Prelude to Foundation (38 page)

“Oh yes,” she said. “Dr. Seldon is from Helicon.”

Mistress Tisalver registered polite ignorance. “And where might that be?”

Dors said, “Why, it’s—” She turned to Seldon. “Where is it, Hari?”

Seldon looked abashed. “To tell you the truth, I don’t think I could locate it very easily on a Galactic model without looking up the co-ordinates. All I can say is that it’s on the other side of the central black hole from Trantor and getting there by hypership is rather a chore.”

Mistress Tisalver said, “I don’t think Jirad and I will ever be on a hypership.”

“Someday, Casilia,” said Tisalver cheerfully, “maybe we will. But tell us about Helicon, Master Seldon.”

Seldon shook his head. “To me that would be dull. It’s just a world, like any other. Only Trantor is different from all the rest. There are no heatsinks on Helicon—or probably anywhere else—except Trantor. Tell me about them.”

(“Only Trantor is different from all the rest.” The sentence repeated itself in Seldon’s mind and for a moment he grasped at it, and for some reason Dors’s hand-on-thigh
story suddenly recurred to him, but Tisalver was speaking and it passed out of Seldon’s mind as quickly as it had entered.)

Tisalver said, “If you really want to know about heatsinks, I can show you.” He turned to his wife. “Casilia, would you mind if tomorrow evening I take Master Seldon to the heatsinks?”

“And me,” said Dors quickly.

“And Mistress Venabili?”

Mistress Tisalver frowned and said sharply, “I don’t think it would be a good idea. Our visitors would find it dull.”

“I don’t think so, Mistress Tisalver,” said Seldon ingratiatingly. “We would very much like to see the heatsinks. We would be delighted if you would join us too … and your little daughter—if she wants to come.”

“To the heatsinks?” said Mistress Tisalver, stiffening. “It’s no place at all for a decent woman.”

Seldon felt embarrassed at his gaffe. “I meant no harm, Mistress Tisalver.”

“No offense,” said Tisalver. “Casilia thinks it’s beneath us and so it is, but as long as I don’t work there, it’s no distress merely to visit and show it to guests. But it is uncomfortable and I would never get Casilia to dress properly.”

They got up from their crouching positions. Dahlite “chairs” were merely molded plastic seats on small wheels and they cramped Seldon’s knees terribly and seemed to wiggle at his least body movement. The Tisalvers, however, had mastered the art of sitting firmly and rose without trouble and without needing to use their arms for help as Seldon had to. Dors also got up without trouble and Seldon once again marveled at her natural grace.

Before they parted to their separate rooms for the night, Seldon said to Dors, “Are you sure you know nothing about heatsinks? Mistress Tisalver makes them seem unpleasant.”

“They can’t be
that
unpleasant or Tisalver wouldn’t suggest taking us on tour. Let’s be content to be surprised.”

Tisalver said, “You’ll need proper clothing.” Mistress Tisalver sniffed markedly in the background.

Cautiously, Seldon, thinking of kirtles with vague distress, said, “What do you mean by proper clothing?”

“Something light, such as I wear. A T-shirt, very short sleeves, loose slacks, loose underpants, foot socks, open sandals. I have it all for you.”

“Good. It doesn’t sound bad.”

“As for Mistress Venabili, I have the same. I hope it fits.”

The clothes Tisalver supplied each of them (which were his own) fit fine—if a bit snugly. When they were ready, they bade Mistress Tisalver good-bye and she, with a resigned if still disapproving air, watched them from the doorway as they set off.

It was early evening and there was an attractive twilight glow above. It was clear that Dahl’s lights would soon be winking on. The temperature was mild and there were virtually no vehicles to be seen; everyone was walking. In the distance was the everpresent hum of an Expressway and the occasional glitter of its lights could be easily seen.

The Dahlites, Seldon noted, did not seem to be walking toward any particular destination. Rather, there seemed to be a promenade going on, a walking for pleasure. Perhaps, if Dahl was an impoverished sector, as Tisalver had implied, inexpensive entertainment
was at a premium and what was as pleasant—and as inexpensive—as an evening stroll?

Seldon felt himself easing automatically into the gait of an aimless stroll himself and felt the warmth of friendliness all around him. People greeted each other as they passed and exchanged a few words. Black mustaches of different shape and thickness flashed everywhere and seemed a requisite for the Dahlite male, as ubiquitous as the bald heads of the Mycogenian Brothers.

It was an evening rite, a way of making sure that another day had passed safely and that one’s friends were still well and happy. And, it soon became apparent, Dors caught every eye. In the twilight glow, the ruddiness of her hair had deepened, but it stood out against the sea of black-haired heads (except for the occasional gray) like a gold coin winking its way across a pile of coal.

“This is very pleasant,” said Seldon.

“It is,” said Tisalver. “Ordinarily, I’d be walking with my wife and she’d be in her element. There is no one for a kilometer around whom she doesn’t know by name, occupation, and interrelationships. I can’t do that. Right now, half the people who greet me … I couldn’t tell you their names. But, in any case, we mustn’t creep along too slowly. We must get to the elevator. It’s a busy world on the lower levels.”

They were on the elevator going down when Dors said, “I presume, Master Tisalver, that the heatsinks are places where the internal heat of Trantor is being used to produce steam that will turn turbines and produce electricity.”

“Oh no. Highly efficient large-scale thermopiles produce electricity directly. Don’t ask me the details, please. I’m just a holovision programmer. In fact, don’t ask anyone the details down there. The whole thing is one big black box. It works, but no one knows how.”

“What if something goes wrong?”

“It doesn’t usually, but if it does, some expert comes over from somewhere. Someone who understands computers. The whole thing is highly computerized, of course.”

The elevator came to a halt and they stepped out. A blast of heat struck them.

“It’s hot,” said Seldon quite unnecessarily.

“Yes, it is,” said Tisalver. “That’s what makes Dahl so valuable as an energy source. The magma layer is nearer the surface here than it is anywhere else in the world. So you have to work in the heat.”

“How about air-conditioning?” said Dors.

“There is air-conditioning, but it’s a matter of expense. We ventilate and dehumidify and cool, but if we go too far, then we’re using up too much energy and the whole process becomes too expensive.”

Tisalver stopped at a door at which he signaled. It opened to a blast of cooler air and he muttered, “We ought to be able to get someone to help show us around and he’ll control the remarks that Mistress Venabili will otherwise be the victim of … at least from the men.”

“Remarks won’t embarrass me,” said Dors.

“They will embarrass me,” said Tisalver.

A young man walked out of the office and introduced himself as Hano Lindor. He resembled Tisalver quite closely, but Seldon decided that until he got used to the almost universal shortness, swarthiness, black hair, and luxuriant mustaches, he would not be able to see individual differences easily.

Lindor said, “I’ll be glad to show you around for what there is to see. It’s not one of your spectaculars, you know.” He addressed them all, but his eyes were fixed on Dors. He said, “It’s not going to be comfortable. I suggest we remove our shirts.”

“It’s nice and cool in here,” said Seldon.

“Of course, but that’s because we’re executives. Rank has its privileges. Out there we can’t maintain air-conditioning
at this level. That’s why they get paid more than I do. In fact, those are the best-paying jobs in Dahl, which is the only reason we get people to work down here. Even so, it’s getting harder to get heatsinkers all the time.” He took a deep breath. “Okay, out into the soup.”

He removed his own shirt and tucked it into his waistband. Tisalver did the same and Seldon followed suit.

Lindor glanced at Dors and said, “For your own comfort, Mistress, but it’s not compulsory.”

“That’s all right,” said Dors and removed her shirt.

Her brassiere was white, unpadded, and showed considerable cleavage.

“Mistress,” said Lindor, “that’s not—” He thought a moment, then shrugged and said, “All right. We’ll get by.”

At first, Seldon was aware only of computers and machinery, huge pipes, flickering lights, and flashing screens.

The overall light was comparatively dim, though individual sections of machinery were illuminated. Seldon looked up into the almost-darkness. He said, “Why isn’t it better lit?”

“It’s lit well enough … where it should be,” said Lindor. His voice was well modulated and he spoke quickly, but a little harshly. “Overall illumination is kept low for psychological reasons. Too bright is translated, in the mind, into heat. Complaints go up when we turn up the lights, even when the temperature is made to go down.”

Dors said, “It seems to be well computerized. I should think the operations could be turned over to computers altogether. This sort of environment is made for artificial intelligence.”

“Perfectly right,” said Lindor, “but neither can we take a chance on any failures. We need people on the spot if anything goes wrong. A misfunctioning computer
can raise problems up to two thousand kilometers away.”

“So can human error. Isn’t that so?” said Seldon.

“Oh yes, but with both people and computers on the job, computer error can be more quickly tracked down and corrected by people and, conversely, human error can be more quickly corrected by computers. What it amounts to is that nothing serious can happen unless human error and computer error take place simultaneously. And that hardly ever happens.”

“Hardly ever, but not never, eh?” said Seldon.

“Almost never, but not never. Computers aren’t what they used to be and neither are people.”

“That’s the way it always seems,” said Seldon, laughing slightly.

“No no. I’m not talking memory. I’m not talking good old days. I’m talking statistics.”

At this, Seldon recalled Hummin talking of the degeneration of the times.

“See what I mean?” said Lindor, his voice dropping. “There’s a bunch of people, at the C-3 level from the looks of them, drinking. Not one of them is at his or her post.”

“What are they drinking?” asked Dors.

“Special fluids for replacing electrolyte loss. Fruit juice.”

“You can’t blame them, can you?” said Dors indignantly. “In this dry heat, you would have to drink.”

“Do you know how long a skilled C-3 can spin out a drink? And there’s nothing to be done about it either. If we give them five-minute breaks for drinks and stagger them so they don’t all congregate in a group, you simply stir up a rebellion.”

They were approaching the group now. There were men and women (Dahl seemed to be a more or less amphisexual society) and both sexes were shirtless. The women wore devices that might be called brassieres, but they were strictly functional. They served to lift the
breasts in order to improve ventilation and limit perspiration, but covered nothing.

Dors said in an aside to Seldon, “That makes sense, Hari. I’m soaking wet there.”

“Take off your brassiere, then,” said Seldon. “I won’t lift a finger to stop you.”

“Somehow,” said Dors, “I guessed you wouldn’t.” She left her brassiere where it was.

They were approaching the congregation of people—about a dozen of them.

Dors said, “If any of them make rude remarks, I shall survive.”

“Thank you,” said Lindor. “I cannot promise they won’t. —But I’ll have to introduce you. If they get the idea that you two are inspectors and in my company, they’ll become unruly. Inspectors are supposed to poke around on their own without anyone from management overseeing them.”

He held up his arms. “Heatsinkers, I have two introductions to make. We have visitors from outside—two Outworlders, two scholars. They’ve got worlds running short on energy and they’ve come here to see how we do it here in Dahl. They think they may learn something.”

“They’ll learn how to sweat!” shouted a heatsinker and there was raucous laughter.

“
She’s
got a sweaty chest right now,” shouted a woman, “covering up like that.”

Dors shouted back, “I’d take it off, but mine can’t compete with yours.” The laughter turned good-natured.

But one young man stepped forward, staring at Seldon with intense deep-set eyes, his face set into a humorless mask. He said, “I know you. You’re the mathematician.”

He ran forward, inspecting Seldon’s face with eager solemnity. Automatically, Dors stepped in front of Seldon and Lindor stepped in front of her, shouting, “Back, heatsinker. Mind your manners.”

Seldon said, “Wait! Let him talk to me. Why is everyone piling in front of me?”

Lindor said in a low voice, “If any of them get close, you’ll find they don’t smell like hothouse flowers.”

“I’ll endure it,” said Seldon brusquely. “Young man, what is it you want?”

“My name is Amaryl. Yugo Amaryl. I’ve seen you on holovision.”

“You might have, but what about it?”

“I don’t remember your name.”

“You don’t have to.”

“You talked about something called psychohistory.”

“You don’t know how I wish I hadn’t.”

“What?”

“Nothing. What is it you want?”

“I want to talk to you. Just for a little while. Now.”

Seldon looked at Lindor, who shook his head firmly. “Not while he’s on his shift.”

“When does your shift begin, Mr. Amaryl?” asked Seldon.

“Sixteen hundred.”

“Can you see me tomorrow at fourteen hundred?”

“Sure. Where?”

Seldon turned to Tisalver. “Would you permit me to see him in your place?”

Tisalver looked very unhappy. “It’s not necessary. He’s just a heatsinker.”