Forward the Foundation (Page 7)

"Yes," said Seldon eagerly, "that is because-"

"No, Hari. I’m trying to explain. We both know that you understand it. You must have minimalism because every change, any change, has a myriad of side effects that can’t always be allowed for. If the change is side effects too many, then it becomes certain that the outcome will be far removed from anything you’ve planned and that it would be entirely unpredictable."

"Right," said Seldon. "That’s the essence of a chaotic-effect. The problem is whether any change is small enough to make the consequence reasonably predictable or whether human history is inevitably and unalterably chaotic in every respect. It was that which, at the start, made me think that psychohistory was not-"

"I know, but you’re not letting me make my point. Whether any change would be small enough is not the issue. The point is that any change greater than the minimal is chaotic. The required minimum may be zero, but if it is not zero, then it is still very small-and it would be a major problem to find some change that is small enough and yet is significantly greater than zero. Now, that, I gather, is what you mean by the necessity of minimalism."

"More or less," said Seldon. "Of course, as always, the matter is expressed more compactly and more rigorously in the language of mathematics. See here-"

"Save me," said Dors. "Since you know this about psychohistory, Hari, you ought to know it about Demerzel, too. You have the knowledge but not the understanding, because it apparently doesn’t occur to you to apply the rules of psychohistory to the Laws of Robotics."

To which Seldon replied faintly, "Now I don’t see what you’re getting at.

"He requires minimality, too, doesn’t he, Hari? By the First Law of Robotics, a robot can’t harm a human being. That is the prime rule for the usual robot, but Demerzel is something quite unusual and for him, the Zeroth Law is a reality and it takes precedence even over the First Law. The Zeroth Law states that a robot can’t harm humanity as a whole. But that puts Demerzel into the same bind in which you exist when you labor at psychohistory. Do you see?"

"I’m beginning to."

"I hope so. If Demerzel has the ability to change minds, he has to do so without bringing about side effects he does not wish-and since he is the Emperor’s First Minister, the side effects he must worry about are numerous, indeed."

"And the application to the present case?"

"Think about it! You can’t tell anyone-except me, of course-that Demerzel is a robot, because he has adjusted you so that you can’t. But how much adjustment did that take? Do you want to tell people that he is a robot? Do you want to ruin his effectiveness when you depend on him for protection, for support of your grants, for influence quietly exerted on your behalf? Of course not. The change he had to make then was a very tiny one, just enough to keep you from blurting it out in a moment of excitement or carelessness. It is so small a change that there are no particular side effects. That is how Demerzel tries to run the Empire generally."

"And the case of Joranum?"

"Is obviously completely different from yours. He is, for whatever motives, unalterably opposed to Demerzel. Undoubtedly, Demerzel could change that, but it would be at the price of introducing a considerable wrench in Joranum’s makeup that would bring about results Demerzel could not predict. Rather than take the chance of harming Joranum, of producing side effects that would harm others and, possibly, all of humanity, he must leave Joranum alone until he can find some small change-some small change-that will save the situation without harm. That is why Yugo is right and why Demerzel is vulnerable."

Seldon had listened but did not respond. He seemed lost in thought. Minutes passed before he said, "If Demerzel can do nothing in this matter, then I must."

"If he can do nothing, what can you do?"

"The case is different. I am not bound by the Laws of Robotics. I need not concern myself obsessively with minimalism. And to begin with, I must see Demerzel."

Dors looked faintly anxious. "Must you? Surely it wouldn’t be wise to advertise a connection between the two of you."

"We have reached a time where we can’t make a fetish of pretending there is no connection. Naturally I won’t go to see him behind a flourish of trumpets and an announcement on holovision, but I must see him."

5

Seldon found himself raging at the passage of time. Eight years ago, when he had first arrived on Trantor, he could take instant action. He had only a hotel room and its contents to forsake and he could range through the sectors of Trantor at will.

Now he found himself with department meetings, with decisions to make, with work to do. It was not so easy to dash off at will to see Demerzel-and if he could, Demerzel also had a-full schedule of his own. To find a time when they both could meet would not be easy.**

Nor was it easy to have Dors shake her head at him. "I don’t know what you intend to do, Hari."

And he answered impatiently, "I don’t know what I intend to do, either, Dors. I hope to find out when I see Demerzel."

"Your first duty is to psychohistory. He’ll tell you so."

"Perhaps. I’ll find out."

And then, just as he had arranged a time for the meeting with the First Minister, eight days hence, he received a message on his department office wall screen in slightly archaic lettering. And to match that was the more than slightly archaic message: I CRAVE AN AUDIENCE WITH PROFESSOR HARI SELDON.

Seldon stared at it with astonishment. Even the Emperor was not addressed in quite that centuries-old turn of phrase.

Nor was the signature printed as it usually was for clarity. It was scripted with a flourish that left it perfectly legible and yet gave it the aura of a careless work of art dashed off by a master. The signature was: LASKIN JORANUM. It was Jo-Jo himself, craving an audience.