Foundation and Chaos (39 page)

Wanda stood in the huge Streeling Central Travel Station, wrapped in her warmest coat—a thin decorative wrap. The air in the cavernous taxi and robo hangar was cooler than in the rest of the Sector—about eight degrees, and getting colder. Ventilation and conditioning had been fluctuating for eighteen hours now, and air was being pumped in by emergency blowers from outside, bringing Streeling from perpetual springtime to a chill
autumn none of its inhabitants was quite prepared for. No official explanation had been given, and she expected none—it was part and parcel with the broken ceil and the general air of malaise that seemed to grip the planet.

Stettin returned from the information booth beneath the high steel and ceram archway. “Taxi and robo dispatch is pretty jerky,” he said. “We’ll have to wait another twenty or thirty minutes to get to the courts.”

Wanda clenched her fists. “He almost died yesterday—”

“We don’t know what happened,” Stettin reminded her.

“If they can’t protect him, who can?” she demanded. Her guilt was not assuaged by the fact that Grandfather had ordered her to go into hiding upon his arrest, and not to emerge until his release.

Stettin shrugged. “Your grandfather has his own kind of luck. We seem to share it. That woman is dead.” They had heard this much in the official news—the assassination of Farad Sinter, and the unexplained death of Vara Liso, identified as the woman Sinter had placed in charge of many of the searches that had prompted rioting in Dahl, the Agora of Vendors, and elsewhere.

“Yes—but you felt the—” Wanda did not have words to describe the shock wave of some sort of extraordinary combat.

Stettin nodded soberly. “My head still hurts.”

“Who could have blocked Liso? We couldn’t have, not all of the mentalics, even had we allied.”

“Someone else, stronger than her,” Stettin suggested.

“How many are there like Vara Liso?”

“No more, I hope. But if we can recruit this other—”

“It would be like having a scorpion in our midst. What could we do with such a person? Anything that displeases—” Wanda began to pace. “I hate this,” she said. “I want to get off this accursed planet, away from the Center. I wish they’d let us take Grandfather with us. Sometimes he seems so frail!”

Stettin looked up at a warm rich hum, different from the guttural grav-stator grumble of the taxis and the whine of the robos. He patted Wanda’s shoulder and pointed. An official transport from the Commission of Public Safety was decelerating smoothly in their lane. It slowed directly beside them. Other passengers glared at this intrusion of an official vehicle into public taxi lanes, even though the lanes were empty.

The hatch to the transport opened. Within the utilitarian hull, luxury seating and warmth and a golden glow awaited. Sedjar Boon stood up in the hatchway and peered at them.

“Wanda Seldon Palver?” he inquired.

She nodded.

“I represent your grandfather.”

“I know. You’re one of Chen’s legal staff, aren’t you?”

Boon looked irritated, but did not deny the accusation.

“Chen would leave nothing to chance,” Wanda said, biting off the words. “Where is my grandfather? He had better not be—”

“Physically, he’s fine,” Boon said, “but the courts need someone in his family to accept his release and take charge of him.”

“What do you mean, ‘physically’? And why ‘take charge’?”

“I really do represent your grandfather’s interests—however peculiar the arrangement,” Boon said. His brows knit. “Something happened, however, outside of my control, and I just wanted to warn you. He’s uninjured, but there was an incident.”

“What happened?”

Boon surveyed the other waiting passengers, shivering and staring enviously at the transport’s warm interior. “It’s not exactly public knowledge—”

Wanda gave Boon a withering glare and pushed past him into the transport. Stettin followed close behind. “No more talk. Take us to him now,” Wanda said.

Hari had not seen such luxurious accommodations since his days as First Minister, and they meant nothing at all to him. These were the auxiliary quarters of Linge Chen himself, in the Chief Commissioner’s own tower bloc, and Hari could have had any treat he wished, asked for and received any service available on Trantor (and Trantor still, whatever its problems, offered many and varied services to the wealthy and powerful); but what he wished for most of all was to be left alone.

He did not want to see the physicians who attended him, and he did not want to see his granddaughter, who was on her way to the palace with Boon.

Hari felt more than doubt and confusion. The blast of Vara Liso’s hatred had failed to kill him. It had even failed to substantially damage or alter his mind or personality.

Hari did have a complete loss of memory about what had happened in the Hall of Dispensation. He could recall nothing but the face of Vara Liso and, strangely enough, that of Lodovik Trema, who was, of course, missing and presumed dead in deep space. But Vara Liso had been real.

Trema
, he thought.
Some connection with Daneel. Daneel’s conditioning, working on me?
But even that hardly mattered.

What had so profoundly altered his state of mind, his sense of mission and purpose, was the single
clue
, the single bit of contradictory evidence, that Liso had inadvertently provided him.

Never in all of their equations had they taken into account such a powerful mentalic anomaly. Yes, he had calculated the effects of persuaders and other mentalics of the class of Wanda, Stettin, and those chosen for the Second Foundation—

But not for such a monstrosity, such an unexpected
mutation
, as Vara Liso. That small, gnarled woman with her intense eyes—

Hari shuddered. The physician attending to him—all but ignored—tried to reattach a sensor to Hari’s arm, but Hari shrugged it off and turned a despairing face toward him.

“It’s over,” he said. “Leave me alone. I would rather die anyway.”

“Clearly, sir, you are suffering from stress—”

“I’m suffering from
failure
,” Hari said. “You can’t bend logic or mathematics, whatever drugs or treatments you give me.”

The door at the far end of the study opened, and Boon entered, followed by Wanda and Stettin. Wanda pushed past Boon and ran to Hari. She dropped to her knees by the side of his chair, clutched his hand, and stared up at him as if she had feared she might find him in scattered pieces.

Hari looked down in silence upon his dear granddaughter, and his eyes moistened. “I am free,” he said softly.

“Yes,” Wanda said. “We’re here to take you home with us. We signed the papers.” Stettin stood beside Hari’s chair, smiling down on him paternally. Hari had always found Stettin’s stolid, gentle nature a little irritating, though he seemed the perfect foil for Wanda’s willfulness.
Next to the outlandish mad passion of Vara Liso…like candles in the glare of a sun, both of them!

“Not what I mean,” Hari said. “At last I’m free of my illusions.”

Wanda reached up to stroke his cheek. The touch was needed, welcome even, but it did not soothe.
What I need is soothing, not sooth—entirely too much sooth has been afforded me.

“I don’t know what you mean, Grandfather.”

“Just one of her—one of her kind—throws all our calculations into the bucket. The Project is a useless failure. If one of her can arise, there can be others—wild talents, and I don’t know where they come from! Unpredictable mutations, aberrations, in response to what?”

“Do you mean Vara Liso?” Wanda asked.

“She’s dead,” Stettin observed.

Hari curled his lip. “To my knowledge, until now, certainly not more than a century before now, there has never been anything like her, on all the millions of human worlds, among all the quintillions of human beings. Now—there will be more.”

“She was just a stronger mentalic. How could that make a difference? What does it matter?” Wanda asked.

“I’m free to be just a human being in the last years of my life.”

“Grandfather,
tell me
! How does she make such a difference?”

“Because someone like her, raised properly, trained properly, could be a force that
unites
,” Hari said. “But not a saving force…A source of organization from a single point, a truly despotic kind of top-down order. Tyrants! I spoke to enough of them. Merely fires in a forest, perhaps necessary to the health of the forest. But they would have been more…They all would have succeeded—if they had had what that woman had. A destroying, unnatural force. Destructive of all we have planned.”

“Then rework your equations, Grandfather. Put her in. Surely she can’t be that large a factor—”

“Not just her! Others! Mutations, an infinite number of them.” Hari shook his head vehemently. “There isn’t time to factor in all the possibilities. We have only three months to prepare—not nearly enough time. It’s all over. Useless.”

Wanda stood, her face grim, lower lip trembling.

“It’s the trauma talking,” the physician said in a low voice to Wanda.

“My mind is clear!” Hari stormed. “I want to go home and live the rest of my years in peace. This delusion is at an end. I am sane, for the first time—sane, and free!”

“I would never have believed such a meeting would be possible,” Linge Chen said. “Had I believed it possible, I would have never believed it to be useful. Yet now we are here.”

R. Daneel Olivaw and the Chief Commissioner walked in the shadow of a huge unfinished hall in the eastern corner of the palace, filled with scaffolding and construction machinery. It was a day of rest for the workers; the hall was deserted. Though Chen spoke in low tones, to Daneel’s sensitive ears, his echoes came from all around them, befitting the words of the most pervasive and powerful human influence in the Galaxy.

They had met here because Chen knew that the hall had not yet had its contingent of spying devices installed. Clearly, the Commissioner did not want their meeting ever to be revealed.

Daneel waited for the Commissioner to continue. Daneel was the captive; it was Chen’s show.

“You would have sacrificed your life—let us say, your existence—for the sake of Hari Seldon. Why?” Chen asked.

“Professor Seldon is the key to reducing the thousands of years of chaos and misery that will follow the Empire’s collapse,” Daneel said.

Chen lifted an eyebrow and one corner of his mouth, nothing more. The Commissioner’s face was as impassive as any robot’s, yet he was entirely human—the extraordinary product of thousands of years of upbringing and inbreeding, suffused with subtle genetic tailoring and the ancient perquisites of wealth and power. “I have not made these extraordinary arrangements to trade puppet’s banter. I have felt your intervention, your strings of influence, time and again for decades, and never been quite sure…

“Now that I
am
sure, and stand with you, I wonder: Why am I still alive, Danee, Daneel, whatever your real name is—let
me call you Demerzel for now—and still in power?”

Chen stopped walking, so Daneel stopped as well. There was no sense prevaricating. The Commissioner had arranged for complete and thorough physicals of all those captured in the Hall of Dispensation, or rounded up in the warehouse. Daneel’s secret had for the first time been revealed. “Because you have seen fit to accommodate yourself to the Project and not block it, during your time as de facto ruler of the Empire,” Daneel said.

Chen looked down at the dusty floor, gorgeous lapis-and-gold tile work still streaked with glue and grout, techniques as old as humanity and used now only by the wealthiest, or in the Palace. “I have often suspected as much. I have watched the comings and goings of these powers, behind the scenes. They have haunted my dreams, as they seem to have haunted the dreams and the biology of all humanity.”

“Resulting in the mentalics,” Daneel said. This interested Daneel; Chen was an acute observer, and to have Daneel’s own suspicions about mentalics confirmed…

“Yes,” Chen said. “They are here to help rid us of you. Do you understand? Robots stick in our craw.”

Daneel did not disagree.

“Vara Liso—given the right political position—something she certainly lacked here and now, this time—could have helped eliminate all of you. If, say, she had been in the employ of Cleon…fighting for his rule. Did Cleon know about you?”

Daneel nodded. “Cleon suspected, but he felt as you must feel, that the robots were part of his support, not his opposition.”

“Yet you let me bring him down and force him into exile,” Chen said. “Surely that is not loyalty?”

“I have no loyalty to the individual,” Daneel said.

“If I did not share your attitude, perhaps I would be chilled to the bone,” Chen said.

“I represent no threat to you,” Daneel said. “Even should I not have supported your efforts to create a Trantor on which Hari Seldon would flourish and be challenged to his greatest productions…You would have won. But your career, without Hari Seldon, will be much shorter.”

“Yes, he’s told me as much, during his trial. I was most upset to find myself believing him, though I told him otherwise.” Chen glanced wryly at Daneel. “Doubtless you know I have enough blood in me to retain certain vanities.”

Daneel nodded.

“You understand me, as a political presence, a force in history, don’t you? Well, I know something of you and yours, Demerzel. I respect what you have accomplished, though I am dismayed at the length of time it has taken you to accomplish it.”

Demerzel tilted his head, acknowledging this criticism’s accuracy. “There was much to overcome.”

“Robots against robots, am I right?”

“Yes. A very painful schism.”

“I have nothing to say about such things, for I am ignorant of the details,” Chen said.

“But you are curious,” Daneel said.

“Yes, of course.”

“I will not supply you with the facts.”

“I did not expect you would.”

For a moment the two figures stood in silence, observing each other.

“How many centuries?” Chen asked quietly.

“Over two hundred centuries,” Daneel said.

Chen’s eyes widened. “The history you have seen!”

“It is not in my capacity to keep it all in primary storage,” Daneel said. “It is spread in safe stores all over the Galaxy, bits and pieces of my lives, of which I retain only synopses.”

“An Eternal!” Chen said. For the first time there was a touch of wonder in his voice.

“My time is done, almost,” Daneel said. “I have been in existence for far too long.”

“All the robots must move out of the way, now,” Chen concurred. “The signs are clear. Too much interference. These strong mentalics—they will occur again. The human skin wrinkles at your presence, and tries to throw you off.”

“They are a problem I did not foresee when I set Hari on his path.”

“You speak of him as a friend,” Chen observed, “with almost human affection.”

“He
is
a friend. As were many humans before him.”

“Well, I cannot be one of your friends. You terrify me, Demerzel. I know that I can never have complete control with you in existence, and yet if I destroy you, I will be dead within a year or two. Seldon’s psychohistory implies as much. I am in the peculiar position of having to believe the truth of a science I instinctively despise. Not a comfortable position.”

“No.”

“Do you have a solution for this problem of super-mentalics? I gather that Hari Seldon sees their existence as a fatal blow to his work.”

“There is a solution,” Daneel said. “I must speak with Hari, in the presence of the girl, Klia Asgar, and her mate, Brann. And Lodovik Trema must be there as well.”

“Lodovik!” Chen tightened his jaw. “That is what I resent most. Of all the…people…I have relied on over the years, I confess only Lodovik Trema inspired affection in me, a weakness he never betrayed…until now.”

“He has betrayed nothing.”

“He betrayed
you
, if I am not wrong.”

“He betrayed nothing,” Daneel repeated. “He is part of the path, and he corrects where I have been blind.”

“So you want the young woman mentalic,” Chen said. “And you want her alive. I had planned to execute her. Her kind is as dangerous as vipers.”

“She is essential to reconstructing Hari Seldon’s Project,” Daneel said.

Another silence. Then, in the middle of the great unfinished hall, Chen said, “So it shall be. Then it is over. You must all leave. All but Seldon. As was agreed in the trial. And I will give into your care the things I do not wish to be responsible for—the artifacts. The remains of the other robots. The bodies of your enemies, Daneel.”

“They were never my enemies, sire.”

Chen regarded him with a queer expression. “You owe me nothing. I owe you nothing. Trantor is done with you, forever. This is realpolitik, Demerzel, of the kind you have engaged in for so many thousands of years, at the cost of so many human lives. You are no better than me, robot, in the end.”