Prelude to Foundation

SUNMASTER FOURTEEN-… A leader of the Mycogen Sector of ancient Trantor…

As is true of all the leaders of this ingrown sector, little is known of him. That he plays any role at all in history is due entirely to his interrelationship with Hari Seldon in the course of The Flight…

Encyclopedia Galactica

35.

There were just two seats behind the compact pilot compartment and when Seldon sat down on padding that gave slowly beneath him meshed fabric came forward to encircle his legs, waist, and chest and a hood came down over his forehead and ears. He felt imprisoned and when he turned to his left with difficulty-and only slightly-he could see that Dors was similarly enclosed.

The pilot took his own seat and checked the controls. Then he said, “I’m Endor Levanian, at your service. You’re enmeshed because there will be a considerable acceleration at lift-off. Once we’re in the open and flying, you’ll be released. You needn’t tell me your names. It’s none of my business.” He turned in his seat and smiled at them out of a gnomelike face that wrinkled as his lips spread outward. “Any psychological difficulties, youngsters?”

Dors said lightly, “I’m an Outworlder and I’m used to flying.”

“That is also true for myself,” said Seldon with a bit of hauteur.

“Excellent, youngsters. Of course, this isn’t your ordinary air-jet and you may not have done any night flying, but I’ll count on you to bear up.”

He was enmeshed too, but Seldon could see that his arms were entirely free.

A dull hum sounded inside the jet, growing in intensity and rising in pitch. Without actually becoming unpleasant, it threatened to do so and Seldon made a gesture as though to shake his head and get the sound out of his ears, but the attempt to do so merely seemed to stiffen the hold of the head-mesh. The jet then sprang (it was the only verb Seldon could find to describe the event) into the air and he found himself pushed hard against the back and bottom of his seat.

Through the windshield in front of the pilot, Seldon saw, with a twinge of horror, the flat rise of a wall-and then a round opening appear in that wall. It was similar to the hole into which the air-taxi had plunged the day he and Hummin had left the Imperial Sector, but though this one was large enough for the body of the jet, it certainly did not leave room for the wings. Seldon’s head turned as far to the right as he could manage and did so just in time to see the wing on his side wither and collapse. The jet plunged into the opening and was seized by the electromagnetic field and hurtled along a lighted runnel. The acceleration was constant and there were occasional clicking noises that Seldon imagined might be the passing of individual magnets.

And then, in less than ten minutes, the jet was spewed out into the atmosphere, headlong into the sudden pervasive darkness of night. The jet decelerated as it passed beyond the electromagnetic field and Seldon felt himself flung against the mesh and plastered there for a few breathless moments.

Then the pressure ceased and the mesh disappeared altogether.

“How are you, youngsters?” came the cheerful voice of the pilot.

“I’m not sure,” said Seldon. He turned to Dors. “Are you all right?”

“Certainly,” she answered. “I think Mr. Levanian was putting us through his paces to see if we were really Outworlders. Is that so, Mr. Levanian?”

“Some people like excitement,” said Levanian. “Do you?”

“Within limits,” said Dors.

Then Seldon added approvingly, “As any reasonable person would admit.” Seldon went on. “It might have seemed less humorous to you, sir, if you had ripped the wings off the jet.”

“Impossible, sir. I told you this is not your ordinary air-jet. The wings are thoroughly computerized. They change their length, width, curvature, and overall shape to match the speed of the jet, the speed and direction of the wind, the temperature, and half a dozen other variables. The wings wouldn’t tear off unless the jet itself was subjected to stresses that would splinter it.”

There was a spatter against Seldon’s window. He said, “It’s raining.’

“It often is,” said the pilot.

Seldon peered out the window. On Helicon or on any other world, there would have been lights visible-the illuminated works of man. Only on Trantor would it be dark.

Well, not entirely. At one point he saw the flash of a beacon light. Perhaps the higher reaches of Upperside had warning lights. As usual, Dors took note of Seldon’s uneasiness. Patting his hand, she said, “I’m sure the pilot knows what he’s doing, Hari.”

“I’ll try to be sure of it, too, Dors, but I wish he’d share some of that knowledge with us,” Seldon said in a voice loud enough to be overheard.