When breakfast was over, Raych left to go exploring. Once they had retired to Dors's room, Seldon said with marked discontent, "I don't know how long we'll be left to ourselves. She's obviously plotted ways of preoccupying our time."
Dors said, "Actually, we have little to complain of at the moment. We're much more comfortable here than we were either in Mycogen or Dahl."
Seldon said, "Dors, you're not being won over by that woman, are you?"
"Me? By Rashelle? Of course not. How can you possibly think so?"
"Well, you're comfortable. You're well-fed. It would be natural to relax and accept what fortune brings."
"Yes, very natural. And why not do that?"
"Look, you were telling me last night about what's going to happen if she wins out. I may not be much of a historian myself, but I am willing to take your word for it and, actually, it makes sense-even to a nonhistorian. The Empire will shatter and its shards will be fighting each other for... for... indefinitely. She must be stopped."
"I agree," said Dors. "She must be. What I fail to see is how we can manage to do that little thing right at this moment." She looked at Seldon narrowly. "Hari, you didn't sleep last night, did you?"
"Did you?" It was apparent he had not.
Dors stared at him, a troubled look clouding her face. "Have you lain awake thinking of Galactic destruction because of what I said?"
"That and some other things. Is it possible to reach Chetter Hummin?"
This last was said in a whisper.
Dors said, "I tried to reach him when we first had to flee arrest in Dahl. He didn't come. I'm sure he received the message, but he didn't come. It may be that, for any of a number of reasons, he just couldn't come to us, but when he can he will."
"Do you suppose something has happened to him?"
"No," said Dors patiently. "I don't think so."
"How can you know?"
"The word would somehow get to me. I'm sure of it. And the word hasn't gotten to me."
Seldon frowned and said, "I'm not as confident as you are about all this. In fact, I'm not confident at all. Even if Hummin came, what can he do in this case? He can't fight all of Wye. If they have, as Rashelle claims, the best-organized army on Trantor, what will he be able to do against it?"
"There's no point in discussing that. Do you suppose you can convince Rashelle-bang it into her head somehow-that you don't have psychohistory?"
"I'm sure she's aware that I don't have it and that I'm not going to get it for many years-if at all. But she'll say I have psychohistory and if she does that skillfully enough, people will believe her and eventually they will act on what she says my predictions and pronouncements are-even if I don't say a word."
"Surely, that will take time. She won't build you up overnight. Or in a week. To do it properly, it might take her a year."
Seldon was pacing the length of the room, turning sharply on his heel and striding back. "That might be so, but I don't know. There would be pressure on her to do things quickly. She doesn't strike me as the kind of woman who has cultivated the habit of patience. And her old father, Mannix IV, would be even more impatient. He must feel the nearness of death and if he's worked for this all his life, he would much prefer to see it done a week before his death rather than a week after. Besides-"
Here he paused and looked around the empty room. "Besides what?"
"Well, we must have our freedom. You see, I've solved the psychohistory problem."
Dors's eyes widened. "You have it! You've worked it out."
"Not worked it out in the full sense. That might take decades... centuries, for all I know. But I now know it's practical, not just theoretical. I know it can be done so I must have the time, the peace, the facilities to work at it. The Empire must be held together till I-or possibly my successors-will learn how best to keep it so or how to minimize the disaster if it does split up despite us. It was the thought of having a beginning to my task and of not being able to work at it, that kept me up last night."
88.
It was their fifth day in Wye and in the morning Dors was helping Raych into a formal costume that neither was quite familiar with. Raych looked at himself dubiously in the holomirror and saw a reflected image that faced him with precision, imitating all his motions but without any inversion of left and right. Raych had never used a holomirror before and had been unable to keep from trying to feel it, then laughing, almost with embarrassment, when his hand passed through it while the image's hand poked ineffectually at his real body.
He said at last, "I look funny."
He studied his tunic, which was made of a very pliant material, with a thin filigreed belt, then passed his hands up a stiff collar that rose like a cup past his ears on either side.
"My head looks like a ball inside a bowl."
Dors said, "But this is the sort of thing rich children wear in Wye. Everyone who sees you will admire you and envy you."
"With my hair all stuck down?"
"Certainly. You'll wear this round little hat."
"It'll make my head more like a ball."
"Then don't let anyone kick it. Now, remember what I told you. Keep your wits about you and don't act like a kid."
"But I am a kid," he said, looking up at her with a wide-eyed innocent expression.
"I'm surprised to hear you say that," said Dors. "I'm sure you think of yourself as a twelve-year-old adult."
Raych grinned. "Okay. I'll be a good spy."
"That's not what I'm telling you to be. Don't take chances. Don't sneak behind doors to listen. If you get caught at it, you're no good to anyone-especially not to yourself."