Asimov’s Future History Volume 20

by Isaac Asimov

  “I’m not one who’s given to great speeches, especially unrehearsed ones,” she admitted candidly to the Galaxy. “So therefore, let me direct all of you to place yourselves at the discretion of the Trantorian Navy, to set up positions guarding Trantor from any possible danger beyond our atmosphere. We will secure things down here – please assist us in securing things up there. This is Lieutenant Governor Gerrold, out.” And then she could take no more, as she collapsed to the floor slowly, her face scrunched up in joyful tears. Her eyebrows and jaws ached from the muscles exerting their full force nearly half a minute later. There was no doubt any longer: the Interregnum had passed.

  Out of the metaphorical ashes of a nuclear fireball, a Second Galactic Empire had been born.

  Chapter Eight

  HOWEVER, THE NEW Empire was the last thing on Renauld Forska’s mind at that very moment. The irony of this was that any Speaker who put anything before the Empire and the Seldon Plan was subject to immediate impeachment. For a First Speaker to put his own life ahead in his thoughts of the Empire was absolutely unthinkable.

  But it had happened, as Forska ran through the darkened streets of the Conference city. In fact, the entire Table of Speakers was right next to him. They were hardly in a position to charge him with his abhorrent crimes, though – as they were themselves doing the same things Forska was doing. Running for their lives from an angry mob.

  Even their usual mental shields were gone. All decorum and procedure which the Second Foundation bound themselves to was replaced by fear – and their exaggerated mental powers were overcome by this fear, guided enough only by hard-trained reflexes to keep alert to new approaches. They couldn’t even talk to each other mentally, so shaken were they, and so their abundant personal resources were negated.

  “This way!” Forska shouted, pointing to the right. Indeed, each of them instinctively felt a lesser amount of anger in that direction than in any other. They hustled down an alleyway towards a mass transit station entrance.

  “A Seldon crisis caused by Seldon himself,” one of the Speakers observed bitterly, huffing and puffing. “How did this happen?”

  “How it happened doesn’t matter,” one of the others retorted. “What the hell do we do now?”

  No one had any answer for her, and so they kept running.

  “There they are!” a voice cried out from the side as they broke from the alleyway. Forska couldn’t help but glance in that direction. Half a dozen people were running towards them, led by the new chief delegate from Yrika. Uh-oh, Forska thought. Yrikans tended to make holding a grudge an art form …

  Forska nearly tripped over another Speaker as he scrambled in the opposite direction. Blasters were ineffective at that time, due to the EMP – and a good thing too, or the Second Foundation would have lost its leadership right then. The Yrikan cursed and dropped his blaster to the ground. The chase continued on foot.

  “We’ve got to find a transport!” Forska yelled. But he knew somehow none would be working – the city had no power, and Trantor never burned hydrocarbons underground. Forska debated breaking the Speakers up, to confuse their pursuers, but he decided against it. He didn’t want to risk losing anybody without the entire Table there to help.

  Suddenly he found his group stumbling upon a patrol group of several Assembly security officers, provided by the First Foundation. Maybe, Forska thought. If anyone would be their allies right now, it would be the First Foundation. But what orders had they received? Who was giving those orders? What would the on-scene commander do? He noticed they were carrying gunpowder-based sidearms, instead of powered blasters. That meant someone in their supplies division had made a good decision – but what decisions would come now?

  “Please, help us!” Forska, speaking for the Table, cried. The officers noticed them, and recognized them. Was that good?

  The commander simply lowered his weapon and yelled, “Stand down!!!” His officers lowered their weapons, aiming not at the Speakers, but at the crowd behind them.

  The crowd obeyed him, keeping their distance, if not their angry glares.

  “By executive order of the Lieutenant Governor of the Foundation, the Planet of Trantor is hereby under martial law. All citizens are hereby ordered to return to their homes or places of business with all due haste, unless otherwise specifically directed by an officer of the peace. Furthermore, be advised that all police forces have been authorized by the Lieutenant Governor to use whatever means are necessary to restore order in the Wye Sector.” As the commander was speaking these words, he held his weapon, bigger than his arm, aimed upwards. He walked forward, menacingly, delivering his message with an air of confidence he barely felt. But he knew he had the authority – and the guns – to back him up.

  “And what about them?” one of the rioters shouted back.

  “The Speakers of the Second Foundation are hereby placed under protective custody, pending an investigation of their activities. They are not your concern. Now, go home.” He stopped in his tracks, well clear of the mob, just staring at them, staring them down.

  The crowd backed down, and broke up slowly. None approached either the officers or the Speakers. Without a word, the commander signaled his officers to advance and take the Speakers under guard.

  For the first time in his life, Forska found himself in a holding cell. But he still lived.

  But what news of the Galaxy?

  Several hours later, Ione dressed herself in her finest clothing. It was the same clothes she had worn six months earlier, at the opening of the Imperial Conference. However, she added something to the outfit – a red cape, tied around her neck, and bound again around her waist. It was a gift from her cousin, a tailor, who had worked meticulously to add in small gold writing the name of every planet in the Foundation. It was called lovingly “the Imperial Cloak.” The gold foil shimmered beautifully in the rising sun, but the edges had no writing. (This was for new planets to be added to the Cloak, her cousin had said.) The print was so small, one needed a microscope to make out the words – but they were there.

  She expected this would be the only time she would ever wear this cloak. It symbolized the sheer power of the Foundation, the newborn Empire. When the Conference decided on who would lead their Empire, she would remove the Imperial Cloak, and fasten it around the shoulders and waist of their new Emperor. That was the only thing left to do anyway – yesterday’s incidents had proven that beyond a doubt. They didn’t need the Conference anymore.

  As long as it wasn’t Forska. If that was the case, she’d use all her strength to tear it in two, and her cousin be damned.

  Hannor Legan knocked on her private room, and she replied, “Come in,” her voice lilting ever so slightly as she regarded herself in the mirror.

  “Whoa,” his deep voice said in appreciation. “I’ve never seen that before.”

  “A gift from my cousin, for the new Emperor. An Imperial Cloak, with every planet in the Empire named on it.”

  “Nice. Well, I just came by to let you know privately that I am indeed retiring. You saw that Seldon Crisis coming a light-year away. And I was duped, right up until the very Crisis. I duped myself.” He smiled sheepishly. “But it’s great to know I had such a wonderful lieutenant, who stood her ground even as her senior overrode her at every turn. My personal thanks, Ione.”

  She shook his hand with appreciation. Things could hardly get better, she thought.

  “Oh, by the way,” Hannor added, “as I have finished my duties as the last Governor of the Foundation, I thought it best to inform you that Renauld Forska wishes to speak to you.”

  Her face darkened. Although there was no question that she now held equal station with him, and probably quite a bit higher than him, she wanted nothing to do with the man.

  However, quite often senior government officials have to do unpleasant things. She knew this, and knew that Forska deserved a fair hearing. Reluctantly, she nodded.

  “I’ll turn on the Mind Static Field, at a low
level, and leave you with him,” Hannor said. “I’ll see you at the Assembly.” Hannor stepped out, leaving Ione alone for but a few moments to collect her thoughts.

  Humility was nothing new to Renauld Forska. After all, one had to be humble to put the Galaxy before himself, as Forska had spent most of his life doing. The shame he felt in betraying the Galaxy was extreme, however, and humbled him anew.

  Actually, the guards had treated them quite respectably – even going to the extent of bringing a change of clothes from the University to them. Cleansed and refreshed, he entered the private chambers of Lieutenant Governor Ione Gerrold for the first time. She stood facing the rising sun beyond her window, letting her shadow fill half the floor. She did not speak, letting him be First Speaker again.

  “Lieutenant Governor,” he began cordially. Only then did she turn to face him.

  “Yes, First Speaker?” she said politely. But the look on her face was blank, a perfect gambling face. Along with the mind static field, he could gather nothing from her intentions.

  He bit his lower lip, breaking eye contact for a moment. He knew such went against all training in dominating a situation, but dominating this situation was impossible and would break any professional relationship they might have. “I have come forth to … apologize.” He spoke slowly, still considering his words. “We did not realize that our approach to governing the Galaxy would be resisted so strenuously. Nor did we expect that Dr. Hari Seldon himself would contradict so blatantly our way of thinking.”

  Ione said nothing, letting the silence indicate he needed to do better than that.

  “However, we still have proven by mathematics that the Galaxy would prosper more if guided by psychohistory than if not. Obviously, I cannot be Emperor – and I never had any intentions there. Nor do I feel suitable to recommend an Emperor from among our Speakers. But I must implore of you not to ignore our advice.”

  She raised her head slightly, asking the natural question with a little haughtiness, “And what advice is that?”

  Forska shook his head. “The Galaxy still needs us as leaders. However, it does not necessarily need us as figureheads.”

  Ione’s puzzlement showed through. “What do you mean?”

  Forska smiled thinly. “My newest Speaker, who was until today a student in training, found a solution. Hari Seldon himself was a First Minister for Cleon I for many years. We can likewise maintain positions throughout the Galaxy as ministers for the local leaders and for the Emperor. We’ll still be in a position to shape events for the betterment of humanity, but the final decisions and authority will still rest with the Emperor and his Governors.”

  “Still controlling from the background, eh?” Ione contemplated that. That could lead to a system of very weak executives, puppets of the real government. Just like Linge Chen’s manufactured Emperors of a thousand years ago. She wasn’t about to have that. “On one condition.”

  Forska lifted his face. There was a glimmer of hope there – but if she asked for too much …

  “The Second Foundation, your Foundation, must agree never, ever to tamper with any government leadership, nor with any candidates for such leadership. We do not want to be manipulated into doing your will.”

  Forska beamed. That was a condition he would accept heartily. “With all due respect, Lieutenant Governor, that would render any such executives useless puppets, and an illusion so shallow that the Galaxy would never accept it. It would run counter to the development of the Galaxy, and besides, a little chaos is essential to psychohistory. But only a little.” He did not mention that independent thinkers had been critical in bringing them to this point over the course of a thousand years, and would continue to lead the Galaxy to prosperity. He suspected such a statement would be too much.

  The lieutenant governor only nodded, but the mind static field wasn’t powerful enough to conceal the rush of joy that overpowered its jamming signal. He knew then that his proposal had been accepted. Before Ione could speak, he said, “No words are necessary, Madame. Your intentions have already registered themselves. I thank you.”

  Once again, the two Foundations were equals. But for the first time, they truly were allies.

  Minutes later, Ione strode out onto the balcony in the Assembly, followed by First Speaker Forska. However, Forska remained standing behind the two main chairs – and Hannor was standing in front of his Governor’s seat. Even as the Imperial Cloak she wore fluttered in the breezes, she was a bit surprised as she went to her old chair, Forska’s chair. She was even more surprised when she sat down; Hannor did not, instead remaining standing.

  “Ladies and gentlemen of the Great Galaxy,” the Governor of the Foundation spoke to the Assembly in the Conference City. What the hell was going on now? Ione wondered. “I entreat you to bear witness to the last great act of the two Foundations.”

  “Over the past few hours, we have received word from hundreds of thousands of planetary governments, swearing formal allegiance to the Empire. This despite no public announcement that we had an Empire in the first place. As I speak to you now, I speak that announcement.”

  The applause was thunderous.

  “The only task left to this Imperial Conference is to select an Emperor to lead us into the glorious future ahead. For my final duty as Governor of the Foundation, I respectfully wish to make my recommendation to the Assembly of who our first Emperor should be. I ask but for thirty seconds of silence.”

  Instantly, the Conference City held its collective breath.

  “In the light of this recent Seldon Crisis, whereby a destructive civil war was narrowly averted, one person held a clear view of the truth. That person never wavered from speaking the truth to myself, nor to other persons within the Foundation government. That person was directly responsible for the cessation of hostilities in orbit above Trantor. That person …”

  Ione’s jaw dropped.

  “… took immediate action in a time of crisis, where bureaucrats and politicians might have debated what actions to take, and allowed the crisis to explode beyond their control. That person, in short, saved the Empire from a dead birth. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Trantor’s candidate for Emperor of the Galaxy and All of Humanity, Ione Gerrold!”

  Had Ione not witnessed Hari Seldon’s final speech the previous day, she would never have believed the sheer volume of the crowd’s response, the strength of their approval.

  But she couldn’t be Emperor … could she? She wanted to be near the top, not at the top. She feared leading all these people … not millions, not billions, not trillions, but quadrillions of people! How could she possibly …

  The Second Foundation. That’s what they had proposed anyway. That was their specialty.

  Besides, despite Hannor’s praising words, she had been wrong about the Galaxy. She had seen a Galaxy of chaos, of warlords and kings scrambling for power. That was the Galaxy she feared.

  But instead, the Galaxy was united. Whatever their Emperor asked of them, they would surely give a billion times over. There were no kings and warlords anymore – merely rulers who would defer to the needs of their neighbors. Rulers who genuinely believed in Empire.

  She feared fighting a stubborn Galaxy, having to burn herself out to guide them to the proper path. She realized now she didn’t need to fear a Galaxy willing to work together.

  To hell with being another Linge Chen. She was about to be another Cleon.

  The new Emperor rose to her feet …

  Epilogue

  AS THE POST-event analysis revealed to members of the Second Foundation, the Imperial Conference spawned not one, but two Seldon Crises.

  The first one they knew about: the overwhelming show of force orbiting Trantor. They had scoffed at the predictions of the Admiralty, expecting somewhere between 27 and 40 different planets to send armadas. The actual number of flags shown was well within their predicted boundaries.

  But they had predicted only a 0.073% chance of hostilities breaking out. It was “well kno
wn to have no significant probabilities of coming to pass”. The Conference itself was the planned Seldon Crisis, the resolution of which would lead to a unified fleet in defense of Trantor.

  It hadn’t worked out like that.

  Instead, Hari Seldon’s words ignited the Conference into a panicked frenzy, and though the armadas personally had nothing to do with the Conference except as overlapping security, several high officials were upset enough to suspect an attack on Trantor. Reason surrendered to fear, and fear surrendered to military training.

  The results were fourteen thousand deaths, and at least eight hundred thousand injuries. Fourteen thousand needless deaths. The Second Foundation could only shake its head. Only the quick action of the new Emperor had prevented an all-out disaster on the Galactic scale, with a second round of Great Sacks. This time in the name of “liberating” Trantor.

  That 0.073% chance led directly to war. Trillions of people would have died. Only a faulty nuclear warhead and quick action by the one person who could have done anything about it had saved those trillions of people.

  One person. The one quantity psychohistory could not predict: an absence of the mob. Without that one person, the results would have been unthinkable.

  Just as one person had once nearly derailed the Plan, one person had nearly kept it on course.

  Nearly.

  The second Seldon Crisis was one which the Second Foundation had not expected.

  Technically, that wasn’t exactly right: they did expect this crisis … in 82 years. Instead, Hari Seldon had unintentionally brought it about immediately.

  It was clear from reading Seldon’s personal work on the Plan that he hadn’t foreseen the results of his final speech. Psychohistory never applied to those who knew intimate details of it, and the first such person was Hari Seldon.

  In his later years, it also became clear that he did not consider himself that important to the Plan. The riot at the Imperial Conference proved him wrong, most conclusively. The two Foundations hadn’t helped matters much, by promoting Seldon’s final speech. The Second Foundation had also proved Seldon wrong about the decline and fall of psychohistory. This was not merely self-conceit: quite frankly, the Galaxy still wasn’t mature enough to resist leadership by a mentalic council. They could do it, but only with hugely self-destructive efforts.