Asimov, Isaac - Cleon the Emperor

VIP免费
2024-12-24 0 0 210.18KB 86 页 5.9玖币
侵权投诉
taken from the 116th Edition, published 1020 F.E. by the Encyclopedia
Galactica Publishing Co., Terminus, with the permission of the publishers.
1.
Mandell Gruber was a happy man. He seemed so to Hari Seldon,
certainly. Seldon stopped his morning constitutional to watch him. Gruber,
perhaps in his late forties, a few years younger than Seldon, was a bit
gnarled from his continuing work on the Imperial Palace grounds, but he
had a cheerful, smoothly shaven face, topped by a pink skull, not much of
which was hidden by his thin, sandy hair. He whistled softly to himself as
he inspected the leaves of the bushes for any signs of insect infestation
beyond the ordinary.
He was not the Chief Gardener, of course. The Chief Gardener of the
Imperial Palace Grounds was a high functionary who had a palatial office in
one of the buildings of the enormous Imperial complex, with an army of
men and women under him. The chances are he did not step out onto the
grounds oftener than once or twice a year.
Gruber was one of the army. His title, Seldon knew, was Gardener First-
Class, and it had been well-earned, with nearly thirty years of faithful
service.
Seldon called to him as he paused on the perfectly level crushed gravel
walk.
“Another marvelous day, Gruber.”
Gruber looked up and his eyes twinkled. “Yes, indeed, First Minister,
and it's sorry I am for those cooped-up indoors.”
“You mean as I am about to be.”
“There's not much about you, First Minister, for people to sorrow over,
but if you're disappearing into those buildings on a day like this, it's a bit of
sorrow that we fortunate few can feel for you.”
“I thank you for your sympathy, Gruber, but you know we have forty
billion Trantorians under the dome. Are you sorry for all of them?”
I am looking at it right now, am I not?
“I mean the plans spread out so you can really appreciate it all, and
marvelous it is, too. It was planned by Tapper Savand, over three hundred
years ago, and it has been little changed since. Tapper was a great
horticulturist, the greatest—and he came from my planet.”
“That was Anacreon, wasn't it?”
“Indeed. A far-off world near the edge of the galaxy, where there is still
wilderness and life can be sweet. I came here when I was still an ear-wet
lad, when the present Chief Gardener took power under the old Emperor.
Of course, now they're talking of re-designing the grounds.” Gruber sighed
deeply and shook his head. “That would be a mistake. They are just right
as they are now, properly proportioned, well-balanced, pleasing to the eye
and spirit. But it is true that in history, the grounds have occasionally been
re-designed. Emperors grow tired of the old, and are always seeking the
new, as if new is somehow always better. Our present Emperor, may he
live long, has been planning re-design with the Chief Gardener. At least
that is the word that runs from gardener to gardener.”
This last he added quickly, as if abashed at spreading Palace gossip.
“It might not happen soon.”
“I hope not, First Minister. Please, if you have the chance to take some
time from all the heart-stopping work you must be after doing, study the
design of the grounds. It is a rare beauty and, if I had my way, there should
not be a leaf moved out of place, nor a flower, nor a rabbit, anywhere in all
these hundreds of square kilometers.’
Seldon smiled. “You are a dedicated man, Gruber. I would not be
surprised if someday you were Chief Gardener.”
“May Fate protect me from that. The Chief Gardener breathes no fresh
air, sees no natural sights, and forgets all he has learned of nature. He
lives there,”
Gruber pointed, scornfully, “and I think he no longer knows a bush from
a stream unless one of his underlings leads him out and places his hand on
one or dips it into the other.”
gratitude.
Seldon was smiling as he passed on, but the smile faded as his mind
turned once more to his current problems. Ten years as First Minister—and
if Gruber knew how heartily sick Seldon was of his position, his sympathy
would rise to enormous heights. Could Gruber grasp the fact that Seldon's
progress in the techniques of Psychohistory showed promise of facing him
with an unbearable dilemma?
2.
Seldon's thoughtful stroll across the grounds was the epitome of peace.
It was hard to believe, here in the midst of the Emperor's immediate
domain, that he was on a world that except for this area was totally
enclosed by a dome. Here, in this spot, he might be on his home world of
Helicon, or Gruber's world of Anacreon.
Of course, the sense of peace was an illusion. The grounds were
guarded—thick with security.
Once, a thousand years ago, the Imperial Palace grounds, much less
palatial, much less differentiated from a world only beginning to construct
domes over individual regions, had been open to all citizens and the
Emperor himself could walk along the paths, unguarded, nodding his head
in greeting to his subjects.
No more. Now security was in place and no one from Trantor itself could
possibly invade the grounds. That did not remove the danger, however, for
that, when it came, came from discontented Imperial functionaries and from
corrupt and suborned soldiers. It was within the grounds that the Emperor
and his ministers were most in danger. What would have happened if on
that occasion, nearly ten years before, Seldon had not been accompanied
by Dors Venabili?
It had been in his first year as First Minister and it was only natural, he
supposed (after the fact), that there would be heart-burning over his
unexpected choice for the post. Many others, far better qualified in training,
in years of service, and, most of all, in their own eyes, could view the
she raced toward the sergeant.
“Give me that blaster, sergeant,” she said tightly.
The would-be assassin, momentarily immobilized by the unexpected
sight of a woman running toward him, now reacted quickly, raising the
drawn blaster. But she was already at him, her hand enclosing his right
wrist in a steely grip and lifting his arm high. “Drop it,” she said through
clenched teeth.
The sergeant's face twisted as he attempted to yank loose his arm.
“Don't try, sergeant,” said Venabili. “My knee is three inches from your
groin, and, if you so much as blink, your genital equipment will be history.
So just freeze. That's right. Okay, now open your hand. If you don't drop
the blaster right now I will break your arm.”
A gardener came running up with a rake. Venabili motioned him away.
The blaster dropped.
Seldon had arrived. “I'll take over, Dors.”
“You will not. Get in among those trees, and take the blaster with you.
Others may be involved, and ready.”
Venabili had not loosed her grip on the sergeant. She said, “Now,
sergeant, I want the name of whoever it was who persuaded you to make
an attempt on the First Minister's life, and the name of everyone else who is
in this with you.”
The sergeant was silent.
“Don't be foolish,” said Venabili. “Speak!” She twisted his arm and he
sunk to his knees. She put her shoe on his neck. “If you think silence
becomes you, I can crush your larynx and you will be silent forever. And
even before that I am going to damage you badly—I won't leave one bone
unbroken. You had better talk.”
The sergeant talked.
Later, Seldon had said to her, “How could you do that, Dors? I never
believed you capable of such, such ... violence.”
Venabili said coolly, “I did not actually hurt him much, Hari. The threat
was sufficient. In any case, your safety was paramount.”
if she could not stand the thought of the traitorous sergeant being put to
death even though he would have cut down her beloved Hari without a
second thought.
“But,” she exclaimed, “there is no need to execute the conspirators.
Exile will do the job.”
“No, it won't,” said Seldon. “It's too late. Cleon will hear of nothing but
executions. I can quote him, if you wish.”
“You mean he's already made up his mind?”
“At once. I told him that exile or imprisonment would be all that was
necessary, but he said, ‘No.’ He said, ‘Every time I try to solve a problem
by direct and forceful action, first Demerzel and then you talk of despotism
and tyranny. But this is my palace. These are my grounds. These are my
guards. My safety depends on the security of this place and the loyalty of
my people. Do you think that any deviation from absolute loyalty can be
met with anything but instant death? How else would you be safe? How
else would I be safe?’
“I said there would have to be a trial. ‘Of course,’ he said, ‘a short
military trial, and I don't expect a single vote for anything but execution. I
shall make that quite clear.'”
Venabili looked appalled. “You're taking this very quietly. Do you agree
with the Emperor?”
Reluctantly, Seldon nodded. “I do.”
“Because there was an attempt on your life. Have you abandoned
principle for revenge?”
“Now, Dors. I'm not a vengeful person. However, it was not myself alone
that was at risk, far less the Emperor—if there is anything that the recent
history of the Empire shows us, it is that Emperors come and go. It is
Psychohistory that must be protected. Undoubtedly, even if something
happens to me, Psychohistory will someday be developed, but the Empire
is falling fast, and we cannot wait, and only I have advanced far enough to
obtain the necessary techniques in time.”
“You should perhaps teach what you know to others, then?” said
Venabili gravely.
to detachments on the Outer Worlds.
Since then, there had been no whisper of disloyalty and so notorious
had become the care with which the First Minister was guarded, to say
nothing of the terrifying woman who watched over him, that it was no longer
necessary for Dors to accompany him everywhere. Her invisible presence
was an adequate shield, and the Emperor Cleon enjoyed nearly ten years
of quiet, and of absolute security.
Now, however, Psychohistory was finally reaching the point where
predictions of a sort could be made, and, as Seldon crossed the grounds in
his passage from his office (First Minister) to his laboratory
(Psychohistorian), he was uneasily aware of the likelihood that this era of
peace might be coming to an end.
3.
Yet even so, Hari Seldon could not repress the surge of satisfaction that
he felt as he entered his laboratory.
How things had changed.
It had begun eighteen years earlier with his own doodlings on his
second-rate Heliconian computer. It was then that the first hint of what was
to become para-chaotic math came to him in cloudy fashion.
Then there were the years at Streeling University when he and Yugo
Amaryl, working together, attempted to renormalize the equations, get rid of
the inconvenient infinities, and find a way around the worst of the chaotic
effects.
They made very little progress indeed.
But now, after ten years as First Minister, he had a whole floor of the
latest computers and a whole staff of people working on a large variety of
problems. Of necessity, none of his staff, except for Yugo and himself, of
course, could really know much more than the immediate problem they
were dealing with. Each of them worked with only a small ravine or
outcropping on the gigantic mountain range of Psychohistory that only
Seldon and Amaryl could see as a mountain range—and even they could
see it only dimly, its peaks hidden in clouds, its slopes in mist.
was, and yet Amaryl was not Dahlite at all. He lacked the mustache, he
lacked the accent, he lacked, it would seem, any Dahlite consciousness.
He had even been impervious to the lure of Jojo Joranum, who had
appealed so thoroughly to the people of Dahl. It was as though Amaryl
recognized no sectional patriotism, no planetary patriotism, not even
Imperial patriotism. He belonged, completely and entirely, to Psychohistory.
Seldon felt a twinge of insufficiency. He, himself, remained conscious of
his first three decades on Helicon and there was no way he could keep
from thinking of himself as a Heliconian. He wondered if that
consciousness was not sure to betray him by causing him to skew his
thinking about Psychohistory. Ideally, to use Psychohistory properly, one
should be above sectors and worlds and deal only with humanity in the
faceless abstract, and this was what Amaryl did.
And Seldon didn't, he admitted to himself, sighing silently.
Amaryl said, “We are making progress, Hari, I suppose.”
“You suppose, Yugo? Merely suppose?”
“I don't want to jump into outer space without a suit.” He said this quite
seriously (he did not have much of a sense of humor, Seldon knew) and
they moved into their private office. It was small, but it was also well-
shielded.
Amaryl sat down and crossed his legs. He said, “Your latest scheme for
getting around chaos may be working in part—at the cost of sharpness, of
course.”
“Of course. What we gain in the straightaway, we lose in the
roundabouts. That's the way the universe works. We've just got to fool it
somehow.”
“We've fooled it a little bit. It's like looking through frosted glass.”
“Better than the years we spent trying to look through lead.”
Amaryl muttered something to himself, then said, “We can catch
glimmers of light and dark.”
“Explain!”
“I can't, but I have the Prime Radiant, which I've been working on like
a—a—”
surface, as if suspended by invisible marionette strings.
Seldon said, “Wonderful. Some day, if we live long enough, we'll have
the Prime Radiant produce a river of mathematical symbolism that will chart
past and future history. In it we can find currents and rivulets and work out
ways of changing them in order to make them follow other currents and
rivulets that we would prefer.”
“Yes,” said Amaryl dryly, “if we can manage to live with the knowledge
that the actions we take, which we will mean for the best, may turn out to
be for the worst.”
“Believe me, Yugo, I never go to bed at night without that particular
thought gnawing at me. Still, we haven't come to it yet. All we have is this—
which, as you say, is no more than seeing light and dark fuzzily through
frosted glass.”
“True enough.”
“And what is it you think you see, Yugo?” Seldon watched Amaryl
closely, a little grimly. He was gaining weight, getting just a bit pudgy. He
spent too much time bent over the computers (and now over the Prime
Radiant), and not enough in physical activity. And, though he saw a woman
now and then, Seldon knew, he had never married. A mistake! Even a
workaholic is forced to take time off to satisfy a mate, to take care of the
needs of the children.
Seldon thought of his own still-trim figure and of the manner in which
Dors strove to make him keep it that way.
Amaryl said, “What do I see? The Empire is in trouble.”
“The Empire is always in trouble.”
“Yes, but it's more specific. There's a possibility that we may have
trouble at the center.”
“At Trantor?”
“I presume. Or at the Periphery. Either there will be a bad situation here,
perhaps civil war, or the outlying provinces will begin to break away.”
“Surely it doesn't take Psychohistory to point out these possibilities.”
Seldon pursed his lips, then said slowly, I can tell you which alternative
is preferable. Let the Periphery go and keep Trantor.”
“Really?”
“No question. We must keep Trantor stable if for no other reason than
that we're here.”
“Surely our own comfort isn't the decisive point.”
“No, but Psychohistory is. What good will it do us to keep the Periphery
intact, if conditions on Trantor force us to stop work on Psychohistory? I
don't say that we'll be killed, but we may be unable to work. The
development of Psychohistory is on what our fate will depend. As for the
Empire, if the Periphery secedes it will only begin a disintegration that may
take a long time to reach the core.”
“Even if you're right, Hari, what do we do to keep Trantor stable?”
“To begin with, we have to think about it.”
A silence fell between them, and then Seldon said, “Thinking doesn't
make me happy. What if the Empire is altogether on the wrong track, and
has been for all its history? I think of that every time I talk to Gruber.”
“Who's Gruber?”
“Mandell Gruber. A gardener.”
“Oh. The one who came running up with the rake to rescue you at the
time of the assassination attempt.”
“Yes. I've always been grateful to him for that. He had only a rake
against possibly other conspirators with blasters. That's loyalty. Anyhow,
talking to him is like a breath of cool wind. I can't spend all my time talking
to court officials and to Psychohistorians.”
“Thank you.”
“Come! You know what I mean. Gruber likes the open. He wants the
wind and the rain and the biting cold and everything else that raw weather
can bring to him. I miss it myself sometimes.”
“I don't. I wouldn't care if I never went out there.”
“You were brought up under the dome—but suppose the Empire
consisted of simple unindustrialized worlds, living by herding and farming,
with thin populations and empty spaces. Wouldn't we all be better off?”
摘要：

takenfromthe116thEdition,published1020F.E.bytheEncyclopediaGalacticaPublishingCo.,Terminus,withthepermissionofthepublishers.1.MandellGruberwasahappyman.HeseemedsotoHariSeldon,certainly.Seldonstoppedhismorningconstitutionaltowatchhim.Gruber,perhapsinhislateforties,afewyearsyoungerthanSeldon,wasabitgn...

展开>> 收起<<
Asimov, Isaac - Cleon the Emperor.pdf

共86页,预览18页

还剩页未读， 继续阅读

声明：本站为文档C2C交易模式，即用户上传的文档直接被用户下载，本站只是中间服务平台，本站所有文档下载所得的收益归上传人(含作者)所有。玖贝云文库仅提供信息存储空间，仅对用户上传内容的表现方式做保护处理，对上载内容本身不做任何修改或编辑。若文档所含内容侵犯了您的版权或隐私，请立即通知玖贝云文库，我们立即给予删除！

相关推荐

更多
立即下载
分类：外语学习 价格：5.9玖币 属性：86 页 大小：210.18KB 格式：PDF 时间：2024-12-24

开通VIP享超值会员特权

  • 多端同步记录
  • 高速下载文档
  • 免费文档工具
  • 分享文档赚钱
  • 每日登录抽奖
  • 优质衍生服务

作者详情

相关内容

更多

热门标签

人际关系 动力学连接体 力的合成 配电装置 高考理综 全宋诗作者索引 公务员考试
/ 86
评分 收藏
分享
立即下载 VIP免费下载
客服
关注