6
It was not an easy task to obtain a complete genome of Wanda. To begin with, the number of biophysicists equipped to handle the genome was small and those that existed were always busy.
Nor was it possible for Seldon to discuss his needs openly, in order to interest the biophysicists. It was absolutely essential, Seldon felt, that the true reason for his interest in Wanda’s mental powers be kept secret from all the Galaxy.
And if another difficulty was needed, it was the fact that the process was infernally expensive.
Seldon shook his head and said to Mian Endelecki, the biophysicist he was now consulting, “Why so expensive, Dr. Endelecki? I am not an expert in the field, but it is my distinct understanding that the process is completely computerized and that, once you have a scraping of skin cells, the genome can be completely built and analyzed in a matter of days.”
“That’s true. But having a deoxyribonucleic acid molecule stretching out for billions of nucleotides, with every puring and pyrimidine in its place, is the least of it; the very least of it, Professor Seldon. There is then the matter of studying each one and comparing it to some standard.
“Now, consider, in the first place, that although we have records of complete genomes, they represent a vanishingly small fraction of the number of genomes that exist, so that we don’t really know how standard they are.”
Seldon asked, “Why so few?”
“A number of reasons. The expense, for one thing. Few people are willing to spend the credits on it unless they have strong reason to think there is something wrong with their genome. And if they have no strong reason, they are reluctant to undergo analysis for fear they will find something wrong. Now, then, are you sure you want your granddaughter genomed?”
“Yes, I do. It is terribly important.”
“Why? Does she show signs of a metabolic anomaly?”
“No, she doesn’t. Rather the reverse--if I knew the antonym of ‘anomaly.’ I consider her a most unusual person and I want to know just what it is that makes her unusual.”
“Unusual in what way?”
“Mentally, but it’s impossible for me to go into details, since I don’t entirely understand it. Maybe I will, once she is genomed.”
“How old is she?”
“Twelve. She’ll soon be thirteen.”
“In that case, I’ll need permission from her parents.”
Seldon cleared his throat. “That may be difficult to get. I’m her grandfather. Wouldn’t my permission be enough?”
“For me, certainly. But, you know, we’re talking about the law. I don’t wish to lose my license to practice.”
It was necessary for Seldon to approach Raych again. This, too, was difficult, as he protested once more that he and his wife, Manella, wanted Wanda to live a normal life of a normal girl. What if her genome did turn out to be abnormal? Would she be whisked away to be prodded and probed like a laboratory specimen? Would Hari, in his fanatical devotion to his Psychohistory Project, press Wanda into a life of all work and no play, shutting her off from other young people her age? But Seldon was insistent.
“Trust me, Raych. I would never do anything to harm Wanda. But this must be done. I need to know Wanda’s genome. If it is as I suspect it is, we may be on the verge of altering the course of psychohistory, of the future of the Galaxy itself!”
And so Raych was persuaded and somehow he obtained Manella’s consent, as well. And together, the three adults took Wanda to Dr. Endelecki’s office.
Mian Endelecki greeted them at the door. Her hair was a shining white, but her face showed no sign of age.
She looked at the girl, who walked in with a look of curiosity on her face but with no signs of apprehension or fear. She then turned her gaze to the three adults who had accompanied Wanda.
Dr. Endelecki said with a smile, “Mother, father, and grandfather--am I right?”
Seldon answered, “Absolutely right.”
Raych looked hang-dog and Manella, her face a little swollen and her eyes a little red, looked tired.
“Wanda,” began the doctor. “That is your name, isn’t it?”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Wanda in her clear voice.
“I’m going to tell you exactly what I’m going to do with you. You’re right-handed, I suppose.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Very well, then, I’ll spray a little patch on your left forearm with an anesthetic. It will just feel like a cool wind. Nothing else. I’ll then scrape a little skin from you just a tiny bit. There’ll be no pain, no blood, no mark afterward. When I’m done, I’ll spray a little disinfectant on it. The whole thing will take just a few minutes. Does that sound all right to you?”
“Sure,” said Wanda, as she held out her arm.
When it was over, Dr. Endelecki said, “I’ll put the scraping under the microscope, choose a decent cell, and put my computerized gene analyzer to work. It will mark off every last nucleotide, but there are billions of them. It will probably take the better part of a day. It’s all automatic, of course, so I won’t be sitting here watching it and there’s no point in your doing so, either.
“Once the genome is prepared, it will take an even longer time to analyze it. If you want a complete job, it may take a couple of weeks. That is why it’s so expensive a procedure. The work is hard and long. I’ll call you in when I have it.” She turned away, as if she had dismissed the family, and busied herself with the gleaming apparatus on the table in front of her.
Seldon said, “If you come across anything unusual, will you get in touch with me instantly? I mean, don’t wait for a complete analysis if you find something in the first hour. Don’t make me wait.”
“The chances of finding anything in the first hour are very slim, but I promise you, Professor Seldon that I will be in touch with you at once if it seems necessary.”
Manella snatched Wanda’s arm and led her off triumphantly. Raych followed, feet dragging. Seldon lingered and said, “This is more important than you know, Dr. Endelecki.”
Dr. Endelecki nodded as she said, “Whatever the reason, Professor, I’ll do my best.”
Seldon left, his lips pressed tightly together. Why he had thought that somehow the genome would be worked out in five minutes and that a glance at it in another five minutes would give him an answer, he did not know. Now he would have to wait for weeks, without knowing what would be found.
He ground his teeth. Would his newest brainchild, the Second Foundation, ever be established or was it an illusion that would remain always just out of reach?
7
Hari Seldon walked into Dr. Endelecki’s office, a nervous smile on his face.
He said, “You said a couple of weeks, Doctor. It’s been over a month mow.”
Dr. Endelecki nodded. “I’m sorry, Professor Seldon but you wanted everything exact and that is what I have tried to do.”
“Well?” The look of anxiety on Seldon’s face did not disappear. What did you find?”
“A hundred or so defective genes.”
“What! Defective genes. Are you serious, Doctor?”
“Quite serious. Why not? There are no genomes without at least a hundred defective genes; usually there are considerably more. It’s not as bad as it sounds, you know.”
“No, I don’t know. You’re the expert, Doctor, not I.”
Dr. Endelecki sighed and stirred in her chair. “You don’t know anything about genetics, do you, Professor?”
“No, I don’t. A man can’t know everything.”
“You’re perfectly right. I know nothing about this--what do you call it?--this psychohistory of yours.”
Dr. Endelecki shrugged, then continued. “If you wanted to explain anything about it, you would be forced to start from the beginning and I would probably not understand it even so. “Now, as to genetics--”
“Well?”
“An imperfect gene usually means nothing. There are imperfect genes--so imperfect and so crucial that they produce terrible disorders. These are very rare, though. Most imperfect genes simply don’t work with absolute accuracy. They’re like wheels that are slightly out of balance. A vehicle will move along, trembling a bit, but it will move along.”
“Is that what Wanda has?”
“Yes. More or less. After all, if all genes were perfect, we would all look precisely the same, we would all behave precisely the same. It’s the difference in genes that makes for different people.”
“But won’t it get worse as we grow older?”
“Yes. We all get worse as we grow older. I noticed you limping when you came in. Why is that?”
“A touch of sciatica,” muttered Seldon.
“Did you have it all your life?”
“Of course not.”
“Well, some of your genes have gotten worse with time and now you limp.”
“And what will happen to Wanda with time?”
“I don’t know. I can’t predict the future, Professor; I believe that is your province. However, if I were to hazard a guess, I would say that nothing unusual will happen to Wanda--at least, genetically--except the gathering of old age.”
Seldon said, “Are you sure?”
“You have to take my word for it. You wanted to find out about Wanda’s genome and you ran the risk of discovering things perhaps it is better not to know. But I tell you that, in my opinion, I can see nothing terrible happening to her.”
“The imperfect genes--should we fix them? Can we fix them?”
“No. In the first place, it would be very expensive. Secondly, the chances are that they would not stay fixed. And finally, people are against it.
“But why?”
“Because they’re against science in general. You should know this as well as anyone, Professor. I’m afraid the situation is such, especially since Cleon’s death, that mysticism has been gaining ground. People don’t believe in fixing genes scientifically. They would rather cure things by the laying on of hands or by mumbo-jumbo of some sort or other. Frankly it is extremely difficult for me to continue with my job. Very little funding is coming in.”
Seldon nodded. “Actually I understand this situation all too well. Psychohistory explains it, but I honestly didn’t think the situation was growing so bad so rapidly. I’ve been too involved in my own work to see the difficulties all around me.” He sighed. “I’ve been watching the Galactic Empire slowly fall apart for over thirty years now--and now that it’s beginning to collapse much more rapidly, I don’t see how we can stop it in time.”
“Are you trying to?” Dr. Endelecki seemed amused.
“Yes, I am.”
“Lots of luck. --About your sciatica. You know, fifty years ago it could have been cured. Not now, though.”
“Why not?”
“Well, the devices used for it are gone; the people who could have handled them are working on other things. Medicine is declining.”
“Along with everything else,” mused Seldon. “--but let’s get back to Wanda. I feel she is a most unusual young woman with a brain that is different from most. What do her genes tell you about her brain?”
Dr. Endelecki leaned back in her chair. “Professor Seldon do you know just how many genes are involved in brain function?”
“No.
“I’ll remind you that, of all the aspects of the human body, the brain Junction is the most intricate. In fact, as far as we know, there is nothing m the Universe as intricate as the human brain. So you won’t be surprised when I tell you that there are thousands of genes that each play a i0ale in brain function.”
“Thousands?”
“Exactly. And it is impossible to go through those genes and see anything specifically unusual. I will take your word for it, as far as Wanda is concerned. She is an unusual girl with an unusual brain, but I see nothing in her genes that can tell me anything about that brain--except, of course, that it is normal.”
“Could you find other people whose genes for mental functioning are like Wanda’s, that have the same brain pattern?”
“I doubt it very much. Even if another brain were much like hers, there would still be enormous differences in the genes. No use looking for similarities. --Tell me, Professor, just what is it about Wanda that makes you think her brain is so unusual?”
Seldon shook his head. “I’m sorry. It’s not something I can discuss.”
“In that case, I am certain that I can find out nothing for you. How did you discover that there was something unusual about her brain--this thing you can’t discuss?”
“Accident,” muttered Seldon. “Sheer accident.”
“In that case, you’re going to have to find other brains like hers--also by accident. Nothing else can be done.”
Silence settled over both of them. Finally Seldon said, “Is there anything else you can tell me?”
“I’m afraid not. Except that I’ll send you my bill.”
Seldon rose with an effort. His sciatica hurt him badly. “Well then, thank you, Doctor. Send the bill and I’ll pay it.”
Hari Seldon left the doctor’s office, wondering just what he would do next.
8
Like any intellectual, Hari Seldon had made use of the Galactic Library freely. For the most part, it had been done long-distance through computer, but occasionally he had visited it, more to get away from the pressures of the Psychohistory Project than for any other purpose. And, for the past couple of years, since he had first formulated his plan to find others like Wanda, he had kept a private office there, so he could have ready access to any of the Library’s vast collection of data. He had even rented a small apartment in an adjacent sector under the dome so that he would be able to walk to the Library when his ever-increasing research there prevented him from returning to the Streeling Sector.
Now, however, his plan had taken on new dimensions and he wanted to meet Las Zenow. It was the first time he had ever met him face-to-face.
It was not easy to arrange a personal interview with the Chief Librarian of the Galactic Library. His own perception of the nature and value of his office was high and it was frequently said that when the Emperor wished to consult the Chief Librarian, even he had to visit the Library himself and wait his turn.
Seldon however, had no trouble. Zenow knew him well, though he had never seen Hari Seldon in person. “An honor, First Minister,” he said in greeting.
Seldon smiled. “I trust you know that I have not held that post in sixteen years.”
“The honor of the title is still yours. Besides, sir, you were also instrumental in ridding us of the brutal rule of the junta. The junta, on a number of occasions, violated the sacred rule of the neutrality of the Library.”
(Ah, thought Seldon that accounts for the readiness with which he saw me.)
“Merely rumor,” he said aloud.
“And now, tell me,” said Zenow, who could not resist a quick look at the time band on his wrist, “what can I do for you?”
“Chief Librarian,” began Seldon “I have not come to ask anything easy of you. What I want is more space at the Library. I want permission to bring in a number of my associates. I want permission to undertake a long and elaborate program of the greatest importance.”
Las Zenow’s face drew into an expression of distress. “You ask a great deal. Can you explain the importance of all this?”
“Yes. The Empire is in the process of disintegration.”
There was a long pause. Then Zenow said, “I have heard of your research into psychohistory. I have been told that your new science bears the promise of predicting the future. Is it psychohistorical predictions of which you are speaking?”
“No. I have not yet reached the point in psychohistory where I can speak of the future with certainty. But you don’t need psychohistory to know that the Empire is disintegrating. You can see the evidence yourself.”
Zenow sighed. “My work here consumes me utterly, Professor Seldon. I am a child when it comes to political and social matters.”
“You may, if you wish, consult the information contained in the Library. Why look around this very office--it is chock-full of every conceivable sort of information from throughout the entire Galactic Empire.”
“I’m the last to keep up with it all, I’m afraid,” Zenow said, smiling sadly. “You know the old proverb: The shoemaker’s child has no shoes. It seems to me, though, that the Empire is restored. We have an Emperor again.”
“In name only, Chief Librarian. In most of the outlying provinces, the Emperor’s name is mentioned ritualistically now and then, but he plays no role in what they do. The Outer Worlds control their own programs and, more important, they control the local armed forces, which are outside the grip of the Emperor’s authority. If the Emperor were to try to exert his authority anywhere outside the Inner Worlds, he would fail. I doubt that it will take more than twenty years, at the outside, before some of the Outer Worlds declare their independence.”
Zenow sighed again. “If you are right, we live in worse times than the Empire has ever seen. But what has this to do with your desire for more office space and additional staff here in the Library?”
“If the Empire falls apart, the Galactic Library may not escape the general carnage.”
“Oh, but it must,” said Zenow earnestly. “There have been bad times before and it has always been understood that the Galactic Library on Trantor, as the repository of all human knowledge, must remain inviolate. And so it will be in the future.”
“It may not be. You said yourself that the junta violated its neutrality.”
“Not seriously.”
“It might be more serious next time and we can’t allow this repository of all human knowledge to be damaged.”
“How will your increased presence here prevent that?”
“It won’t. But the project I am interested in will. I want to create a great Encyclopedia, containing within it all the knowledge humanity will need to rebuild itself in case the worst happens--an Encyclopedia Galactica, if you will. We don’t need everything the Library has. Much of it is trivial. The provincial libraries scattered over the Galaxy may themselves be destroyed and, if not, all but the most local data is obtained by computerized connection with the Galactic Library in any case. What I intend, then, is something that is entirely independent and that contains, in as concise a form as possible, the essential information humanity needs.”
“And if it, too, is destroyed?”
“I hope it will not be. It is my intention to find a world far away on the outskirts of the Galaxy, one where I can transfer my Encyclopedists and where they can work in peace. Until such a place is found, however, I want the nucleus of the group to work here and to use the Library facilities to decide what will be needed for the project.”
Zenow grimaced. “I see your point, Professor Seldon, but I’m not sure that it can be done.”
“Why not, Chief Librarian?”
“Because being Chief Librarian does not make me an absolute monarch. I have a rather large Board--a kind of legislature--and please don’t think that I can just push your Encyclopedia Project through.”
“I’m astonished.”
“Don’t be. I am not a popular Chief Librarian. The Board has been fighting, for some years now, for limited access to the Library. I have resisted. It galls them that I have afforded you your small office space.”
“Limited access?”
“Exactly. The idea is that if anyone needs information, he or she must communicate with a Librarian and the Librarian will get the information for the person. The Board does not wish people to enter the Library freely and deal with the computers themselves. They say that the expense required to keep the computers and other Library equipment in shape is becoming prohibitive.”
“But that’s impossible. There’s a millennial tradition of an open Galactic Library.”
“So there is, but in recent years, appropriations to the Library have been cut several times and we simply don’t have the funds we used to have. It is becoming very difficult to keep our equipment up to the mark.”
Seldon rubbed his chin. “But if your appropriations are going down, I imagine you have to cut salaries and fire people--or, at least, not hire new ones.”
“You are exactly right.”
“In which case, how will you manage to place new labors on a shrinking work force by asking your people to obtain all the information that the public will request?”
“The idea is that we won’t find all the information that the public will request but only those pieces of information that we consider important.”
“So that not only will you abandon the open Library but also the complete Library?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“I can’t believe that any Librarian would want this.”
“You don’t know Gennaro Mummery, Professor Seldon.” At Seldon’s blank look, Zenow continued. “ ‘Who is he?’ you wonder. The leader of that portion of the Board that wishes to close off the Library. More and more of the Board are on his side. If I let you and your colleagues into the Library as an independent force, a number of Board members who may not be on Mummery’s side but who are dead set against any control of any part of the Library except by Librarians may decide to vote with him. And in that case, I will be forced to resign as Chief Librarian.”
“See here,” said Seldon with sudden energy. “All this business of possibly closing down the Library, of making it less accessible, of refusing all information--all this business of declining appropriations--all this is itself a sign of Imperial disintegration. Don’t you agree?”
“If you put it that way, you may be right.”
“Then let me talk to the Board. Let me explain what the future may hold and what I wish to do. Perhaps I can persuade them, as I hope I’ve persuaded you.”
Zenow thought for a moment. “I’m willing to let you try, but you must know in advance that your plan may not work.”
“I’ve got to take that chance. Please do whatever has to be done and let me know when and where I can meet the Board.”
Seldon left Zenow in a mood of unease. Everything he had told the Chief Librarian was true--and trivial. The real reason he needed the use of the Library remained hidden.
Partly this was because he didn’t yet see that use clearly himself.
9
Hari Seldon sat at Yugo Amaryl’s bedside--patiently, sadly. Yugo was utterly spent. He was beyond medical help, even if he would have consented to avail himself of such help, which he refused.
He was only fifty-five. Seldon was himself sixty-six and yet he was in fine shape, except for the twinge of sciatica--or whatever it was--that occasionally lamed him.
Amaryl’s eyes opened. “You’re still here, Hari?”
Seldon nodded. “I won’t leave you.”
“Till I die?”
“Yes.” Then, in an outburst of grief, he said, “Why have you done this, Yugo? If you had lived sensibly, you could have had twenty to thirty more years of life.”
Amaryl smiled faintly. “Live sensibly? You mean, take time off? Go to resorts? Amuse myself with trifles?”
“Yes. Yes.”
“And I would either have longed to return to my work or I would have learned to like wasting my time and, in the additional twenty to thirty years you speak of, I would have accomplished no more. Look at you.”
“What about me?”
“For ten years you were First Minister under Cleon. How much science did you do then?”
“I spent about a quarter of my time on psychohistory,” said Seldon gently.
“You exaggerate. If it hadn’t been for me, plugging away, psychohistorical advance would have screeched to a halt.”
Seldon nodded. “You are right, Yugo. For that I am grateful.”
“And before and since, when you spend at least half your time on administrative duties, who does--did--the real work? Eh?”
“You, Yugo.”
“Absolutely.” His eyes closed again.
Seldon said, “Yet you always wanted to take over those administrative duties if you survived me.”
“No! I wanted to head the Project to keep it moving in the direction it had to move in, but I would have delegated all administration.”
Amaryl’s breathing was growing stertorous, but then he stirred and his eyes opened, staring directly at Hari. He said, “What will happen to psychohistory when I’m gone? Have you thought of that?”
“Yes, I have. And I want to speak to you about it. It may please you. Yugo, I believe that psychohistory is being revolutionized.”
Amaryl frowned slightly. “In what way? I don’t like the sound of that.”
“Listen. It was your idea. Years ago, you told me that two Foundations should be established. Separate--isolated and safe--and arranged so that they would serve as nuclei for an eventual Second Galactic Empire. Do you remember? That was your idea.”
“The psychohistoric equations--”
“I know. They suggested it. I’m busy working on it now, Yugo. I’ve managed to wangle an office in the Galactic Library--”
“The Galactic Library.” Amaryl’s frown deepened. “I don’t like diem. A bunch of self-satisfied idiots.”
“The Chief Librarian, Las Zenow, is not so bad, Yugo.”
“Did you ever meet a Librarian named Mummery, Gennaro Mummery?”
“No, but I’ve heard of him.”
“A miserable human being. We had an argument once when he claimed I had misplaced something or other. I had done no such thing and I grew very annoyed, Hari. All of a sudden I was back in Dahl. One thing about the Dahlite culture, Hari, it is a cesspool of invective. I used some of it on him and I told him he was interfering with psychohistory and he would go down in history as a villain. I didn’t just say ‘villain,’ either.” Amaryl chuckled faintly. “I left him speechless.”
Suddenly Seldon could see where Mummery’s animosity toward outsiders and, most probably, psychohistory must come from--at least, in part--but he said nothing.
“The point is, Yugo, you wanted two Foundations, so that if one failed, the other would continue. But we’ve gone beyond that.”
“In what way?”
“Do you remember that Wanda was able to read your mind two years ago and see that something was wrong with a portion of the equations in the Prime Radiant?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Well, we will find others like Wanda. We will have one Foundation that will consist largely of physical scientists, who will preserve the knowledge of humanity and serve as the nucleus for the Second Empire. And there will be a Second Foundation of psychohistorians only--mentalists, mind-touching psychohistorians--who will be able to work on psychohistory in a multiminded way, advancing it far more quickly than individual thinkers ever could. They will serve as a group who will introduce fine adjustments as time goes on, you see. Ever in the background, watching. They will be the Empire’s guardians.”
“Wonderful!” said Amaryl weakly. “Wonderful! You see how I’ve chosen the right time to die? There’s nothing left for me to do.”
“Don’t say that, Yugo.”
“Don’t make such a fuss over it, Hari. I’m too tired to do anything. Thank you--thank you--for telling me”--his voice was weakening--”about the revolution. It makes me--happy--happy--hap--”
And those were Yugo Amaryl’s last words.
Seldon bent over the bed. Tears stung his eyes and rolled down his cheeks.
Another old friend gone. Demerzel, Cleon, Dors, now Yugo . . . leaving him emptier and lonelier as he grew old.
And the revolution that had allowed Amaryl to die happy might never come to pass. Could he manage to make use of the Galactic Library? Could he find more people like Wanda? Most of all, how long would it take?
Seldon was sixty-six. If only he could have started this revolution at thirty-two when he first came to Trantor . . . .
Now it might be too late.
10
Gennaro Mummery was making him wait. It was a studied discourtesy, even insolence, but Hari Seldon remained calm.
After all, Seldon needed Mummery badly and for him to become angry with the Librarian would only hurt himself. Mummery would, in fact, be delighted with an angry Seldon.
So Seldon kept his temper and waited and eventually Mummery did walk in. Seldon had seen him before--but only at a distance. This was the first time they would be together alone.
Mummery was short and plump, with a round face and a dark little beard. He wore a smile on his face, but Seldon suspected that smile of being a meaningless fixture. It revealed yellowish teeth and Mummery’s inevitable hat was of a similar shade of yellow with a brown line snaking around it.
Seldon felt a touch of nausea. It seemed to him that he would dislike Mummery, even if he had no reason to do so.
Mummery said, without any preliminaries, “Well, Professor, what can I do for you?” He looked at the time-strip on the wall but made no apology for being late.
Seldon said, “I would like to ask you, sir, to put an end to your opposition to my remaining here at the Library.”
Mummery spread his hands. “You’ve been here for two years. What Opposition are you speaking of?”
“So far, that portion of the Board represented by you and those who believe as you do have been unable to outvote the Chief Librarian, but there will be another meeting next month and Las Zenow tells me he is uncertain of the result.”
Mummery shrugged. “So am I uncertain. Your lease--if we can call it that--may well be renewed.”
“But I need more than that, Librarian Mummery. I wish to bring in some colleagues. The project in which I am engaged--the establishment of what is needed in the way of the eventual preparation of a very special Encyclopedia--is not one I can do alone.”
“Surely your colleagues can work wherever they please. Trantor is a large world.”
“We must work in the Library. I am an old man, sir, and I am in a hurry.”
“Who can stay the advance of time? I don’t think the Board will allow you to bring in colleagues. The thin edge of the wedge, Professor?”
(Yes, indeed, thought Seldon, but he said nothing.)
Mummery said, “I have not been able to keep you out, Professor. Not so far. But I think I can continue to keep out your colleagues.”
Seldon realized that he was getting nowhere. He opened the touch of frankness a notch. He said, “Librarian Mummery, surely your animosity toward me is not personal. Surely you understand the importance of the work I am doing.”
“You mean, your psychohistory. Come, you have been working on it for over thirty years. What has come of it?”
“That’s the point. Something may come of it now.”
“Then let something come of it at Streeling University. Why must it be at the Galactic Library?”
“Librarian Mummery. Listen to me. What you want is to close the Library to the public. You wish to smash a long tradition. Have you the heart to do that?”
“It’s not heart we need. It’s funding. Surely the Chief Librarian has wept on your shoulder in telling you our woes. Appropriations are down, salaries are cut, needed maintenance is absent. What are we to do? We’ve got to cut services and we certainly can’t afford to support you and your colleagues with offices and equipment.”
“Has this situation been put to the Emperor?”
“Come, Professor, you’re dreaming. Isn’t it true that your psychohistory tells you that the Empire is deteriorating? I’ve heard you referred to as Raven Seldon, something that, I believe, refers to a fabled bird of ill omen.”
“It’s true that we are entering bad times.”
“And do you believe the Library is immune to those bad times? Professor, the Library is my life and I want it to continue, but it won’t continue unless we can find ways of making our dwindling appropriations do. --and you come here expecting an open Library, with yourself as beneficiary. It won’t do, Professor. It just won’t do.”
Seldon said desperately, “What if I find the credits for you?”
“Indeed. How?”
“What if I talk to the Emperor? I was once First Minister. He’ll see me and he’ll listen to me.”
“And you’ll get funding from him?” Mummery laughed.
“If I do, if I increase your appropriations, may I bring in my colleagues?”
“Bring in the credits first,” said Mummery, “and we’ll see. But I don’t think you will succeed.”
He seemed very sure of himself and Seldon wondered how often and how uselessly the Galactic Library had already appealed to the Emperor.
And whether his own appeal would get anywhere at all.