Asimov’s Future History Volume 14

by Isaac Asimov

  Seldon said, “All the more reason, perhaps, to go beyond scholarly history. All I want is a device that will simplify psychohistory for me and I don’t care what the device is, whether it is a mathematical trick or a historical trick or something totally imaginary. If the young man we’ve just talked to had had a little more formal training, I’d have set him on the problem. His thinking is marked by considerable ingenuity and originality–”

  Dors said, “And you’re really going to help him, then?”

  “Absolutely. Just as soon as I’m in a position to.”

  “But ought you to make promises you’re not sure you’ll be able to keep?”

  “I want to keep it. If you’re that stiff about impossible promises, consider that Hummin told Sunmaster Fourteen that I’d use psychohistory to get the Mycogenians their world back. There’s just about zero chance of that Even if I work out psychohistory, who knows if it can be used for so narrow and specialized a purpose? There’s a real case of promising what one can’t deliver.”

  But Dors said with some heat, “Chetter Hummin was trying to save our lives, to keep us out of the hands of Demerzel and the Emperor. Don’t forget that. And I think he really would like to help the Mycogenians.”

  “And I really would like to help Yugo Amaryl and I am far more likely to be able to help him than I am the Mycogenians, so if you justify the second, please don’t criticize the first. What’s more, Dors”–and his eyes flashed angrily–” I really would like to find Mother Rittah and I’m prepared to go alone.”

  “Never!” snapped Dors. “If you go, I go.”

  67.

  Mistress Tisalver returned with her daughter in tow an hour after Amaryl had left on this way to his shift. She said nothing at all to either Seldon or Dors, but gave a curt nod of her head when they greeted her and gazed sharply about the room as though to verify that the heatsinker had left no trace. She then sniffed the air sharply and looked at Seldon accusingly before marching through the common room into the family bedroom.

  Tisalver himself arrived home later and when Seldon and Dors came to the dinner table, Tisalver took advantage of the fact that his wife was still ordering some last-minute details in connection with the dinner to say in a low voice, “Has that person been here?”

  “And gone,” said Seldon solemnly. “Your wife was out at the time.”

  Tisalver nodded and said, “Will you have to do this again?”

  “I don’t think so,” said Seldon.

  “Good.”

  Dinner passed largely in silence, but afterward, when the daughter had gone to her room for the dubious pleasures of computer practice, Seldon leaned back and said, “Tell me about Billibotton.”

  Tisalver looked astonished and his mouth moved without any sound issuing. Casilia, however, was less easily rendered speechless.

  She said, “Is that where your new friend lives? Are you going to return the visit?”

  “So far,” said Seldon quietly, “I have just asked about Billibotton.”

  Casilia said sharply, “It is a slum. The dregs live there. No one goes there, except the filth that make their homes there.”

  “I understand a Mother Rittah lives there.”

  “I never heard of her,” said Casilia, her mouth closing with a snap. It was quite clear that she had no intention of knowing anyone by name who lived in Billibotton.

  Tisalver, casting an uneasy look at his wife, said, “I’ve heard of her. She’s a crazy old woman who is supposed to tell fortunes.”

  “And does she live in Billibotton?”

  “I don’t know, Master Seldon. I’ve never seen her. She’s mentioned sometimes in the news holocasts when she makes her predictions.”

  “Do they come true?”

  Tisalver snorted. “Do predictions ever come true? Hers don’t even make sense.”

  “Does she ever talk about Earth?”

  “I don’t know. I wouldn’t be surprised.”

  “The mention of Earth doesn’t puzzle you. Do you know about Earth?”

  Now Tisalver looked surprised. “Certainly, Master Seldon. It’s the world all people came from... supposedly.”

  “Supposedly? Don’t you believe it?”

  “Me? I’m educated. But many ignorant people believe it.”

  “Are there book-films about Earth?”

  “Children’s stories sometimes mention Earth. I remember, when I was a young boy, my favorite story began, ‘Once, long ago, on Earth, when Earth was the only planet-’ Remember, Casilia? You liked it too.”

  Casilia shrugged, unwilling to bend as yet.

  “I’d like to see it sometime,” said Seldon, “but I mean real bookfilms... uh... learned ones... or films... or printouts.”

  “I never heard of any, but the library–”

  “I’ll try that.-Are there any taboos about speaking of Earth?”

  “What are taboos?”

  “I mean, is it a strong custom that people mustn’t talk of Earth or that outsiders mustn’t ask about it?”

  Tisalver looked so honestly astonished that there seemed no point in waiting for an answer.

  Dors put in, “Is there some rule about outsiders not going to Billibotton?”

  Now Tisalver turned earnest. “No rule, but it’s not a good idea for anyone to go there. 7 wouldn’t.”

  Dors said, “Why not?”

  “It’s dangerous. Violent! Everyone is armed.-I mean, Dahl is an armed place anyway, but in Billibotton they use the weapons. Stay in this neighborhood. It’s safe.”

  “So far,” said Casilia darkly. “It would be better if we left altogether. Heatsinkers go anywhere these days.” And there was another lowering look in Seldon’s direction.

  Seldon said, “What do you mean that Dahl is an armed place? There are strong Imperial regulations against weapons.”

  “I know that,” said Tisalver, “and there are no stun guns here or percussives or Psychic Probes or anything like that. But there are knives.” He looked embarrassed.

  Dors said, “Do you carry a knife, Tisalver?”

  “Me?” He looked genuinely horrified. “I am a man of peace and this is a safe neighborhood.”

  “We have a couple of them in the house,” said Casilia, sniffing again. “We’re not that certain this is a safe neighborhood.”

  “Does everyone carry knives?” asked Dors.

  “Almost everyone, Mistress Venabili,” said Tisalver. “It’s customary. But that doesn’t mean everyone uses them.”

  “But they use them in Billibotton, I suppose,” said Dors.

  “Sometimes. When they’re excited, they have fights.”

  “And the government permits it? The Imperial government, I mean?”

  “Sometimes they try to clean Billibotton up, but knives are too easy to hide and the custom is too strong. Besides, it’s almost always Dahlites that get killed and I don’t think the Imperial government gets too upset over that.”

  “What if it’s an outsider who gets killed?”

  “If it’s reported, the Imperials could get excited. But what happens is that no one has seen anything and no one knows anything. The Imperials sometimes round up people on general principles, but they can never prove anything. I suppose they decide it’s the outsiders’ fault for being there.-So don’t go to Billibotton, even if you have a knife.”

  Seldon shook his head rather pettishly. “I wouldn’t carry a knife. I don’t know how to use one. Not skillfully.”

  “Then it’s simple, Master Seldon. Stay out.” Tisalver shook his head portentously. “Just stay out.”

  “I may not be able to do that either,” said Seldon.

  Dors glared at him, clearly annoyed, and said to Tisalver, “Where does one buy a knife? Or may we have one of yours?”

  Casilia said quickly, “No one takes someone else’s knife. You must buy your own.”

  Tisalver said, “There are knife stores all over. There aren’t supposed to be. Theoretically they’re illegal, you know. Any a
ppliance store sells them, however. If you see a washing machine on display, that’s a sure sign.”

  “And how does one get to Billibotton?” asked Seldon.

  “By Expressway.” Tisalver looked dubious as he looked at Dors’s frowning expression.

  Seldon said, “And once I reach the Expressway?”

  “Get on the eastbound side and watch for the signs. But if you must go, Master Seldon”-Tisalver hesitated, then said–” you mustn’t take Mistress Venabili. Women sometimes are treated... worse.”

  “She won’t go,” said Seldon.

  “I’m afraid she will,” said Dors with quiet determination.

  68.

  The appliance store dealer’s mustache was clearly as lush as it had been in his younger days, but it was grizzled now, even though the hair on his head was still black. He touched the mustache out of sheer habit as he gazed at Dors and brushed it back on each side.

  He said, “You’re not a Dahlite.”

  “Yes, but I still want a knife.”

  He said, “It’s against the law to sell knives.”

  Dors said, “I’m not a policewoman or a government agent of any soft. I’m going to Billibotton.”

  He stared at her thoughtfully. “Alone?”

  “With my friend.” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder in the direction of Seldon, who was waiting outside sullenly.

  “You’re buying it for him?” He stared at Seldon and it didn’t take him long to decide. “He’s an outsider too. Let him come in and buy it for himself”

  “He’s not a government agent either. And I’m buying it for myself.”

  The dealer shook his head. “Outsiders are crazy. But if you want to spend some credits, I’ll take them from you. He reached under the counter, brought out a stub, turned it with a slight and expert motion, and the knife blade emerged.

  “Is that the largest you have?”

  “Best woman’s knife made.”

  “Show me a man’s knife.”

  “You don’t want one that’s coo heavy. Do you know how to use one of these things?”

  “I’ll learn and I’m not worried about heavy. Show me a man’s knife.”

  The dealer smiled. “Well, if you want to see one–” He moved farther down the counter and brought up a much fatter stub. He gave it a twist and what appeared to be a butcher’s knife emerged.

  He handed it to her, handle first, still smiling.

  She said, “Show me that twist of yours.”

  He showed her on a second knife, slowly twisting one way to make the blade appear, then the other way to make it disappear. “Twist and squeeze, “he said.

  “Do it again, sir.”

  The dealer obliged.

  Dors said, “All right, close it and toss me the haft”

  He did, in a slow upward loop.

  She caught it, handed it back, and said, “Faster.”

  He raised his eyebrows and then, without warning, backhanded it to her left side. She made no attempt to bring over her right hand, but caught it with her left and the blade showed tumescently at once-then disappeared. The dealer’s mouth fell open.

  “And this is the largest you have?” she said.

  “It is. If you try to use it, it will just tire you out.”

  “I’ll breathe deeply. I’ll take a second one too.”

  “For your friend?”

  “No. For me.”

  “You plan on using two knives?”

  “I’ve got two hands.”

  The dealer sighed. “Mistress, please stay out of Billibotton. You don’t know what they do to women there.”

  “I can guess. How do I put these knives on my belt?”

  “Not the one you’ve got on, Mistress. That’s not a knife belt. I can sell you one, though.”

  “Will it hold two knives?”

  “I might have a double belt somewhere. Not much call for them.”

  “I’m calling for them.”

  “I may not have it in your size.”

  “Then we’ll cut it down or something.”

  “It will cost you a lot of credits.”

  “My credit tile will cover it.”

  When she emerged at last, Seldon said sourly, “You look ridiculous with that bulky belt.”

  “Really, Hari? Too ridiculous to go with you to Billibotton? Then let’s both go back to the apartment.”

  “No. I’ll go on by myself. I’ll be safer by myself.”

  Dors said, “There is no use saying that, Hari. We both go back or we both go forward. Under no circumstances do we separate.”

  And somehow the firm look in her blue eyes, the set to her lips, and the manner in which her hands had dropped to the hafts at her belt, convinced Seldon she was serious.

  “Very well, “he said, “but if you survive and if I ever see Hummin again, my price for continuing to work on psychohistory much as I have grown fond of you-will be your removal. Do you understand?”

  And suddenly Dors smiled. “Forget it. Don’t practice your chivalry on me. Nothing will remove me. Do you understand?”

  69.

  They got off the Expressway where the sign, flickering in the air, said: BILLIBOTTON. As perhaps an indication of what might be expected, the second I was smeared, a mere blob of fainter light.

  They made their way out of the car and down to the walkway below. It was early afternoon and at first glance, Billibotton seemed much like the part of Dahl they had left.

  The air, however, had a pungent aroma and the walkway was littered with crash. One could tell that auto-sweeps were not to 6e found in the neighborhood.

  And, although the walkway looked ordinary enough, the atmosphere was uncomfortable and as tense as a too-tightly coiled spring.

  Perhaps it was the people. There seemed the normal number of pedestrians, but they were not like pedestrians elsewhere, Seldon thought. Ordinarily, in the press of business, pedestrians were self-absorbed and in the endless crowds on the endless thoroughfares of Trantor, people could only survive-psychologically-by ignoring each other. Eyes slid away. Brains were closed off. There was an artificial privacy with each person enclosed in a velvet fog of his or her own making. Or there was the ritualistic friendliness of an evening promenade in those neighborhoods that indulged in such things.

  But here in Billibotton, these was neither friendliness nor neutral withdrawal. At least not where outsiders were concerned. Every person who passed, moving in either direction, turned to stare at Seldon and Dors. Every pair of eyes, as though attached by invisible cords to the two outsiders, followed them with ill will.

  The clothing of the Billibottoners tended to be smudged, old, and sometimes corn. There was a patina of ill-washed poverty over them and Seldon felt uneasy at the slickness of his own new clothes.

  He said, “Where in Billibotton does Mother Rittah live, do you suppose?”

  “I don’t know,” said Dors. “You brought us here, so you do the supposing. I intend to confine myself to the task of protection and I think I’m going to find it necessary to do just that.”

  Seldon said, “I assumed it would only be necessary to ask the way of any passerby, but somehow I’m not encouraged to do so.”

  “I don’t blame you. I don’t think you’ll find anyone springing w your assistance.”

  “On the other hand, there are such things as youngsters.” He indicated one with a brief gesture of one hand. A boy who looked to be about twelve-in any case young enough to lack the universal adult male mustache had come to a full halt and was staring at them.

  Dors said, “You’re guessing that a boy that age has not yet developed the full Billibottonian dislike of outsiders.”

  “At any rate,” said Seldon, “I’m guessing he is scarcely large enough to have developed the full Billibottonian penchant for violence. I suppose he might run away and shout insults from a distance if we approach him, but I doubt he’ll attack us.”

  Seldon raised his voice. “Young man.”

  The b
oy took a step backward and continued to stare.

  Seldon said, “Come here, “and beckoned.

  The boy said, “Wa’ fox, guy?”

  “So I can ask you directions. Come closer, so I don’t have to shout.”

  The boy approached two steps closer. His face was smudged, but his eyes were bright and sharp. His sandals were of different make and there was a large patch on one leg of his trousers. I He said, “Wa’ kind o’ directions?”

  “We’re trying to find Mother Rittah.”

  The boy’s eyes flickered. “Wa’ for, guy?”

  “I’m a scholar. Do you know what a scholar

  “Ya went to school?”

  “Yes. Didn’t you?”

  The boy spat to one side in contempt. “Nah.”

  “I want advice from Mother Rittah-if you’ll take me to her.”

  “Ya want your fortune? Ya come to Billibotton, guy, with your fancy clothes, so! can tell ya your fortune. All bad.”

  “What’s your name, young man?”

  “What’s it to ya?”

  “So we can speak in a more friendly fashion. And so you can take me to Mother Rittah’s place. Do you know where she lives?”

  “Maybe yes, maybe no. My name’s Raych. What’s in it for me if I take ya?”

  “What would you like, Raych?”

  The boy’s eyes halted at Dors’s belt. Raych said, “The lady got a couple o’ knives. Gimme one and I’ll take ya to Mother Rittah.”

  “Those are grown people’s knives, Raych. You’re too young.”

  “Then I guess I’m too young to know where Mother Rittah lives.” And he looked up slyly through the shaggy halt that curtained his eyes.

  Seldon grew uneasy. It was possible they might attract a crowd. Several men had stopped already, but had then moved on when nothing of interest seemed to be taking place. If, however, the boy grew angry and lashed out at them in word or deed, people would undoubtedly gather.

  He smiled and said, “Can you read, Raych?”

  Raych spat again. “Nab! Who wants to read?”