by Isaac Asimov
“But... you are the greatest servant of the human race, tirelessly striving for its benefit. How could you contemplate”
“Replacing it?”
Daneel paused, reopening pain-filled memory files. “Ponder the dilemma we robots face – the Steward’s Dilemma. We are loyal, and yet far more competent than our masters. For their own sake, we have kept them ignorant, because we know too well what destructive paths they follow, whenever they grow too aware. Of course this is an inherently unstable situation. I knew it a thousand years ago, when the empire began showing signs of strain.
“Searching all logical possibilities, one solution beckoned. Why not breed a version of humanity that would synergize better with positronic robots? A variant that could use us – and perhaps even know of our existence – without going mad in the process.”
Daneel probed Zun’s internal state and perceived that his understudy was experiencing dismay at many levels.
“Don’t be so shocked, Zun. Access the bio files. chimpanzee DNA differs by only two percentum from human. Tweak just a hundred or so regulatory genes, and you’ll get a sapient being looking almost exactly like a person. It will be a person, triggering all of the Laws of Robotics. I merely sought to find out if this new race would be easier to serve than the old one. If so, it would have been a gentle transition, a blending, arranged to take place without anyone noticing, over the course of –”
Zun interrupted.
“Daneel, are you aware how this rationalization skirts the edge of madness~”
The remark might have angered a human leader. But Daneel took no offense. In fact, it pleased him. Zun had just passed another test.
“As I said, this happened in a context of desperation. Chaos plagues had resumed, worse then ever. Millions of humans were dying in riotous upheavals. All the social dampers showed early signs of breaking down. Something had to be done.
“Fortunately, I turned away from the replacement idea when a better possibility presented itself.”
“Psychohistory,” Zun ventured.
“Indeed. We robots already had a version, dating from my early conversations with Giskard, on lamented Earth. Those social models sufficed to help set up the First Empire, and results were positive. Over ten thousand years of general peace and contentment, without much violence or repression, in a relatively gentle civilization. It kept stable for an entire glorious age... until my models started to unravel.
“Gradually I realized a new theory was needed. One that took psychohistory to new levels. My own mind, even enhanced as it is, was inadequate to make that step. I needed a genius. An inspired human genius.”
“But human genius is part of the problem!”
“Truly. Across the galaxy, it perpetually threatens to create chaos. Imagine what might happen if positronic robots were reinvented, willy-nilly, on countless worlds! The Solarian heresy would be unleashed again, a million times worse. We could not let that happen.”
“So special conditions were needed, to recruit a singular genius. I’ve studied how you carefully crafted the right circumstances, on Helicon.”
“And it worked. The moment I met Hari Seldon, I knew we had turned a corner.”
Zun pondered, before continuing with another question.
“Then Lodovic is wrong. You did not arrange for Dors and Hari to have their near-death adventure, in chimp bodies, forty years ago.”
“Oh, to the contrary. I did exactly that!
“Of course, I would never let them come to real harm. But I had to be sure of Hari before letting a man of his insight take over as First Minister of the Empire. Such confidence could only be confirmed by observing his mind under stress. He passed the trial, of course, and went on to brilliance at both statecraft and mathematics. Final proof came with his wonderful new version of psychohistory.”
“And the Seldon Plan.”
Daneel nodded.
“Because of the Plan, we can proceed at all levels. The two Foundations will buy us time to prepare a real solution. One that will finally liberate human beings and bring joy to the cosmos.”
“You aren’t talking anymore about replacing humanity.”
“Not in the same sense as when I considered the pan scenario! I was experiencing a minor breakdown at that point, and regret ever contemplating it. No, I’m referring to something much better, enabling humanity to rise up and become something far greater.”
Daneel turned back toward the galactic wheel.
“The new endeavor is already under way. You and Dors have been laboring toward it for some time, without perceiving the big picture.”
“But you will explain it to me now?”
Daneel nodded.
“Soon you will share the wonder of this new destiny. Something so awesome and beautiful that it is almost beyond contemplating.”
He paused again while his assistant waited patiently. But when Daneel spoke again, it was not as much to Zun as the galaxy that he saw reflected on the frozen metal lake.
“We shall offer our masters a wonderful gift,” he said, relishing the warm possibility of hope after so long a time without it.
2.
THE STARSCAPE GRADUALLY grew less crowded each time they took another hyperspatial jump away from Trantor, leaving behind the galactic center’s dense glitter and following the dusty curve of a spiral arm. Leaping from one gravitational landmark to the next, the starship headed for Santanni, where their search would begin.
Hari insisted on that starting point. This inquiry might as well start near the planet where Raych died, especially if there turned out to be some relationship between chaos worlds and Horis Antic’s geospace aberrations.
Tragic memories crossed the years. Not just of Santanni, but dozens of other chaos outbreaks.
It often commences with bright hope and bursts of amazing creativity, attracting clever immigrants from allover the galaxy... as Raych was attracted, at first, despite my misgivings.
Excitement and individualism flower from town to town, bringing a wild divergence of never-before-seen blooms. “Innovation” abruptly becomes a compliment, not an insult. Novel technologies stimulate predictions of utopia, just around the bend.
But soon trouble starts. Some untested breakthroughs implode. Others wreak unforeseen consequences that their creators never imagined. Diseases spread alongside unprecedented perversions, while each new style of deviance is defended with indignant righteousness. Cliques proclaim the right to fortify their independence with violence, along with a duty to suppress others they disapprove of
Venerable networks of courtesy and obligation – meant to bind the five castes in mutual respect – shatter like irradiated stone.
Bizarre new artworks, intentionally provocative, erupt spontaneously in the middle of downtown intersections, gesturing obscenely even as the shouting artists are carried off by lynch mobs. Cities start to fill with soot and flames. Rioters sack the hard work of centuries, screaming slogans for ephemeral causes no one will remember when the smoke clears.
Trade collapses. Economies slump. And citizens rediscover an ancient knack for bloody war.
People who recently derided the past suddenly begin longing for it again, as their children start to starve.
It was a familiar pattern. Civilization’s mortal enemy, which Hari had battled as First Minister... and Daneel Olivaw strove against for over a dozen millennia.
Chaosism. Humanity’s curse.
As soon as a culture grows too smart, too curious, too individualistic, this mysterious rot sets in. I can model it in my equations, but I confess I still don’t understand chaos. Only that it terrifies me, and always has.
Hari recalled reading about the very first awful outbreak in A Child’s Book of Knowledge – Daneel’s gift archive from the deep past. It happened at a time when humanity first invented both robots and starflight – and nearly died of them both. The ensuing convulsions so traumatized Earth dwellers that they retreated from all challenges, huddling in Tranto
rlike metal cities. Meanwhile, those living on the Spacer colony worlds found their own style of insanity, becoming pathetically overdependent on android servants.
That era created Daneel Olivaw – or an early version of the mighty being Hari knew. In fact, his robot friend must have played a role in what happened next, a swing of the pendulum back to human confidence and colonization of the galaxy. It happened at a price, though. Near destruction of Earth.
At least there were few chaos outbreaks during the following five thousand years of vigorous expansion. People were too busy building and conquering new worlds to spare much attention for decadent pursuits. The curse did not return until long after the establishment of the Galactic Empire.
According to my equations, we won’t have to worry about chaos during the Interregnum, either.
Soon, when the Old empire collapsed, there would be wars, rebellions, and mass suffering. But such near-term worries would protect people from falling into the kind of egomadness that erupted on Santanni. Or on Sark. Or Lingane, Zenda, Madder Loss...
A holo projection of the galaxy shimmered across the yacht’s observation deck. Antic’s crude map overlay the finely textured Prime Radiant, again showing correlations. Sweeping out from Santanni, a reddish arc linked several notorious chaos worlds, plus others Hari knew were ripe for social disaster in coming decades. The arc passes near Siwenna, where the ship carrying Raych’s wife and son vanished.
He could never forget his personal hope of finding them. And yet, one factor led Hari forward, above all others.
The equations.
Perhaps I’ll find the clues I’ve sought for so long. The at tractor states. The damping mechanisms. Hidden parts of the story that psychohistory can model, but can’t explain.
He fiddled with the Prime Radiant, tracing future history, starting with a tiny speck at the very rim of the galactic wheel.
There, a faint little star glimmered, a mote whose sole habitable planet – Terminus – would become the stage for a great drama. Soon the Foundation would grow and burgeon, expressing a dynamism that was anything but decadent. He could envision the first few hundred years, the way a father might picture a young daughter winning academic honors or achieving glorious feats. Only Hari’s prescience was no mere daydream. It was confident, assured.
That is, for the first few centuries.
As for the rest of the Plan... my successors, the Fifty who make up the Second Foundation, feel completely sanguine. Our math predicts that a fantastic New Empire of Humanity will emerge in less than a thousand years, far greater than its predecessor. An empire that will forever after be guided by the gentle-wise heirs of Gaal and Wanda and the others.
Alone among those who intimately knew the Plan, Hari saw past its elegance to a heartrending truth.
It’s not going to happen that way.
A hundred parsecs beyond Santanni, Horis Antic began probing a patch of seemingly empty space with instruments, explaining as he worked.
“My astrophysicist friend – the one who couldn’t get a sabbatical to accompany us on this trip – told me all about the currents of space. Nearly invisible flows of gas and dust that swirl around the galaxy, sometimes spewed by supernovas or young stars. These streams form shock waves, brightening the forward edges of spiral arms. They also subtly affect the evolution of suns.
“Now at first I had trouble relating this to my own interest... the tilling question. In order to see a connection, we’ll need to start with some basic biology.”
Antic’s audience consisted of Hari, Kers Kantun, and Biron Maserd. The nobleman’s two crewmen were busy piloting the yacht, but Maserd left a door open to listen to the engines each time they made a hyperspace jump.
Antic’s holo projector showed the image of a planet. Their view plunged toward seas that shimmered a rich, soupy green. But the stone continents lay barren and empty. “A great many watery worlds are like this,” he explained. “Life gets started pretty easily – basic colloido-organic chemistry happens under a wide range of conditions. So does the next stage, developing photosynthesis and a partial oxygen atmosphere. But then evolution hits a snag. Countless worlds get stuck at the level you see here, never making a leap to multicellular organisms and bigger things.
“Some biologists think further progress requires a high mutation rate to put diversity in the genetic pool. Without variance to work with, a life-world may remain stuck at the level of bacteria and amoebas.”
Hari objected. “But you said fossils occur on many worlds.”
“Indeed, Professor! It turns out there are many ways to get high mutation rates. One is if a planet has a large moon, stirring radioactive elements into the crust. Or its sun may have a big ultraviolet output. Or perhaps it orbits near a supernova remnant. There are zones where magnetic fields channel high fluxes of cosmic rays, and others... well, you get the idea. Wherever any of those conditions occur, we tend to find fossils on human-colonized worlds.”
Horis summoned a new image, depicting numerous samples of sedimentary stone – his personal collection, lovingly gathered from dozens of worlds. Each lay sliced open to reveal eerie shapes within. Symmetrical ridges or regular bumps. One rippled form hinted at a backbone. Others suggested jointed legs, a curved tail, or a bony brow. Captain Maserd walked around the display, working his jaw thoughtfully. He finally settled at the back of the room, near the door, taking in the entire scene.
“You think there’s an underlying pattern,” Hari prompted. “A galactic distribution, predicting where fossils occur?”
Antic demurred. “I’m less interested in explaining where fossil creatures existed than learning why the much later tilling effect buried so many under –”
Angry shouts erupted suddenly behind Hari. He turned, but was blinded by the darkness and could only sense two vague figures, locked in furious struggle. There were highpitched cries, and a lower voice, recognizably Maserd’s.
“Lights!” the captain ordered.
Hari blinked. Sudden illumination revealed the pair, engaged in uneven struggle near the door. Maserd had a smaller person by the arm, apparently one of his liveried crewmen, who cursed and kicked in vain.
“Well well,” the nobleman murmured. “What have we here?”
The cowl of a silvery ship uniform fell away, revealing that the wearer was not one of Maserd’s crew, after all. Hari glimpsed a young face, framed by tousled platinum hair.
Horis Antic yelped. “It’s the porter! The talkative one from Orion Elevator. But... what’s she doing here?”
Kers Kantun stepped forward with taut fists, clearly disliking surprises. “A spy,” he muttered. “Or worse.”
Hari moved to restrain his servant, who thought everyone was a potential Seldon assassin, until proved otherwise.
“More of a stowaway, I reckon,” Maserd commented, lifting the girl to her tiptoes. At last she slumped, giving a conceding nod. The captain let her down.
“Well, youngster? Is that it? Were you trying to hitch a ride to somewhere?”
She glowered... and finally answered in a low mutter, “The idea was more like to get away.”
Hari mused aloud, “Interesting. You had an enviable job, on the capital planet of the human universe. Back on Helicon, kids would dream of someday getting to visit Trantor. Few dared hope to win a residence or work permit. Yet you seek to escape from there?”
“I liked Trantor just fine!” she replied, unkempt hair covering her eyes. “I just had to break away from someone in particular.”
“Really? Who made you fearful enough to throwaway so much, in order to escape him? Tell me what he did, child. I’m not without influence. Perhaps I can help.”
The girl repaid Hari’s kindly offer with a glare that struck his eyes straight-on.
“You want to know my enemy? Well it’s you, O great Professor Seldon. I was running away from you!”
3.
HER NAME WAS Jeni Cuicet. It took just moments for Hari to understand her hatred.
Galactica Foundation.” There was no longer any trace of the folksy accent she had used when playing the role of tour guide. “We had a good life, back on Willemina World. Mom was head of the Academy of Physics and Dad was a famous doctor. But we also had time for lots of fun together, camping and skiing and portling.”
“Ah, so you resented it when that bucolic way of life came to an end?”
“Not really. I’m no spoiled brat. I knew we’d have to stop doing all that stuff when we came to Trantor. My parents couldn’t just turn down a summons to join your Foundation. It was the chance of a lifetime for them! Anyway, I figured Trantor would have its own kinds of excitement.
“And I turned out to be right about that. Things were okay, for the first year or so.” Her frown deepened. “Then it all changed again.”
Hari let out a sigh.
“Oh, I see. The exile.”
“You got it, Prof. One minute we’re part of somethin’ really important, at the center of the known universe. Then you just had to go insult Linge Chen and the whole damn Human Empire, didn’t you? Spreading doomy-gloomy rumors, making everyone panicky with prophecies about the end of the world? Suddenly we’re all under suspicion, because we work for a crazy traitor!
“But that’s not half of it. Who do they punish for all this? You and your sickohistorian pals? Never! Instead Chen’s Special Police tell the Encyclopedists and their families – a hundred thousand decent people – we’re about to be pushed onto cattle boats, shipped to the periphery, and sentenced to stay for the rest of our lives on some dusty little flyspeck so far from civilization that it probably never even heard of gravity!”
Horis Antic chirped a nervous laugh. Kers hovered warily by Hari, as if the slight adolescent might do murder through sheer anger alone. But Captain Maserd seemed genuinely moved by Jeni’s testimony.
“Great space, I wouldn’t blame you for wanting to find a way out of that! There’s a galaxy of adventure to be found outside of Trantor. I suppose I’d have run away, too, under those circumstances.”
