Prelude to Foundation

“Simply because it’s so unnatural that it must be contrived and I imagine Hummin is doing the contriving.”

Seldon said thoughtfully, “You think so?”

“I do,” said Dors.

“You know,” said Seldon, “so do I.”

89.

It was their tenth day in Wye and in the morning Hari Seldon’s door signal sounded and Raych’s high-pitched voice outside was crying out, “Mister! Mister Seldon! It’s war!”

Seldon took a moment to swap from sleep to wakefulness and scrambled out of bed. He was shivering slightly (the Wyans liked their domiciles on the chilly side, he had discovered quite early in his stay there) when he threw the door open.

Raych bounced in, excited and wide-eyed. “Mister Seldon, they have Mannix, the old Mayor’. They have-”

“Who have, Raych?”

“The Imperials, Their jets came in last night all over. The news holocasts are telling all about it. It’s on in Missus’s room. She said to let ya sleep, but I figured ya would wanner know.”

“And you were quite right.” Seldon pausing only tong enough to throw on a bathrobe, burst into Dors’s room. She was fully dressed and was watching the holo-set in the alcove.

Behind the clear, small image of a desk sat a man, with the Spaceship-and-Sun sharply defined on the left-front of his tunic. On either side, two soldiers, also wearing the Spaceship-and-Sun, stood armed. The officer at the desk was saying, “-is under the peaceful control of his Imperial Majesty. Mayor Mannix is safe and well and is in full possession of his Mayoral powers under the guidance of friendly Imperial troops. He will be before you soon to urge calm on all Wyans and to ask any Wyan soldiers still in arms to lay them down.”

There were other news holocasts by various newsmen with unemotional voices, all wearing Imperial armbands. The news was all the same: surrender by this or that unit of the Wyan security forces after firing a few shots for the record-and sometimes after no resistance at all. This town center and that town center were occupied-and there were repeated views of Wyan crowds somberly watching Imperial forces marching down the streets.

Dors said, “It was perfectly executed, Hari. Surprise was complete. There was no chance of resistance and none of consequence was offered.”

Then Mayor Mannix IV appeared, as had been promised. He was standing upright and, perhaps for the sake of appearances, there were no Imperials in sight, though Seldon was reasonably certain that an adequate number were present just out of camera range.

Mannix was old, but his strength, though worn, was still apparent. His eyes did not meet the holo-camera and his words were spoken as though forced upon him-but, as had been promised, they counseled Wyans to remain calm, to offer no resistance, to keep Wye from harm, and to cooperate with the Emperor who, it was hoped, would survive long on the throne.

“No mention of Rashelle,” said Seldon. “It’s as though his daughter doesn’t exist.”

“No one has mentioned her,” said Dors, “and this place, which is, after all, her residence-or one of them-hasn’t been attacked. Even if she manages to slip away and take refuge in some neighboring sector, I doubt she will be safe anywhere on Trantor for long.”

“Perhaps not,” came a voice; “but I’ll be safe here for a little while.” Rashelle entered. She was properly dressed, properly calm. She was even smiling, but it was no smile of joy; it was, rather, a cold baring of teeth.

The three stared at her in surprise for a moment and Seldon wondered if she had any of her servants with her or if they had promptly deserted her at the first sign of adversity.

Dors said a little coldly, “I see, Madam Mayor, that your hopes for a coup can not be maintained. Apparently, you have been forestalled.”

“I have not been forestalled. I have been betrayed. My officers have been tampered with and-against all history and rationality-they have refused to fight for a woman but only for their old master. And, traitors that they are, they then let their old master be seized so that he cannot lead them in resistance.”

She looked about for a chair and sat down. “And now the Empire must continue to decay and die when I was prepared to offer it new life.”

“I think,” said Dors, “the Empire has avoided an indefinite period of useless fighting and destruction. Console yourself with that, Madam Mayor.”

It was as though Rashelle did not hear her. “So many years of preparation destroyed in a night.”

She sat there beaten, defeated, and seemed to have aged twenty years.

Dors said, “It could scarcely have been done in a night. The suborning of your officers-if that took place-must have taken time.”