Forward the Foundation

The boy-child who sits on the throne today is the perfect puppet Emperor. He obeys every word Linge Chen whispers in his ear and fancies himself a budding statesman. The Palace and trappings of Imperial life are but toys to him in some vast fantastical game.

What will I do now? With Gaal finally gone to join the Terminus group, I am utterly alone. I hear from Wanda occasionally. The work at Star's End continues on course; in the past decade she and Stettin have added dozens of mentalics to their number. They increasingly grow in power. It was the Star's End contingent-my secret Foundation-who pushed Linge Chen into sending the Encyclopedists to Terminus.

I miss Wanda. It has been many years since I've seen her, sat with her quietly, holding her hand. When Wanda left, even though I had asked her to go, I thought I would die of heartbreak. That was, perhaps, the most difficult decision I ever had to make and, although I never told her, I almost decided against it. But for the Foundation to succeed, it was necessary for Wanda and Stettin to go to Star's End. Psychohistory decreed it, so perhaps it wasn't really my decision, after all.

I still come here every day, to my office in the Psychohistory Building. I remember when this structure was filled with people, day and night. Sometimes I feel as if it's filled with voices, those of my long-departed family, students, colleagues-but the offices are empty and silent. The hallways echo with the whirr of my wheelchair motor.

I suppose I should vacate the building, return it to the University to allocate to another department. But somehow it's hard to let go of this place. There are so many memories…

All I have now is this, my Prime Radiant. This is the means by which psychohistory can be computed, through which every equation in my Plan may be analyzed, all here in this amazing, small black cube. As I sit here, this deceptively simple-looking tool in the palm of my hand, I wish I could show it to R. Daneel Olivaw…

But I am alone, and need only to close a contact for the office lights to dim. As I settle back in my wheelchair, the Prime Radiant activates, its equations spreading around me in three-dimensional splendor. To the untrained eye, this multicolored swirl would be merely a jumble of shapes and numbers, but for me-and Yugo, Wanda, Gaal-this is psychohistory, come to life.

What I see before me, around me, is the future of humanity. Thirty thousand years of potential chaos, compressed into a single millennium…

That patch, glowing more strongly day by day, is the Terminus equation. And there-skewed beyond repair-are the Trantor figures. But I can see… yes, softly beaming, a steady light of hope… Star's End!

This-this-was my life's work. My past-humanity's future. Foundation. So beautiful, so alive. And nothing can…

Dors!