Gornon spoke briefly in the harsh local dialect, and the headman grunted tones of acceptance. He bowed once to Gornon and again to Hari, then backed away.
“It wasn’t always like this,” the robot told Hari, as they continued walking. “Even ten thousand years after the planet was poisoned, a few million people still lived on Earth, farming patches of good land, living in modest cities. They had technology, a few universities, and some pride. Perhaps too much pride.”
“What do you mean?”
“Back when the Galactic Empire was first taking hold, bringing peace after a hundred centuries of war and disunion, nearly all planets avidly joined the new federation. But fanatical Earthlings thought it blasphemy for any other world to rule. Their Cult of the Ancients plotted war against the empire.”
“Ah, I recall you spoke of this before. One world against millions-but with horrid germs as allies.”
“Indeed, a biological weapon of unrivaled virulence, derived from disease organisms found right here on Earth. A contagion that made its victimswant to spread it further.”
Hari grimaced. Plague was a factor that could make psychohistorical projections frail…and even crumble. “Still, the plot was foiled.”
R. Gornon nodded. “One of Daneel’s agents resided here, charged with keeping an eye on the mother world. Fortuitously, that agent had a special device, able to enhance neural powers in certain types of humans. By good luck, he found a subject with the right characteristics-especially a strong moral compass-and gave that fellow some primitive but effective mentalic powers.”
“A human mentalic, so long ago? Then why-”
“That man successfully foiled the plot. Thus, indirectly, Daneel’s agent prevented catastrophe.”
Hari pondered.
“Was that the end of Earth civilization? Was the population removed to prevent more rebellion?”
“Not in the beginning. At first the empire offered compassion. There were even efforts taken to restore Earth’s fertility. But that soon proved expensive. Policies changed. Attitudes hardened. Within a century orders were given to evacuate. Only those Earthers hiding in the wilderness remained.”
Hari winced, recalling Jeni Cuicet, who strove so hard to avoid exile on Terminus.
The winds of destiny aren’t ours to control,he thought.
The starship Pride of Rhodia still lay where it had been parked a few days earlier, beyond the north side of the sarcophagus. Only now an encampment of shabby tents stood nearby, living quarters for the laborers. Some tribal folk could be seen gathered around a stewpot, cooking. A whiff made Hari’s nose wrinkle in disgust.
Not far away, he spotted a woman much stouter than any Earthling, dressed in torn garments that shimmered like the radioactive horizon. She paced, lifting a hand in front of her face, uttering some rapid statement, then raising the other hand, in turn. Hari recognized Sybyl, the scientist-philosopher from Ktlina, now evidently snared in a terminal stage of chaos rapture-the solipsism phase, in which the hapless victim becomes enthralled by his or her own uniqueness, severing all connection with the outside world.
Everything becomes relative,Hari mused.To a solipsist there is no such thing as objective reality. Only the subjective. A raging, self-righteous assertion of individual opinion against the entire cosmos.
R. Gornon Vlimt spoke in a hushed voice, so low that Hari barely made out the words.
“Thatwas what the Cult of the Ancients planned unleashing on the galaxy.”
Hari turned to stare at the robot.
“You mean the Chaos Syndrome?”
Gornon nodded. “The plotters developed an especially virulent form that could overwhelm every social damping mechanism Daneel Olivaw had developed for his new empire. Fortunately, that scheme was thwarted by heroic intervention. But weaker strains of the same disease had already become endemic in the galaxy, perhaps carried by the first starships.”
Hari shook his head. But it all made too much sense. He realized at once-chaoshad to be a contagious plague!
The first time it struck, they couldn’t have realized what hit them. All they knew was that, at the very zenith of their confident civilization, madness was abruptly spreading everywhere.
It was one thing for a renaissance to spoil a modern world like Ktlina, one of millions. But when it happened the first time, humanity had only spread to a few other planets. The pandemic must have affected every human being then alive.
All of a sudden nothing could be relied upon anymore. Anarchy ripped apart the great Technic Cosmopolity. By the time the riots ended and the dust cleared, Earth’s populace had fled underground, cowering in psychotic agoraphobia. Meanwhile, the Spacers turned away from sex, love, and every wholesome joy.
Hari turned to look back at the robot.
“Of course you realize what this means?”
R. Gornon nodded. “It is one of the last keys to a puzzle you’ve been trying to solve all your life. The reason why humanity can’t be allowed to govern itself, or permitted to strive unfettered toward its full potential. Whenever your race grows too ambitious, this illness surges out of dormancy, wrecking everything.”
They were now among the tents. Hari saw that other members of the Ktlina crew weren’t faring any better than Sybyl. One of the surviving soldiers stared blankly into space, while a native woman tried to spoon-feed him. Another sat cross-legged on the ground, enthusiastically explaining to a small crowd of infants, no more than two years old, why nano-transcendentalism was superior to neo-Ruellianism.
Hari sighed. Though he had been fighting chaos all his life, the insights provided by Gornon let him view it with fresh insight. Perhaps chaoswasn’t inherent to human nature after all. If it was caused by a disease, one important factor in his equations might change…
He sighed, dismissing the thought. Like the infectious agent responsible for brain fever, this disease had escaped detection and treatment by all of the galaxy’s medics and biologists for a thousand generations. It was futile to dream of finding a cure at this point, with the Imperium scheduled shortly to self-destruct.
Still, he wondered.
Mors Planch was on Ktlina, and several earlier chaos worlds. Yet he never succumbed. Could a clue lie in his immunity to mentalic suasion?
A small crowd gathered at the far end of the biggest tent. Someone was lecturing excitedly, using all sorts of technical terms. Hari thought it might be another addled Ktlinan, until he recognized the voice, and smiled.
Oh, it’s Horis. Good, then he’s all right.
Hari had worried about the little bureaucrat, left behind on Earth. Approaching, he saw that Antic’s audience included Biron Maserd and Mors Planch. One of the star pilots was a manacled prisoner, and the other a trusted friend, but both wore expressions of bemused interest. The nobleman smiled a greeting as Hari approached.
Planch made earnest eye contact, as if to say that their conversation must be continued soon.He claims to have something I want. Information so important to me that I’d bend the rules in his favor, and even risk damaging the second Foundation.
Hari felt curious…but that sensation was almost overwhelmed by another one. Expectation.
Tonight I must decide. R. Gornon won’t force me to step through time. The choice is entirely mine.
Horis noticed Hari at last.
“Ah, Professor Seldon. I’m so glad to see you. Please have a look at this.”
On a crude table lay several dozen small piles of material that ranged from dusty to moist and crumbly. In fact, they looked like mounds of dirt.
Of course. His profession is the study of soils. Naturally, that would be his anchor at a time like this. Something to cling to during all of these disturbances.