“What do you mean?”

  “I mean, how can you be so sure that it won’t be Gaia that’s assimilated? Perhaps the culture of that future Foundation will be so strong, so diverse and open, that they will simply absorb your innovation, give Gaia citizenship papers, and then move on to even greater things.”

  Daneel stared at Hari. “I... find this hard to envision.”

  “It’s part of the pattern life has followed since it climbed from the ooze. The simple gets incorporated into the complex. For all of its power and glory, Gaia – and Galaxia – are simple beings. Perhaps their beauty and power will only be part of something larger. Something more diverse and grand than you ever imagined.”

  “I cannot encompass this. It sounds risky. There is no assurance...”

  Hari laughed.

  “Oh, my dear friend. Both of us have always been obsessed with predictability. But sometimes you just have to understand – the universe isn’t ours to control.”

  Though his body felt weak, Hari sat up higher in the flotation chair.

  “I’ll tell you what, Daneel. Let’s make a wager.”

  “A wager?”

  Hari nodded. “If you have your way, and Gaia assimilates everybody, eventually creating a vast unitary Galaxia, tell me this – will there be any more need for books?”

  “Of course not. By definition, all members of the collective will know, almost instantaneously, anything that is learned by the others. Books, in whatever form, are a technique for passing information between separate minds.”

  “Ah. And this assimilation should be complete, by say, six hundred years from now? Seven hundred, at the outside?”

  “It should be.”

  “On the other hand, suppose I am right. Imagine that my Foundation turns out to be stronger, wiser, and more robust than you, Wanda, or any of the robots expect. Perhaps it will defeat you, Daneel. They may decide to reject outside influence by robots, or human mentalics, or even all-wise cosmic minds.

  “Or else, maybe they will accept Galaxia as a marvelous gift, incorporate it in their culture, and move on. Either way, human diversity and individualism will continue in some form. And there will still be a need for books! Perhaps even an Encyclopedia Galactica.”

  “But I thought the Encyclopedia was just a ruse, to get the Foundation started on Terminus.”

  Hari waved a hand in front of him. “Never mind that. There will be encyclopedias, though perhaps not at first. But the question that now lies before us – the subject of our wager – is this.

  “Will there still be editions of the Encyclopedia Galactica published a thousand years from now?

  “If your Galaxia plan succeeds, in its pure and simple form, there will be no books or encyclopedias in one millennium’s time. But if I am right, Daneel, people will still be creating and publishing compendiums of knowledge. They may share countless insights and intimacies through mentalic powers, the way people now make holovision calls. Who knows? But they will also maintain a degree of individuality, and keep on communicating with each other in old-fashioned ways.

  “If I’m right, Daneel, the Encyclopedia will thrive... along with our children... and my first love. The Foundation.”

  Hari Seldon lapsed into silence, a quiet reflection that R. Daneel Olivaw respected.

  Soon, his granddaughter Wanda would come up this slope, a crumbling hill composed of rubble from past human civilizations, and collect him for the journey back to Trantor... and perhaps to a special reunion that he longed for.

  But for the remaining moment, Hari admired a vista stretching overhead – the galactic starscape imbued with his beloved mathematics. He stared up at the radiation-flecked sky, and greeted Chaos, his old enemy.

  I know you at last, he thought.

  You are the tiger, who used to hunt us. You are winter’s cold. You are famine’s bitter hunger... the surprise betrayal... or the illness that struck without warning, leaving us crying out, Why?

  You are every challenge humanity faced, and eventually overcame, as we grew just a little mightier and wiser with each triumph. You are the test of our confidence... our ability to persist and prevail.

  I was justified in fighting you... and yet, without your opposition, humanity would be nothing, and there could never be a victory.

  Chaos, he now realized, was the underlying substance out of which his equations evolved. As well as life itself.

  Anyway, it would be pointless to resent it now. Soon, his molecules would join Chaos in its everlasting dance.

  But up there, amid the stars, his lifelong dream still lived.

  We will know. We will understand and grow beyond all limits that imprison us.

  In time, we will be greater than we ever imagined possible.

  Epilogue

  12069 G. E.

  I AM HARI Seldon. Former First Minister to Emperor Cleon I. Professor Emeritus of Psychohistory at Streeling University on Trantor. Director of the Psychohistory Research Project. Executive Editor of the Encyclopedia Galactica. Creator of the Foundation.

  It all sounds quite impressive, I know. I have done a great deal in my eighty-one years and I am tired. Looking back over my life, I wonder if I could have – should have – done certain things differently. For instance: Was I so concerned with the grand sweep of psychohistory that the people and events that intersected my life sometimes seemed inconsequential by comparison?

  Perhaps I neglected to make some small incidental adjustments here or there that would have in no way compromised the future of humanity but might have dramatically improved the life of an individual dear to me. – Yugo, Raych... I can’t help but wonder... Was there something I could have done to save my beloved Dors?

  Last month I finished recording the Crisis holograms. My assistant, Gaal Dornick, has taken them to Terminus to oversee their installation in the Seldon Vault. He will make sure that the Vault is sealed and that the proper instructions are left for the eventual openings of the Vault, during the Crises.

  I’ll be dead by then, of course.

  What will they think, those future Foundationers, when they see me (or, more accurately, my hologram) during the First Crisis, almost fifty years from now? Will they comment on how old I look or how weak my voice is or how small I seem, bundled in this wheelchair? Will they understand – appreciate – the message I’ve left for them? – Ah well, there’s really no point in speculating. As the ancients would say: The die is cast.

  I heard from Gaal yesterday. All is going well on Terminus. Bor Alurin and the Project members are flourishing in “exile.” I shouldn’t gloat, but I can’t help but chuckle when I recall the self-satisfied look on the face of that pompous idiot Linge Chen when he banished the Project to Terminus two years ago. Although ultimately the exile was couched in terms of an Imperial Charter (“A state-supported scientific institution and part of the personal domain of His August Majesty, the Emperor” – the Chief Commissioner wanted us off Trantor and out of his hair, but he could not bear the thought of giving up complete control), it is still a source of secret delight to know that it was Las Zenow and I who chose Terminus as Foundation’s home.

  My one regret where Linge Chen is concerned is that we were not able to save Agis. That Emperor was a good man and a noble leader, even if he was Imperial in name only. His mistake was to believe in his title and the Commission of Public Safety would not tolerate the burgeoning Imperial independence.

  I often wonder what they did to Agis – was he exiled to some remote Outer World or assassinated like Cleon?

  The boy-child who sits on the throne today is the perfect puppet Emperor. He obeys every word Linge Chen whispers in his ear and fancies himself a budding statesman. The Palace and trappings of Imperial life are but toys to him in some vast fantastical game.

  What will I do now? With Gaal finally gone to join the Terminus group, I am utterly alone. I hear from Wanda occasionally. The work at Star’s End continues on course; in the past decade she and Stettin have added dozens of mentalics to their number. They increasingly grow in power. It was the Star’s End contingent – my secret Foundation – who pushed Linge Chen into sending the Encyclopedists to Terminus.

  I miss Wanda. It has been many years since I’ve seen her, sat with her quietly, holding her hand. When Wanda left, even though I had asked her to go, I thought I would die of heartbreak. That was, perhaps, the most difficult decision I ever had to make and, although I never told her, I almost decided against it. But for the Foundation to succeed, it was necessary for Wanda and Stettin to go to Star’s End. Psychohistory decreed it, – so perhaps it wasn’t really my decision, after all.

  I still come here every day, to my office in the Psychohistory Building. I remember when this structure was filled with people, day and night. Sometimes I feel as if it’s filled with voices, those of my long-departed family, students, colleagues – but the offices are empty and silent. The hallways echo with the whirr of my wheelchair motor.

  I suppose I should vacate the building, return it to the University to allocate to another department. But somehow it’s hard to let go of this place. There are so many memories...

  All I have now is this, my Prime Radiant. This is the means by which psychohistory can be computed, through which every equation in my Plan may be analyzed, all here in this amazing, small black cube. As I sit here, this deceptively simple-looking tool in the palm of my hand, I wish I could show it to R. Daneel Olivaw...

  But I am alone, and need only to close a contact for the office lights to dim. As I settle back in my wheelchair, the Prime Radiant activates, its equations spreading around me in three-dimensional splendor. To the untrained eye, this multicolored swirl would be merely a jumble of shapes and numbers, but for me – and Yugo, Wanda, Gaal – this is psychohistory, come to life.

  What I see before me, around me, is the future of humanity. Thirty thousand years of potential chaos, compressed into a single millennium...

  That patch, glowing more strongly day by day, is the Terminus equation. And there – skewed beyond repair – are the Trantor figures. But I can see... yes, softly beaming, a steady light of hope... Star’s End!

  This – this – was my life’s work. My past – humanity’s future. Foundation. So beautiful, so alive. And nothing can...

  Dors!

  SELDON, HARI –... FOUND DEAD, SLUMPED OVER HIS DESK IN HIS OFFICE AT STREELING UNIVERSITY IN 12,069 G. E. (1 F. E.). APPARENTLY SELDON HAD BEEN WORKING UP TO HIS LAST MOMENTS ON PSYCHOHISTORICAL EQUATIONS; HIS ACTIVATED PRIME RADIANT WAS DISCOVERED CLUTCHED IN HIS HAND....

  ACCORDING TO SELDON’S INSTRUCTIONS, THE INSTRUMENT WAS SHIPPED TO HIS COLLEAGUE GAAL DORNICK WHO HAD RECENTLY EMIGRATED TO TERMINUS....

  SELDON’S BODY WAS JETTISONED INTO SPACE, ALSO IN ACCORDANCE WITH INSTRUCTIONS HE’D LEFT. THE OFFICIAL MEMORIAL SERVICE ON TRANTOR WAS SIMPLE, THOUGH WELL ATTENDED. IT IS WORTH NOTING THAT SELDON’S OLD FRIEND FORMER FIRST MINISTER ETO DEMERZEL ATTENDED THE EVENT. DEMERZEL HAD NOT BEEN SEEN SINCE HIS MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE IMMEDIATELY FOLLOWING THE JORANUMITE CONSPIRACY DURING THE REIGN OF EMPEROR CLEON I. ATTEMPTS BY THE COMMISSION OF PUBLIC SAFETY TO LOCATE DEMERZEL IN THE DAYS FOLLOWING THE SELDON MEMORIAL PROVED TO BE UNSUCCESSFUL....

  WANDA SELDON, HARI SELDON’S GRANDDAUGHTER, DID NOT ATTEND THE CEREMONY. IT WAS RUMORED THAT SHE WAS GRIEF-STRICKEN AND HAD REFUSED ALL PUBLIC APPEARANCES. TO THIS DAY, HER WHEREABOUTS FROM THEN ON REMAIN UNKNOWN....

  IT HAS BEEN SAID THAT HARI SELDON LEFT THIS LIFE AS HE LIVED IT, FOR HE DIED WITH THE FUTURE HE CREATED UNFOLDING ALL AROUND HIM....

  – ENCYCLOPEDIA GALACTICA

  The Originist

  12067-12070 G. E.

  LEYEL FORSKA SAT before his lector display, reading through an array of recently published scholarly papers. A holograph of two pages of text hovered in the air before him. The display was rather larger than most people needed their pages to be, since Leyel’s eyes were no younger than the rest of him. When he came to the end he did not press the PAGE key to continue the article. Instead he pressed NEXT.

  The two pages he had been reading slid backward about a centimeter, joining a dozen previously discarded articles, all standing in the air over the lector. With a soft beep, a new pair of pages appeared in front of the old ones.

  Deet spoke up from where she sat eating breakfast. “You ‘re only giving the poor soul two pages before you consign him to the wastebin?”

  “I’m consigning him to oblivion,” Leyel answered cheerfully. “No, I’m consigning him to hell.”

  “What? Have you rediscovered religion in your old age?”

  “I’m creating one. It has no heaven, but it has a terrible everlasting hell for young scholars who think they can make their reputation by attacking my work.”

  “Ah, you have a theology,” said Deet. “Your work is holy writ, and to attack it is blasphemy.”

  “I welcome intelligent attacks. But this young tubeheaded professor from — yes, of course, Minus University —”

  “Old Minus U?”

  “He thinks he can refute me, destroy me, lay me in the dust, and all he has bothered to cite are studies published within the last thousand years.”

  “The principle of millennial depth is still widely used —”

  “The principle of millennial depth is the confession of modern scholars that they are not willing to spend as much effort on research as they do on academic politics. I shattered the principle of millennial depth thirty years ago. I proved that it was”

  “Stupid and outmoded. But my dearest darling sweetheart Leyel, you did it by spending part of the immeasurably vast Forska fortune to search for inaccessible and forgotten archives in every section of the Empire.”

  “Neglected and decaying. I had to reconstruct half of them.”

  “It would take a thousand universities’ library budgets to match what you spent on research for ‘Human Origin on the Null Planet.’”

  “But once I spent the money, all those archives were open. They have been open for three decades. The serious scholars all use them, since millennial depth yields nothing but predigested, pre-excreted muck. They search among the turds of rats who have devoured elephants, hoping to find ivory.”

  “So colorful an image. My breakfast tastes much better now.. “She slid her tray into the cleaning slot and glared at him. “Why are you so snappish? You used to read me sections from their silly little papers and we’d laugh. Lately you’re just nasty.”

  Leyel sighed. “Maybe it’s because I once dreamed of changing the galaxy, and every day’s mail brings more evidence that the galaxy refuses to change.”

  “Nonsense. Hari Seldon has promised that the Empire will fall any day now.”

  There. She had said Hari’s name. Even though she had too much tact to speak openly of what bothered him, she was hinting that Leyel’s bad humor was because he was still waiting for Hari Seldon’s answer. Maybe so — Leyel wouldn’t deny it. It was annoying that it had taken Hari so long to respond. Leyel had expected a call the day Hari got his application. At least within the week. But he wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of admitting that the waiting bothered him. “The Empire will be killed by its own refusal to change. I rest my case.”

  “Well, I hope you have a wonderful morning, growling and grumbling about the stupidity of everyone in origin studies — except your esteemed self.”

  “Why are you teasing me about my vanity today? I’ve always been vain.”

  “I consider it one of your most endearing traits.”

  “At least I make an effort to live up to my own opinion of myself.”

  “That’s nothing. You even live up to my opinion of you.” She kissed the bald spot on the top of his head as she breezed by, heading for the bathroom.

  Leyel turned his attention to the new essay at the front of the lector display. It was a name he didn’t recognize. Fully prepared to find pretentious writing and puerile thought, he was surprised to find himself becoming quite absorbed. This woman had been following a trail of primate studies — a field so long neglected that there simply were no papers within the range of millennial depth. Already he knew she was his kind of scholar. She even mentioned the fact that she was using archives opened by the Forska Research Foundation. Leyel was not above being pleased at this tacit expression of gratitude.

  It seemed that the woman — a Dr. Thoren Magolissian — had been following Leyel’s lead, searching for the principles of human origin rather than wasting time on the irrelevant search for one particular planet. She had uncovered a trove of primate research from three millennia ago, which was based on chimpanzee and gorilla studies dating back to seven thousand years ago. The earliest of these had referred to original research so old it may have been conducted before the founding of the Empire — but those most ancient reports had not yet been located. They probably didn’t exist any more. Texts abandoned for more than five thousand years were very hard to restore; texts older than eight thousand years were simply unreadable. It was tragic, how many texts had been “stored” by librarians who never checked them, never refreshed or recopied them. Presiding over vast archives that had lost every scrap of readable information. All neatly catalogued, of course, so you knew exactly what it was that humanity had lost forever.

  Never mind.

  Magolissian’s article. What startled Leyel was her conclusion that primitive language capability seemed to be inherent in the primate mind. Even in primates incapable of speech, other symbols could easily be learned — at least for simple nouns and verbs — and the nonhuman primates could come up with sentences and ideas that had never been spoken to them. This meant that mere production of language, per se, was prehuman, or at least not the determining factor of humanness.

  It was a dazzling thought. It meant that the difference between humans and nonhumans — the real origin of humans in recognizably human form — was post-linguistic. Of course this came as a direct contradiction of one of Leyel’s own assertions in an early paper — he had said that “since language is what separates human from beast, historical linguistics may provide the key to human origins” — but this was the sort of contradiction he welcomed. He wished he could shout at the other fellow, make him look at Magolissian’s article. See? This is how to do it! Challenge my assumption, not my conclusion, and do it with new evidence instead of trying to twist the old stuff. Cast a light in the darkness, don’t just chum up the same old sediment at the bottom of the river.