Forward the Foundation

Seldon sensed ambivalence in the crowd. There would be some, he knew, who would welcome a dust-up with the University security officers, just on general principles. On the other hand, there had to be some who liked him personally and still others who did not know him but who would not want to see violence against a member of the faculty.

A woman's voice rang out. "Watch out, Professor!"

Seldon sighed and regarded the large young men he faced. He didn't know if he could do it, if his reflexes were quick enough, his muscles sturdy enough, even given his prowess at Twisting.

One goon was approaching him, overconfidently of course. Not quickly, which gave Seldon a little of the time his aging body would need. The goon held out his arm confrontationally, which made it easier.

Seldon seized the arm, whirled, and bent, arm up, and then down (with a grunt-why did he have to grunt?), and the goon went flying through the air, propelled partly by his own momentum. He landed with a thump on the outer edge of the platform, his right shoulder dislocated.

There was a wild cry from the audience at this totally unexpected development. Instantly an institutional pride erupted.

"Take them, Prof!" a lone voice shouted. Others took up the cry.

Seldon smoothed back his hair, trying not to puff. With his foot he shoved the groaning fallen goon off the platform.

"Anyone else?" he asked pleasantly. "Or will you leave quietly?"

He faced Namarti and his five henchmen and as they paused irresolutely, Seldon said, "I warn you. The crowd is on my side now. If you try to rush me, they'll take you apart. Okay, who's next? Let's go. One at a time."

He had raised his voice with the last sentence and made small come-hither motions with his fingers. The crowd yelled its pleasure.

Namarti stood there stolidly. Seldon leaped past him and caught his neck in the crook of his arm. Students were climbing onto the platform now, shouting "One at a time! One at a time!" and getting between the bodyguards and Seldon.

Seldon increased the pressure on the other's windpipe and whispered in his ear, "There's a way to do this, Namarti, and I know how: I've practiced it for years. If you make a move and try to break away, I'll ruin your larynx so that you'll never talk above a whisper again. If you value your voice, do as I say. When I let up, you tell your bunch of bullies to leave. If you say anything else, they'll be the last words you'll say normally. And if you ever come back to this campus again, no more Mr. Nice Guy. I'll finish the job."

He released the pressure momentarily. Namarti said huskily, "All of you. Get out." They retreated rapidly, helping their stricken comrade.

When the University security officers arrived a few moments later, Seldon said, "Sorry, gentlemen. False alarm."

He left the Field and resumed his walk home with more than a little chagrin. He had revealed a side of himself he did not want to reveal. He was Hari Seldon, mathematician, not Hari Seldon, sadistic twister.

Besides, he thought gloomily, Dors would hear of this. In fact, he'd better tell her himself, lest she hear a version that made the incident seem worse than it really was.

She would not be pleased.

3

She wasn't.

Dors was waiting for him at the door of their apartment in an easy stance, hand on one hip, looking very much as she had when he had first met her at this very University eight years before: slim, shapely, with curly reddish-gold hair-very beautiful in his eyes but not very beautiful in any objective sense, though he had never been able to assess her objectively after the first few days of their friendship.

Dors Venabili! That's what he thought when he saw her calm face. There were many worlds, even many sectors on Trantor where it would have been common to call her Dors Seldon, but that, he always thought, would put the mark of ownership on her and he did not wish it, even though the custom was sanctioned by existence back into the vague mists of the pre-Imperial past.

Dors said, softly and with a sad shake of her head that barely disturbed her loose curls, "I've heard, Hari. Just what am I going to do with you?"

"A kiss would not be amiss."

"Well, perhaps, but only after we probe this a little. Come in." The door closed behind them. "You know, dear, I have my course and my research. I'm still doing that dreadful history of the Kingdom of Trantor, which you tell me is essential to your own work. Shall I drop it all and take to wandering around with you, protecting you? It's still my job, you know. It's more than ever my job, now that you're making progress with psychohistory."

"Making progress? I wish I were. But you needn't protect me."

"Needn't I? I sent Raych out looking for you. After all, you were late and I was concerned. You usually tell me when you're going to be late. I'm sorry if that makes me sound as though I'm your keeper, Hari, but I am your keeper."

"Does it occur to you, Keeper Dors, that every once in a while I like to slip my leash?"