the sky was almost cloudless, but it was a pale blue, as though wrapped in a high thin mist. that, thought seldon, was a good touch, but suddenly he missed the sun itself. no one on trantor saw the planets sun unless he or she went upperside and even then only when the natural cloud layer broke. did native trantorians miss the sun? did they give it any thought? when one of them visited another world where a natural sun was in view, did he or she stare, half-blinded, at it with awe?
why, he wondered, did so many people spend their lives not trying to find answers to questions--not even thinking of questions to begin with? was there anything more exciting in life than seeking answers?
his glance shifted to ground level. the wide roadway was lined with low buildings, most of them shops. numerous individual ground-cars moved in both directions, each hugging the right side. they seemed like a collection of antiques, but they were electrically driven and quite soundless. seldon wondered if "antique" was always a word to sneer at. could it be that silence made up for slowness? was there any particular hurry to life, after all?
there were a number of children on the walkways and seldons lips pressed together in annoyance. clearly, an extended life span for the mycogenians was impossible unless they were willing to indulge in infanticide. the children of both sexes (though it was hard to tell the boys from the girls) wore kirtles that came only a few inches below the knee, making the wild activity of childhood easier.
the children also still had hair, reduced to an inch in length at most, but even so the older ones among them had hoods attached to their kirtles and wore them raised, hiding the top of the head altogether. it was as though they were getting old enough to make the hair seem a trifle obscene--or old enough to be wishing to hide it, in longing for the day of rite of passage when they were depilated.
a thought occurred to seldon. he said, "dors, when youve been out shopping, who paid, you or the raindrop women?"
"i did of course. the raindrops never produced a credit tile. but why should they? what was being bought was for us, not for them."
"but you have a trantorian credit tile--a tribeswoman credit tile."
"of course, hari, but there was no problem. the people of mycogen may keep their own culture and ways of thought and habits of life as they wish. they can destroy their cephalic hair and wear kirtles. nevertheless, they must use the worlds credits. if they dont, that would choke off commerce and no sensible person would want to do that. the credits nerve, hari." she held up her hand as though she was holding an invisible credit tile.
"and they accepted your credit tile?"
"never a peep out of them. and never a word about my skincap. credits sanitize everything."
"well, thats good. so i can buy--"
"no, ill do the buying. credits may sanitize everything, but they more easily sanitize a tribeswoman. theyre so used to paying women little or no attention that they automatically pay me the same.--and heres the clothing store ive been using."
"ill wait out here. get me a nice red sash--one that looks impressive."
"dont pretend youve forgotten our decision. ill get two. and another white kirtle also ... to my measurements."
"wont they think it odd that a woman would be buying a white kirtle?"
"of course not. theyll assume im buying it for a male companion who happens to be my size. actually, i dont think theyll bother with any assumptions at all as long as my credit tile is good."
seldon waited, half-expecting someone to come up and greet him as a tribesman or denounce him as one--more likely--but no one did. those who passed him did so without a glance and even those who glanced in his direction moved on seemingly untouched. he was especially nervous about the gray kirtles--the women--walking by in pairs or, even worse, with a man. they were downtrodden, unnoticed, snubbed. how better to gain a brief notoriety than by shrieking at the sight of a tribesman? but even the women moved on.
theyre not expecting to see a tribesman, seldon thought, so they dont see one.
that, he decided, augured well for their forthcoming invasion of the sacratorium. how much less would anyone expect to see tribespeople there and how much more effectively would they therefore fail to see them! he was in fairly good humor when dors emerged.
"you have everything?"
"absolutely."
"then lets go back to the room, so you can change." the white kirtle did not fit her quite as well as the gray one did. obviously, she could not have tried it on or even the densest shopkeeper would have been struck with alarm.
"how do i look, hari?" she asked.
"exactly like a boy," said seldon. "now lets try the sash ... or obiah. i had better get used to calling it that."
dors, without her skincap, was shaking out her hair gratefully. she said sharply, "dont put it on now. were not going to parade through mycogen with the sash on. the last thing we want to do is call attention to ourselves."
"no, no. i just want to see how it goes on."
"well, not that one. this one is better quality and more elaborate."
"youre right, dors. ive got to gather in what attention there is. i dont want them to detect you as a woman."
"im not thinking of that, hari. i just want you to look pretty."
"a thousand thanks, but thats impossible, i suspect. now, lets see, how does this work?"
together, hari and dors practiced putting their obiahs on and taking them off, over and over again, until they could do it in one fluid motion. dors taught hari how to do it, as she had seen a man doing it the day before at the sacratorium.
when hari praised her for her acute observations, she blushed and said, "its really nothing, hari, just something i noticed."
hari replied, "then youre a genius for noticing."
finally satisfied, they stood well apart, each surveying the other. haris obiah glittered, a bright red dragonlike design standing out against a paler field of similar hue. dorss was a little less bold, had a simple thin line down the center, and was very light in color.
"there," she said, "just enough to show good taste." she took it off.
"now," said seldon, "we fold it up and it goes into one of the inner pockets. i have my credit tile--hummins, really--and the key to this place in this one and here, on the other side, the book."
"the book? should you be carrying it around?"
"i must. im guessing that anyone going to the sacratorium ought to have a copy of the book with him. they may intone passages or have readings. if necessary, well share the book and maybe no one will notice. ready?"
"ill never be ready, but im going with you."
"it will be a tedious trip. will you check my skincap and make sure no hair shows this time? and dont scratch your head."
"i wont. you look all right."
"so do you."
"you also look nervous."
and seldon said wryly, "guess why!"
dors reached out impulsively and squeezed haris hand, then drew back as if surprised at herself. looking down, she straightened her white kirtle.
hari, himself a trifle surprised and peculiarly pleased, cleared his throat and said, "okay, lets go."
aerie
robot-- ... a term used in the ancient legends of several worlds for what are more usually called "automata." robots are described as generally human in shape and made of metal, although some are supposed to have been pseudo-organic in nature. hari seldon, in the course of the flight, is popularly supposed to have seen an actual robot, but that story is of dubious origin. nowhere in seldons voluminous writings does he mention robots at all, although ...
encyclopedia galactica
