Prelude to Foundation

by Isaac Asimov

  ("Only Trantor is different from all the rest." The sentence repeated itself in Seldon's mind and for a moment he grasped at it, and for some reason Dor's hand-on-thigh story suddenly recurred to him, but Tisalver was speaking and it passed out of Seldon's mind as quickly as it had entered.)

  Tisalver said, "If you really want to know about heatsinks, I can show you." He turned to his wife. "Casilia, would you mind if tomorrow evening I take Master Seldon to the heatsinks."

  "And me," said Dors quickly.

  "And Mistress Venabili?"

  Mistress Tisalver frowned and said sharply, "I don't think it would be a good idea. Our visitors would find it dull."

  "I don't think so, Mistress Tisalver," said Seldon ingratiatingly. "We would very much like to see the heatsinks. We would be delighted if you would join us too . . . and your little daughter-if she wants to come."

  "To the heatsinks?" said Mistress Tisalver, stiffening. "It's no place at all for a decent woman."

  Seldon felt embarrassed at his gaffe. "I meant no harm, Mistress Tisalver."

  "No offense," said Tisalver. "Casilia thinks it's beneath us and so it is, but as long as I don't work there, it's no distress merely to visit and show it to guests. But it is uncomfortable and I would never get Casilia to dress properly."

  They got up from their crouching positions. Dahlite "chairs" were merely molded plastic seats on small wheels and they cramped Seldon's knees terribly and seemed to wiggle at his least body movement. The Tisalvers, however, had mastered the art of sitting firmly and rose without trouble and without needing to use their arms for help as Seldon had to. Dors also got up without trouble and Seldon once again marveled at her natural grace.

  Before they parted to their separate rooms for the night, Seldon said to Dors, "Are you sure you know nothing about heatsinks? Mistress Tisalver makes them seem unpleasant."

  "They can't be that unpleasant or Tisalver wouldn't suggest taking us on tour. Leis be content to be surprised."

  63.

  Tisalver said, "You'll need proper clothing." Mistress Tisalver sniffed markedly in the background.

  Cautiously, Seldon, thinking of kirtles with vague distress, said, "What do you mean by proper clothing?"

  "Something light, such as I wear. A T-shirt, very short sleeves, loose slacks, loose underpants, foot socks, open sandals. I have it all for you."

  "Good. IL doesn't sound bad."

  "As for Mistress Venabili, I have the same. I hope it fits."

  The clothes Tisalver supplied each of them (which were his own) fit fine-if a bit snugly. When they were ready, they bade Mistress Tisalver good-bye and she, with a resigned if still disapproving air, watched them from the doorway as they set off.

  It was early evening and there was an attractive twilight glow above. It was clear that Dahl's lights would soon be winking on. The temperature was mild and there were virtually no vehicles to be seen; everyone was walking. In the distance was the everpresent hum of an Expressway and the occasional glitter of its lights could be easily seen.

  The Dahlites, Seldon noted, did not seem to be walking toward any particular destination. Rather, there seemed to be a promenade going on, a walking for pleasure. Perhaps, if Dahl was an impoverished sector, as Tisalver had implied, inexpensive entertainment was at a premium and what was as pleasant-and as inexpensive--as an evening stroll?

  Seldon felt himself easing automatically into the gait of an aimless stroll himself and felt the warmth of friendliness a0 around him. People greeted each other as they passed and exchanged a few words. Black mustaches of different shape and thickness flashed everywhere and seemed a requisite for the Dahlite male, as ubiquitous as the bald heads of the Mycogenian Brothers.

  It was an evening rite, a way of making sure that another day had passed safely and that one's friends were still well and happy. And, it soon became apparent, Dors caught every eye. In the twilight glow, the ruddiness of her hair had deepened, but it stood out against the sea of black-haired heads (except for the occasional gray) like a gold coin winking its way across a pile of coal.

  "This is very pleasant," said Seldon.

  "It is," said Tisalver. "Ordinarily, I'd be walking with my wife and she'd be in her element. There is no one for a kilometer around whom she doesn't know by name, occupation, and interrelationships. I can't do that. Right now, half the people who greet me . . . I couldn't tell you their names. But, in any case, we mustn't creep along too slowly. We must get to the elevator. It's a busy world on the lower levels."

  They were on the elevator going down when Dors said, "I presume, Master Tisalver, that the heatsinks are places where the internal heat of Trantor is being used to produce steam that will turn turbines and produce electricity."

  "Oh no. Highly efficient large-scale thermopiles produce electricity directly. Don't ask me the details, please. I'm just a holovision programmer. In fact, don't ask anyone the details down there. The whole thing is one big black box. It works, but no one knows how."

  "What if something goes wrong?"

  "It doesn't usually, but if it does, some expert comes over from somewhere. Someone who understands computers. The whole thing is highly computerized, of course."

  The elevator came to a halt and they stepped out. A blast of heat struck them.

  "It's hot," said Seldon quite unnecessarily.

  "Yes, it is," said Tisalver. "That's what makes Dahl so valuable as an energy source. The magma layer is nearer the surface here than it is anywhere else in the world. So you have to work in the heat."

  "How about air-conditioning?" said Dors.

  "There is air-conditioning, but it's a matter of expense. We ventilate and dehumidify and cool, but if we go too far, then we're using up too much energy and the whole process becomes too expensive."

  Tisalver stopped at a door at which he signaled. It opened to a blast of cooler air and he muttered, "We ought to be able to get someone to help show us around and he'll control the remarks that Mistress Venabili will otherwise be the victim of . . . at least from the men."

  "Remarks won't embarrass me," said Dors.

  "They will embarrass me," said Tisalver.

  A young man walked out of the office and introduced himself as Hano Linder. He resembled Tisalver quite closely, but Seldon decided that until he got used to the almost universal shortness, swarthiness, black hair, and luxuriant mustaches, he would not be able to see individual differences easily.

  Lindor said, "I'll be glad to show you around for what there is to see. It's not one of your spectaculars, you know." He addressed them all, but his eyes were fixed on Dors. He said, "It's not going to be comfortable. I suggest we remove our shirts."

  "It's nice and cool in here," said Seldon.

  "Of course, but that's because we're executives. Rank has its privileges. Out there we can't maintain air-conditioning at this level. That's why they get paid more than I do. In fact, those are the best-paying jobs in Dahl, which is the only reason we get people to work down here. Even so, it's getting harder to get heatsinkers all the time." He took a deep breath. "Okay, out into the soup."

  He removed his own shirt and tucked it into his waistband. Tisalver did the same and Seldon followed suit.

  Linder glanced at Dors and said, "For your own comfort, Mistress, but it's not compulsory."

  "That's all right," said Dors and removed her shirt.

  Her brassiere was white, unpadded, and showed considerable cleavage.

  "Mistress," said Lindor, "That's not-" He thought a moment, then shrugged and said, "All right. We'll get by."

  At first, Seldon was aware only of computers and machinery, huge pipes, flickering lights, and flashing screens.

  The overall light was comparatively dim, though individual sections of machinery were illuminated. Seldon looked up into the almost-darkness. He said, "Why isn't it better lit?"

  "It's lit well enough . . . where it should be," said Lindor. His voice was well modulated and he spoke quickly, but a little harshl
y. "Overall illumination is kept low for psychological reasons. Too bright is translated, in the mind, into heat. Complaints go up when we turn up the lights, even when the temperature is made to go down."

  Dors said, "It seems to be well computerized. I should think the operations could be turned over to computers altogether. This sort of environment is made for artificial intelligence."

  "Perfectly right," said Lindor, "but neither can we take a chance on any failures. We need people on the spot if anything goes wrong. A misfunctioning computer can raise problems up to two thousand kilometers away."

  "So can human error. Isn't that so?" said Seldon.

  "Oh yes, but with both people and computers on the job, computer error can be more quickly tracked down and corrected by people and, conversely, human error can be more quickly corrected by computers. What it amounts to is that nothing serious can happen unless human error and computer error take place simultaneously. And that hardly ever happens."

  "Hardly ever, but not never, eh?" said Seldon.

  "Almost never, but not never. Computers aren't what they used to be and neither are people."

  "That's the way it always seems," said Seldon, laughing slightly.

  "No no. I'm not talking memory. I'm not talking good old days. I'm talking statistics."

  At this, Seldon recalled Hummin talking of the degeneration of the times.

  "See what I mean?" said Lindor, his voice dropping. "There's a bunch of people, at the C-3 level from the looks of them, drinking. Not one of them is at his or her post."

  "What are they drinking?" asked Dors.

  "Special fluids for replacing electrolyte loss. Fruit juice."

  "You can't blame them, can you?" said Dors indignantly. "In this dry heat, you would have to drink."

  "Do you know how long a skilled C-3 can spin out a drink? And there's nothing to be done about it either. If we give them fiveminute breaks for drinks and stagger them so they don't all congregate in a group, you simply stir up a rebellion."

  They were approaching the group now. There were men and women (Dahl seemed to be a more or less amphisexual society) and both sexes were shirtless. The women wore devices that might be called brassieres, but they were strictly functional. They served to lift the breasts in order to improve ventilation and limit perspiration, but covered nothing.

  Dors said in an aside to Seldon, "That makes sense, Hari. I'm soaking wet there."

  "Take off your brassiere, then," said Seldon. "I won't lift a finger to stop you."

  "Somehow," said Dors, "I guessed you wouldn't." She left her brassiere where it was.

  They were approaching the congregation of people-about a dozen of them.

  Dors said, "If any of them make rude remarks, I shall survive."

  "Thank you," said Lindor. "I cannot promise they won't. -But I'll have to introduce you. If they get the idea that you two are inspectors and in my company, they'll become unruly. Inspectors are supposed to poke around on their own without anyone from management overseeing them."

  He held up his arms. "Heatsinkers, I have two introductions to make. We have visitors from outside-two Outworlders, two scholars. They've got worlds running short on energy and they've come here to see how we do it here in Dahl. They think they may learn something."

  "They'll learn how to sweat!" shouted a heatsinker and there was raucous laughter.

  "She's got a sweaty chest right now," shouted a woman, "covering up like that."

  Dors shouted back, "I'd take it off, bur mine can't compete with yours." The laughter turned good-natured.

  But one young man stepped forward, staring at Seldon with intense deep-set eyes, his face set into a humorless mask. He said, "I know you. You're the mathematician."

  He ran forward, inspecting Seldon's face with eager solemnity. Automatically, Dors stepped in front of Seldon and Lindor stepped in front of her, shouting, "Back, heatsinker. Mind your manners."

  Seldon said, "Wait! Let him talk to me. Why is everyone piling in front of me?"

  Lindor said in a low voice, "If any of them get close, you'll find they don't smell like hothouse flowers."

  "I'll endure it," said Seldon brusquely. "Young man, what is it you want?"

  "My name is Amaryl. Yugo Amaryl. I've seen you on holovision."

  "You might have, but what about it?"

  "I don't remember your name."

  "You don't have to."

  "You talked about something called psychohistory."

  "You don't know how I wish I hadn't."

  "What?"

  "Nothing. What is it you want?"

  "I want to talk to you. Just for a little while. Now."

  Seldon looked at Lindor, who shook his head firmly. "Not while he's on his shift."

  "When does your shift begin, Mr. Amaryl?" asked Seldon.

  "Sixteen hundred."

  "Can you see me tomorrow at fourteen hundred?"

  "Sure. Where?"

  Seldon turned to Tisalver. Would you permit me to see him in your place?"

  Tisalver looked very unhappy. "Its not necessary. He's just a heatsinker."

  Seldon said, "He recognized my face. He knows something about me. He can't be just an anything. I'll see him in my room." And then, as Tisalver's face didn't soften, he added, "My room, for which rent is being paid. And you'll be at work, out of the apartment."

  Tisalver said in a low voice, "It's not me, Master Seldon. It's my wife, Casilia. She won't stand for it."

  "I'll talk to her," said Seldon grimly. "She'll have to."

  64.

  Casilia Tisalver opened her eyes wide. "A heatsinker? Not in my apartment."

  "Why not? Besides, he'll be coming to my room," said Seldon. "At fourteen hundred."

  "I won't have it," said Mistress Tisalver. "This is what comes of going down to the heatsinks. Jirad was a fool."

  "Not at all, Mistress Tisalver. We went at my request and I was fascinated. I must see this young man, since that is necessary to my scholarly work."

  "I'm sorry if it is, but I won't have it."

  Dors Venabili raised her hand. "Hari, let me take care of this. Mistress Tisalver, if Dr. Seldon must see someone in his room this afternoon, the additional person naturally means additional rent. We understand that. For today, then, the rent on Dr. Seldon's room will be doubled."

  Mistress Tisalver thought about it. "Well, that's decent of you, but it's not only the credits. There's the neighbors to think of. A sweaty, smelly heatsinker-"

  "I doubt that he'll be sweaty and smelly at fourteen hundred, Mistress Tisalver, but let me go on. Since Dr. Seldon must see him, then if he can't see him here, he'll have to see him elsewhere, but we can't run here and there. That would be too inconvenient. Therefore, what we will have to do is to get a room elsewhere. It won't be easy and we don't want to do it, but we will have to. So we will pay the rent through today and leave and of course we will have to explain to Master Hummin why we have had to change the arrangements that he so kindly made for us."

  "Wait." Mistress Tisalver's face became a study of calculation. "We wouldn't like to disoblige Master Hummin . . . or you two. How long would this creature have to stay?"

  "He's coming at fourteen hundred. He must be at work at sixteen hundred. He will be here for less than two hours, perhaps considerably less. We will meet him outside, the two of us, and bring him to Dr. Seldon's room. Any neighbors who see us will think he is an Outworlder friend of ours."

  Mistress Tisalver nodded her head. "Then let it be as you say. Double rent for Master Seldon's room for today and the heatsinker will visit just this one time."

  "Just this one time," said Dors.

  But later, when Seldon and Dors were sitting in her room, Dors said, "Why do you have to see him, Hari? Is interviewing a beatsinker important to psychohistory too?"

  Seldon thought he detected a small edge of sarcasm in her voice and he said tartly, "I don't have to base everything on this huge project of mine, in which I have very little faith anyw
ay. I am also a human being with human curiosities. We were down in the heatsinks for hours and you saw what the working people there were like. They were obviously uneducated. They were low-level individuals-no play on words intendedand yet here was one who recognized me. He must have seen me on holovision on the occasion of the Decennial Convention and he remembered the word 'psychohistory.' He strikes me as unusual--as out of place somehow -and I would like to talk to him."

  "Because it pleases your vanity to have become known even to heatsinkers in Dahl?"

  "Well . . . perhaps. But it also piques my curiosity."

  "And how do you know he hasn't been briefed and intends to lead you into trouble as has happened before."

  Seldon winced. "I won't let him run his fingers through my hair. In any case, we're more nearly prepared now, aren't we? And I'm sure you'll be with me. I mean, you let me go Upperside alone, you let me go with Raindrop Forty-Three to the microfarms alone, and you're not going to do that again, are you?"

  "You can be absolutely sure I won't," said Dors.

  "Well then, I'll talk to the young man and you can watch out for traps. I have every faith in you."

  65.

  Amaryl arrived a few minutes before 1400, looking warily about. His hair was neat and his thick mustache was combed and turned up slightly at the edges. His T-shirt was startlingly white. He did smell, but it was a fruity odor that undoubtedly came from the slightly overenthusiastic use of scent. He had a bag with him.

  Seldon, who had been waiting outside for him, seized one elbow lightly, while Dors seized the other, and they moved rapidly into the elevator. Having reached the correct level, they passed through the apartment into Seldon's room.

  Amaryl said in a low hangdog voice, "Nobody home, huh?"

  "Everyone's busy," said Seldon neutrally. He indicated the only chair in the room, a pad directly on the floor.

  "No," said Amaryl. "I don't need that. One of you two use it." He squatted on the floor with a graceful downward motion.

  Dors imitated the movement, sitting on the edge of Seldon's floorbased mattress, but Seldon dropped down rather clumsily, having to make use of his hands and unable, quite, to find a comfortable position for his legs.