yet the following day found hari seldon back in the library. for one thing, there was his promise to hummin. he had promised to try and he couldnt very well make it a halfhearted process. for another, he owed something to himself too. he resented having to admit failure. not yet, at least. not while he could plausibly tell himself he was following up leads. so he stared at the list of reference book-films he had not yet checked through and tried to decide which of the unappetizing number had the slightest chance of being useful to him. he had about decided that the answer was "none of the above" and saw no way out but to look at samples of each when he was startled by a gentle tap against the alcove wall.

seldon looked up and found the embarrassed face of lisung randa peering at him around the edge of the alcove opening. seldon knew randa, had been introduced to him by dors, and had dined with him (and with others) on several occasions. randa, an instructor in psychology, was a little man, short and plump, with a round cheerful face and an almost perpetual smile. he had a sallow complexion and the narrowed eyes so characteristic of people on millions of worlds. seldon knew that appearance well, for there were many of the great mathematicians who had borne it, and he had frequently seen their holograms. yet on helicon he had never seen one of these easterners. (by tradition they were called that, though no one knew why; and the easterners themselves were said to resent the term to some degree, but again no one knew why.)

"theres millions of us here on trantor," randa had said, smiling with no trace of self-consciousness, when seldon, on first meeting him, had not been able to repress all trace of startled surprise. "youll also find lots of southerners--dark skins, tightly curled hair. did you ever see one?"

"not on helicon," muttered seldon.

"all westerners on helicon, eh? how dull! but it doesnt matter. takes all kinds." (he left seldon wondering at the fact that there were easterners, southerners, and westerners, but no northerners. he had tried finding an answer to why that might be in his reference searches and had not succeeded.) and now randas good-natured face was looking at him with an almost ludicrous look of concern. he said, "are you all right, seldon?"

seldon stared. "yes, of course. why shouldnt i be?"

"im just going by sounds, my friend. you were screaming."

"screaming?" seldon looked at him with offended disbelief.

"not loud. like this." randa gritted his teeth and emitted a strangled high-pitched sound from the back of his throat. "if im wrong, i apologize for this unwarranted intrusion on you. please forgive me."

seldon hung his head. "youre forgiven, lisung. i do make that sound sometimes, im told. i assure you its unconscious. im never aware of it."

"are you aware why you make it?"

"yes. frustration. frustration."

randa beckoned seldon closer and lowered his voice further. "were disturbing people. lets come out to the lounge before were thrown out."

in the lounge, over a pair of mild drinks, randa said, "may i ask you, as a matter of professional interest, why you are feeling frustration?"

seldon shrugged. "why does one usually feel frustration? im tackling something in which i am making no progress."

"but youre a mathematician, hari. why should anything in the history library frustrate you?"

"what were you doing here?"

"passing through as part of a shortcut to where i was going when i heard you ... moaning. now you see"--and he smiled--"its no longer a shortcut, but a serious delay--one that i welcome, however."

"i wish i were just passing through the history library, but im trying to solve a mathematical problem that requires some knowledge of history and im afraid im not handling it well."

randa stared at seldon with an unusually solemn expression on his face, then he said, "pardon me, but i must run the risk of offending you now. ive been computering you."

"computering me!" seldons eyes widened. he felt distinctly angry.

"i have offended you. but, you know, i had an uncle who was a mathematician. you might even have heard of him: kiangtow randa."

seldon drew in his breath. "are you a relative of that randa?"

"yes. he is my fathers older brother and he was quite displeased with me for not following in his footsteps--he has no children of his own. i thought somehow that it might please him that i had met a mathematician and i wanted to boast of you--if i could--so i checked what information the mathematics library might have."

"i see. and thats what you were really doing there. well--im sorry. i dont suppose you could do much boasting."

"you suppose wrong. i was impressed. i couldnt make heads or tails of the subject matter of your papers, but somehow the information seemed to be very favorable. and when i checked the news files, i found you were at the decennial convention earlier this year. so ... whats psychohistory, anyway? obviously, the first two syllables stir my curiosity."

"i see you got that word out of it."

"unless im totally misled, it seemed to me that you can work out the future course of history."

seldon nodded wearily, "that, more or less, is what psychohistory is or, rather, what it is intended to be."

"but is it a serious study?" randa was smiling. "you dont just throw sticks?"

"throw sticks?"

"thats just a reference to a game played by children on my home planet of hopara. the game is supposed to tell the future and if youre a smart kid, you can make a good thing out of it. tell a mother that her child will grow up beautiful and marry a rich man and its good for a piece of cake or a half-credit piece on the spot. she isnt going to wait and see if it comes true; you are rewarded just for saying it."

"i see. no, i dont throw sticks. psychohistory is just an abstract study. strictly abstract. it has no practical application at all, except--"

"now were getting to it. exceptions are what are interesting."

"except that i would like to work out such an application. perhaps if i knew more about history--"

"ah, that is why you are reading history?"

"yes, but it does me no good," said seldon sadly. "there is too much history and there is too little of it that is told."

"and thats whats frustrating you?"

seldon nodded.

randa said, "but, hari, youve only been here a matter of weeks."

"true, but already i can see--"

"you cant see anything in a few weeks. you may have to spend your whole lifetime making one little advance. it may take many generations of work by many mathematicians to make a real inroad on the problem."

"i know that, lisung, but that doesnt make me feel better. i want to make some visible progress myself."

"well, driving yourself to distraction wont help either. if it will make you feel better, i can give you an example of a subject much less complex than human history that people have been working for i dont know how long without making much progress. i know because a group is working on it right here at the university and one of my good friends is involved. talk about frustration! you dont know what frustration is!"

"whats the subject?" seldon felt a small curiosity stirring within him.

"meteorology."

"meteorology!" seldon felt revolted at the anticlimax.

"dont make faces. look. every inhabited world has an atmosphere. every world has its own atmospheric composition, its own temperature range, its own rotation and revolution rate, its own axial tipping, its own land-water distribution. weve got twenty five million different problems and no one has succeeded in finding a generalization."

"... thats because atmospheric behavior easily enters a chaotic phase. everyone knows that."

"so my friend jenarr leggen says. youve met him."

seldon considered. "tall fellow? long nose? doesnt speak much?"

"thats the one.--and trantor itself is a bigger puzzle than almost any world. according to the records, it had a fairly normal weather pattern when it was first settled. then, as the population grew and urbanization spread, more energy was used and more heat was discharged into the atmosphere. the ice cover contracted, the cloud layer thickened, and the weather got lousier. that encouraged the movement underground and set off a vicious cycle. the worse the weather got, the more eagerly the land was dug into and the domes built and the weather got still worse. now the planet has become a world of almost incessant cloudiness and frequent rains--or snows when its cold enough. the only thing is that no one can work it out properly. no one has worked out an analysis that can explain why the weather has deteriorated quite as it has or how one can reasonably predict the details of its day-to-day changes."

seldon shrugged. "is that sort of thing important?"

"to a meteorologist it is. why cant they be as frustrated over their problems as you are over yours? dont be a project chauvinist."

seldon remembered the cloudiness and the dank chill on the way to the emperors palace.

he said, "so whats being done about it?"

"well, theres a big project on the matter here at the university and jenarr leggen is part of it. they feel that if they can understand the weather change on trantor, they will learn a great deal about the basic laws of general meteorology. leggen wants that as much as you want your laws of psychohistory. so he has set up an incredible array of instruments of all kinds upperside ... you know, above the domes. it hasnt helped them so far. and if theres so much work being done for many generations on the atmosphere, without results, how can you complain that you havent gotten anything out of human history in a few weeks?"

randa was right, seldon thought, and he himself was being unreasonable and wrong. and yet ... and yet ... hummin would say that this failure in the scientific attack on problems was another sign of the degeneration of the times. perhaps he was right, also, except that he was speaking of a general degeneration and average effect. seldon felt no degeneration of ability and mentality in himself.

he said with some interest then, "you mean that people climb up out of the domes and into the open air above?"

"yes. upperside. its a funny thing, though. most native trantorians wont do it. they dont like to go upperside. the idea gives them vertigo or something. most of those working on the meteorology project are outworlders."

seldon looked out of the window and the lawns and small garden of the university campus, brilliantly lit without shadows or oppressive heat, and said thoughtfully, "i dont know that i can blame trantorians for liking the comfort of being within, but i should think curiosity would drive some upperside. it would drive me."

"do you mean that you would like to see meteorology in action?"

"i think i would. how does one get upperside?"

"nothing to it. an elevator takes you up, a door opens, and there you are. ive been up there. its ... novel."

"it would get my mind off psychohistory for a while." seldon sighed. "id welcome that."

"on the other hand," said randy, "my uncle used to say, all knowledge is one, and he may be right. you may learn something from meteorology that will help you with your psychohistory. isnt that possible?"

seldon smiled weakly. "a great many things are possible." and to himself he added: but not practical.