Prelude to Foundation

“Call it what you will. It’s religion and we don’t have it. Religion is for the tribesmen, for the swarming ho-”

The Sister paused to swallow as though she had come near to choking and Seldon was certain the word she had choked over was-”

She was in control again. Speaking slowly and somewhat below her normal soprano, she said, “We are not a religious people. Our kingdom is of this Galaxy and always has been. If you have a religion-”

Seldon felt trapped. Somehow he had not counted on this. He raised a hand defensively. “Not really. I’m a mathematician and my kingdom is also of this Galaxy. It’s just that I thought, from the rigidity of your customs, that your kingdom-”

“Don’t think it, tribesman. If our customs are rigid, it is because we are mere millions surrounded by billions. Somehow we must mark ourselves off so that we precious few are not lost among your swarms and hordes. We must be marked off by our hairlessness, our clothing, our behavior, our way of life. We must know who we are and we must be sure that you tribesmen know who we are. We labor in our farms so that we can make ourselves valuable in your eyes and thus make certain that you leave us alone. That’s all we ask of you… to leave us alone.”

“I have no intention of harming you or any of your people. I seek only knowledge, here as everywhere.”

“So you insult us by asking about our religion, as though we have ever called on a mysterious, insubstantial spirit to do for us what we cannot do for ourselves.”

“There are many people, many worlds who believe in supernaturalism in one form or another… religion, if you like the word better. We may disagree with them in one way or another, but we are as likely to be wrong in our disbelief as they in their belief. In any case, there is no disgrace in such belief and my questions were not intended as insults.”

But she was not reconciled. “Religion!” she said angrily. “We have no need of it.”

Seldon’s spirits, having sunk steadily in the course of this exchange, reached bottom. This whole thing, this expedition with Raindrop Forty-Three, had come to nothing.

But she went on to say, “We have something far better. We have history.”

And Seldon’s feelings rebounded at once and he smiled.

Book

HAND-ON-THIGH STORY-… An occasion cited by Hari Seldon as the first turning point in his search for a method to develop psychohistory. Unfortunately, his published writings give no indication as to what that “story” was and speculations concerning it (there have been many) are futile. It remains one of the many intriguing mysteries concerning Seldon’s career.

Encyclopedia Galactica

45.

Raindrop Forty-Three stared at Seldon, wild-eyed and breathing heavily. “I can’t stay here,” she said.

Seldon looked about. “No one is bothering us. Even the Brother from whom we got the dainties said nothing about us. He seemed to take us as a perfectly normal pair.”

“That’s because there is nothing unusual about us-when the light is dim, when you keep your voice low so the tribesman accent is less noticeable, and when I seem calm. But now-” Her voice was growing hoarse.

“What of now?”

“I am nervous and tense. I am… in a perspiration.”

“Who is to notice? Relax. Calm down.”

“I can’t relax here. I can’t calm down while I may be noticed.”

“Where are we to go, then?”

“There are little sheds for resting. I have worked here. I know about them.”

She was walking rapidly now and Seldon followed. Up a small ramp, which he would not have noticed in the twilight without her, there was a line of doors, well spread apart.

“The one at the end,” she muttered. “If it’s free.”

It was unoccupied. A small glowing rectangle said NOT IN USE and the door was ajar.

Raindrop Forty-Three looked about rapidly, motioned Seldon in, then stepped inside herself. She closed the door and, as she did so, a small ceiling light brightened the interior.

Seldon said, “Is there any way the sign on the door can indicate this shed is in use?”

“That happened automatically when the door closed and the light went on,” said the Sister.

Seldon could feel air softly circulating with a small sighing sound, but where on Trantor was that ever-present sound and feel not apparent? The room was not large, but it had a cot with a firm, efficient mattress, and what were obviously clean sheets. There was a chair and table, a small refrigerator, and something that looked like an enclosed hot plate, probably a tiny food-heater.

Raindrop Forty-Three sat down on the chair, sitting stiffly upright, visibly attempting to force herself into relaxation.