Prelude to Foundation

“Yes, we do,” said Seldon. “And I do not know how to use the kitchen devices, nor do I know how to prepare the food. Do you eat it raw, fry it, boil it, roast it…?”

“I can’t believe you are ignorant in such matters.”

Dors, who had been pacing up and down during this colloquy, reached for the device and Seldon fended her off, whispering, “He’ll break the connection if a woman tries to speak to him.”

Then, into the device, he said more firmly than ever, “What you believe or don’t believe doesn’t matter to me in the least. You send someone here-someone who can do something about our situation-or when I reach Sunmaster Fourteen, as I will eventually, you will pay for this.”

Nevertheless, it was two hours before someone arrived (by which time Seldon was in a state of savagery and Dors had grown rather desperate in her attempt to soothe him).

The newcomer was a young man whose bald pate was slightly freckled and who probably would have been a redhead otherwise.

He was bearing several pots and he seemed about to explain them when he suddenly looked uneasy and turned his back on Seldon in alarm. “Tribesman,” he said, obviously agitated. “Your skincap is not well adjusted.”

Seldon, whose impatience had reached the breaking point, said, “That doesn’t bother me.”

Dors, however, said, “Let me adjust it, Hari. It’s just a bit too high here on the left side.”

Seldon then growled, “You can turn now, young man. What is your name?”

“I am Graycloud Five,” said the Mycogenian uncertainly as he turned and looked cautiously at Seldon. “I am a novitiate. I have brought a meal for you.” He hesitated. “From my own kitchen, where my woman prepared it, tribesman.” He put the pots down on the table and Seldon raised one lid and sniffed the contents suspiciously. He looked up at Dors in surprise.

“You know, it doesn’t smell bad.”

Dors nodded. “You’re right. I can smell it too.”

Graycloud said, “It’s not as hot as it ought to be. It cooled off in transport. You must have crockery and cutlery in your kitchen.”

Dors got what was needed, and after they had eaten, largely and a bit greedily, Seldon felt civilized once more.

Dors, who realized that the young man would feel unhappy at being alone with a woman and even unhappier if she spoke to him, found that, by default, it fell to her to carry the pots and dishes into the kitchen and wash them-once she deciphered the controls of the washing device.

Meanwhile, Seldon asked the local time and said, somewhat abashed, “You mean it’s the middle of the night?”

“Indeed, tribesman,” said Graycloud. “That’s why it took a while to satisfy your need.”

Seldon understood suddenly why Sunmaster could not be disturbed and thought of Graycloud’s woman having to be awakened to prepare him a meal and felt his conscience gnaw at him. “I’m sorry,” he said. “We are only tribespeople and we didn’t know how to use the kitchen or how to prepare the food. In the morning, could you have someone arrive to instruct us properly?”

“The best I can do, tribesmen,” said Graycloud placatingly, “is to have two Sisters sent in. I ask your pardon for inconveniencing you with feminine presence, but it is they who know these things.”

Dors, who had emerged from the kitchen, said (before remembering her place in the masculine Mycogenian society), “That’s fine, Graycloud. We’d love to meet the Sisters.”

Graycloud looked at her uneasily and fleetingly, but said nothing.

Seldon, convinced that the young Mycogenian would, on principle, refuse to have heard what a woman said to him, repeated the remark. “That’s fine, Graycloud. We’d love to meet the Sisters.”

His expression cleared at once. “I will have them here as soon as it is day.”

When Graycloud had left, Seldon said with some satisfaction, “The Sisters are likely to be exactly what we need.”

“Indeed? And in what way, Hari?” asked Dors.

“Well, surely if we treat them as though they are human beings, they will be grateful enough to speak of their legends.”

“If they know them,” said Dors skeptically. “Somehow I have no faith that the Mycogenians bother to educate their women very well.”

40.

The Sisters arrived some six hours later after Seldon and Dors had slept some more, hoping to readjust their biological clocks. The Sisters entered the apartment shyly, almost on tiptoe. Their gowns (which, it turned out, were termed “kirtles” in the Mycogenian dialect) were soft velvety gray, each uniquely decorated by a subtle pattern of fine, darker gray webbing. The kirtles were not entirely unattractive, but they were certainly most efficient at covering up any human feature. And, of course, their heads were bald and their faces were devoid of any ornamentation. They darted speculative glances at the touch of blue at the corners of Dors’s eyes and at the slight red stain at the corners of her lips. For a few moments, Seldon wondered how one could be certain that the Sisters were truly Sisters.