Foundation's Fear Read Online Free Page B

horrendous news palls. A sobering thought; would the same happen to the naïve Hari Seldon?
    Cleon had some way of dealing with disaster, though, for after a few moments he waved and thescenes vanished. The vault filled with cheerful music and the lighting rose. Attendants scampered out with bowls and trays of appetizers. A man at Hari’s elbow offered him a stim. Hari waved it away. The sudden shift in mood was heady enough. Apparently it was commonplace, though, for the Imperial Court.
    Hari had felt something tickling at the back of his mind for several minutes now, and the quiet moments had given him a chance to finally pay attention to it. As Cleon accepted a stim, he said hesitantly, “Sire, I—?”
    “Yes? Have one, ah?”
    “Nossir, I, I had a thought about the Renegatum and the Kutonin woman.”
    “Oh, my, I’d rather not think about—”
    “Suppose you erase her identity.”
    Cleon’s hand stopped with a stim halfway to his nose. “Ah?”
    “They are willing to die, once they’ve attracted attention. They probably think they will live on, be famous. Take that away from them. Permit no release of their true names. In all media and official documents, give them an insulting name.”
    Cleon frowned. “Another name…?”
    “Call this Kutonin woman Moron One. The next one, Moron Two. Make it illegal by Imperial decree to ever refer to her any other way. Then she as a person vanishes from history. No fame.”
    Cleon brightened. “Now, that’s an idea. I’ll try it. I not merely take their lives, I can take their selves. ”
    Hari smiled wanly as Cleon spoke to an adjutant, giving instructions for a fresh Imperial Decree. Hari hoped it would work, but in any case, it had gotten him off the hook. Cleon did not seem to notice that the idea had nothing to do with psychohistory.
    Pleased, he tried an appetizer. They were startlingly good.
    Cleon beckoned to him. “Come, First Minister, I have some people for you to meet. They might prove useful, even to a mathist.”
    “I am honored.” Dors had coached him on a few homilies to use when he could think of nothing to say and he trotted one out now. “Whatever would be useful in service to the people—”
    “Ah, yes, the people,” Cleon drawled. “I hear so much about them.”
    Hari realized that Cleon had spent a life listening to pat, predictable speeches. “Sorry, sire, I—”
    “It reminds me of a poll result, assembled by my Trantorian specialists.” Cleon took an appetizer from a woman half his size. “They asked, ‘To what do you attribute the ignorance and apathy of the Trantorian masses?’ and the most common reply was ‘Don’t know and don’t care.’ ”
    Only when Cleon laughed did Hari realize this was a joke.

3.
    He woke with ideas buzzing in his head.
    Hari had learned to lie still, facedown in the gossamer e-field net that cradled his neck and head in optimum alignment with his spine…to drift…and let the flitting notions collide, merge, fragment.
    He had learned this trick while working on his thesis. Overnight his subconscious did a lot of his work for him, if he would merely listen to the results in the morning. But they were delicate motes, best caught in the fine fabric of half-sleep.
    He sat up abruptly and made three quick notes on his end table. The squiggles would be sent to his primary computer, for later recall at the office.
    “Rooowwwrr,” Dors said, stretching. “The intellect is already up.”
    “Um,” he said, staring into space.
    “C’mon, before breakfast is body time.”
    “See if you disagree with this idea I just had. Suppose—”
    “I am not inclined, Academician Professor Seldon, to argue.”
    Hari came out of his trance. Dors threw back the covers and he admired her long, slim legs. She had been sculpted for strength and speed, but such qualities converged in an agreeable concert of surfaces, springy to the touch, yielding yet resisting. He felt himself jerked out of his mood and