Asimov’s Future History Volume 17

  Asimov’s Future History

  Volume XVII

  All stories copyright Isaac Asimov and the Estate of Isaac Asimov, unless otherwise noted below.

  All other stories copyright by the respective authors listed below.

  Foundation’s Triumph-By David Brin. May, 1999

  Epilogue-First published in Forward the Foundation, April, 1993

  The Originist-By Orson Scott Card. First published in Foundation’s Friends: Stories in Honor of Isaac Asimov, September, 1989

  The Encyclopedists - First published in Astounding Science-Fiction, May, 1942

  The Mayors - First published as Bridle and Saddle in Astounding Science-Fiction, June, 1942

  The Traders - First published as The Wedge in Astounding Science Fiction, October, 1944

  The Merchant Princes -First published as The Big and the Little in Astounding Science Fiction, August, 1944

  The General - First published as Dead Hand in Astounding Science Fiction, April 1945

  Trantor Falls - By Harry Turtledove. First published in Foundation’s Friends: Stories in Honor of Isaac Asimov, September, 1989

  The Mule - First published as a serial in Astounding Science Fiction, November, December, 1945

  This ePub edition v1.0 by Dead^Man March, 2011

  Layout and design by Dead^Man

  Cover art “Survivor Sweep” by Strangelet of DeviantArt

  Future History inlay “Summer days” by Talros of DeviantArt

  Cover design by Dead^Man

  Chronology of events in Isaac Asimov’s positronic robot and Foundation stories, compiled by Johnny Pez.

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  12068 GE Foundation’s Triumph

  Part 3

  Secret Crimes

  Part 4

  A Magnificent Design

  Part 5

  A Recurring Rendezvous

  Part 6

  Full Circle

  12069 GE Epilogue

  12067 GE The Originist

  49 FE The Encyclopedists

  79 FE The Mayors

  134 FE The Traders

  154 FE The Merchant Princes

  195 FE The General

  270 FE Trantor Falls

  310 FE The Mule

  Sources of Dates

  Foundation’s Triumph

  12068 G. E.

  Part 3

  Secret Crimes

  EVERY YEAR IN THE GALAXY, MORE THAN 2,000 SUNS ENTER LATE-PHASE IN THEIR FUSION-BURNING CYCLES, EXPANDING THEIR SURFACES AND BECOMING MUCH HOTTER THAN BEFORE. ANOTHER TWENTY STARS PER YEAR GO NOVA...

  TAKING INTO ACCOUNT THE MILLIONS OF STARS THAT HAVE HABITABLE PLANETS, THIS MEANS THAT ON AVERAGE TWO HUMAN-SETTLED WORLDS BECOME UNTENABLE OR UNINHABITABLE EACH YEAR... THROUGHOUT THE EARLY DARK AGES, BEFORE THE GALACTIC EMPIRE, NUMEROUS TRAGIC NATURAL DISASTERS COST BILLIONS OF LIVES. ISOLATED WORLDS OFTEN HAD NOWHERE TO TURN FOR HELP WHEN A SUN WENT UNSTABLE, OR SOMETHING DISRUPTED A PLANETARY ECOSPHERE.

  DURING THE IMPERIUM SUCH THREATS WERE HANDLED ON A ROUTINE BASIS BY THE GREY BUREAUCRACY, WHICH EFFICIENTLY SURVEYED STELLAR CONDITIONS, PREDICTED SOLAR CHANGES IN ADVANCE, AND MAINTAINED RESETTLEMENT FLEETS ON STANDBY TO DEAL WITH EMERGENCIES. SO DEDICATED WAS THIS EFFORT THAT REMNANTS STILL EXISTED LATE IN THE EMPIRE’S DECLINE, ARRIVING TO HELP EVACUATE TRANTOR WHEN THE CAPITAL PLANET WAS SACKED.

  THEREAFTER, DURING THE INTERREGNUM, SUCH ASSISTANCE WAS UNAVAILABLE. SCATTERED ACCOUNTS TELL OF NUMEROUS SMALL WORLDS THAT WENT ABRUPTLY SILENT DURING THAT LONG, VIOLENT ERA, OWING TO NATURAL OR MAN-MADE CALAMITIES. OFTEN NO ONE BOTHERED TO GO LEARN WHAT HAPPENED TO THEIR POPULATIONS UNTIL IT WAS TOO LATE...

  EVEN AFTER THE RISE OF THE FOUNDATION, IT TOOK SOME TIME BEFORE A COMBINATION OF PSYCHOHISTORICAL FACTORS MADE POSSIBLE THE INVESTMENT OF SUBSTANTIAL RESOURCES TO BUILD AN INFRASTRUCTURE OF COMPASSION...

  – ENCYCLOPEDIA GALACTICA,

  – 117TH EDITION, 1054 F. E.

  1.

  R. ZUN LURRIN had a question for his leader.

  “Daneel, I’ve been reading ancient records, dating back to before humanity burst out from a small corner of the galaxy. I find that throughout history, most societies tried to protect their people against exposure to dangerous ideas. On every continent of Old Earth, in almost every era, priests and kings strove to keep out concepts that might disturb the population at large, fearing that alien notions could take root and cause sin or madness, or worse.

  “And yet, the most brilliant culture of all, the one that invented us, seems to have rejected this entire way of looking at the world.”

  Daneel Olivaw stood again at the highest balcony of Eos Base, atop a towering cliff, from which a bright galactic pinwheel could be seen, both overhead and reflected off the perfectly smooth surface of a frozen metal lake. The twin images were so exact that it could be hard to distinguish illusion from reality. As if it mattered.

  “You are referring to the Transition Age,” he answered. “When people like Susan Calvin and Revere Wu created the first robots, starships, and many other wonders. It was an era of unprecedented ingenuity, Zun. And yes, they came up with a completely different way of viewing the issue of information-as-poison.

  “Some called their approach the Maturity Principle. A belief that children can be brought up with just the right combination of trust and skepticism – a mix of tolerance and healthy suspicion – so that any new or foreign idea could then be evaluated on its own merits. The bad parts rejected. The good parts safely incorporated into ever-growing wisdom. Truth might then be won, not by dogma, but by remaining open to a wide universe of possibilities.”

  “Fascinating, Daneel. If such a method ever proved valid, it would have staggering implications. There would be no inherent limit to the exploration or growth of human souls.”

  Zun paused for a moment. “So tell me. Did the sages of that era seriously believe that vast numbers of individual human beings could reliably accomplish this trick?”

  “They did, and even based their education methods on it. Indeed, the approach apparently worked for a while, by correcting each other’s mistakes in a give-and-take of cheerful debate. The period you refer to is said to have been marvelous. I regret having been assembled too late to meet Susan Calvin and other great ones of that era.”

  “Alas, Daneel, no operational robot dates from that far back. You are among the oldest. Yet your fabrication came two hundred years after the Golden Age collapsed amid riots, terrorism, and despair.”

  Daneel turned to look at Zun. Despite the hard vacuum and radioactivity of their surroundings, his understudy appeared much like a rugged young human, a member of the gentry class, outfitted for a camping trip on some bucolic imperial world.

  “Even that description understates the situation, Zun. At the time I was created, Earthlings had already retreated from chaos into hideously cramped metal cities, cowering away from the light. And their Spacer cousins were hardly any more sane, falling into an unstoppable spiral of decadence and decay. It must have taken enormous traumas to bring about such a radical change in attitude from Susan Calvin’s era of expansive optimism.”

  “Was there still some acceptance of the Maturity Principle, during the period when you worked with the human detective, Elijah Baley?”

  Daneel indicated no with a tilt of his head.

  “That belief had fallen into disrepute, except among a minority of nonconformists and philosophers. For the rest, uniformity and distrust became central themes. One strong similarity between Spacer and Earth cultures was their rejection of the openness that characterized the earlier Transition Age. Both societies returned to an older way of viewing ideas. With suspicion.

 
“They became convinced – as we are today – that human brains are vulnerable hosts, often subject to invasion by parasitic concepts... like the way a virus takes over a living cell.”

  “How ironic. Both cultures were more alike than they realized.”

  “Correct, Zun. Yet, because of that shared suspicion, they nearly annihilated each other. I recall how Giskard and I debated this problem, over and over. We concluded that the vastness of space might offer a solution, if only we could see humanity dispersed to the stars, instead of crammed elbow to elbow. Once they were scattered widely, there would be less risk of some spark igniting a conflagration and killing off the whole race.

  “It took some drastic measures to get them moving again. But once the diaspora began in earnest, humans filled the galaxy more quickly than we ever expected! During that time of rapid expansion they created so many subcultures... and to our dismay soon these started rubbing against each other, fighting brutal little wars. You can see why the only solution, from a Zeroth Law perspective, was to create a new, uniform galactic culture that might bring an age of peace. Tolerance became much easier, once everyone was alike.”

  “But sameness wasn’t the whole answer!” Zun commented. “You also had to invent new techniques for keeping a lid on things.”

  Daneel agreed.

  “We incorporated methods that Hari Seldon would later call damping systems, to keep galactic society from spinning into chaos. Some of the best ones were first suggested long ago by my friend Giskard. Their effectiveness lasted for two hundred human generations... though now they appear to be growing obsolete. Hence our current crisis.”

  Zun accepted this with a nod. But he wanted to return to the topic of dangerous ideas.

  “I wonder... might both Spacer and Earth cultures have had good reason to dread cultural contamination~After all, something caused Earth’s billions to frantically eliminate all of their diversity and cower together in tomblike cities. And why would intelligent Solarians choose their bizarre lifestyle – sitting with folded hands and asking robot servants to live their lives for them~Could both syndromes have been caused by... an infection?”

  “Your supposition is excellent, Zun. Clearly an illness of some sort was at work. Even centuries later, after Giskard helped Elijah Baley persuade some Earthlings to emerge from their metal wombs and settle a few new planets, the malady only mutated and followed them.”

  “I recall hearing about that. You and Giskard witnessed something peculiar on several colony worlds. Settlers obsessed unwholesomely on the homeworld. They were unable to let go of Earth as a sacred-spiritual icon.”

  “An obstinate mental addiction, preventing them from moving on to new horizons. Giskard concluded that we had no choice, under the Zeroth Law. Only by rendering Earth uninhabitable could the intense fixation be broken and the bulk of its population be forced to emigrate. Only then would humanity’s true conquest of the galaxy commence with vigor.”

  While Daneel lapsed into silence, Zun pondered the chilly vista alongside his mentor. He held back for a time, as if uncertain how to phrase the next question.

  “And yet... so much of what we’ve discussed depends on one assumption.”

  “What assumption, Zun?”

  “That the great ones of the Transition Age – Susan Calvin and the others – were wrong, and not merely unlucky.”

  For a second time, Daneel turned and regarded the junior Type-Alpha robot.

  “Have we not seen, again and again, what catastrophic events occur when some so-called renaissance cuts away every assumption and postulate, casting millions adrift without core traditions to hold on to? Remember, Zun. Our foremost dedication is no longer to individual human lives, but to achieving the greatest good for humanity as a whole. Across millennia of service, I have witnessed ideas become lethal more often than I can relate.”

  “Still, Daneel, have you considered whether this might not be totally intrinsic to human nature? Perhaps it is because of some factor or situation that arose late in the Transition Age! Maybe the Maturity Principle once had validity... until something new and disruptive interfered with its functioning. Something insidious that has lingered with us ever since.”

  “Where does this speculation of yours come from?” Daneel responded, coolly.

  “Call it a hunch. Perhaps I find it hard to believe Calvin and her peers would cling so hard to their dream, unless there was at least some factual support for the notion of human maturity! Were they really too obstinate to recognize the evidence before their eyes?”

  Daneel shook his head, a habit of human-emulation that was by now second nature.

  “The proper words are not ‘stupidity’ or ‘obstinacy.’ I attribute it to something more basic, called hope.

  “You see, Zun, they were indeed very smart people. Perhaps the best minds to emerge from their tormented race. Many of them understood at a gut level what it would mean if they turned out to be wrong about human maturity. If the great mass of citizens could not be trained to handle all ideas sanely, then it implied one thing – that humanity is deeply and permanently flawed. Inherently limited. Cursed forever to be denied the greatness humans seem capable of.”

  Zun stared at Daneel.

  “I feel... uncomfortable... hearing our masters described this way. And yet, you make compelling sense, Daneel. I have tried empathizing with how Calvin and her compatriots must have felt, as their bright aspirations crashed all around them, toppling under waves of unreason. I can sense how frantic they would be to avoid the very same conclusion you just expressed. As believers in the unlimited potential of individuality, they would hate being mere factors in Hari Seldon’s equations, for instance... randomly caroming about like gas molecules, canceling each other’s idiosyncrasies in a vast calculation of momentum and inevitability.

  “Tell me, Daneel. Could this realization have been the last straw? The underlying trauma that collapsed their era of bold confidence? Were all the other events just symptoms of this deeper trauma?”

  The senior robot nodded.

  “The problem grew so bad that some of us robots worried that humanity might lose the will to go on. Fortunately, by then they had invented us. And we learned ways to divert them down pathways that were both interesting and safe, for a very long time.”

  “Until now, that is,” Zun pointed out. “With decay lurking on one side, and chaos on the other, your solution of a benign Galactic Empire doesn’t work anymore. Hence your support of the Seldon Plan?”

  Daneel shook his head again, this time with a smile.

  “Hence something much better! It is the reason that I summoned you here, Zun. To share exciting news. A breakthrough that I’ve been hoping to find all through the last twenty thousand years. And now, at last, it is feasible to begin. If things go as expected, a mere five hundred years will suffice to make it happen.”

  “Make what happen, Daneel?”

  A low, microwave murmur wafted upward from the Immortal Servant, rising toward the galaxy like a sigh... or a prayer. When Daneel Olivaw spoke again, his voice sounded different, almost contented.

  “A way to help ease humanity around its mortal flaws, and achieve greater heights than they ever dreamed.”

  2.

  ODORS BECAME NOTICEABLE before thoughts were.

  For many years, only unpleasant smells had enough strength to penetrate Hari’s age-dulled senses. But now, as if coming home from a long sulk, there returned a mix of aromas, both heady and familiar at the same time, stroking his sinus cavities with sensuous pleasure.

  Jasmine. Ginger. Curry.

  Salivary glands flowed, and his stomach reacted with an eagerness that felt positively eerie. His appetite had been almost nonexistent since Dors died. Now its sudden resurgence was the chief thing prodding Seldon awake.

  His eyes opened cautiously, only to glimpse the self-sterilizing walls of a ship’s infirmary. He deliberately shut them again.

  It must have been a dream. Those wonderful smells. br />
  I remember overhearing... somebody saying I had another stroke.

  Hari yearned for a return to unconscious oblivion, rather than discover that another portion of his brain had died. He did not want to face the aftermath – another harsh setback on the long slide toward personal extinction.

  And yet... those delicious smells still floated through his nostrils.

  Is this a symptom? Like the “phantom limb” that amputees sometimes feel, after losing a part of themselves forever?

  Hari felt no pain. In fact, his body throbbed with a desire to move. But the sense of well-being might be an illusion. When he actually tried to set himself in motion, the real truth might hammer down. Total paralysis perhaps? The doctors on Trantor had warned it could happen at any moment, shortly before the end.

  Well, here goes.

  Hari ordered his left hand to move toward his face. It responded smoothly, rising as he opened his eyes a second time.

  It was a bigger infirmary than the little unit aboard the Pride of Rhodia. They must have taken him onto the raider ship, then. The vessel from Ktlina.

  Well, at least his memory was working. Hari’s fingers rubbed his face... and retracted in abrupt shock.

  What in space?

  He felt his cheek again. The flesh felt noticeably firmer, a bit less flaccid and jowly than he recalled.

  This time his body acted on its own, out of an unwilled sense of volition. One hand grabbed the white coverlet and threw it back. The other one slid underneath his body, planted itself against the bed, and pushed. He sat up, so rapidly that he swayed and almost toppled to the other side, catching himself with a strong tensioning of his back muscles. A groan escaped his lips. Not from pain, but surprise!