Prelude to Foundation (17 page)

“
Nothing
. Not while I was with him. He was perfectly fine—except that he had to be cold, of course.”

Dors, by now quite unsettled, said, “Since no one saw him go down, he might still be up there. Shouldn’t we go up and look?”

Clowzia said nervously, “I told you we looked around before we went down. It was still quite light and he was nowhere in sight.”

“Let’s look anyway.”

“But
I
can’t take you up there. I’m just an intern and I don’t have the combination for the Upperside dome opening. You’ll have to ask Dr. Leggen.”

Dors Venabili knew that Leggen would not willingly go Upperside now. He would have to be forced.

First, she checked the library and the dining areas again. Then she called Seldon’s room. Finally, she went up there and signaled at the door. When Seldon did not respond, she had the floor manager open it. He wasn’t there. She questioned some of those who, over the last few weeks, had come to know him. No one had seen him.

Well, then, she would
make
Leggen take her Upperside. By now, though, it was night. He would object strenuously and how long could she spend arguing if Hari Seldon was trapped up there on a freezing night with sleet turning to snow?

A thought occurred to her and she rushed to the small University computer, which kept track of the doings of the students, faculty, and service staff.

Her fingers flew over the keys and she soon had what she wanted.

There were three of them in another part of the campus. She signed out for a small glidecart to take her over and found the domicile she was looking for. Surely,
one
of them would be available—or findable.

Fortune was with her. The first door at which she signaled was answered by a query light. She punched in her identification number, which included her department affiliation. The door opened and a plump middle-aged man stared out at her. He had obviously been washing up before dinner. His dark blond hair was askew and he was not wearing any upper garment.

He said, “Sorry. You catch me at a disadvantage. What can I do for you, Dr. Venabili?”

She said a bit breathlessly, “You’re Rogen Benastra, the Chief Seismologist, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“This is an emergency. I must see the seismological records for Upperside for the last few hours.”

Benastra stared at her. “Why? Nothing’s happened. I’d know if it had. The seismograph would inform us.”

“I’m not talking about a meteoric impact.”

“Neither am I. We don’t need a seismograph for that. I’m talking about gravel, pinpoint fractures. Nothing today.”

“Not that either. Please. Take me to the seismograph and read it for me. This is life or death.”

“I have a dinner appointment—”

“I said life or death and I mean it.”

Benastra said, “I don’t see—” but he faded out under Dors’s glare. He wiped his face, left a quick word on his message relay, and struggled into a shirt.

They half-ran (under Dors’s pitiless urging) to the small squat Seismology Building. Dors, who knew nothing about seismology, said, “Down? We’re going down?”

“Below the inhabited levels. Of course. The seismograph has to be fixed to bedrock and be removed from the constant clamor and vibration of the city levels.”

“But how can you tell what’s happening Upperside from down here?”

“The seismograph is wired to a set of pressure transducers located within the thickness of the dome. The impact of a speck of grit will send the indicator skittering off the screen. We can detect the flattening effect on the dome of a high wind. We can—”

“Yes, yes,” said Dors impatiently. She was not here for a lecture on the virtues and refinements of the instruments. “Can you detect human footsteps?”

“Human footsteps?” Benastra looked confused. “That’s not likely Upperside.”

“Of course it’s likely. There were a group of meteorologists Upperside this afternoon.”

“Oh. Well, footsteps would scarcely be noticeable.”

“It would be noticeable if you looked hard enough and that’s what I want you to do.”

Benastra might have resented the firm note of command in her voice, but, if so, he said nothing. He touched a contact and the computer screen jumped to life.

At the extreme right center, there was a fat spot of light, from which a thin horizontal line stretched to the left limit of the screen. There was a tiny wriggle to it, a random nonrepetitive series of little hiccups and these moved steadily leftward. It was almost hypnotic in its effect on Dors.

Benastra said, “That’s as quiet as it can possibly be. Anything you see is the result of changing air pressure above, raindrops maybe, the distant whirr of machinery. There’s nothing up there.”

“All right, but what about a few hours ago? Check on the records at fifteen hundred today, for instance. Surely, you have some recordings.”

Benastra gave the computer its necessary instructions and for a second or two there was wild chaos on the screen. Then it settled down and again the horizontal line appeared.

“I’ll sensitize it to maximum,” muttered Benastra. There were now pronounced hiccups and as they staggered leftward they changed in pattern markedly.

“What’s that?” said Dors. “Tell me.”

“Since you say there were people up there, Venabili, I would guess they were footsteps—the shifting of weight, the impact of shoes. I don’t know that I would have guessed it if I hadn’t known about the people up there. It’s what we call a benign vibration, not associated with anything we know to be dangerous.”

“Can you tell how many people are present?”

“Certainly not by eye. You see, we’re getting a resultant of all the impacts.”

“You say ‘not by eye.’ Can the resultant be analyzed into its components by the computer?”

“I doubt it. These are minimal effects and you have to allow for the inevitable noise. The results would be untrustworthy.”

“Well then. Move the time forward till the footstep indications stop. Can you make it fast-forward, so to speak?”

“If I do—the kind of fast-forward you’re speaking of—then it will all just blur into a straight line with a slight haze above and below. What I can do is move it forward in fifteen-minute stages and study it quickly before moving on.”

“Good. Do that!”

Both watched the screen until Benastra said, “There’s nothing there now. See?”

There was again a line with nothing but tiny uneven hiccups of noise.

“When did the footsteps stop?”

“Two hours ago. A trifle more.”

“And when they stopped were there fewer than there were earlier?”

Benastra looked mildly outraged. “I couldn’t tell. I don’t think the finest analysis could make a certain decision.”

Dors pressed her lips together. Then she said, “Are you testing a transducer—is that what you called it—near the meteorological outlet?”

“Yes, that’s where the instruments are and that’s where the meteorologists would have been.” Then, unbelievingly, “Do you want me to try others in the vicinity? One at a time?”

“No. Stay on this one. But keep on going forward at fifteen-minute intervals. One person may have been left behind and may have made his way back to the instruments.”

Benastra shook his head and muttered something under his breath.

The screen shifted again and Dors said sharply, “What’s that?” She was pointing.

“I don’t know. Noise.”

“No. It’s periodic. Could it be a single person’s footsteps?”

“Sure, but it could be a dozen other things too.”

“It’s coming along at about the time of footsteps, isn’t it?” Then, after a while, she said, “Push it forward a little.”

He did and when the screen settled down she said, “Aren’t those unevennesses getting bigger?”

“Possibly. We can measure them.”

“We don’t have to. You can see they’re getting bigger. The footsteps are approaching the transducer. Go forward again. See when they stop.”

After a while Benastra said, “They stopped twenty or twenty-five minutes ago.” Then cautiously, “Whatever they are.”

“They’re footsteps,” said Dors with mountain-moving conviction. “There’s a man up there and while you and I have been fooling around here, he’s collapsed and he’s going to freeze and die. Now don’t say, ‘Whatever they are!’ Just call Meteorology and get me Jenarr Leggen. Life or death, I tell you. Say so!”

Benastra, lips quivering, had passed the stage where he could possibly resist anything this strange and passionate woman demanded.

It took no more than three minutes to get Leggen’s hologram on the message platform. He had been pulled away from his dinner table. There was a napkin in his hand and a suspicious greasiness under his lower lip.

His long face was set in a fearful scowl. “ ‘Life or death?’ What is this? Who are you?” Then his eye caught Dors, who had moved closer to Benastra so that her image would be seen on Jenarr’s screen. He said, “
You
again. This is simple harassment.”

Dors said, “It is not. I have consulted Rogen Benastra, who is Chief Seismologist at the University. After you and your party had left Upperside, the seismograph
shows clear footsteps of one person still there. It’s my student Hari Seldon, who went up there in your care and who is now, quite certainly, lying in a collapsed stupor and may not live long.

“You will, therefore, take me up there right now with whatever equipment may be necessary. If you do not do so
immediately
, I shall proceed to University security—to the President himself, if necessary. One way or another I’ll get up there and if anything has happened to Hari because you delay one minute, I will see to it that you are hauled in for negligence, incompetence—whatever I can make stick—and will have you lose all status and be thrown out of academic life. And if he’s dead, of course, that’s manslaughter by negligence. Or worse, since I’ve now warned you he’s dying.”

Jenarr, furious, turned to Benastra. “Did you detect—”

But Dors cut in. “He told me what he detected and I’ve told you. I do not intend to allow you to bulldoze him into confusion. Are you coming? Now?”

“Has it occurred to you that you may be mistaken?” said Jenarr, thin-lipped. “Do you know what I can do to you if this is a mischievous false alarm? Loss of status works both ways.”

“Murder doesn’t,” said Dors. “I’m ready to chance a trial for malicious mischief. Are you ready to chance a trial for murder?”

Jenarr reddened, perhaps more at the necessity of giving in than at the threat. “I’ll come, but I’ll have no mercy on you, young woman, if your student eventually turns out to have been safe within the dome these past three hours.”

The three went up the elevator in an inimical silence. Leggen had eaten only part of his dinner and had left his wife at the dining area without adequate explanation. Benastra had eaten no dinner at all and had possibly disappointed some woman companion, also without adequate explanation. Dors Venabili had not eaten either and she seemed the most tense and unhappy of the three. She carried a thermal blanket and two photonic founts.

When they reached the entrance to Upperside, Leggen, jaw muscles tightening, entered his identification number and the door opened. A cold wind rushed at them and Benastra grunted. None of the three was adequately dressed, but the two men had no intention of remaining up there long.

Dors said tightly, “It’s snowing.”

Leggen said, “It’s wet snow. The temperature’s just about at the freezing point. It’s not a killing frost.”

“It depends on how long one remains in it, doesn’t it?” said Dors. “And being soaked in melting snow won’t help.”

Leggen grunted. “Well, where is he?” He stared resentfully out into utter blackness, made even worse by the light from the entrance behind him.

Dors said, “Here, Dr. Benastra, hold this blanket for me. And you, Dr. Leggen, close the door behind you without locking it.”

“There’s no automatic lock on it. Do you think we’re foolish?”

“Perhaps not, but you can lock it from the inside and leave anyone outside unable to get into the dome.”

“If someone’s outside, point him out. Show him to me,” said Leggen.

“He could be anywhere.” Dors lifted her arms with a photonic fount circling each wrist.

“We can’t look everywhere,” mumbled Benastra miserably.

The founts blazed into light, spraying in every direction. The snowflakes glittered like a vast mob of fireflies, making it even more difficult to see.

“The footsteps were getting steadily louder,” said Dors. “He had to be approaching the transducer. Where would it be located?”

“I haven’t any idea,” snapped Leggen. “That’s outside my field and my responsibility.”

“Dr. Benastra?”

Benastra’s reply was hesitant. “I don’t really know. To tell you the truth, I’ve never been up here before. It was installed before my time. The computer knows, but we never thought to ask it that. —I’m cold and I don’t see what use I am up here.”

“You’ll have to stay up here for a while,” said Dors firmly. “Follow me. I’m going to circle the entrance in an outward spiral.”

“We can’t see much through the snow,” said Leggen.

“I know that. If it wasn’t snowing, we’d have seen him by now. I’m sure of it. As it is, it may take a few minutes. We can stand that.” She was by no means as confident as her words made it appear.

She began to walk, swinging her arms, playing the light over as large a field as she could, straining her eyes for a dark blotch against the snow.

And, as it happened, it was Benastra who first said, “What’s that?” and pointed.

Dors overlapped the two founts, making a bright cone of light in the indicated direction. She ran toward it, as did the other two.

They had found him, huddled and wet, about ten meters from the door, five from the nearest meteorological
device. Dors felt for his heartbeat, but it was not necessary for, responding to her touch, Seldon stirred and whimpered.

“Give me the blanket, Dr. Benastra,” said Dors in a voice that was faint with relief. She flapped it open and spread it out in the snow. “Lift him onto it carefully and I’ll wrap him. Then we’ll carry him down.”