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.

Seldon, uncertain as to what he ought to do, remained standing till she gestured-a bit impatiently-for him to sit on the cot. He did so.

Raindrop Forty-Three said softly, as though talking to herself, "If it is ever known that I have been here with a man-even if only a tribesman-I shall indeed be an outcast."

Seldon rose quickly. "Then let's not stay here."

"Sit down. I can't go out when I'm in this mood. You've been asking about religion. What are you after?"

It seemed to Seldon that she had changed completely. Gone was the passivity, the subservience. There was none of the shyness, the backwardness in the presence of a male. She was glaring at him through narrowed eyes.

"I told you. Knowledge. I'm a scholar. It is my profession and my desire to know, I want to understand people in particular, so I want to learn history. For many worlds, the ancient historical records-the truly ancient historical records-have decayed into myths and legends, often becoming part of a set of religious beliefs or of supernaturalism. But if Mycogen does not have a religion, then-"

"I said we have history."

Seldon said, "Twice you've said you have history. How old?"

"It goes back twenty thousand years."

"Truly? Let us speak frankly. Is it real history or is it something that has degenerated into legend?"

"It is real history, of course."

Seldon was on the point of asking how she could tell, but thought better of it. Was there really a chance that history might reach back twenty thousand years and be authentic? He was not a historian himself, so he would have to check with Dors.

But it seemed so likely to him that on every world the earliest histories were medleys of self-serving heroisms and minidramas that were meant as morality plays and were not to be taken literally. It was surely true of Helicon, yet you would find scarcely a Heliconian who would not swear by all the tales told and insist it was all true history. They would support, as such, even that perfectly ridiculous tale of the first exploration of Helicon and the encounters with large and dangerous flying reptiles-even though nothing like flying reptiles had been found to be native to any world explored and settled by human beings.

He said instead, "How does this history begin?"

There was a faraway look in the Sister's eyes, a look that did not focus on Seldon or on anything in the room. She said, "It begins with a world-our world. One world."

"One world?" (Seldon remembered that Hummin had spoken of legends of a single, original world of humanity.)

"One world. There were others later, but ours was the first. One world, with space, with open air, with room for everyone, with fertile fields, with friendly homes, with warm people. For thousands of years we lived there and then we had to leave and skulk in one place or another until some of us found a corner of Trantor where we learned to grow food that brought us a little freedom. And here in Mycogen, we now have our own ways-and our own dreams."

"And your histories give the full details concerning the original world? The one world?"

"Oh yes, it is all in a book and we all have it. Every one of us. We carry it at all times so that there is never a moment when any one of us cannot open it and read it and remember who we are and who we were and resolve that someday we will have our world back."

"Do you know where this world is and who lives on it now?"

Raindrop Forty-Three hesitated, then shook her head fiercely. "We do not, but someday we will find it."

"And you have this book in your possession now?"

"Of course."

"May I see that book?"

Now a slow smile crossed the face of the Sister. She said, "So that's what you want. I knew you wanted something when you asked to be guided through the microfarms by me alone." She seemed a little embarrassed. "I didn't think it was the Book."

"It is all I want," said Seldon earnestly. "I really did not have my mind on anything else. If you brought me here because you thought-"

She did not allow him to finish. "But here we are. Do you or don't you want the Book?"

"Are you offering to let me see it?"

"On one condition."

Seldon paused, weighing the possibility of serious trouble if he had overcome the Sister's inhibitions to a greater extent than he had ever intended. "What condition?" he said.

Raindrop Forty-Three's tongue emerged lightly and licked quickly at her lips. Then she said with a distinct tremor in her voice, "That you remove your skincap."

46.

Hari Seldon stared blankly at Raindrop Forty-Three. There was a perceptible moment in which he did not know what she was talking about. He had forgotten he was wearing a skincap.

Then he put his hand to his head and, for the first time, consciously felt the skincap he was wearing. It was smooth, but he felt the tiny resilience of the hair beneath. Not much. His hair, after all, was fine and without much body. He said, still feeling it, "Why?"

She said, "Because I want you to. Because that's the condition if you want to see the Book."

He said, "Well, if you really want me to." His hand probed for the edge, so that he could peel it off.

But she said, "No, let me do it. I'll do it." She was looking at him hungrily.

Seldon dropped his hands to his lap. "Go ahead, then."

The Sister rose quickly and sat down next to him on the cot. Slowly, carefully, she detached the skincap from his head just in front of his ear. Again she licked her lips and she was panting as she loosened the skincap about his forehead and turned it up. Then it came away and was gone and Seldon's hair, released, seemed to stir a bit in glad freedom.

He said, troubled, "Keeping my hair under the skincap has probably made my scalp sweat. If so, my hair will be rather damp."

He raised his hand, as though to check the matter, but she caught it and held it back. "I want to do that," she said. "Its part of the condition." Her fingers, slowly and hesitantly, touched his hair and then withdrew. She touched it again and, very gently, stroked it. "It's dry," she said. "It feels... good."

"Have you ever felt cephalic hair before?"

"Only on children sometimes. This... is different." She was stroking again.

"In what way?" Seldon, even amid his embarrassment, found it possible to be curious.

"I can't say. Its just... different."

After a while he said, "Have you had enough?"

"No. Don't rush me. Can you make it lie anyway you want it to?"

"Not really. It has a natural way of falling, but I need a comb for that and I don't have one with me."

"A comb?"

"An object with prongs... uh, like a fork... but the prongs are more numerous and somewhat softer."

"Can you use your fingers?" She was running hers through his hair.

He said, "After a fashion. It doesn't work very well."

"Its bristly behind."

"The hair is shorter there."

Raindrop Forty-Three seemed to recall something. "The eyebrows," she said. "Isn't that what they're called?" She stripped off the shields, then ran her fingers through the gentle arc of hair, against the grain. "That's nice," she said, then laughed in a high-pitched way that was almost like her younger sister's giggle. "They're cute."

Seldon said a little impatiently, "Is there anything else that's part of the condition?"

In the rather dim light, Raindrop Forty-Three looked as though she might be considering an affirmative, but said nothing. Instead, she suddenly withdrew her hands and lifted them to her nose. Seldon wondered what she might be smelling. "How odd," she said. "May I... may I do it again another time?"

Seldon said uneasily, "If you will let me have the Book long enough to study it, then perhaps."

Raindrop Forty-Three reached into her kirtle through a slit that Seldon had not noticed before and, from some hidden inner pocket, removed a book bound in some tough, flexible material. He took it, trying to control his excitement. While Seldon readjusted his skincap to cover his hair, Raindrop Forty-Three raised her hands to her nose again and then, gently and quickly, licked one finger.

47.

"Felt your hair?" said Dors Venabili. She looked at Seldon's hair as though she was of a mind to feel it herself.

Seldon moved away slightly. "Please don't. The woman made it seem like a perversion."

"I suppose it was-from her standpoint. Did you derive no pleasure from it yourself?"

"Pleasure? It gave me gooseflesh. When she finally stopped, I was able to breathe again. I kept thinking: What other conditions will she make?"

Dors laughed. "Were you afraid that she would force sex upon you? Or hopeful?"

"I assure you I didn't dare think. I just wanted the Book."

They were in their room now and Dors turned on her field distorter to make sure they would not be overheard.

The Mycogenian night was about to begin. Seldon had removed his skincap and kirtle and had bathed, paying particular attention to his hair, which he had foamed and rinsed twice. He was now sitting on his cot, wearing a light nightgown that had been hanging in the closet.

Dors said, eyes dancing, "Did she know you have hair on your chest?"

"I was hoping earnestly she wouldn't think of that."

"Poor Hari. It was all perfectly natural, you know. I would probably have had similar trouble if I was alone with a Brother. Worse, I'm sure, since he would believe-Mycogenian society being what it is-that as a woman I would be bound to obey his orders without delay or demur."

"No, Dors. You may think it was perfectly natural, but you didn't experience it. The poor woman was in a high state of sexual excitement. She engaged all her senses... smelled her fingers, licked them. If she could have heard hair grow, she would have listened avidly."

"But that's what I mean by 'natural.' Anything you make forbidden gains sexual attractiveness. Would you be particularly interested in women's breasts if you lived in a society in which they were displayed at all times?"

"I think I might."

"Wouldn't you be more interested if they were always hidden, as in most societies they are?- Listen, let me tell you something that happened to me. I was at a lake resort back home on Cinna... I presume you have resorts on Helicon, beaches, that sort of thing?"

"Of course," said Seldon, slightly annoyed. "What do you think Helicon is, a world of rocks and mountains, with only well water to drink?"

"No offense, Hari. I just want to make sure you'll get the point of the story. On our beaches at Cinna, we're pretty lighthearted about what we wear... or don't wear."

"Nude beaches?"

"Not actually, though I suppose if someone removed all of his or her clothing it wouldn't be much remarked on. The custom is to wear a decent minimum, but I must admit that what we consider decent leaves very little to the imagination."

Seldon said, "We have somewhat higher standards of decency on Helicon."

"Yes, I could tell that by your careful treatment of me, but to each its own. In any case, I was sitting at the small beach by the lake and a young man approached to whom I had spoken earlier in the day. He was a decent fellow I found nothing particularly wrong with. He sat on the arm of my chair and placed his right hand on my left thigh, which was bare, of course, in order to steady himself.

"After we had spoken for a minute and a half or so, he said, impishly. 'Here I am. You know me hardly at all and yet it seems perfectly natural to me that I place my hand on your thigh. What's more, it seems perfectly natural to you, since you don't seem to mind that it remains there.'

"It was only then that I actually noticed that his hand was on my thigh. Bare skin in public somehow loses some of its sexual quality. As I said, its the hiding from view that is crucial.

"And the young man felt this too, for he went on to say, 'Yet if I were to meet you under more formal conditions and you were wearing a gown, you wouldn't dream of letting me lift your gown and place my hand on your thigh on the precise spot it now occupies.'

"I laughed and we continued to talk of this and that. Of course, the young man, now that my attention had been called to the position of his hand, felt it no longer appropriate to keep it there and removed it.

"That night I dressed for dinner with more than usual care and appeared in clothing that was considerably more formal than was required or than other women in the dining room were wearing. I found the young man in question. He was sitting at one of the tables. I approached, greeted him, and said, 'Here I am in a gown, but under it my left thigh is bare. I give you permission. Just lift the gown and place your hand on my left thigh where you had it earlier.'

"He tried. I'll give him credit for that, but everyone was staring. I wouldn't have stopped him and I'm sure no one else would have stopped him either, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. It was no more public then than it had been earlier and the same people were present in both cases. It was clear that I had taken the initiative and that I had no objections, but he could not bring himself to violate the proprieties. The conditions, which had been hand-on-thigh in the afternoon, were not hand-on-thigh in the evening and that meant more than anything logic could say."

Seldon said, "I would have put my hand on your thigh."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

"Even though your standards of decency on the beach are higher than ours are?"

"Yes."

Dors sat down on her own cot, then lay down with her hands behind her head. "So that you're not particularly disturbed that I'm wearing a nightgown with very little underneath it."

"I'm not particularly shocked. As for being disturbed, that depends on the definition of the word. I'm certainly aware of how you're dressed."

"Well, if we're going to be cooped up here for a period of time, we'll have to learn to ignore such things."

"Or take advantage of them," said Seldon, grinning. "And I like your hair. After seeing you bald all day, I like your hair."

"Well, don't touch it. I haven't washed it yet." She half-closed her eyes. "It's interesting. You've detached the informal and formal level of respectability. What you're saying is that Helicon is more respectable at the informal level than Cinna is and less respectable at the formal level. Is that right?"

"Actually, I'm just talking about the young man who placed his hand on your thigh and myself. How representative we are as Cinnians and Heliconians, respectively, I can't say. I can easily imagine some perfectly proper individuals on both worlds-and some madcaps too."

"We're talking about social pressures. I'm not exactly a Galactic traveler, but I've had to involve myself in a great deal of social history. On the planet of Derowd, there was a time when premarital sex was absolutely free. Multiple sex was allowed for the unmarried and public sex was frowned upon only when traffic was blocked: And yet, after marriage, monogamy was absolute and unbroken. The theory was that by working off all one's fantasies first, one could settle down to the serious business of life."

"Did it work?"

"About three hundred years ago that stopped, but some of my colleagues say it stopped through external pressure from other worlds who were losing too much tourist business to Derowd. There is such a thing as overall Galactic social pressure too."

"Or perhaps economic pressure, in this case."

"Perhaps. And being at the University, by the way, I get a chance to study social pressures, even without being a Galactic traveler. I meet people from scores of places inside and outside of Trantor and one of the pet amusements in the social science departments is the comparison of social pressures.

"Here in Mycogen, for instance, I have the impression that sex is strictly controlled and is permitted under only the most stringent rules, all the more tightly enforced because it is never discussed. In the Streeling Sector, sex is never discussed either, but it isn't condemned. In the Jennat Sector, where I spent a week once doing research, sex is discussed endlessly, but only for the purpose of condemning it. I don't suppose there are any two sectors in Trantor-or any two worlds outside Trantor-in which attitudes toward sex are completely duplicated."

Seldon said, "You know what you make it sound like? It would appear-"

Dors said, "I'll tell you how it appears. All this talk of sex makes one thing clear to me. I'm simply not going to let you out of my sight anymore."

"What?"

"Twice I let you go, the first time through my own misjudgment and the second because you bullied me into it. Both times it was clearly a mistake. You know what happened to you the first time."

Seldon said indignantly, "Yes, but nothing happened to me the second time."

"You nearly got into a lot of trouble. Suppose you had been caught indulging in sexual escapades with a Sister?"

"It wasn't a sexual-"

"You yourself said she was in a high state of sexual excitement."

"But-"

"It was wrong. Please get it through your head, Hari. From now on, you go nowhere without me."

"Look," said Seldon freezingly, "my object was to find out about Mycogenian history and as a result of the so-called sexual escapade with a Sister, I have a book-the Book."

"The Book! True, there's the Book. Let's see it."

Seldon produced it and Dors thoughtfully hefted it.

She said, "It might not do us any good, Hari. This doesn't look as though it will fit any projector I've ever encountered. That means you'll have to get a Mycogenian projector and they'll want to know why you want it. They'll then find out you have this Book and they'll take it away from you."

Seldon smiled. "If your assumptions were correct, Dors, your conclusions would be inescapable, but it happens that this is not the kind of book you think it is. It's not meant to be projected. The material is printed on various pages and the pages are turned. Raindrop Forty-Three explained that much to me."

"A print-book!" It was hard to tell whether Dors was shocked or amused. "That's from the Stone Age."

"It's certainly pre-Empire," said Seldon, "but not entirely so. Have you ever seen a print-book?"

"Considering that I'm a historian? Of course, Hari."

"Ah, but like this one?"

He handed over the Book and Dors, smiling, opened it-then turned to another page-then flipped the pages. "Its blank," she said.

"It appears to be blank. The Mycogenians are stubbornly primitivistic, but not entirely so. They will keep to the essence of the primitive, but have no objection to using modern technology to modify it for convenience's sake. Who knows?"

"Maybe so, Hari, but I don't understand what you're saying."

"The pages aren't blank, they're covered with microprint. Here, give it back. If I press this little nubbin on the inner edge of the cover- Look!"

The page to which the book lay open was suddenly covered with lines of print that rolled slowly upward.

Seldon said, "You can adjust the rate of upward movement to match your reading speed by slightly twisting the nubbin one way or the other. When the lines of print reach their upward limit when you reach the bottom line, that is-they snap downward and turn off. You turn to the next page and continue."

"Where does the energy come from that does all this?"

"It has an enclosed microfusion battery that lasts the life of the book."

"Then when it runs down-"

"You discard the book, which you may be required to do even before it runs down, given wear and tear, and get another copy. You never replace the battery."

Dors took the Book a second time and looked at it from all sides. She said, "I must admit I never heard of a book like this."

"Nor I. The Galaxy, generally, has moved into visual technology so rapidly, it skipped over this possibility."

"This is visual."

"Yes, but not with the orthodox effects. This type of book has its advantages. It holds far more than an ordinary visual book does."

Dors said, "Where's the turn-on?-Ah, let me see if I can work it." She had opened to a page at random and set the lines of print marching upward. Then she said, "I'm afraid this won't do you any good, Hari. It's pre-Galactic. I don't mean the book. I mean the print... the language."

"Can you read it, Dors? As a historian-"

"As a historian, I'm used to dealing with archaic language-but within limits. This is far too ancient for me. I can make out a few words here and there, but not enough to be useful."

"Good," said Seldon. "If it's really ancient, it will be useful."

"Not if you can't read it."

"I can read it," said Seldon. "It's bilingual. You don't suppose that Raindrop Forty-Three can read the ancient script, do you?"

"If she's educated properly, why not?"

"Because I suspect that women in Mycogen are not educated past household duties. Some of the more learned men can read this, but everyone else would need a translation to Galactic." He pushed another nubbin. "And this supplies it."

The lines of print changed to Galactic Standard.

"Delightful," said Dors in admiration.

"We could learn from these Mycogenians, but we don't."

"We haven't known about it."

"I can't believe that. I know about it now. And you know about it. There must be outsiders coming into Mycogen now and then, for commercial or political reasons, or there wouldn't be skincaps so ready for use. So every once in a while someone must have caught a glimpse of this sort of print-book and seen how it works, but it's probably dismissed as something curious but not worth further study, simply because it's Mycogenian."

"But is it worth study?"

"Of course. Everything is. Or should be. Hummin would probably point to this lack of concern about these books as a sign of degeneration in the Empire." He lifted the Book and said with a gush of excitement, "But I am curious and I will read this and it may push me in the direction of psychohistory."

"I hope so," said Dors, "but if you take my advice, you'll sleep first and approach it fresh in the morning. You won't learn much if you nod over it."

Seldon hesitated, then said, "How maternal you are!"

"I'm watching over you."

"But I have a mother alive on Helicon. I would rather you were my friend."

"As for that, I have been your friend since first I met you." She smiled at him and Seldon hesitated as though he were not certain as to the appropriate rejoinder.

Finally he said, "Then I'll take your advice-as a friend-and sleep before reading."

He made as though to put the Book on a small table between the two cots, hesitated, turned, and put it under his pillow.

Dors Venabili laughed softly. "I think you're afraid I will wake during the night and read parts of the Book before you have a chance to. Is that it?"

"Well," said Seldon, trying not to look ashamed, "that may be it. Even friendship only goes so far and this is my book and it's my psychohistory."

"I agree," said Dors, "and I promise you that we won't quarrel over that. By the way, you were about to say something earlier when I interrupted you. Remember?"

Seldon thought briefly. "No."

In the dark, he thought only of the Book. He gave no thought to the hand-on-thigh story. In fact, he had already quite forgotten it, consciously at least.

48.

Venabili woke up and could tell by her timeband that the night period was only half over. Not hearing Hari's snore, she could tell that his cot was empty. If he had not left the apartment, then he was in the bathroom. She tapped lightly on the door and said softly, "Hari?"

He said, "Come in," in an abstracted way and she did. The toilet lid was down and Seldon, seated upon it, held the Book open on his lap. He said, quite unnecessarily, "I'm reading."

"Yes, I see that. But why?"

"I couldn't sleep. I'm sorry."

"But why read in here?"

"If I had turned on the room light, I would have woken you up."

"Are you sure the Book can't be illuminated?"

"Pretty sure. When Raindrop Forty-Three described its workings, she never mentioned illumination. Besides, I suppose that would use up so much energy that the battery wouldn't last the life of the Book." He sounded dissatisfied.

Dors said, "You can step out, then. I want to use this place, as long as I'm here."

When she emerged, she found him sitting cross-legged on his cot, still reading, with the room well lighted.

She said, "You don't look happy. Does the Book disappoint you?"

He looked up at her, blinking. "Yes, it does. I've sampled it here and there. It's all I've had time to do. The thing is a virtual encyclopedia and the index is almost entirely a listing of people and places that are of little use for my purposes. It has nothing to do with the Galactic Empire or the pre-Imperial Kingdoms either. It deals almost entirely with a single world and, as nearly as I can make out from what I have read, it is an endless dissertation on internal politics."

"Perhaps you underestimate its age. It may deal with a period when there was indeed only one world... one inhabited world."

"Yes, I know," said Seldon a little impatiently. "That's actually what I want-provided I can be sure its history, not legend. I wonder. I don't want to believe it just because I want to believe it."

Dors said, "Well, this matter of a single-world origin is much in the air these days. Human beings are a single species spread all over the Galaxy, so they must have originated somewhere. At least that's the popular view at present. You can't have independent origins producing the same species on different worlds."

"But I've never seen the inevitability of that argument," said Seldon. "If human beings arose on a number of worlds as a number of different species, why couldn't they have interbred into some single intermediate species?"

"Because species can't interbreed. That's what makes them species."

Seldon thought about it a moment, then dismissed it with a shrug. "Well, I'll leave it to the biologists."

"They're precisely the ones who are keenest on the Earth hypothesis."

"Earth? Is that what they call the supposed world of origin?"

"That's a popular name for it, though there's no way of telling what it was called, assuming there was one. And no one has any clue to what its location might be."

"Earth!" said Seldon, curling his lips. "It sounds like a belch to me. In any case, if the book deals with the original world, I didn't come across it. How do you spell the word?"

She told him and he checked the Book quickly. "There you are. The name is not listed in the index, either by that spelling or any reasonable alternative."

"Really?"

"And they do mention other worlds in passing. Names aren't given and there seems no interest in those other worlds except insofar as they directly impinge on the local world they speak of... at least as far as I can see from what I've read. In one place, they talked about 'The Fifty.' I don't know what they meant. Fifty leaders? Fifty cities? It seemed to me to be fifty worlds."

"Did they give a name to their own world, this world that seems to preoccupy them entirely?" asked Dors. "If they don't call it Earth, what do they call it?"

"As you'd expect, they call it 'the world' or 'the planet.' Sometimes they call it 'the Oldest' or 'the World of the Dawn,' which has a poetic significance, I presume, that isn't clear to me. I suppose one ought to read the Book entirely through and some matters will then grow to make more sense." He looked down at the Book in his hand with some distaste. "It would take a very long time, though, and I'm not sure that I'd end up any the wiser."

Dors sighed. "I'm sorry, Hari. You sound so disappointed."

"That's because I am disappointed. It's my fault, though. I should not have allowed myself to expect too much.-At one point, come to think of it, they referred to their world as 'Aurora.' "

"Aurora?" said Dors, lifting her eyebrows.

"It sounds like a proper name. It doesn't make any sense otherwise, as far as I can see. Does it mean anything to you, Dors?"

"Aurora." Dors thought about it with a slight frown on her face. "I can't say I've ever heard of a planet with that name in the course of the history of the Galactic Empire or during the period of its growth, for that matter, but I won't pretend to know the name of every one of the twenty-five million worlds. We could look it up in the University library-if we ever get back to Streeling. There's no use trying to find a library here in Mycogen. Somehow I have a feeling that all their knowledge is in the Book. If anything isn't there, they aren't interested."

Seldon yawned and said, "I think you're right. In any case, there's no use reading any more and I doubt that I can keep my eyes open any longer. Is it all right if I put out the light?"

"I would welcome it, Hari. And let's sleep a little later in the morning."

Then, in the dark, Seldon said softly, "Of course, some of what they say is ridiculous. For instance, they refer to a life expectancy on their world of between three and four centuries."

"Centuries?"

"Yes, they count their ages by decades rather than by years. It gives you a queer feeling, because so much of what they say is perfectly matter-of-fact that when they come out with something that odd, you almost find yourself trapped into believing it."

"If you feel yourself beginning to believe that, then you should realize that many legends of primitive origins assume extended life spans for early leaders. If they're pictured as unbelievably heroic, you see, it seems natural that they have life spans to suit."

"Is that so?" said Seldon, yawning again.

"It is. And the cure for advanced gullibility is to go to sleep and consider matters again the next day."

And Seldon, pausing only long enough to think that an extended life span might well be a simple necessity for anyone trying to understand a Galaxy of people, slept.

49.

The next morning, feeling relaxed and refreshed and eager to begin his study of the Book again, Hari asked Dors, "How old would you say the Raindrop sisters are?"

"I don't know. Twenty... twenty-two?"

"Well, suppose they do live three or four centuries."

"Hari. That's ridiculous."

"I'm saying suppose. In mathematics, we say 'suppose' all the time and see if we can end up with something patently untrue or self-contradictory. An extended life span would almost surely mean an extended period of development. They might seem in their early twenties and actually be in their sixties."

"You can try asking them how old they are."

"We can assume they'd lie."

"Look up their birth certificates."

Seldon smiled wryly. "I'll bet you anything you like-a roll in the hay, if you're willing-that they'll claim they don't keep records or that, if they do, they will insist those records are closed to tribespeople."

"No bet," said Dors. "And if that's true, then it's useless trying to suppose anything about their age."

"Oh no. Think of it this way. If the Mycogenians are living extended life spans that are four or five times that of ordinary human beings, they can't very well give birth to very many children without expanding their population tremendously. You remember that Sunmaster said something about not having the population expand and bit off his remarks angrily at that time."

Dors said, "What are you getting at?"

"When I was with Raindrop Forty-Three, I saw no children."

"On the microfarms?"

"Yes."

"Did you expect children there? I was with Raindrop Forty-Five in the shops and on the residential levels and I assure you I saw a number of children of all ages, including infants. Quite a few of them."

"Ah." Seldon looked chagrined. "Then that would mean they can't be enjoying extended life spans."

Dors said, "By your line of argument, I should say definitely not. Did you really think they did?"

"No, not really. But then you can't close your mind either and make assumptions without testing them one way or another."

"You can waste a lot of time that way too, if you stop to chew away at things that are ridiculous on the face of it."

"Some things that seem ridiculous on the face of it aren't. That's all. Which reminds me. You're the historian. In your work, have you ever come across objects or phenomena called 'robots'?"

"Ah! Now you're switching to another legend and a very popular one. There are any number of worlds that imagine the existence of machines in human form in prehistoric times. These are called 'robots.'

"The tales of robots probably originate from one master legend, for the general theme is the same. Robots were devised, then grew in numbers and abilities to the status of the almost superhuman. They threatened humanity and were destroyed. In every case, the destruction took place before the actual reliable historic records available to us today existed. The usual feeling is that the story is a symbolic picture of the risks and dangers of exploring the Galaxy, when human beings expanded outward from the world or worlds that were their original homes. There must always have been the fear of encountering other-and superior-intelligences."

"Perhaps they did at least once and that gave rise to the legend."

"Except that on no human-occupied world has there been any record or trace of any prehuman or nonhuman intelligence."

"But why 'robots'? Does the word have meaning?"

"Not that I know of, but it's the equivalent of the familiar 'automata.' "

"Automata! Well, why don't they say so?"

"Because people do use archaic terms for flavor when they tell an ancient legend. Why do you ask all this, by the way?"

"Because in this ancient Mycogenian book, they talk of robots. And very favorably, by the way.-Listen, Dors, aren't you going out with Raindrop Forty-Five again this afternoon?"

"Supposedly-if she shows up."

"Would you ask her some questions and try to get the answers out of her?"

"I can try. What are the questions?"

"I would like to find out, as tactfully as possible, if there is some structure in Mycogen that is particularly significant, that is tied in with the past, that has a sort of mythic value, that can-"

Dors interrupted, trying not to smile. "I think that what you are trying to ask is whether Mycogen has a temple."

And, inevitably, Seldon looked blank and said, "What's a temple?"

"Another archaic term of uncertain origin. It means all the things you asked about-significance, past, myth. Very well, I'll ask. It's the sort of thing, however, that they might find difficult to speak of. To tribespeople, certainly."

"Nevertheless, do try."

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