NationStates Jolt Archive

TERMINUS–... Its location (see map) was an odd one for the role it was called upon to play in
Galactic history, and yet as many writers have never tired of pointing out, an inevitable one.
Located on the very fringe of the Galactic spiral, an only planet of an isolated sun, poor in
resources and negligible in economic value, it was never settled in the five centuries after its
discovery, until the landing of the Encyclopedists....
It was inevitable that as a new generation grew, Terminus would become something more than
an appendage of the psychohistorians of Trantor. With the Anacreonian revolt and the rise to
power of Salvor Hardin, first of the great line of...
ENCYCLOPEDIA GALACTICA

* All quotations from the Encyclopedia Galactica here reproduced are taken from the 116th
Edition published in 1020 F.E. by the Encyclopedia Galactica Publishing Co., Terminus, with
permission of the publishers.

Lewis Pirenne was busily engaged at his desk in the one well-lit comer of the room. Work had
to be co-ordinated. Effort had to be organized. Threads had to be woven into a pattern.
Fifty years now; fifty years to establish themselves and set up Encyclopedia Foundation
Number One into a smoothly working unit. Fifty years to gather the raw material. Fifty years to
prepare.
It had been done. Five more years would see the publication of the first volume of the most
monumental work the Galaxy had ever conceived. And then at ten-year intervals – regularly –
like clockwork – volume after volume. And with them there would be supplements; special
articles on events of current interest, until–
Pirenne stirred uneasily, as the muted buzzer upon his desk muttered peevishly. He had almost
forgotten the appointment. He shoved the door release and out of an abstracted comer of one
eye saw the door open and the broad figure of Salvor Hardin enter. Pirenne did not look up.
Hardin smiled to himself. He was in a hurry, but he knew better than to take offense at
Pirenne's cavalier treatment of anything or anyone that disturbed him at his work. He buried
himself in the chair on the other side of the desk and waited.
Pirenne's stylus made the faintest scraping sound as it raced across paper. Otherwise, neither
motion nor sound. And then Hardin withdrew a two-credit coin from his vest pocket. He flipped
it and its stainless-steel surface caught flitters of light as it tumbled through the air. He caught it
and-flipped it again, watching the flashing reflections lazily. Stainless steel made good medium
of exchange on a planet where all metal had to be imported.
Pirenne looked up and blinked. "Stop that!" he said querulously.
"Eh?"
"That infernal coin tossing. Stop it."
"Oh." Hardin pocketed the metal disk. "Tell me when you're ready, will you? I promised to be
back at the City Council meeting before the new aqueduct project is put to a vote."
Pirenne sighed and shoved himself away from the desk. "I'm ready. But I hope you aren't going
to bother me with city affairs. Take care of that yourself, please. The Encyclopedia takes up all
my time."
"Have you heard the news?" questioned Hardin, phlegmatically.
"What news?"
"The news that the Terminus City ultrawave set received two hours ago. The Royal Governor of
the Prefect of Anacreon has assumed the title of king."
"Well? What of it?"
"It means," responded Hardin, "that we're cut off from the inner regions of the Empire. We've
been expecting it but that doesn't make it any more comfortable. Anacreon stands square
across what was our last remaining trade route to Santanni and to Trantor and to Vega itself.
Where is our metal to come from? We haven't managed to get a steel or aluminum shipment
through in six months and now we won't be able to get any at all, except by grace of the King of
Anacreon."
Pirenne tch-tched impatiently. "Get them through him, then."
"But can we? Listen, Pirenne, according to the charter which established this Foundation, the
Board of Trustees of the Encyclopedia Committee has been given full administrative powers. I,
as Mayor of Terminus City, have just enough power to blow my own nose and perhaps to
sneeze if you countersign an order giving me permission. It's up to you and your Board then.
I'm asking you in the name of the City, whose prosperity depends upon uninterrupted
commerce with the Galaxy, to call an emergency meeting–"
"Stop! A campaign speech is out of order. Now, Hardin, the Board of Trustees has not barred
the establishment of a municipal government on Terminus. We understand one to be
necessary because of the increase in population since the Foundation was established fifty
years ago, and because of the increasing number of people involved in non-Encyclopedia
affairs. But that does not mean that the first and only aim of the Foundation is no longer to
publish the definitive Encyclopedia of all human knowledge. We are a State-supported,
scientific institution, Hardin. We cannot – must not – will not interfere in local politics."
"Local politics! By the Emperor's left toe, Pirenne, this is a matter of life and death. The planet,
Terminus, by itself cannot support a mechanized civilization. It lacks metals. You know that. It
hasn't a trace of iron, copper, or aluminum in the surface rocks, and precious little of anything
else. What do you think will happen to the Encyclopedia if this watchmacallum King of
Anacreon clamps down on us?"
"On us? Are you forgetting that we are under the direct control of the Emperor himself? We are
not part of the Prefect of Anacreon or of any other prefect. Memorize that! We are part of the
Emperor's personal domain, and no one touches us. The Empire can protect its own."
"Then why didn't it prevent the Royal Governor of Anacreon from kicking over the traces? And
only Anacreon?
At least twenty of the outermost prefects of the Galaxy, the entire Periphery as a matter of fact,
have begun steering things their own way. I tell you I feel damned uncertain of the Empire and
its ability to protect us."
"Hokum! Royal Governors, Kings – what's the difference? The Empire is always shot through
with a certain amount of politics and with different men pulling this way and that. Governors
have rebelled, and, for that matter, Emperors have been deposed, or assassinated before this.
But what has that to do with the Empire itself? Forget it, Hardin. It's none of our business. We
are first of all and last of all-scientists. And our concern is the Encyclopedia.
Oh, yes, I'd almost forgotten. Hardin!"
"Well?"
"Do something about that paper of yours!" Pirenne's voice was angry.
"The Terminus City Journal? It isn't mine; it's privately owned. What's it been doing?"
"For weeks now it has been recommending that the fiftieth anniversary of the establishment of
the Foundation be made the occasion for public holidays and quite inappropriate celebrations."
"And why not? The computoclock will open the Vault in three months. I would call this first
opening a big occasion, wouldn't you?"
"Not for silly pageantry, Hardin. The Vault and its opening concern the Board of Trustees alone.
Anything of importance will be communicated to the people. That is final and please make it
plain to the Journal."
"I'm sorry, Pirenne, but the City Charter guarantees a certain minor matter known as freedom of
the press."
"It may. But the Board of Trustees does not. I am the Emperor's representative on Terminus,
Hardin, and have full powers in this respect."
Hardin's expression became that of a man counting to ten, mentally. He said, grimly: "in
connection with your status as Emperor's representative, then, I have a final piece of news to
give you."
"About Anacreon?" Pirenne's lips tightened. He felt annoyed.
"Yes. A special envoy will be sent to us from Anacreon. In two weeks."
"An envoy? Here? From Anacreon?" Pirenne chewed that. "What for?"
Hardin stood up, and shoved his chair back up against the desk. "I give you one guess." And
he left – quite unceremoniously.

Anselm haut Rodric – "haut" itself signifying noble blood -Sub-prefect of Pluema and Envoy
Extraordinary of his Highness of Anacreon-plus half a dozen other titles-was met by Salvor
Hardin at the spaceport with all the imposing ritual of a state occasion.
With a tight smile and a low bow, the sub-prefect had flipped his blaster from its holster and
presented it to Hardin butt first. Hardin returned the compliment with, a blaster specifically
borrowed for the occasion. Friendship and good will were thus established, and if Hardin noted
the barest bulge at Haut Rodric's shoulder, he prudently said nothing.
The ground car that received them then – preceded, flanked, and followed by the suitable cloud
of minor functionaries – proceeded in a slow, ceremonious manner to Cyclopedia Square,
cheered on its way by a properly enthusiastic crowd.
Sub-prefect Anselm received the cheers with the complaisant indifference of a soldier and a
nobleman.
He said to Hardin, "And this city is all your world?"
Hardin raised his voice to be heard above the clamor. "We are a young world, your eminence.
In our short history we have had but few members of the higher nobility visiting our poor planet.
Hence, our enthusiasm."
It is certain that "higher nobility" did not recognize irony when he heard it.
He said thoughtfully: "Founded fifty years ago. Hm-m-m! You have a great deal of unexploited
land here, mayor. You have never considered dividing it into estates?"
"There is no necessity as yet. We're extremely centralized; we have to be, because of the
Encyclopedia. Someday, perhaps, when our population has grown–"
"A strange world! You have no peasantry?"
Hardin reflected that it didn't require a great deal of acumen to tell that his eminence was
indulging in a bit of fairly clumsy pumping. He replied casually, "No – nor nobility."
Haut Rodric's eyebrows lifted. "And your leader – the man I am to meet?"
"You mean Dr. Pirenne? Yes! He is the Chairman of the Board of Trustees – and a personal
representative of the Emperor."
"Doctor? No other title? A scholar? And he rates above the civil authority?"
"Why, certainly," replied Hardin, amiably. "We're all scholars more or less. After all, we're not so
much a world as a scientific foundation – under the direct control of the Emperor."
There was a faint emphasis upon the last phrase that seemed to disconcert the sub-prefect. He
remained thoughtfully silent during the rest of the slow way to Cyclopedia Square.
If Hardin found himself bored by the afternoon and evening that followed, he had at least the
satisfaction of realizing that Pirenne and Haut Rodric – having met with loud and mutual
protestations of esteem and regard – were detesting each other's company a good deal more.
Haut Rodric had attended with glazed eye to Pirenne's lecture during the "inspection tour" of
the Encyclopedia Building. With polite and vacant smile, he had listened to the latter's rapid
patter as they passed through the vast storehouses of reference films and the numerous
projection rooms.
It was only after he had gone down level by level into and through the composing departments,
editing departments, publishing departments, and filming departments that he made the first
comprehensive statement.
"This is all very interesting," he said, "but it seems a strange occupation for grown men. What
good is it?"
It was a remark, Hardin noted, for which Pirenne found no answer, though the expression of his
face was most eloquent.
The dinner that evening was much the mirror image of the events of that afternoon, for Haut
Rodric monopolized the conversation by describing – in minute technical detail and with
incredible zest – his own exploits as battalion head during the recent war between Anacreon
and the neighboring newly proclaimed Kingdom of Smyrno.
The details of the sub-prefect's account were not completed until dinner was over and one by
one the minor officials had drifted away. The last bit of triumphant description of mangled
spaceships came when he had accompanied Pirenne and Hardin onto the balcony and relaxed
in the warm air of the summer evening.
"And now," he said, with a heavy joviality, "to serious matters."
"By all means," murmured Hardin, lighting a long cigar of Vegan tobacco – not many left, he
reflected – and teetering his chair back on two legs.
The Galaxy was high in the sky and its misty lens shape stretched lazily from horizon to
horizon. The few stars here at the very edge of the universe were insignificant twinkles in
comparison.
"Of course," said the sub-prefect, "all the formal discussions – the paper signing and such dull
technicalities, that is – will take place before the – What is it you call your Council?"
"The Board of Trustees," replied Pirenne, coldly.
"Queer name! Anyway, that's for tomorrow. We might as well clear away some of the
underbrush, man to man, right now, though. Hey?"
"And this means–" prodded Hardin.
"Just this. There's been a certain change in the situation out here in the Periphery and the
status of your planet has become a trifle uncertain. It would be very convenient if we succeeded
in coming to an understanding as to how the matter stands. By the way, mayor, have you
another one of those cigars?"
Hardin started and produced one reluctantly.
Anselm haut Rodric sniffed at it and emitted a clucking sound of pleasure. "Vegan tobacco!
Where did you get it?"
"We received some last shipment. There's hardly any left. Space knows when we'll get more –
if ever."
Pirenne scowled. He didn't smoke – and, for that matter, detested the odor. "Let me understand
this, your eminence. Your mission is merely one of clarification?"
Haut Rodric nodded through the smoke of his first lusty puffs.
"In that case, it is soon over. The situation with respect to the Encyclopedia Foundation is what
it always has been."
"Ah! And what is it that it always has been?"
"Just this: A State-supported scientific institution and part of the personal domain of his august
majesty, the Emperor."
The sub-prefect seemed unimpressed. He blew smoke rings. "That's a nice theory, Dr. Pirenne.
I imagine you've got charters with the Imperial Seal upon it – but what's the actual situation?
How do you stand with respect to Smyrno? You're not fifty parsecs from Smyrno's capital. you
know. And what about Konom and Daribow?"
Pirenne said: "We have nothing to do with any prefect. As part of the Emperor's–"
"They're not prefects," reminded Haut Rodric; "they're kingdoms now."
"Kingdoms then. We have nothing to do with them. As a scientific institution–"
"Science be damned!" swore the other. "What the devil has that got to do with the fact that
we're liable to see Terminus taken over by Smyrno at any time?"
"And the Emperor? He would just sit by?"
Haut Rodric calmed down and said: "Well, now, Dr. Pirenne, you respect the Emperor's
property and so does Anacreon, but Smyrno might not. Remember, we've just signed a treaty
with the Emperor – I'll present a copy to that Board of yours tomorrow – which places upon us
the responsibility of maintaining order within the borders of the old Prefect of Anacreon on
behalf of the Emperor. Our duty is clear, then, isn't it?"
"Certainly. But Terminus is not part of the Prefect of Anacreon."
"And Smyrno–"
"Nor is it part of the Prefect of Smyrno. It's not part of any prefect."
"Does Smyrno know that?"
"I don't care what it knows."
"We do. We've just finished a war with her and she still holds two stellar systems that are ours.
Terminus occupies an extremely strategic spot, between the two nations."
Hardin felt weary. He broke in: "What is your proposition, your eminence?"
The sub-prefect seemed quite ready to stop fencing in favor of more direct statements. He said
briskly: "It seems perfectly obvious that, since Terminus cannot defend itself, Anacreon must
take over the job for its own sake. You understand we have no desire to interfere with internal
administration–"
"Uh-huh," grunted Hardin dryly.
"–but we believe that it would be best for all concerned to have Anacreon establish a military
base upon the planet."
"And that is all you would want – a military base in some of the vast unoccupied territory – and
let it go at that?"
"Well, of course, there would be the matter of supporting the protecting forces."
Hardin's chair came down on all four, and his elbows went forward on his knees. "Now we're
getting to the nub. Let's put it into language. Terminus is to be a protectorate and to pay
tribute."
"Not tribute. Taxes. We're protecting you. You pay for it."
Pirenne banged his hand on the chair with sudden violence. "Let me speak, Hardin. Your
eminence, I don't care a rusty half-credit coin for Anacreon, Smyrno, or all your local politics
and petty wars. I tell you this is a State-supported tax-free institution."
"State-supported? But we are the State, Dr. Pirenne, and we're not supporting."
Pirenne rose angrily. "Your eminence, I am the direct representative of–"
"–his august majesty, the Emperor," chorused Anselm haut Rodric sourly, "And I am the direct
representative of the King of Anacreon. Anacreon is a lot nearer, Dr. Pirenne. "
"Let's get back to business," urged Hardin. "How would you take these so-called taxes, your
eminence? Would you take them in kind: wheat, potatoes, vegetables, cattle?"
The sub-prefect stared. "What the devil? What do we need with those? We've got hefty
surpluses. Gold, of course. Chromium or vanadium would be even better, incidentally, if you
have it in quantity."
Hardin laughed. "Quantity! We haven't even got iron in quantity. Gold! Here, take a look at our
currency." He tossed a coin to the envoy.
Haut Rodric bounced it and stared. "What is it? Steel?"
"That's right."
"I don't understand."
"Terminus is a planet practically without metals. We import it all. Consequently, we have no
gold, and nothing to pay unless you want a few thousand bushels of potatoes."
"Well – manufactured goods."
"Without metal? What do we make our machines out of?"
There was a pause and Pirenne tried again. "This whole discussion is wide of the point.
Terminus is not a planet, but a scientific foundation preparing a great encyclopedia. Space,
man, have you no respect for science?"
"Encyclopedias don't win wars." Haut Rodric's brows furrowed. "A completely unproductive
world, then – and practically unoccupied at that. Well, you might pay with land."
"What do you mean?" asked Pirenne.
"This world is just about empty and the unoccupied land is probably fertile. There are many of
the nobility on Anacreon that would like an addition to their estates."
"You can't propose any such–"
"There's no necessity of looking so alarmed, Dr. Pirenne. There's plenty for all of us. If it comes
to what it comes, and you co-operate, we could probably arrange it so that you lose nothing.
Titles can be conferred and estates granted. You understand me, I think."
Pirenne sneered, "Thanks!"
And then Hardin said ingenuously: "Could Anacreon supply us with adequate quantities of
plutonium for our nuclear-power plant? We've only a few years' supply left."
There was a gasp from Pirenne and then a dead silence for minutes. When Haut Rodric spoke
it was in a voice quite different from what it had been till then:
"You have nuclear power?"
"Certainly. What's unusual in that? I imagine nuclear power is fifty thousand years old now.
Why shouldn't we have it? Except that it's a little difficult to get plutonium."
"Yes ... Yes." The envoy paused and added uncomfortably: "Well, gentlemen, we'll pursue the
subject tomorrow. You'll excuse me–"
Pirenne looked after him and gritted through his teeth: "That insufferable, dull-witted donkey!
That–"
Hardin broke in: "Not at all. He's merely the product of his environment. He doesn't understand
much except that 'I have a gun and you haven't.’"
Pirenne whirled on him in exasperation. "What in space did you mean by the talk about military
bases and tribute? Are you crazy?"
"No. I merely gave him rope and let him talk. You'll notice that he managed to stumble out with
Anacreon's real intentions – that is, the parceling up of Terminus into landed estates. Of
course, I don't intend to let that happen."
"You don't intend. You don't. And who are you? And may I ask what you meant by blowing off
your mouth about our nuclear-power plant? Why, it's just the thing that would make us a military
target."
"Yes," grinned Hardin. "A military target to stay away from. Isn't it obvious why I brought the
subject up? It happened to confirm a very strong suspicion I had had."
"And that was what?"
"That Anacreon no longer has a nuclear-power economy. If they had, our friend would
undoubtedly have realized that plutonium, except in ancient tradition is not used in power
plants. And therefore it follows that the rest of the Periphery no longer has nuclear power either.
Certainly Smyrno hasn't, or Anacreon wouldn't have won most of the battles in their recent war.
Interesting, wouldn't you say?"
"Bah!" Pirenne left in fiendish humor, and Hardin smiled gently.
He threw his cigar away and looked up at the outstretched Galaxy. "Back to oil and coal, are
they?" he murmured – and what the rest of his thoughts were he kept to himself.

When Hardin denied owning the Journal, he was perhaps technically correct, but no more.
Hardin had been the leading spirit in the drive to incorporate Terminus into an autonomous
municipality-he had been elected its first mayor-so it was not surprising that, though not a
single share of Journal stock was in his name, some sixty percent was controlled by him in
more devious fashions.
There were ways.
Consequently, when Hardin began suggesting to Pirenne that he be allowed to attend meetings
of the Board of Trustees, it was not quite coincidence that the Journal began a similar
campaign. And the first mass meeting in the history of the Foundation was held, demanding
representation of the City in the "national" government.
And, eventually, Pirenne capitulated with ill grace.
Hardin, as he sat at the foot of the table, speculated idly as to just what it was that made
physical scientists such poor administrators. It might be merely that they were too used to
inflexible fact and far too unused to pliable people.
In any case, there was Tomaz Sutt and Jord Fara on his left; Lundin Crast and Yate Fulham on
his fight; with Pirenne, himself, presiding. He knew them all, of course, but they seemed to have
put on an extra-special bit of pomposity for the occasion.
Hardin had dozed through the initial formalities and then perked up when Pirenne sipped at the
glass of water before him by way of preparation and said:
"I find it very gratifying to be able to inform the Board that since our last meeting, I have
received word that Lord Dorwin, Chancellor of the Empire, will arrive at Terminus in two weeks.
It may be taken for granted that our relations with Anacreon will be smoothed out to our
complete satisfaction as soon as the Emperor is informed of the situation. "
He smiled and addressed Hardin across the length of the table. "Information to this effect has
been given the Journal."
Hardin snickered below his breath. It seemed evident that Pirenne's desire to strut this
information before him had been one reason for his admission into the sacrosanctum.
He said evenly: "Leaving vague expressions out of account, what do you expect Lord Dorwin to
do?"
Tomaz Sutt replied. He had a bad habit of addressing one in the third person when in his more
stately moods.
"It is quite evident," he observed, "that Mayor Hardin is a professional cynic. He can scarcely
fail to realize that the Emperor would be most unlikely to allow his personal rights to be
infringed."
"Why? What would he do in case they were?"
There was an annoyed stir. Pirenne said, "You are out of order," and, as an afterthought, "and
are making what are near-treasonable statements, besides."
"Am I to consider myself answered?"
"Yes! If you have nothing further to say–"
"Don't jump to conclusions. I'd like to ask a question. Besides this stroke of diplomacy – which
may or may not prove to mean anything – has anything concrete been done to meet the
Anacreonic menace?"
Yate Fulham drew one hand along his ferocious red mustache. "You see a menace there, do
you?"
"Don't you?"
"Scarcely"– this with indulgence. "The Emperor–"
"Great space!" Hardin felt annoyed. "What is this? Every once in a while someone mentions
'Emperor' or 'Empire' as if it were a magic word. The Emperor is thousands of parsecs away,
and I doubt whether he gives a damn about us. And if he does, what can he do? What there
was of the imperial navy in these regions is in the hands of the four kingdoms now and
Anacreon has its share. Listen, we have to fight with guns, not with words.
"Now, get this. We've had two months' grace so far, mainly because we've given Anacreon the
idea that we've got nuclear weapons. Well, we all know that that's a little white lie. We've got
nuclear power, but only for commercial uses, and darn little at that. They're going to find that
out soon, and if you think they're going to enjoy being jollied along, you're mistaken."
"My dear sir–"
"Hold on: I'm not finished." Hardin was warming up. He liked this. "It's all very well to drag
chancellors into this, but it would be much nicer to drag a few great big siege guns fitted for
beautiful nuclear bombs into it. We've lost two months, gentlemen, and we may not have
another two months to lose. What do you propose to do?"
Said Lundin Crast, his long nose wrinkling angrily: "If you're proposing the militarization of the
Foundation, I won't hear a word of it. It would mark our open entrance into the field of politics.
We, Mr. Mayor, are a scientific foundation and nothing else."
Added Sutt: "He does not realize, moreover, that building armaments would mean withdrawing
men – valuable men – from the Encyclopedia. That cannot be done, come what may."
"Very true," agreed Pirenne. "The Encyclopedia first – always."
Hardin groaned in spirit. The Board seemed to suffer violently from Encyclopedia on the brain,
He said icily: "Has it ever occurred to this Board that it is barely possible that Terminus may
have interests other than the Encyclopedia?"
Pirenne replied: "I do not conceive, Hardin, that the Foundation can have any interest other
than the Encyclopedia."
"I didn't say the Foundation; I said Terminus. I'm afraid you don't understand the situation.
There's a good million of us here on Terminus, and not more than a hundred and fifty thousand
are working directly on the Encyclopedia. To the rest of us, this is home. We were born here.
We're living here. Compared with our farms and our homes and our factories, the Encyclopedia
means little to us. We want them protected–"
He was shouted down.
"The Encyclopedia first," ground out Crast. "We have a mission to fulfill."
"Mission, hell," shouted Hardin. "That might have been true fifty years ago. But this is a new
generation."
"That has nothing to do with it," replied Pirenne. "We are scientists."
And Hardin leaped through the opening. "Are you, though? That's a nice hallucination, isn't it?
Your bunch here is a perfect example of what's been wrong with the entire Galaxy for
thousands of years. What kind of science is it to be stuck out here for centuries classifying the
work of scientists of the last millennium? Have you ever thought of working onward, extending
their knowledge and improving upon it? No! You're quite happy to stagnate. The whole Galaxy
is, and has been for space knows how long. That's why the Periphery is revolting; that's why
communications are breaking down; that's why petty wars are becoming eternal; that's why
whole systems are losing nuclear power and going back to barbarous techniques of chemical
power.
"If you ask me," he cried, "the Galactic Empire is dying!"
He paused and dropped into his chair to catch his breath, paying no attention to the two or
three that were attempting simultaneously to answer him.
Crast got the floor. "I don't know what you're trying to gain by your hysterical statements, Mr.
Mayor. Certainly, you are adding nothing constructive to the discussion. I move, Mr. Chairman,
that the speaker's remarks be placed out of order and the discussion be resumed from the point
where it was interrupted."
Jord Fara bestirred himself for the first time. Up to this point Fara had taken no part in the
argument even at its hottest. But now his ponderous voice, every bit as ponderous as his
three-hundred-pound body, burst its bass way out.
"Haven't we forgotten something, gentlemen?"
"What?" asked Pirenne, peevishly.
"That in a month we celebrate our fiftieth anniversary." Fara had a trick of uttering the most
obvious platitudes with great profundity.
"What of it?"
"And on that anniversary," continued Fara, placidly, "Hari Seldon's Vault will open. Have you
ever considered what might be in the Vault?"
"I don't know. Routine matters. A stock Speech of congratulations, perhaps. I don't think any
significance need be placed on the Vault – though the Journal"– and he glared at Hardin, who
grinned back –"did try to make an issue of it. I put a stop to that."
"Ah," said Fara, "but perhaps you are wrong. Doesn't it strike you" – he paused and put a finger
to his round little nose –"that the Vault is opening at a very convenient time?"
"Very inconvenient time, you mean," muttered Fulham. "We've got some other things to worry
about."
"Other things more important than a message from Hari Seldon? I think not." Fara was growing
more pontifical than ever, and Hardin eyed him thoughtfully. What was he getting at?
"In fact," said Fara, happily, "you all seem to forget that Seldon was the greatest psychologist of
our time and that he was the founder of our Foundation. It seems reasonable to assume that he
used his science to determine the probable course of the history of the immediate future. If he
did, as seems likely, I repeat, he would certainly have managed to find a way to warn us of
danger and, perhaps, to point out a solution. The Encyclopedia was very dear to his heart, you
know."
An aura of puzzled doubt prevailed. Pirenne hemmed. "Well, now, I don't know. Psychology is a
great science, but-there are no psychologists among us at the moment, I believe. It seems to
me we're on uncertain ground."
Fara turned to Hardin. "Didn't you study psychology under Alurin?"
Hardin answered, half in reverie: "Yes, I never completed my studies, though. I got tired of
theory. I wanted to be a psychological engineer, but we lacked the facilities, so I did the next
best thing – I went into politics. It's practically the same thing."
"Well, what do you think of the Vault?"
And Hardin replied cautiously, "I don't know."
He did not say a word for the remainder of the meeting even though it got back to the subject of
the Chancellor of the Empire.
In fact, he didn't even listen. He'd been put on a new track and things were falling into
place-just a little. Little angles were fitting together – one or two.
And psychology was the key. He was sure of that.
He was trying desperately to remember the psychological theory he had once learned – and
from it he got one thing right at the start.
A great psychologist such as Seldon could unravel human emotions and human reactions
sufficiently to be able to predict broadly the historical sweep of the future.
And what would that mean?

Lord Dorwin took snuff. He also had long hair, curled intricately and, quite obviously, artificially,
to which were added a pair of fluffy, blond sideburns, which he fondled affectionately. Then,
too, he spoke in overprecise statements and left out all the r's.
At the moment, Hardin had no time to think of more of the reasons for the instant detestation in
which he had held the noble chancellor. Oh, yes, the elegant gestures of one hand with which
he accompanied his remarks and the studied condescension with which he accompanied even
a simple affirmative.
But, at any rate, the problem now was to locate him. He had disappeared with Pirenne half an
hour before – passed clean out of sight, blast him.
Hardin was quite sure that his own absence during the preliminary discussions would quite suit
Pirenne.
But Pirenne had been seen in this wing And on this floor. It was simply a matter of trying every
door. Halfway down, he said, "Ah!" and stepped into the darkened room. The profile of Lord
Dorwin's intricate hair-do was unmistakable against the lighted screen.
Lord Dorwin looked up and said: "Ah, Hahdin. You ah looking foah us, no doubt?" He held out
his snuffbox – overadorned and poor workmanship at that, noted Hardinand was politely
refused whereat he helped himself to a pinch and smiled graciously.
Pirenne scowled and Hardin met that with an expression of blank indifference.
The only sound to break the short silence that followed was the clicking of the lid of Lord
Dorwin's snuffbox. And then he put it away and said:
"A gweat achievement, this Encyclopedia of yoahs, Hahdin. A feat, indeed, to rank with the
most majestic accomplishments of all time."
"Most of us think so, milord. It's an accomplishment not quite accomplished as yet, however."
"Fwom the little I have seen of the efficiency of yoah Foundation, I have no feahs on that
scoah." And he nodded to Pirenne, who responded with a delighted bow.
Quite a love feast, thought Hardin. "I wasn't complaining about the lack of efficiency, milord, as
much as of the definite excess of efficiency on the part of the Anacreonians – though in another
and more destructive direction."
"Ah, yes, Anacweon." A negligent wave of the hand. "I have just come from theah. Most
bahbawous planet. It is thowoughly inconceivable that human beings could live heah in the
Pewiphewy. The lack of the most elementawy wequiahments of a cultuahed gentleman; the
absence of the most fundamental necessities foah comfoht and convenience – the uttah
desuetude into which they–"
Hardin interrupted dryly: "The Anacreonians, unfortunately, have all the elementary
requirements for warfare and all the fundamental necessities for destruction."
"Quite, quite." Lord Dorwin seemed annoyed, perhaps at being stopped midway in his
sentence. "But we ahn't to discuss business now, y'know. Weally, I'm othahwise concuhned.
Doctah Piwenne, ahn't you going to show me the second volume? Do, please."
The lights clicked out and for the next half-hour Hardin might as well have been on Anacreon
for all the attention they paid him. The book upon the screen made little sense to him, nor did
he trouble to make the attempt to follow, but Lord Dorwin became quite humanly excited at
times. Hardin noticed that during these moments of excitement the chancellor pronounced his
r's.
When the lights went on again, Lord Dorwin said: "Mahvelous. Twuly mahvelous. You ah not,
by chance, intewested in ahchaeology, ah you, Hahdin?"
"Eh?" Hardin shook himself out of an abstracted reverie. "No, milord, can't say I am. I'm a
psychologist by original intention and a politician by final decision."
"Ah! No doubt intewesting studies. 1, myself, y'know" – he helped himself to a giant pinch of
snuff –"dabble in ahchaeology."
"Indeed?"
"His lordship," interrupted Pirenne, "is most thoroughly acquainted with the field."
"Well, p'haps I am, p'haps I am," said his lordship complacently. "I have done an awful amount
of wuhk in the science. Extwemely well-read, in fact. I've gone thwough all of Jawdun, Obijasi,
Kwomwill ... oh, all of them, y'know."
"I've heard of them, of course," said Hardin, "but I've never read them."
"You should some day, my deah fellow. It would amply repay you. Why, I cutainly considah it
well wuhth the twip heah to the Pewiphewy to see this copy of Lameth. Would you believe it,
my Libwawy totally lacks a copy. By the way, Doctah Piwenne, you have not fohgotten yoah
pwomise to twansdevelop a copy foah me befoah I leave?"
"Only too pleased."
"Lameth, you must know," continued the chancellor, pontifically, "pwesents a new and most
intwesting addition to my pwevious knowledge of the 'Owigin Question."'
"Which question?" asked Hardin.
"The 'Owigin Question.' The place of the owigin of the human species, y'know. Suahly you must
know that it is thought that owiginally the human wace occupied only one planetawy system."
"Well, yes, I know that."
"Of cohse, no one knows exactly which system it is – lost in the mists of antiquity. Theah ah
theawies, howevah. Siwius, some say. Othahs insist on Alpha Centauwi, oah on Sol, oah on 61
Cygni – all in the Siwius sectah, you see."
"And what does Lameth say?"
"Well, he goes off along a new twail completely. He twies to show that ahchaeological wemains
on the thuhd planet of the Ahctuwian System show that humanity existed theah befoah theah
wah any indications of space-twavel."
"And that means it was humanity's birth planet?"
"P'haps. I must wead it closely and weigh the evidence befoah I can say foah cuhtain. One
must see just how weliable his obsuhvations ah."
Hardin remained silent for a short while. Then he said, "When did Lameth write his book?"
"Oh – I should say about eight hundwed yeahs ago. Of cohse, he has based it lahgely on the
pwevious wuhk of Gleen."
"Then why rely on him? Why not go to Arcturus and study the remains for yourself?"
Lord Dorwin raised his eyebrows and took a pinch of snuff hurriedly. "Why, whatevah foah, my
deah fellow?"
"To get the information firsthand, of course."
"But wheah's the necessity? It seems an uncommonly woundabout and hopelessly
wigmawolish method of getting anywheahs. Look heah, now, I've got the wuhks of all the old
mastahs – the gweat ahchaeologists of the past. I wigh them against each othah – balance the
disagweements – analyze the conflicting statements – decide which is pwobably cowwect –
and come to a conclusion. That is the scientific method. At least" – patronizingly –"as I see it.
How insuffewably cwude it would be to go to Ahctuwus, oah to Sol, foah instance, and blundah
about, when the old mastahs have covahed the gwound so much moah effectually than we
could possibly hope to do."
Hardin murmured politely, "I see."
"Come, milord," said Pirenne, "think we had better be returning."
"Ah, yes. P'haps we had."
As they left the room, Hardin said suddenly, "Milord, may I ask a question?"
Lord Dorwin smiled blandly and emphasized his answer with a gracious flutter of the hand.
"Cuhtainly, my deah fellow. Only too happy to be of suhvice. If I can help you in any way fwom
my pooah stoah of knowledge-"
"It isn't exactly about archaeology, milord."
"No?"
"No. It's this: Last year we received news here in Terminus about the meltdown of a power
plant on Planet V of Gamma Andromeda. We got the barest outline of the accident – no details
at all. I wonder if you could tell me exactly what happened."
Pirenne's mouth twisted. "I wonder you annoy his lordship with questions on totally irrelevant
subjects."
"Not at all, Doctah Piwenne," interceded the chancellor. "It is quite all wight. Theah isn't much to
say concuhning it in any case. The powah plant did undergo meltdown and it was quite a
catastwophe, y'know. I believe wadiatsen damage. Weally, the govuhnment is sewiously
considewing placing seveah westwictions upon the indiscwiminate use of nucleah powah –
though that is not a thing for genewal publication, y'know."
"I understand," said Hardin. "But what was wrong with the plant?"
"Well, weally," replied Lord Dorwin indifferently, "who knows? It had bwoken down some yeahs
pweviously and it is thought that the weplacements and wepaiah wuhk wuh most infewiah. It is
so difficult these days to find men who weally undahstand the moah technical details of ouah
powah systems." And he took a sorrowful pinch of snuff.
"You realize," said Hardin, "that the independent kingdoms of the Periphery had lost nuclear
power altogether?"
"Have they? I'm not at all suhpwised. Bahbawous planets– Oh, but my deah fellow, don't call
them independent. They ahn't, y'know. The tweaties we've made with them ah pwoof positive of
that. They acknowledge the soveweignty of the Empewah. They'd have to, of cohse, oah we
wouldn't tweat with them."
"That may be so, but they have considerable freedom of action."
"Yes, I suppose so. Considewable. But that scahcely mattahs. The Empiah is fah bettah off,
with the Pewiphewy thwown upon its own wesoahces – as it is, moah oah less. They ahn't any
good to us, y'know. Most bahbawous planets. Scahcely civilized."
"They were civilized in the past. Anacreon was one of the richest of the outlying provinces. I
understand it compared favorably with Vega itself."
"Oh, but, Hahdin, that was centuwies ago. You can scahcely dwaw conclusion fwom that.
Things wah diffewent in the old gweat days. We ahn't the men we used to be, y'know. But,
Hahdin, come, you ah a most puhsistent chap.
I've told you I simply won't discuss business today. Doctah Piwenne did pwepayah me foah
you. He told me you would twy to badgah me, but I'm fah too old a hand foah that. Leave it foah
next day. And that was that.

This was the second meeting of the Board that Hardin had attended, if one were to exclude the
informal talks the Board members had had with the now-departed Lord Dorwin. Yet the mayor
had a perfectly definite idea that at least one other, and possibly two or three, had been held, to
which he had somehow never received an invitation.
Nor, it seemed to him, would he have received notification of this one had it not been for the
ultimatum.
At least, it amounted to an ultimatum, though a superficial reading of the visigraphed document
would lead one to suppose that it was a friendly interchange of greetings between two
potentates.
Hardin fingered it gingerly. It started off floridly with a salutation from "His Puissant Majesty, the
King of Anacreon, to his friend and brother, Dr. Lewis Pirenne, Chairman of the Board of
Trustees, of the Encyclopedia Foundation Number One," and it ended even more lavishly with
a gigantic, multicolored seal of the most involved symbolism.
But it was an ultimatum just the same.
Hardin said: "It turned out that we didn't have much time after all – only three months. But little
as it was, we threw it away unused. This thing here gives us a week. What do we do now?"
Pirenne frowned worriedly. "There must be a loophole. It is absolutely unbelievable that they
would push matters to extremities in the face of what Lord Dorwin has assured us regarding the
attitude of the Emperor and the Empire."
Hardin perked up. "I see. You have informed the King of Anacreon of this alleged attitude?"
"I did – after having placed the proposal to the Board for a vote and having received unanimous
consent."
"And when did this vote take place?"
Pirenne climbed onto his dignity. "I do not believe I am answerable to you in any way, Mayor
Hardin."
"All right. I'm not that vitally interested. It's just my opinion that it was your diplomatic
transmission of Lord Dorwin's valuable contribution to the situation"– he lifted the comer of his
mouth in a sour half-smile –"that was the direct cause of this friendly little note. They might
have delayed longer otherwise – though I don't think the additional time would have helped
Terminus any, considering the attitude of the Board."
Said Yate Fulham: "And just how do you arrive at that remarkable conclusion, Mr. Mayor?"
"In a rather simple way. It merely required the use of that much-neglected commodity –
common sense. You see, there is a branch of human knowledge known as symbolic logic,
which can be used to prune away all sorts of clogging deadwood that clutters up human
language."
"What about it?" said Fulham.
"I applied it. Among other things, I applied it to this document here. I didn't really need to for
myself because I knew what it was all about, but I think I can explain it more easily to five
physical scientists by symbols rather than by words."
Hardin removed a few sheets of paper from the pad under his arm and spread them out. "I
didn't do this myself, by the way," he said. "Muller Holk of the Division of Logic has his name
signed to the analyses, as you can see."
Pirenne leaned over the table to get a better view and Hardin continued: "The message from
Anacreon was a simple problem, naturally, for the men who wrote it were men of action rather
than men of words. It boils down easily and straightforwardly to the unqualified statement, when
in symbols is what you see, and which in words, roughly translated, is, 'You give us what we
want in a week, or we take it by force.'"
There was silence as the five members of the Board ran down the line of symbols, and then
Pirenne sat down and coughed uneasily.
Hardin said, "No loophole, is there, Dr. Pirenne?"
"Doesn't seem to be."
"All right." Hardin replaced the sheets. "Before you now you see a copy of the treaty between
the Empire and Anacreon – a treaty, incidentally, which is signed on the Emperor's behalf by
the same Lord Dorwin who was here last week – and with it a symbolic analysis."
The treaty ran through five pages of fine print and the analysis was scrawled out in just under
half a page.
"As you see, gentlemen, something like ninety percent of the treaty boiled right out of the
analysis as being meaningless, and what we end up with can be described in the following
interesting manner:
"Obligations of Anacreon to the Empire: None!
"Powers of the Empire over Anacreon: None!"
Again the five followed the reasoning anxiously, checking carefully back to the treaty, and when
they were finished, Pirenne said in a worried fashion, "That seems to be correct."
"You admit, then, that the treaty is nothing but a declaration of total independence on the part of
Anacreon and a recognition of that status by the Empire?"
"It seems so."
"And do you suppose that Anacreon doesn't realize that, and is not anxious to emphasize the
position of independence – so that it would naturally tend to resent any appearance of threats
from the Empire? Particularly when it is evident that the Empire is powerless to fulfill any such
threats, or it would never have allowed independence."
"But then," interposed Sutt, "how would Mayor Hardin account for Lord Dorwin's assurances of
Empire support? They seemed –" He shrugged. "Well, they seemed satisfactory."
Hardin threw himself back in the chair. "You know, that's the most interesting part of the whole
business. I'll admit I had thought his Lordship a most consummate donkey when I first met him
– but it turned out that he was actually an accomplished diplomat and a most clever man. I took
the liberty of recording all his statements."
There was a flurry, and Pirenne opened his mouth in horror.
"What of it?" demanded Hardin. "I realize it was a gross breach of hospitality and a thing no
so-called gentleman would do. Also, that if his lordship had caught on, things might have been
unpleasant; but he didn't, and I have the record, and that's that. I took that record, had it copied
out and sent that to Holk for analysis, also."
Lundin Crast said, "And where is the analysis?"
"That," replied Hardin, "is the interesting thing. The analysis was the most difficult of the three
by all odds. When Holk, after two days of steady work, succeeded in eliminating meaningless
statements, vague gibberish, useless qualifications – in short, all the goo and dribble – he
found he had nothing left. Everything canceled out."
"Lord Dorwin, gentlemen, in five days of discussion didn't say one damned thing, and said it so
you never noticed. There are the assurances you had from your precious Empire."
Hardin might have placed an actively working stench bomb on the table and created no more
confusion than existed after his last statement. He waited, with weary patience, for it to die
down.
"So," he concluded, "when you sent threats – and that's what they were – concerning Empire
action to Anacreon, you merely irritated a monarch who knew better. Naturally, his ego would
demand immediate action, and the ultimatum is the result-which brings me to my original
statement. We have one week left and what do we do now?"
"It seems," said Sutt, "that we have no choice but to allow Anacreon to establish military bases
on Terminus."
"I agree with you there," replied Hardin, "but what do we do toward kicking them off again at the
first opportunity?"
Yate Fulham's mustache twitched. "That sounds as if you have made up your mind that
violence must be used against them."
"Violence," came the retort, "is the last refuge of the incompetent. But I certainly don't intend to
lay down the welcome mat and brush off the best furniture for their use."
"I still don't like the way you put that," insisted Fulham. "It is a dangerous attitude; the more
dangerous because we have noticed lately that a sizable section of the populace seems to
respond to all your suggestions just so. I might as well tell you, Mayor Hardin, that the board is
not quite blind to your recent activities."
He paused and there was general agreement. Hardin shrugged.
Fulham went on: "If you were to inflame the City into an act of violence, you would achieve
elaborate suicide – and we don't intend to allow that. Our policy has but one cardinal principle,
and that is the Encyclopedia. Whatever we decide to do or not to do will be so decided because
it will be the measure required to keep that Encyclopedia safe."
"Then," said Hardin, "you come to the conclusion that we must continue our intensive campaign
of doing nothing."
Pirenne said bitterly: "You have yourself demonstrated that the Empire cannot help us; though
how and why it can be so, I don't understand. If compromise is necessary–"
Hardin had the nightmarelike sensation of running at top speed and getting nowhere. "There is
no compromise! Don't you realize that this bosh about military bases is a particularly inferior
grade of drivel? Haut Rodric told us what Anacreon was after – outright annexation and
imposition of its own feudal system of landed estates and peasant-aristocracy economy upon
us. What is left of our bluff of nuclear power may force them to move slowly, but they will move
nonetheless."
He had risen indignantly, and the rest rose with him except for Jord Fara.
And then Jord Fara spoke. "Everyone will please sit down. We've gone quite far enough, I
think. Come, there's no use looking so furious, Mayor Hardin; none of us have been committing
treason."
"You'll have to convince me of that!"
Fara smiled gently. "You know you don't mean that. Let me speak!"
His little shrewd eyes were half closed, and the perspiration gleamed on the smooth expanse of
his chin. "There seems no point in concealing that the Board has come to the decision that the
real solution to the Anacreonian problem lies in what is to be revealed to us when the Vault
opens six days from now."
"Is that your contribution to the matter?"
"Yes."
"We are to do nothing, is that fight, except to wait in quiet serenity and utter faith for the deus ex
machina to pop out of the Vault?"
"Stripped of your emotional phraseology, that's the idea."
"Such unsubtle escapism! Really, Dr. Fara, such folly smacks of genius. A lesser mind would
be incapable of it."
Fara smiled indulgently. "Your taste in epigrams is amusing, Hardin, but out of place. As a
matter of fact, I think you remember my line of argument concerning the Vault about three
weeks ago."
"Yes, I remember it. I don't deny that it was anything but a stupid idea from the standpoint of
deductive logic alone. You said – stop me when I make a mistake – that Hari Seldon was the
greatest psychologist in the System; that, hence, he could foresee the right and uncomfortable
spot we're in now; that, hence, he established the Vault as a method of telling us the way out."
"You've got the essence of the idea."
"Would it surprise you to hear that I've given considerable thought to the matter these last
weeks?"
"Very flattering. With what result?"
"With the result that pure deduction is found wanting. Again what is needed is a little sprinkling
of common sense."
"For instance?"
"For instance, if he foresaw the Anacreonian mess, why not have placed us on some other
planet nearer the Galactic centers? It's well known that Seldon maneuvered the Commissioners
on Trantor into ordering the Foundation established on Terminus. But why should he have done
so? Why put us out here at all if he could see in advance the break in communication lines, our
isolation from the Galaxy, the threat of our neighbors – and our helplessness because of the
lack of metals on Terminus? That above all! Or if he foresaw all this, why not have warned the
original settlers in advance that they might have had time to prepare, rather than wait, as he is
doing, until one foot is over the cliff, before doing so?
"And don't forget this. Even though he could foresee the problem then, we can see it equally
well now. Therefore, if he could foresee the solution then, we should be able to see it now. After
all, Seldon was not a magician. There are no trick methods of escaping from a dilemma that he
can see and we can't."
"But, Hardin," reminded Fara, "we can't!"
"But you haven't tried. You haven't tried once. First, you refused to admit that there was a
menace at all! Then you reposed an absolutely blind faith in the Emperor! Now you've shifted it
to Hari Seldon. Throughout you have invariably relied on authority or on the past – never on
yourselves."
His fists balled spasmodically. "It amounts to a diseased attitude – a conditioned reflex that
shunts aside the independence of your minds whenever it is a question of opposing authority.
There seems no doubt ever in your minds that the Emperor is more powerful than you are, or
Hari Seldon wiser. And that's wrong, don't you see?"
For some reason, no one cared to answer him.
Hardin continued: "It isn't just you. It's the whole Galaxy. Pirenne heard Lord Dorwin's idea of
scientific research. Lord Dorwin thought the way to be a good archaeologist was to read all the
books on the subject – written by men who were dead for centuries. He thought that the way to
solve archaeological puzzles was to weigh the opposing authorities. And Pirenne listened and
made no objections. Don't you see that there's something wrong with that?"
Again the note of near-pleading in his voice. Again no answer.
He went on: "And you men and half of Terminus as well are just as bad. We sit here,
considering the Encyclopedia the all-in-all. We consider the greatest end of science. is the
classification of past data. It is important, but is there no further work to be done? We're
receding and forgetting, don't you see? Here in the Periphery they've lost nuclear power. In
Gamma Andromeda, a power plant has undergone meltdown because of poor repairs, and the
Chancellor of the Empire complains that nuclear technicians are scarce. And the solution? To
train new ones? Never! Instead they're to restrict nuclear power."
And for the third time: "Don't you see? It's Galaxywide. It's a worship of the past. It's a
deterioration – a stagnation!"
He stared from one to the other and they gazed fixedly at him.
Fara was the first to recover. "Well, mystical philosophy isn't going to help us here. Let us be
concrete. Do you deny that Hari Seldon could easily have worked out historical trends of the
future by simple psychological technique?"
"No, of course not," cried Hardin. "But we can't rely on him for a solution. At best, he might
indicate the problem, but if ever there is to be a solution, we must work it out ourselves. He
can't do it for us."
Fulham spoke suddenly. "What do you mean – 'indicate the problem'? We know the problem."
Hardin whirled on him. "You think you do? You think Anacreon is all Hari Seldon is likely to be
worried about. I disagree! I tell you, gentlemen, that as yet none of you has the faintest
conception of what is really going on."
"And you do?" questioned Pirenne, hostilely.
"I think so!" Hardin jumped up and pushed his chair away. His eyes were cold and hard. "If
there's one thing that's definite, it is that there's something smelly about the whole situation;
something that is bigger than anything we've talked about yet. Just ask yourself this question:
Why was it that among the original population of the Foundation not one first-class psychologist
was included, except Bor Alurin? And he carefully refrained from training his pupils in more
than the fundamentals."
A short silence and Fara said: "All right. Why?"
"Perhaps because a psychologist might have caught on to what this was all about – and too
soon to suit Hari Seldon. As it is, we've been stumbling about, getting misty glimpses of the
truth and no more. And that is what Hari Seldon wanted."
He laughed harshly. "Good day, gentlemen!"
He stalked out of the room.

Mayor Hardin chewed at the end of his cigar. It had gone out but he was past noticing that. He
hadn't slept the night before and he had a good idea that he wouldn't sleep this coming night.
His eyes showed it.
He said wearily, "And that covers it?"
"I think so." Yohan Lee put a hand to his chin. "How does it sound?"
"Not too bad. It's got to be done, you understand, with impudence. That is, there is to be no
hesitation; no time to allow them to grasp the situation. Once we are in a position to give
orders, why, give them as though you were born to do so, and they'll obey out of habit. That's
the essence of a coup."
"If the Board remains irresolute for even –"
"The Board? Count them out. After tomorrow, their importance as a factor in Terminus affairs
won't matter a rusty half-credit."
Lee nodded slowly. "Yet it is strange that they've done nothing to stop us so far. You say they
weren't entirely in the dark."
"Fara stumbles at the edges of the problem. Sometimes he makes me nervous. And Pirenne's
been suspicious of me since I was elected. But, you see, they never had the capacity of really
understanding what was up. Their whole training has been authoritarian. They are sure that the
Emperor, just because he is the Emperor, is all-powerful. And they are sure that the Board of
Trustees, simply because it is the Board of Trustees acting in the name of the Emperor, cannot
be in a position where it does not give the orders. That incapacity to recognize the possibility of
revolt is our best ally."
He heaved out of his chair and went to the water cooler. "They're not bad fellows, Lee, when
they stick to their Encyclopedia – and we'll see that that's where they stick in the future. They're
hopelessly incompetent when it comes to ruling Terminus. Go away now and start things
rolling. I want to be alone."
He sat down on the comer of his desk and stared at the cup of water.
Space! If only he were as confident as he pretended! The Anacreonians were landing in two
days and what had he to go on but a set of notions and half-guesses as to what Had Seldon
had been driving at these past fifty years? He wasn't even a real, honest-to-goodness
psychologist – just a fumbler with a little training trying to outguess the greatest mind of the
age.
If Fara were fight; if Anacreon were all the problem Hari Seldon had foreseen; if the
Encyclopedia were all he was interested in preserving – then what price coup d'état?
He shrugged and drank his water.

The Vault was furnished with considerably more than six chairs, as though a larger company
had been expected. Hardin noted that thoughtfully and seated himself wearily in a comer just
as far from the other five as possible.
The Board members did not seem to object to that arrangement. They spoke among
themselves in whispers, which fell off into sibilant monosyllables, and then into nothing at all. Of
them all, only Jord Fara seemed even reasonably calm. He had produced a watch and was
staring at it somberly.
Hardin glanced at his own watch and then at the glass cubicle – absolutely empty – that
dominated half the room. It was the only unusual feature of the room, for aside from that there
was no indication that somewhere a computer was splitting off instants of time toward that
precise moment when a muon stream would flow, a connection be made and–
The lights went dim!
They didn't go out, but merely yellowed and sank with a suddenness that made Hardin jump.
He had lifted his eyes to the ceiling lights in startled fashion, and when he brought them down
the glass cubicle was no longer empty.
A figure occupied it ‚ a figure in a wheel chair!
It said nothing for a few moments, but it closed the book upon its lap and fingered it idly. And
then it smiled, and the face seemed all alive.
It said, "I am Hari Seldon." The voice was old and soft.
Hardin almost rose to acknowledge the introduction and stopped himself in the act.
The voice continued conversationally: "As you see, I am confined to this chair and cannot rise
to greet you. Your grandparents left for Terminus a few months back in my time and since then
I have suffered a rather inconvenient paralysis. I can't see you, you know, so I can't greet you
properly. I don't even know how many of you there are, so all this must be conducted
informally. If any of you are standing, please sit down; and if you care to smoke, I wouldn't
mind." There was a light chuckle. "Why should I? I'm not really here."
Hardin fumbled for a cigar almost automatically, but thought better of it.
Hari Seldon put away his book – as if laying it upon a desk at his side – and when his fingers let
go, it disappeared.
He said: "It is fifty years now since this Foundation was established – fifty years in which the
members of the Foundation have been ignorant of what it was they were working toward. It was
necessary that they be ignorant, but now the necessity is gone.
"The Encyclopedia Foundation, to begin with, is a fraud, and always has been!"
There was a sound of a scramble behind Hardin and one or two muffled exclamations, but he
did not turn around.
Hari Seldon was, of course, undisturbed. He went on: "It is a fraud in the sense that neither I
nor my colleagues care at all whether a single volume of the Encyclopedia is ever published. It
has served its purpose, since by it we extracted an imperial charter from the Emperor, by it we
attracted the hundred thousand humans necessary for our scheme, and by it we managed to
keep them preoccupied while events shaped themselves, until it was too late for any of them to
draw back.
"In the fifty years that you have worked on this fraudulent project – there is no use in softening
phrases – your retreat has been cut off, and you have now no choice but to proceed on the
infinitely more important project that was, and is, our real plan.
"To that end we have placed you on such a planet and at such a time that in fifty years you
were maneuvered to the point where you no longer have freedom of action. From now on, and
into the centuries, the path you must take is inevitable. You will be faced with a series of crises,
as you are now faced with the first, and in each case your freedom of action will become
similarly circumscribed so that you will be forced along one, and only one, path.
"It is that path which our psychology has worked out – and for a reason.
"For centuries Galactic civilization has stagnated and declined, though only a few ever realized
that. But now, at last, the Periphery is breaking away and the political unity of the Empire is
shattered. Somewhere in the fifty years just past is where the historians of the future will place
an arbitrary line and say: 'This marks the Fall of the Galactic Empire.'
"And they will be right, though scarcely any will recognize that Fall for additional centuries.
"And after the Fall will come inevitable barbarism, a period which, our psychohistory tells us,
should, under ordinary circumstances, last for thirty thousand years. We cannot stop the Fall.
We do not wish to; for Imperial culture has lost whatever virility and worth it once had. But we
can shorten the period of Barbarism that must follow – down to a single thousand of years.
"The ins and outs of that shortening, we cannot tell you; just as we could not tell you the truth
about the Foundation fifty years ago. Were you to discover those ins and outs, our plan might
fail; as it would have, had you penetrated the fraud of the Encyclopedia earlier; for then, by
knowledge, your freedom of action would be expanded and the number of additional variables
introduced would become greater than our psychology could handle.
"But you won't, for there are no psychologists on Terminus, and never were, but for Alurin –
and he was one of us.
"But this I can tell you: Terminus and its companion Foundation at the other end of the Galaxy
are the seeds of the Renascence and the future founders of the Second Galactic Empire. And it
is the present crisis that is starting Terminus off to that climax.
"This, by the way, is a rather straightforward crisis, much simpler than many of those that are
ahead. To reduce it to its fundamentals, it is this: You are a planet suddenly cut off from the
still-civilized centers of the Galaxy, and threatened by your stronger neighbors. You are a small
world of scientists surrounded by vast and rapidly expanding reaches of barbarism. You are an
island of nuclear power in a growing ocean of more primitive energy; but are helpless despite
that, because of your lack of metals.
"You see, then, that you are faced by hard necessity, and that action is forced on you. The
nature of that action – that is, the solution to your dilemma – is, of course, obvious!"
The image of Hari Seldon reached into open air and the book once more appeared in his hand.
He opened it and said:
"But whatever devious course your future history may take, impress it always upon your
descendants that the path has been marked out, and that at its end is new and greater Empire!"
And as his eyes bent to his book, he flicked into nothingness, and the lights brightened once
more.
Hardin looked up to see Pirenne facing him, eyes tragic and lips trembling.
The chairman's voice was firm but toneless. "You were right, it seems. If you will see us tonight
at six, the Board will consult with you as to the next move."
They shook his hand, each one, and left, and Hardin smiled to himself. They were
fundamentally sound at that; for they were scientists enough to admit that they were wrong –
but for them, it was too late.
He looked at his watch. By this time, it was all over. Lee's men were in control and the Board
was giving orders no longer.
The Anacreonians were landing their first spaceships tomorrow, but that was all right, too. In six
months, they would be giving orders no longer.
In fact, as Hari Seldon had said, and as Salvor Hardin had guessed since the day that Anselm
haut Rodric had first revealed to him Anacreon's lack of nuclear power – the solution to this first
crisis was obvious.
Obvious as all hell!

Okay, that's all for the super long posts. They are all copy and pastes from the novel Foundation, written by isaac Asimov. It is possibly the greatest novel of all time, written by one of the greatest authors of the 20'th century (The Foundation Trilogy was actually given a Hugo Award for best all time series).

For those who don't want to read all those giant posts, I'll sumarize:

The Encyclopedia Foundation is a small group of scientists on the planet Terminus, located at the outer edge of the Milky Way. It was put there by the Galactic Empire to compose the Encyclopedia Galactica, one giant compendium of all human knowledge. However, it's founder (Hari Seldon) had other ideas. Using the science of psychohistory (which is now an actual branch of science) he predicted the Fall of the Galactic Empire within 500 years (The GE had lasted for over 12,000 years, 500 was pretty short for them). The government didn't believe him, but 'humored' him by believing the Encyclopedia Galactica was his plan to shorten the time after the Fall until the next Empire arose. Seldon, however, had planned for that to. Manipulating the system, he managed to create the Foundation with at the right time, at the right place, and with the right people, so that once the GE fell the people there (primarily composed of scientists) could keep the knowledge that humanity had gained and, improving upon that knowledge, could one day found a new Galaxy wide government.

My nation is the Foundation after the Periphery (the outer edge of the Milky Way) revolted from the GE. The surrounding nations are slowly losing their technology and advanced sciences but we, being scientists, are keeping what we have and improving upon it.

Did I miss anything?

Holy ****! Another Asimov fan! Praise all that is Holy, finally somebody else on NS who has a brain! Let me just say welcome, you will love it here! If you need anything at all, come to me. I'd be happy to help out a fellow Asimovian. All Hail the Great Asimov!

So, anybody have any commments?

Holy ****!


you took the words out of my mouth.


Welcome to NS! It's good to see a....well..an amazing RP'er. There are too few of those...and we desperately need more.

Thanks guys. I've been reading these forums for a while before I made this nation (wanted to make sure I could work the Foundation into the rest of universe here), so I was pretty prepared on what I had to do.

Anybody else have a comment? I want to know what I can do here, and I want more praise for Asimov. All Hail the Great Asimov! (Hey, that's kinda catchy. Thanks Klonor!)

Anybody else have something to say?

Anybody else have a comment? I want to know what I can do here, and I want more praise for Asimov. All Hail the Great Asimov! (Hey, that's kinda catchy. Thanks Klonor!)

I've read Asimov books before. I also know his laws of robotics.

Okay, Asimov props are good, but I was looking more for a comment on the IC posts. Maye just a general "Good nation" sentence

Well... nice to see you are original enough to copy out entire passages from books. This is a place where you write your own lad. Foundation is classic and this serves as a good intro, but don't you think you maybe took it a tad far? Express yourself. Do some writing for yourself.

That's actually what I was waiting for somebody to say. I didn't think it'd take this long for somebody to point that out. HPSauce, good job!

That's actually what I was waiting for somebody to say. I didn't think it'd take this long for somebody to point that out. HPSauce, good job!

He wins the million dollars! :P

Well........ I was thinking that! Can I get a prize, too?

Well, for a fellow Asimov fan, have a cookie