Forward the Foundation

"I rather think so. You know, Joranum is always telling little stories to make his points, stories that are legends on his home planet of Nishaya. That serves a good purpose for him here on Trantor, since it makes him appear to be a man of the people, full of homespun philosophy. Those tales litter his speeches. They make him appear to be from a small world, to have been brought up on an isolated farm surrounded by an untamed ecology. People like it, especially Trantorians, who would rather die than be trapped somewhere in an untamed ecology but who love to dream about one just the same."

"But what of it all?"

"The odd point is that not one of the stories was familiar to the person I spoke to on Nishaya."

"That's not significant, Hari. It may be a small world, but it's a world. What is current in Joranum's birth section of the world may not be current in whatever place your official came from."

"No no. Folktales, in one form or another, are usually worldwide. But aside from that, I had considerable trouble in understanding the fellow. He spoke Galactic Standard with a thick accent. I spoke to a few others on the world, just to check, and they all had the same accent."

"And what of that?"

"Joranum doesn't have it. He speaks a fairly good Trantorian. It's a lot better than mine, actually. I have the Heliconian stress on the letter `r.' He doesn't. According to the records, he arrived on Trantor when he was nineteen. It is just impossible, in my opinion, to spend the first nineteen years of your life speaking that barbarous Nishayan version of Galactic Standard and then come to Trantor and lose it. However long he's been here, some trace of the accent would have remained-Look at Raych and the way he lapses into his Dahlite way of speaking on occasion."

"What do you deduce from all this?"

"What I deduce-what I've been sitting here all evening, deducing like a deduction machine-is that Joranum didn't come from Nishaya at all. In fact, I think he picked Nishaya as the place to pretend to come from, simply because it is so backwoodsy, so out-of-the-way, that no one would think of checking it. He must have made a thorough computer search to find the one world least likely to allow him to be caught in a lie."

"But that's ridiculous, Hari. Why should he want to pretend to be from a world he did not come from? It would mean a great deal of falsification of records."

"And that's precisely what he has probably done. He probably has enough followers in the civil service to make that possible. Probably no one person has done as much in the way of revision and all of his followers are too fanatical to talk about it."

"But still-Why?"

"Because I suspect Joranum doesn't want people to know where he really comes from."

"Why not? All worlds in the Empire are equal, both by laws and by custom."

"I don't know about that. These high-ideal theories are somehow never borne out in real life."

"Then where does he come from? Do you have any idea at all?"

"Yes. Which brings us back to this matter of hair."

"What about hair?"

"I sat there with Joranum, staring at him and feeling uneasy, without knowing why I was feeling uneasy. Then finally I realized that it was his hair that made me uneasy. There was something about it, a life, a gloss… a perfection to it that I've never seen before. And then I knew. His hair is artificial and carefully grown on a scalp that ought to be innocent of such things."

"Ought to be?" Dors's eyes narrowed. It was clear that she suddenly understood. "Do you mean-"

"Yes, I do mean. He's from the past-centered, mythology-ridden Mycogen Sector of Trantor. That's what he's been laboring to hide."

10

Dors Venabili thought coolly about the matter. It was her only mode of thought-cool. Not for her the hot flashes of emotion.

She closed her eyes to concentrate. It had been eight years since she and Hari had visited Mycogen and they hadn't been there long. There had been little to admire there except the food.

The pictures arose. The harsh, puritanical, male-centered society; the emphasis on the past; the removal of all body hair, a painful process deliberately self-imposed to make themselves different so that they would "know who they were"; their legends; their memories (or fancies) of a time when they ruled the Galaxy, when their lives were prolonged, when robots existed.

Dors opened her eyes and said, "Why, Hari?"

"Why what, dear?"

"Why should he pretend not to be from Mycogen?"