Foundation Fear (21 page)

He savored his work all the more, since he had less time for it.

Hari sat in his darkened office, absolutely still, watching the 3D numerics evolve like
luminous fogs in the air before him.

Empire scholars had known the root basics of psychohistory for millennia. In ancient
times, pedants had charted the twenty-six stable and meta-stable social systems. There
were plenty of devolved planets to study, fallen into barbarism -- like the Porcos and
their Raging Rituals, the Lizzies and their Gyno-Governs.

He watched the familiar patterns form, as his simulation stepped through centuries of
Galactic evolution. Some social systems proved stable only on small scales.

In the air hung the ranks of whole worlds, caught in stable Zones: Primitive Socialism;
Femo-Pastoralism; Macho Tribalism. These were the “strong attractors” of human sociology,
islands in the chaos sea.

Some societies labored through their meta-stability, then crashed: Theocracy,
Transcendentalism, Macho Feudalism. This latter appeared whenever people had metallurgy
and agriculture. Planets which had slid a long way down the curve would manifest it.

Imperial scholars had long justified the Empire, threaded by narrow wormholes and
lumbering hyperships, as the best human social structure. It had indeed proved stable and
benevolent.

Their reigning model, Benign Imperial Feudalism, accepted that humans were hierarchical.
As well, they were dynastically ambitious, liking the continuity of power and its pomp.
They were quite devoted to symbols of unity, of Imperial grandeur. Gossip about the great
was, for most people, the essence of history itself.

Imperial power was moderated by traditions of noble leadership, the assumed superiority of
those who rose to greatness. Beneath such impressive resplendence, as Cleon well knew, lay
the bedrock of an extremely honest, meritocratic civil service. Without that, corruption
would spread like a stain across the stars, corroding the splendor.

He watched the diagram -- a complex 3D web of surfaces, the landscape of social-space.

Slow-stepped, he could see individual event-waves washing through the sim. Each cell in
the grid got recomputed every clock cycle, readjusting every nearest-neighbor interaction
in 3D.

The working rules of thumb were not the true laws of physics, built up from fundamentals
like maxion mechanics, or even from the simple NewTown Laws. Rather, they were rough
algorithms that reduced intricate laws to trivial arithmetic. Society seen raw this way
was crude, not mysterious at all.

Then came chaos.

He was viewing the “policy-space,” with its family of variables: degree of polarity, or
power concentration; size of coalitions; conflict scale. In this simple model, learning
loops emerged. Starting from a plateau period of seeming stability but not stasis, the
system produced a Challenger Idea.

This threatened stability, which forced formation of coalitions to oppose the challenge.
Factions formed. Then they gelled. The coalitions could be primarily religious, political,
economic, technological, even military -- though this last was a particularly ineffective
method, the data showed. The system then veered into a chaotic realm, sometimes emerging
to new stability, sometimes decaying.

In the dynamic system there was a pressure created by the contrast between people's ideal
picture of the world and the reality. Too big a difference drove fresh forces for change.
Often the forces were apparently unconscious; people knew something was wrong, felt
restive, but could not fix on a clear cause.

So much for “rational actor” models, Hari thought. Yet some still clung to that obviously
dumb approximation.

Everyone thought the Empire was simple.

Not the bulk of the population, of course, dazzled by the mix of cultures and exotica
afforded by trade and communications from myriad worlds. They were perpetually distracted
-- an important damper on chaos.

Even to social theorists, though, the basic structure and interrelations seemed to be
predictable, with a moderate number of feedback loops, solid and traditional. Conventional
wisdom held that these could be easily separated out and treated.

Most important, there was central decision-making, or so most thought. The Emperor Knew
Best, right?

In reality, the Empire was a nested, ordered hierarchy: Imperial Feudalism. At the lower
bound were the Zones of the galaxy, sometimes only a dozen light-years across, up to a few
thousand light years diameter. Above that were Compacts of a few hundred nearby Zones. The
Compacts interlocked into the Galactic cross-linked system.

But the whole thing was sliding downhill. In the complex diagram, sparkling flickers came
and went. What were those?

Hari close-upped the flares. Zones of chaos, where predictability becomes impossible.
These fiery eruptions might be the clue to why the Empire was failing.

Hari felt in his soul that unpredictability was bad -- for humanity, for his mathematics.
But it was inescapable.

This was the secret the Emperor and others must never know. That until he could rule chaos
-- or at least peer into it -- psychohistory was a fraud.

He decided to look at a single case. Maybe that would be cleaner.

He selected Sark, the world which had found and developed the Voltaire and Joan sims. It
billed itself as the Home of the New Renaissance -- a common rhetorical posture, often
adopted. They seemed bright and creative as he reviewed the status-grids.

Hari yawned despite himself. Sure, Sark looked good for now. A booming economy. A leader
in styles and fashion.

But its profile classed it among the Chaos Worlds.

They rose for a while, seeming to defy the damping mechanisms that held planets in the
Imperial Equilibrium.

Then their social fabric dissolved. They plummeted back into one of the Stasis States:
Anarcho-Industrial for Sark, he would predict, from the data. No great fleets made this
happen. The Empire did not, despite impressions, rule by force. Social evolutions made the
Chaos Worlds falter and die. Usually, the Galaxy as a whole suffered few repercussions.

But lately, there had been more of them. And the Empire was visibly decaying. Productivity
was down, incoherence in the social-spaces on the rise.

Why?

He got up and went for a workout at the gymnasium. Enough of the mind! Let his body sweat
out the frustrations wrought by his intellect.

He did not want to go to the Grand Imperial Universities Colloquy, but the Imperial
Protocol Office leaned on him. “A First Ministerial candidate has obligations, ” the
officious woman had informed him.

So he and Dors dutifully appeared at the enormous Imperial Festival Hall. His Specials
wore discreet formal business suits, complete with the collar ruffles of mid-level
meritocrats.

“All the better to blend into the crowd, ” Dors joked. Hari saw that everyone sized up the
men in an instant and gingerly edged away. He would have been fooled.

They entered a high, double-arched corridor, lined with ancient statuary which invited the
passersby to lick them. Hari tried it, after carefully reading the glow-sign, which
reassured him there was no biological risk. A long, succulent lick gave him a faint, odd
flavor of oil and burnt apples, a hint of what the ancients found enticing.

“What's first on the agenda?” he asked his Protocol Officer.

“An audience with the Academic Potentate, ” she answered, adding pointedly, “Alone.”

Dors disagreed and Hari negotiated a compromise. Dors got to stand at the doorway, no
more. “I'll have appetizers served to you there, ” the Protocol Officer said testily.

Dors gave her an icy smile. “Why is this, ah, 'audience' so important?”

The Protocol Officer gave her a pitying look. “The Potentate carries much weight in the
High Council.”

Hari said soothingly, “And can throw a few votes my way.”

“A bit of polite talk, ” the Protocol Officer said.

“I shall promise to -- let me put this delicately -- smooch his buttocks. Or hers, as the
case may be.”

Dors smiled. “Better not be hers.”

“Intriguing, how the implications of the act switch with sex.”

The Protocol Officer coughed and ushered him deftly through snapping screen curtains, his
hair sizzling. Apparently even an Academic Potentate had need of personal security
measures.

Once within the formal staterooms, Hari found he was alone with a woman of considerable
age and artificial beauties. So that was why the Protocol Officer had coughed.

“How very nice of you to come. ” She stood motionless, one hand extended, limp at the
wrist. A waterfall effect spattered behind her, framing her body well.

He felt as if he were walking into a still-life museum display. He didn't know whether to
shake her hand or kiss it. He shook it, and her look made him think he had chosen wrong.

She wore a lot of embedded makeup, and from the way she leaned forward to make a point, he
gathered that her pale eyes got her a lot of things other people did not receive.

She had once been an original thinker, a nonlinear philosopher. Now meritocrats across the
spiral arms owed her fealty.

Before they had sat down, she gestured. “Oh, ¥. would you rune that wall haze?” The
waterfall effect had turned into a roiling, thick fog. “Somehow it gets wrong all the time
and the room doesn't adjust it.”

A way of establishing a hierarchy, Hari suspected. Get him used to doing little tasks at
her bidding. Or maybe she was like some other women, who if they couldn't get you to do
minor services felt insecure. Or maybe she was just inept and wanted her waterfall back.
Or maybe he just analyzed the hell out of everything, a mathist's pattern.

“I've heard remarkable things about your work, ” she said, shifting from High Figure Used
to Snappy Obedience to Gracious Lady Putting an Underling at Ease. He said something
noncommittal. A tiktok brought a stim which was barely liquid, drifting down his throat
and into his nostrils like a silken, sinister cloud.

“You believe yourself practical enough for the Ministership?”

“Nothing is more practical, more useful, than a sound theory.”

“Said like a true mathist. Speaking for all meritocrats, I do hope you are equal to the
task.”

He thought of telling her -- she did have a certain charm, after all -- that he didn't
give a damn for the Ministership. But some intuition held him back. She was another power
broker. He knew she had been vindictive in the past.

She gave him a shrewd smile. “I understand you have charmed the Emperor with a theory of
history.”

“At the moment it is little better than a description.”

“A sort of summary?”

“Breakthroughs for the brilliant, syntheses for the driven.”

“Surely you know there is an air of futility about such an ambition. ” A gleam of steel in
the pale eyes.

“I was ... unaware. Madam.”

“Science is simply an arbitrary construct. It perpetuates the discredited notion that
progress is always possible. Let alone desirable.”

“Oh?” He had plastered a polite smile on his face and was damned if he would let it slip.

“Only oppressive social orders emerge from such ideas. Science's purported objectivity
hides the plain fact that it is simply one 'language game' among others. All such
arbitrary configurations sit in a conceptual universe of competing discourses.”

“I see. ” The smile was getting heavier. His face felt like it would crack.

“To elevate scientific -- ” she sniffed disdainfully “ -- so-called 'truths' over other
constructions is tantamount to colonizing the intellectual landscape. To enslaving one's
opposition!”

“Ummm. ” He had a sinking feeling that he was not going to last long as a door mat.
“Before you even consider the subject, you claim to know the best way to study it?”

"Social theory and linguistic analysis have the final power, since all truths have quite
limited historical and cultural validity. Therefore, this 'psychohistory' . if all societies is absurd."

So she knew the term; word was spreading. “Perhaps you have insufficient regard for the
rough rub of the real.”

A slight thawing. “Clever phrasing, Academician. Still, the category 'real' is a social
construction.”

“Look, of course science is a social process. But scientific theories don't merely reflect
society.”

“How charming to still think so. ” A wan smile failed to conceal the icy gleam in her eyes.

“Theories are not mere changes of fashion, like shifting men's skirts from short to long.”

“Academician, you must know that there is nothing knowable beyond human discourses.”

He kept his voice level, courteous. Point out that she had used “know” in two
contradictory ways in the same sentence? No, that would be playing word games, which would
subtly support her views. “Sure, mountain climbers might argue and theorize about the best
route to the top -- ”

“Always in ways conditioned by their history and social structures -- ”

“ -- but once they get there, they know it. Nobody would say they 'constructed the
mountain. '”

She pursed her lips and had another foggy-white stim. “Ummm. Elementary realism. But all
of your 'facts' embody theory. Ways of seeing.”

“I can't help noticing that anthropologists, sociologists -- the whole gang -- get a
delicious rush of superiority by denying the objective reality of the hard sciences'
discoveries.”

She drew herself up. “There are no elemental truths that exist independent of the people,
languages, and cultures that make them.”

“You don't believe in objective reality, then?”

“Who's the object?”

He had to laugh. “Language play. So linguistic structures dictate how we see?”

“Isn't that obvious? We live in a galaxy rich in cultures, all seeing the Galaxy their
way.”

“But obeying laws. Plenty of research shows that thought and perception precede talk,
exist independent of language.”

“What laws?”

“Laws of social movement. A theory of social history -- if we had one.”

“You attempt the impossible. And if you wish to be First Minister, enjoying the support of
your fellow academics and meritocrats, you shall have to follow the prevailing view of our
society. Modern learning is animated by a frank incredulity toward such meta-narratives.”

He was sorely tempted to say, Then you are going to be surprised, but instead said, “We
shall see.”

“We don't see things as they are, ” the learned lady said, “we see them as we are.”

With a touch of sadness, he realized that the republic of intellectual inquiry was, like
the Empire, not free of internal decay.