Foundation And Chaos (2 page)

Tolk floated a few centimeters above the floor. Lodovik uncurled and grabbed for an arm of
the couch he had occupied just a few moments before. “We're out of hyperspace, ” he said.

“No question, ” Tolk said. “But in the name of procreation, where?”

Lodovik knew in an instant what the captain could not. They were being flooded with an
interstellar tidal wave of neutrinos. He had never, in his centuries of existence,
experienced such an onslaught. To the intricate and super sensitive pathways of his
positronic brain, the neutrinos felt like a thin cloud of buzzing insects; yet they passed
through the ship and its human crew like so many bits of nothing. A single neutrino, the
most elusive of particles, could slip through a light-year of solid lead without being
blocked. Very rarely indeed did they react with matter. Within the heart of the Kale's
supernova, however, immense quantities of matter had been compressed into neutronium,
producing a neutrino for every proton, more than enough to blow away the outer shells just
a year before.

“We're in the shock front, ” Lodovik said.

“How do you know?” Tolk asked.

“Neutrino flux. ”

“How-” The captain's skin grayed, its ashen sheen growing even more prominent. “You're
assuming, of course. It's a logical assumption. ”

Lodovik nodded, though he assumed nothing. The captain and crew would be dead within an
hour.

Even this far from Kale's star, the expanding sphere of neutrinos would be strong enough
to transmute a few thousandths of a percent of the atoms within the ship and their bodies.
Neutrons would be converted to protons in sufficient numbers to subtly alter organic
chemistries, causing poisons to build, nervous signals to meet untimely dead ends.

There were no effective shields against neutrino flux.

“Captain, this is no time for deception, ” Lodovik said. “I'm not hazarding a guess. I'm
not human; I can feel the effects directly. ”

The captain stared at him, uncomprehending.

“I am a robot, Captain. I will survive for a time, but that is no blessing. I am deeply
programmed to try to protect humans from harm, but there is nothing I can do to assist
you. Every human on this ship is going to die. ”

Tolk grimaced and shook his head, as if he could not believe his ears. “We're going crazy,
all of us, ” he said.

“Not yet, ” Lodovik said. “Captain, please accompany me to the bridge. We may yet be able
to save something. ”

Linge Chen might have been the most powerful man in the Galaxy, in appearance as well as
fact, if he had merely willed it. Instead, he settled for something a mere shade less, and
wore a far more comfortable rank and uniform-that of the Chief

Commissioner of the Commission of Public Safety.

The ancient and aristocratic Chens had survived through thousands of years to produce
Linge by exercising caution, diplomacy, and by being useful to many Emperors. Chen had no
wish to supplant the present Emperor or any of his myriad ministers, councilors, and
“advisors, ” or to be any more of a target for young hotheads than he needed to be. His
present visibility was already too high for his taste, but at least he was a target more
of derision than of hatred.

He had spent the last of these early-morning hours looking over reports from the governors
of seven troubled star systems. Three had declared war on their neighbors, ignoring
threats of Imperial intervention, and Chen had used the Emperor's seal to move a dozen
vessels into those systems as safeguard. Fully a thousand other systems were showing
severe unrest, yet with recent breakdowns and degradations, the Imperial communications
systems could only handle about a tenth of the information sent from the twenty-five
million worlds supposedly under their authority.

The total flux of information, sent in real time and unprocessed by experts on Trantor's
companion worlds and space stations, would have increased Trantor's temperature by tens of
degrees. It was because of their considerable skill and intuition borne of thousands of
years of experience that the Palace-that is, Chen and his fellow Commissioners-could keep
a kind of balance with just the minimal, boiled-down stock from the vast Galactic stew.

He now allowed himself a few minutes of personal exploration, essential to his sanity. But
even that was far from frivolous amusement. It was with an expression of curious intrigue
that he sat before his informer and asked about “Raven” Seldon. The informer, a hollow,
elongated ovoid arranged horizontally on his desk, gleamed its natural eggshell white for
an instant, then brought up all the various murmurings and documents from around Trantor
and key outlying worlds. A few

small filmbook articles appeared in the center of the display, a piece from an offworld
mathematical journal, an interview with the student newspaper at Seldon's sacrosanct
Streeling University, bulletins from the Imperial Library... Mentioning nothing about
psychohistory. The infamous Seldon was remarkably quiet this week, perhaps in anticipation
of his trial. None of his colleagues in the Project had had much to say, either. Just as
well.

Chen closed that search and leaned back in the chair, contemplating which crisis to
respond to next. He had thousands of problems to deal with daily, most of which he fed to
his selected councilors and their assistants, but he was taking a personal interest in the
response to a supernova explosion near four relatively loyal Imperial worlds, including
beautiful and productive Sarossa.

He had sent his most reliable and ingenious councilor to oversee what little rescuing
could be done at Sarossa. His brows furrowed at the thought of the inadequacy of this
response... And what political dangers the Commission, and Trantor, might face if nothing
at all could be accomplished. Empire after all was a matter of quid pro quo; if there was
no quo then there might as well be no quid.

Public Safety was more than just a political catchphrase; in this endless painful age of
decay, an aristocratic official such as Chen still had an important function. The public
image of the Commissioners seemed to be one of irresponsible luxury, but Chen took his
duties very seriously. He harked back to a better time, when the Empire could and did look
after its many children, the citizens of its far reaches, with established peacemaking,
policing, financial and technical aid, and rescue.

Chen felt a presence at his elbow and his hair stood on end. He turned with a sudden flash
of irritation (or was it fear?) to see his chief personal secretary, small and mild Kreen.
Kreen's usually pleasant face was almost bloodless and he did not seem to want to convey
his message.

“Sorry, ” Chen said. “You startled me. I was enjoying a relatively peaceful moment on this
infernal device. What is it, Kreen?”

“My apologies... for the grief we must all feel... I did not want this news to come to you
through your machine. ” Kreen was naturally suspicious of the informer, which could do so
many of his own functions so quickly and anonymously.

“Yes, damn it, what is it?”

“The Imperial survey ship Spear of Glory, Your Honor... ” Kreen swallowed. His people,
from the small southern hemisphere Lavrenti Sector, had worked as servants to the Imperial
courts for thousands of years. It was in his blood to feel his master's pain. Sometimes
Kreen seemed less a human being than a shadow... though a very useful shadow.

“Yes? What is it-blown to smithereens?”

Kreen's face crinkled with anticipated distress. “No! Your Honor... That is, we do not
know. It is a day overdue, and there are no communications, not even an emergency beacon. ”

Chen listened with a sinking heart and a twist in his stomach. Lodovik Trema...

And of course a fine captain and crew.

Chen opened and closed his mouth. He needed more information desperately, but of course
Kreen would have given him all that there was, so there was no more.

“And Sarossa?”

“The shock front is less than five days from Sarossa, Your Honor. ”

“I know that. Have any other ships been dispatched?”

“Yes, sire. Four much smaller ships have been deflected from the missions to save Kisk,
Purna, and Transdal. ”

“Sky, no!” Chen stood and fumed. “I wasn't consulted. They must not reduce those rescue
forces... they're at minimum already. ”

"Commissioner, the representative from Sarossa was received by the Emperor just two hours
ago... without our

knowledge. He convinced the Emperor and Farad Sinter that-"

“Sinter is a fool. Three worlds neglected for one, an Imperial favorite! He'll get his
Emperor killed someday. ” But then Chen calmed himself, closing his eyes, focusing inward,
drawing on six decades of special training to set his mind calmly and quickly to finding
the best path through this morass.

To lose Lodovik, ugly, faithful, and supremely resourceful Lodovik...

Let the opposing force pull you down, gather its energy for the spring back.

“Can you get me a summary or an actual recording of these meetings, Kreen?”

“Yes, sire. They will not yet be subject to review and interdiction by the court
historians. There is commonly a backlog of two days on these rewritings, sire. ”

“Good. When an inquiry is held, and questions asked, we will leak Sinter's words to the
public... I think the lowest and most popular journals will serve us best. Perhaps the
All-World Tongue, or the Big Ear. ”

Kreen smiled. “I myself am fond of The Emperor's Eyes. ”

“Even better. No authentication required... just more rumors among an uneducated and
unhappy population. ” He shook his head sadly. “Even if we bring down Sinter, it will be
small recompense for losing Lodovik. What chance he might survive?”

Kreen shrugged; that was well outside his limited expertise.

So few in the Imperial Sector understood the vagaries of hyperdrive and Jump science.
There was one, however. An old ship's captain turned trader and occasional smuggler, who
specialized in sending goods and passengers along the quickest and quietest routes... A
bright and unscrupulous rogue, some said, but a man who had been of service to Chen in the
past.

“Get me an immediate audience with Mors Planch. ”

“Yes, Your Honor. ”

Kreen bustled out of the room.

Linge Chen took a deep breath. His time at the display was over. He had to return to his
office and meet in person with Sector generals and planetary representatives from
Trantor's food allies for the rest of the day.

He would have much preferred focusing all his thoughts on the loss of Lodovik and how to
convert Sinter's foolishness to his own best interests, but not even such a tragedy, or
such an opportunity, could interfere with his present duties.

Ah, the glamour of power!

Privy Councilor Farad Sinter had overstepped his bounds so many times in the past three
years that the boy Emperor Klayus referred to him as “my pillar of prying ambition, ” a
typically ill-worded phrase that today, at least, carried no overtone of admiration or
affection.

Sinter stood before the Emperor, hands clasped in unconvincing submission. Klayus I,
barely seventeen years of age, regarded him with something less than anger and more than
irritation. In his all-too-recent childhood, he had been called down too many times in
private by his tutors, all selected and controlled by Commissioner Chen; he had become a
sometimes sly, underhanded young man, more intelligent than most gave him credit for,
though still subject to the occasional extreme outburst. Early on, he had learned one of
the major rules of leadership and statecraft in a competitive and hypocritical government:
He never let anyone know what he was really thinking.

“Sinter, why are you looking for young men and women in the Dahl Sector?” the Emperor
asked.

Sinter had taken pains for this effort to be concealed. Somebody was playing political
games, and that somebody would pay.

“Sire, I have heard of this search. I believe they are being sought as part of the genetic
reconciliation project. ”

“Yes, Sinter, a project you began five years ago. You think I'm too young to remember?”

“No, your Highness. ”

“I do have some influence in this Palace, Sinter. My word is not completely ignored!”

“Of course not, your Highness. ”

“Spare me the obsequious titles. Why are you hunting down children younger than I am, and
disrupting loyal families and neighborhoods?”

“It is essential to understand the limits of human evolution on Trantor, Your Highness. ”

Klayus lifted his hand. “My tutors tell me evolution is a long, slow process of genetic
accretions, Sinter. What do you expect to learn from a few invasions of privacy and
attempted kidnappings?”

“Pardon my even hoping to act as one of your tutors, Your Highness, but-”

“I hate being lectured to, ” Klayus said in a low growl that broke halfway through.

“But, if I may continue, with your permission, sire, humans have lived on Trantor for
twelve thousand years. We have already seen the development of populations with particular
physical and even mental characteristics-the stocky, dark people of Dahl, sire, or the
menials of Lavrenti. There is evidence, sire, that certain extraordinary traits have
occurred in certain individuals in the last century... Scientific evidence, as well as
hearsay, of-”

“Psychic powers, Sinter?” Klayus tittered behind spread fingers and lifted his eyes to the
ceiling. A few projected birds flew down and circled them, making as if to peck at Sinter.
The Emperor had rigged nearly all of his chambers to reveal his moods with such
projections, and Sinter did not like them in the least.

“Of a kind, Your Highness. ”

“Extraordinary persuasion. So I've heard. Perhaps the tumbling of dice in games of chance,
or the ability to render women susceptible to our charms? I'd like that very much, Sinter.
My assigned women are growing tired of my attentions. ” His expression grew peevish. “I
can tell. ”