were you?”

The smile vanished from Seldon’s face. He said slowly, “If I was, it would scarcely be something I could talk about for publication.”

“No no, not for publication. If you don’t know this, Seldon, let me be the first to tell you— The first rule of the news game is that
nothing
is ever said about the Emperor or his personal entourage except what is officially given out. It’s a mistake, of course, because rumors fly that are much worse than the truth, but that’s the way it is.”

“But if you can’t report it, friend, why do you ask?”

“Private curiosity. Believe me, in my job I know a great deal more than ever gets on the air. —Let me guess. I didn’t follow your paper, but I gathered that you were talking about the possibility of predicting the future.”

Seldon shook his head and muttered, “It was a mistake.”

“Pardon me?”

“Nothing.”

“Well, prediction—accurate prediction—would interest the Emperor, or any man in government, so I’m guessing that Cleon, First of that Name, asked you about it and wouldn’t you please give him a few predictions.”

Seldon said stiffly, “I don’t intend to discuss the matter.”

Hummin shrugged slightly. “Eto Demerzel was there, I suppose.”

“Who?”

“You’ve never heard of Eto Demerzel?”

“Never.”

“Cleon’s alter ego—Cleon’s brain—Cleon’s evil spirit. He’s been called all those things—if we confine ourselves to the nonvituperative. He must have been there.”

Seldon looked confused and Hummin said, “Well, you may not have seen him, but he was there. And if he thinks you can predict the future—”

“I can’t predict the future,” said Seldon, shaking his head vigorously. “If you listened to my paper, you’ll know that I only spoke of a theoretical possibility.”

“Just the same, if he
thinks
you can predict the future, he will not let you go.”

“He must have. Here I am.”

“That means nothing. He knows where you are and he’ll continue to know. And when he wants you, he’ll get you, wherever you are. And if he decides you’re useful, he’ll squeeze the use out of you. And if he decides you’re dangerous, he’ll squeeze the life out of you.”

Seldon stared. “What are you trying to do. Frighten me?”

“I’m trying to warn you.”

“I don’t believe what you’re saying.”

“Don’t you? A while ago you said something was a mistake. Were you thinking that presenting the paper was a mistake and that it was getting you into the kind of trouble you don’t want to be in?”

Seldon bit his lower lip uneasily. That was a guess that came entirely too close to the truth—and it was at this moment that Seldon felt the presence of intruders.

They did not cast a shadow, for the light was too soft and widespread. It was simply a movement that caught the corner of his eye—and then it stopped.

Seldon looked up. A young man was standing before him, looking down at him with an expression of amused contempt. Next to him was another young man—a bit younger, perhaps. Both were large and appeared to be strong.

They were dressed in an extreme of Trantorian fashion, Seldon judged—boldly clashing colors, broad fringed belts, round hats with wide brims all about and the two ends of a bright pink ribbon extending from the brim to the back of the neck.

In Seldon’s eyes, it was amusing and he smiled.

The young man before him snapped, “What’re you grinning at, misfit?”

Seldon ignored the manner of address and said gently, “Please pardon my smile. I was merely enjoying your costume.”

“My costume? So? And what are you wearing? What’s that awful offal you call clothes?” His hand went out and his finger flicked at the lapel of Seldon’s jacket—disgracefully heavy and dull, Seldon himself thought, in comparison to the other’s lighthearted colors.

Seldon said, “I’m afraid it’s my Outworlder clothes. They’re all I have.”

He couldn’t help notice that the few others who were sitting in the small park were rising to their feet and walking off. It was as though they were expecting trouble and had no desire to remain in the vicinity. Seldon wondered if his new friend, Hummin, was leaving too, but he felt it injudicious to take his eyes away from the young man who was confronting him. He teetered back on his chair slightly.

The young man said, “You an Outworlder?”

“That’s right. Hence my clothes.”

“Hence? What kind of word’s that? Outworld word?”

“What I meant was, that was why my clothes seem peculiar to you. I’m a visitor here.”

“From what planet?”

“Helicon.”

The young man’s eyebrows drew together. “Never heard of it.”

“It’s not a large planet.”

“Why don’t you go back there?”

“I intend to. I’m leaving tomorrow.”

“Sooner! Now!”

The young man looked at his partner. Seldon followed the look and caught a glimpse of Hummin. He had
not
left, but the park was now empty except for himself, Hummin, and the two young men.

Seldon said, “I’d thought I’d spend today sight-seeing.”

“No. You don’t want to do that. You go home now.”

Seldon smiled. “Sorry. I won’t.”

The young man said to his partner, “You like his clothes, Marbie?”

Marbie spoke for the first time. “No. Disgusting. Turns the stomach.”

“Can’t let him go around turning stomachs, Marbie. Not good for people’s health.”

“No, not by no means, Alem,” said Marbie.

Alem grinned. “Well now. You heard what Marbie said.”

And now Hummin spoke. He said, “Look, you two, Alem, Marbie, whatever your names are. You’ve had your fun. Why don’t you go away?”

Alem, who had been leaning slightly toward Seldon, straightened and turned. “Who are you?”

“That’s not your business,” snapped Hummin.

“You’re Trantorian?” asked Alem.

“Also not your business.”

Alem frowned and said, “You’re dressed Trantorian. We’re not interested in you, so don’t go looking for problems.”

“I intend to stay. That means there are two of us. Two against two doesn’t sound like your kind of fight. Why don’t you go away and get some friends so you can handle two people?”

Seldon said, “I really think you ought to get away if you can, Hummin. It’s kind of you to try to protect me, but I don’t want you harmed.”

“These are not dangerous people, Seldon. Just half-credit lackeys.”

“Lackeys!” The word seemed to infuriate Alem, so that Seldon thought it must have a more insulting meaning on Trantor than it had on Helicon.

“Here, Marbie,” said Alem with a growl. “You take care of that other motherlackey and I’ll rip the clothes off this Seldon. He’s the one we want. Now—”

His hands came down sharply to seize Seldon’s lapels and jerk him upright. Seldon pushed away, instinctively it would seem, and his chair tipped backward. He seized the hands stretched toward him, his foot went up, and his chair went down.

Somehow Alem streaked overhead, turning as he
did so, and came down hard on his neck and back behind Seldon.

Seldon twisted as his chair went down and was quickly on his feet, staring down at Alem, then looking sharply to one side for Marbie.

Alem lay unmoving, his face twisted in agony. He had two badly sprained thumbs, excruciating pain in his groin, and a backbone that had been badly jarred.

Hummin’s left arm had grabbed Marbie’s neck from behind and his right arm had pulled the other’s right arm backward at a vicious angle. Marbie’s face was red as he labored uselessly for breath. A knife, glittering with a small laser inset, lay on the ground beside them.

Hummin eased his grip slightly and said, with an air of honest concern, “You’ve hurt that one badly.”

Seldon said, “I’m afraid so. If he had fallen a little differently, he would have snapped his neck.”

Hummin said, “What kind of a mathematician are you?”

“A Heliconian one.” He stooped to pick up the knife and, after examining it, said, “Disgusting—and deadly.”

Hummin said, “An ordinary blade would do the job without requiring a power source. —But let’s let these two go. I doubt they want to continue any further.”

He released Marbie, who rubbed first his shoulder then his neck. Gasping for air, he turned hate-filled eyes on the two men.

Hummin said sharply, “You two had better get out of here. Otherwise we’ll have to give evidence against you for assault and attempted murder. This knife can surely be traced to you.”

Seldon and Hummin watched while Marbie dragged Alem to his feet and then helped him stagger away, still bent in pain. They looked back once or twice, but Seldon and Hummin watched impassively.

Seldon held out his hand. “How do I thank you for coming to the aid of a stranger against two attackers? I
doubt I would have been able to handle them both on my own.”

Hummin raised his hand in a deprecatory manner. “I wasn’t afraid of them. They’re just street-brawling lackeys. All I had to do was get my hands on them—and yours, too, of course.”

“That’s a pretty deadly grip you have,” Seldon mused.

Hummin shrugged. “You too.” Then, without changing his tone of voice, he said, “Come on, we’d better get out of here. We’re wasting time.”

Seldon said, “Why do we have to get away? Are you afraid those two will come back?”

“Not in their lifetime. But some of those brave people who cleared out of the park so quickly in their eagerness to spare themselves a disagreeable sight may have alerted the police.”

“Fine. We have the hoodlums’ names. And we can describe them fairly well.”

“Describe them? Why would the police want them?”

“They committed an assault—”

“Don’t be foolish. We don’t have a scratch. They’re virtually hospital bait, especially Alem.
We’re
the ones who will be charged.”

“But that’s impossible. Those people witnessed the fact that—”

“No people will be called. —Seldon, get this into your head. Those two came to find you—specifically
you
. They were told you were wearing Heliconian clothes and you must have been described precisely. Perhaps they were even shown a holograph. I suspect they were sent by the people who happen to control the police, so let’s not wait any longer.”

Hummin hurried off, his hand gripping Seldon’s upper arm. Seldon found the grip impossible to shake and, feeling like a child in the hands of an impetuous nurse, followed.

They plunged into an arcade and, before Seldon’s
eyes grew accustomed to the dimmer light, they heard the burring sound of a ground-car’s brakes.

“There they are,” muttered Hummin. “Faster, Seldon.” They hopped onto a moving corridor and lost themselves in the crowd.

Seldon had tried to persuade Hummin to take him to his hotel room, but Hummin would have none of that.

“Are you mad?” he half-whispered. “They’ll be waiting for you there.”

“But all my belongings are waiting for me there too.”

“They’ll just have to wait.”

And now they were in a small room in a pleasant apartment structure that might be anywhere for all that Seldon could tell. He looked about the one-room unit. Most of it was taken up by a desk and chair, a bed, and a computer outlet. There were no dining facilities or washstand of any kind, though Hummin had directed him to a communal washroom down the hall. Someone had entered before Seldon was quite through. He had cast one brief and curious look at Seldon’s clothes, rather than at Seldon himself, and had then looked away.

Seldon mentioned this to Hummin, who shook his head and said, “We’ll have to get rid of your clothes. Too bad Helicon is so far out of fashion—”

Seldon said impatiently, “How much of this might just be your imagination, Hummin? You’ve got me half-convinced and yet it may be merely a kind of … of—”