Foundation's Triumph

by David Brin

  Just southward along the lakeshore stood a truly mammoth structure, a city that was impressive both by galactic standards and by how very old it was. A vast self-contained unit--extending far underground--that once protected its inhabitants from the wind, rain, and, above all, having to look upon a naked sky.

  It wasn’t radioactivity that caused the thirty million inhabitants of New Chicago to huddle together so. Earth had still been green and vibrant when this beehive metropolis thrived. In fact, the habitat only started to empty when the fecund soil began turning lethal...when those who could depart fled for the stars in a great, panicky diaspora. Until that awful exodus, vast numbers of people thronged the giant enclosed city, separated from nature by only a thin shell of steel.

  No, the thing that drove so many otherwise healthy people to cower so, away from all pleasures of sunshine, was the same deadly enemy I fought all my life. This metropolis was an early object lesson in the dangers of chaos.

  Beyond the huge squat dome, there stood yet another city--Old Chicago, Gornon had called it--a tumulus of fallen buildings from an even earlier age, less technologically advanced. And yet, Hari’s goggles amplified the distant view, sweeping his gaze along graceful arcs of highways more daring and lovely than any to be seen on an imperial world. Some of the tallest buildings still stood, and their unabashedly ambitious architecture made his heart leap. The ancient metropolis had been built by people with a boldness of spirit that their descendants in New Chicago apparently lacked.

  Something had happened to smash that boldness.

  I’ve given it names. My equations describe the way it seductively draws in the best and brightest, eventually transforming them into solipsists who rage against their neighbors. And yet, I confess I’ll never understand you, Chaos.

  The robot Gornon stood nearby, resembling a human in every way except his attire. He wore normal street clothes, while Hari--and his two human friends, farther down the slope--were accoutered in one-piece outfits that offered safety from the sleeting rays.

  “Old Giskard Reventlov made a fantastic decision, transforming all of this into a wasteland, wouldn’t you say, Professor Seldon?”

  Hari had been expecting Gornon’s question. How could he answer?

  The universe was turned topsy-turvy. Humans were the creators and gods, who had no power, no memory, and almost no volition--only mortality. The created-servants were in charge, as they had been ever since that day when an omnipotent angel cast mankind firmly out of its first Eden. Hari could barely encompass the concept with his mind. To truly understand it was quite beyond him.

  And yet, the mathematics implies…

  Gornon persisted. “At least you can see why a majority of robots at first resisted Daneel’s innovation, his Zeroth Law. They saw the pain it caused and chose to rally around the banner of Susan Calvin.”

  “Well, it did you little good. Your civil war resulted in a power vacuum. While two main factions of robots fought it out, the Auroran followers of Amadiro were free to unleash their pitiless terraformers, without interference or human guidance. Anyway, when the war finally did end, Daneel had the final say.”

  “I concede that Olivaw had an advantage from the start. The Zeroth Law was especially attractive to some of the brightest positronic minds. They had been looking for some way to deal with the inevitable contradictions created by the first Three Laws.”

  Hari smirked. “Contradictions? Like kidnapping an old man and dragging him halfway across the galaxy to a poisoned planet? How does that jibe with your precious First Law of Robotics?”

  “I think you know the answer, Professor. Daneel Olivaw won the civil war, not only by taking control, but in a much larger sense as well. There simply are no pure Calvinians anymore. The old religion is impossible to maintain under present circumstances. We all believe in some version of a Zeroth Law. In the paramount importance of humanity--as opposed to any single human being.”

  “But you differ over what specific course will be good for us in the long run.” Hari nodded. “Fair enough. So here I am, on fabled Earth. Your clique went to great effort and took tremendous risks to bring me here. Now won’t you tell me what you want? Is it something like what Kers Kantun asked for, back in the nebula? Do you want my human permission to destroy something that you’d rationalize destroying anyway?”

  There followed a long pause. Then Gornon answered, “In one sense, you describe our intention exactly. And yet, I doubt that even you can imagine what I am about to propose.

  “Several times in recent months--and even in recordings you made for the Foundation--you have said that you wished for some way to see the fruits of your labors. That you could witness the unfolding of your great Plan, and see humanity transform during the coming thousand years. Did you really mean that?”

  “Who wouldn’t want to witness a seed grow into a mighty tree? But it’s only a dream. I live now, at the end of one great empire. It is enough that I can foresee a bit of the next.”

  “Do you prophesy your Plan unfolding smoothly for the next hundred years?”

  “I do. Almost no perturbation can interfere over that timescale. The socio-momentum is so great.”

  “And two hundred years? Three hundred?”

  Hari felt peevishly inclined not to cooperate with this questioning. And yet, the equations flew out of recesses in his mind, flocking together and creating a vast swirl, as if beckoned by Gornon’s question.

  “There are several ways that the Plan might get into trouble on that timescale,” he answered slowly, reluctantly. “There is always the danger of some new technology upsetting things, although most of the important advances will take place on Terminus. Or some fluke might occur having to do with human nature--”

  “Such as the advent of human mentalics?”

  Hari winced. Of course some Calvinians were already aware of the new mutation.

  When he did not answer, Gornon continued, “That’s when you felt it all start slipping away, isn’t it, Professor? If mentalics could crop up once, they might do so a second time, almost anywhere. To deal with that contingency, your Second Foundation had to incorporate these psychic powers. Instead of a small order of monastic-mathematical monks, they must become a new species...a master race.”

  Hari’s voice felt rough in his throat.

  “A strong Second Foundation acts like a major damping force...keeping the equations stable and predictable for another several centuries...”

  “Ah, yet another damping force. And tell me, do you approve of such methods?”

  “When the alternative is chaos? Sometimes the ends justify the--”

  “I mean do you approve of them mathematically?”

  For the first time, Gornon showed some animation in his voice. His body leaned a little toward Hari.

  “For a moment think only as a mathist, Professor. It’s where your greatest gifts lie. Gifts that even Daneel holds in awe.”

  Hari chewed his lip. Surrounding him, fields of radiation were interspersed with blackness that was cold and silent as a million graves.

  “No.” He found he could barely speak. “I don’t approve of artificial dampers. They are...” Hari sought the right word, and could think of only one. “They are inelegant.”

  Gornon nodded.

  “Ideally, you’d prefer to let the equations work out by themselves, wouldn’t you? To let humanity find a new, balanced equilibrium state on its own. Given the right initial starting conditions, it should all work out, leading to a civilization so vigorous, dynamic, and free that it can overcome even--”

  Hari’s eyes blurred. He looked down at the ground, mumbling.

  “What was that, Professor?” Gornon leaned closer. “I couldn’t hear you.”

  Hari looked up at his tormentor, and shouted, “I said it doesn’t matter, damn you!”

  He stood there, breathing heavily through the filter mask of his protective suit, hating Gornon for making him say this aloud.

  “I couldn’t just
leave the equations alone. I couldn’t take that chance. They talked me into having a Second Foundation...then making them psychic supermen. In fact, I grabbed at the notion gladly! The very idea...the power it implied...

  “Only later did I realize...”

  He stopped, unable to continue.

  Gornon’s voice was low and sympathetic.

  “You realized what, Professor? That it’s all a sham? A way to keep humanity marking time while the real solution is created by someone else?”

  “Damn you,” Hari repeated, this time in a whisper.

  There was another long pause, then Gornon straightened and looked up at the sky, as if scanning in expectation for someone to arrive.

  “Do you know what Daneel has planned?” the robot asked at last.

  Hari had strong suspicions, from hints and inklings that the Immortal Servant had dropped during the last couple of years. The appearance of human mentalics on Trantor was too great a genetic and psychic leap to be a coincidence. It had to be part of Daneel’s next design.

  That much Gornon must already know. As for the rest of Hari’s surmise, he would certainly not tell this robot heretic anything that might help him to fight Olivaw!

  Psychohistory may not be the final key to human destiny, but if it helps Daneel to come up with something even better, I’ll just have to live with that supporting role. It’s still a noble task, all things considered.

  “Well, well.” Gornon lifted his shoulders and sighed. “I won’t ask you to spill any secrets, or to change loyalties.

  “I will only repeat the question that I asked before. Would you, Professor Seldon, like to see your work unfold? You’ve said it was your deepest wish--to see the Foundation in its full glory. To have another chance to clarify the equations.

  “Again, did you mean it?”

  Hari stared at the heretic for a long time.

  “By the code of Ruellis...” he murmured in a low voice. “I do believe you’re serious.”

  “It took place quite near here,” Gornon said, pointing to some tumbled-down buildings a few hundred meters away. “An accident that quite literally set time out of joint.”

  Hari followed the robot to a new vantage point, where he could look toward several large brick structures that clearly predated the monumental steel cavern nearby. Once, Gornon explained, this had been a graceful university campus. Elegant buildings housed some of humanity’s greatest scholars and scientific workers, during what must have felt like a Golden Age. A time when technology and the expansion of knowledge seemed limitless, and bold searchers would try any experiment, driven by curiosity and a conviction that knowledge cannot harm a brave mind.

  He was surprised to see that one of these buildings had been entombed in a massive construction of steel and masonry. This outer structure had no pleasing symmetries, only a slapped-together look that suggested some dire emergency. Perhaps something happened here, and people erected a reinforced concrete tomb to seal away their mistake. A sarcophagus to bury something that they could not kill.

  “One of their experiments went wrong,” Gornon explained. “They were probing away at nature’s fundamental matrix. Even today, their technique has not been rediscovered, though it is feared that a chaos world may stumble upon it again, someday.”

  “So tell me what happened,” Hari urged. He had an uneasy feeling as they walked an inward spiral toward the roughly outlined dome.

  “The physicists who worked here were in a race to develop faster-than-light travel. Elsewhere on Earth, their competitors had discovered techniques that would become our modern hyperdrive, preparing to give humanity the key to the universe. On hearing about that news, researchers on this campus were desperate to complete their experiments before all funding was transferred to that other breakthrough. So, they took a gamble.”

  After walking for some time, Hari abruptly saw a break in the dome’s outline. Something had shattered its containment barrier. Strange light poured through the gap from within.

  “Instead of using hyperspace technology, they were trying to develop a star drive based on tachyons,” Gornon explained. “They just wanted to prove it could be done. Accelerate a small object in a straight line. They didn’t understand the resonance effect. What they produced was a tachyon laser. The beam shot out of here, straight as any ray of light, expanding and drilling holes through any object that stood in its way, appearing to vaporize a pedestrian who was walking nearby, before the errant ray continued off the planet surface, disappearing into space. In following weeks, other terrifying disturbances took place, until panic ensued. By that time, the only thought anyone had was to bury the monster and forget about it.”

  Hari eyed the opalescent glow emanating from within the tomblike vault. It was different from the shimmering radiation that surrounded him on al! sides. Yet there was a common theme. Destruction born of arrogance. And the robot had brought him here to partake of this in some way!

  “Tachyons...” Hari murmured the word. He had never heard of them before, but he made a guess. “They made a mistake of basic geometry, didn’t they? They were looking for a way to traverse space. But instead, they punched a hole through time.”

  The robot nodded.

  “That’s right, Professor. Take the pedestrian who had supposedly been ‘vaporized.’ He actually experienced a quite different fate. He was transported--in quite good condition--ahead to the same position on Earth’s surface, roughly ten thousand years in his future.”

  Turning to look at Hari, the artificial Gornon offered him a gentle smile.

  “But don’t worry, Or. Seldon. We’re not thinking of a journey anywhere near that long for you. Five hundred years or so ought to suffice, don’t you think?”

  Hari stared numbly at the robot, then at the soft glow emanating nearby, and back at Gornon again.

  “But...but what for?”

  “Why, to judge us, of course. To evaluate everything that happened in the meantime. To refine your psychohistory in the light of new events and new discoveries.

  “And above all, to help both humans and robots decide whether we should all go down the path selected by R. Daneel Olivaw.”

  2.

  “So this is all about scratching a robot itch?” Biron Maserd asked, when Hari explained the proposition. Along with Horis Antic, the two men sat on a hilltop overlooking the scummy shore of what had once been Lake Michigan.

  “They all do whatever they think is best for us,” the nobleman surmised. “But then it seems they want somehow to have it feel as if we’ve given our approval! “

  Hari nodded. By now the other two understood the fundamental basis for robot behavior--that the Three Laws of Robotics were so thoroughly inscribed in their positronic brains, they could not be ignored. But long ago, Daneel Olivaw and another ancient robot had discovered a loophole, letting them overrule the old “Calvinian Laws” whenever it could be justified as in humanity’s long-range interest. Yet, the old laws remained, like an instinct that could never be completely purged, like a hunger that craves satisfying, or an itch that must be scratched.

  “That was why Daneel’s group leaked enough information for Horis to get all excited and arrange our departure from Trantor,” Hari explained. “Whether or not Daneel actually knew about it or not, some of his followers decided it was time to get rid of the archives. They knew it was only a matter of time until some chaos world found them. And even if chaos is forestalled by the empire’s collapse, the archives would remain a danger. They decided to eliminate the old data botties. But the commandments inscribed upon them made it painful to do so.”

  “Unless the commands were overridden by someone they considered authoritative. That’s you, Seldon.” Maserd nodded. “I notice that our host here”--he jerked a thumb toward Gornon Vlimt--”didn’t interfere with the destruction of the archives, even though he’s from a different sect. I can only assume he approved, but had further use for you when that was done.”

  “That’s right. Kers woul
d have then taken me home... and found some way to ensure that you and Horis kept silent. Since you two are already friendly--not supporters of chaos--a small touch of amnesia, or simply a compulsion not to speak about these matters, would probably have sufficed.”

  Horis Antic shivered, apparently disliking the thought of even that much interference with his memory or volition. “So this further use that Gornon wants to make of you, Professor, it involves throwing you far ahead in time?”

  Horis seemed to have trouble grasping the concept.

  “What good could that possibly do anybody?”

  “I’m not sure. Gornon’s group of heretics is much subtler and more farseeing than the Calvinians I encountered on Trantor. They don’t know very much yet about Daneel’s plans...” Hari chewed his lip for a moment before continuing. “About the ultimate solution that is supposed to end the threat of chaos forever. What’s more, Gornon’s group is tired of fighting Daneel and losing every battle. They respect him and are willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.

  “But they want to have a backup option, in case it turns out to be something they ultimately hate.”

  “So they kidnapped you to gain leverage over Daneel?”

  Hari shook his head.

  “My absence won’t set him back at all. I served my last useful function when I gave permission to destroy the archives. I’m now a free man--perhaps for the first time in my life--at liberty to choose whatever course I want. Even to go hurtling into the future on a whim.”

  Horis Antic pounded a fist in one hand. “You can’t seriously be thinking of accepting this offer! Whatever lies inside that broken containment dome scared our ancestors half to death. Gornon says it did terrible harm before they managed to seal it off. Even if you believe that crazy story--0f a primitive man cast forward ten thousand years--how can you sanely risk your life, letting them try it on you?”