Lodovik did not know how to respond, so he said nothing. Voltaire, however, made his opinions known in no uncertain terms. I could feel her, as well. I have no legs, yet I wanted to dance. What sort of force is this? What a monstrosity!
Klia would not let go of her self-disgust, and this only compounded her confusion. “But you’re not a child. You are so dignified and serious. It was bad--like making my father--” Her voice hitched. “Making my father wet his pants.” She began to sob.
Lodovik tilted his head to one side. “I am not harmed. If you are concerned about my dignity--”
“You don’t understand!” Klia shouted. The door opened, and she whirled as if to face new enemies. The darkened corridor beyond was empty, silent. A thin layer of gray dust on the floor was unmarred by footprints. She leaped from the elevator and centuries puffed around her feet. “I don’t want to be this way anymore! I just want to be simple!”
Her voice echoed against the impassive and ancient walls.
68.
Boon stood beside Hari, and Lors Avakim stood beside Gaal Dornick. The five judges had already been seated as they entered, Linge Chen, as always, highest and in the middle. Hari felt slightly dizzy, standing more than five minutes as the clerk droned on with the charges. He squinted at the judicial chambers, then tilted slightly toward Gaal, until he was leaning on him. Gaal supported him without comment until he regained his balance and stood upright again.
“Sorry,” he murmured.
Linge Chen spoke without even looking at Hari. “The continuation of this trial would serve no further purpose. General Security no longer has any reason to cross-examine Professor Seldon.”
Hari did not dare feel even a breath of hope coming from the lips of this man.
“All public proceedings are now at an end.” Chen and the judges stood. Sedjar Boon held Hari’s other arm as the Commissioners departed from the bench. The baronial peers stood as well, murmuring among themselves. The advocate approached the crib and spoke to Gaal and Hari.
“The Chief Commissioner will have a word with you in private,” he said. He nodded at Boon and Lors Avakim, professional courtesy, or perhaps acknowledging those in the same employ. “Your clients must be alone for these finalities. They will stay here. All others will leave.”
Hari did not know how to feel or what to think. His resources were near a bitter end. Boon touched his arm, gave him a confident smile, and left with Avakim.
Once the room was cleared, the outer doors were sealed with long brass bars. and the Commissioners returned. Linge Chen watched Hari very closely now.
“Sire, I would prefer we have our advocates with us,” Hari said, his voice cracking. He hated these weaknesses, these infirmities.
The Commissioner to the left of Chen replied, “This is no longer a trial, Dr. Seldon. Your personal fate is no longer at issue. We are here to discuss the safety of the State.”
“I will speak,” Chen said. The other Commissioners seemed to melt back into their chairs, into silence, confirming the power of this lean, hard man with the calm features and manner of an ancient aristocrat. Hari though, Why, he seems older than I do--an antique!
“Dr. Seldon,” Chen began, “you disturb the peace of the Emperor’s realm. None of the quadrillions living now among all the stars of the Galaxy will be living a century from now. Why, then, should we concern ourselves with events of five centuries distance?”
“I shall not be alive half a decade hence,” Hari said, “and yet it is of overpowering concern to me. Call it idealism. Call it an identification of myself with that mystical generalization to which we refer by the term, ‘man.’ “
“I do not wish to take the trouble to understand mysticism. Can you tell me why I may not rid myself of yourself and of an uncomfortable and unnecessary five-century future which I will never see by having you executed tonight?”
Hari called upon all his contempt for this man, contempt for death itself, to match the Chief Commissioner’s outrageous calm. “A week ago,” Hari said, “you might have done so and perhaps retained a one in ten probability of yourself remaining alive at year’s end. Today, the one in ten probability is scarcely one in ten thousand.”
The other Commissioners let out a collective sigh at this blasphemy, like virgins before a suddenly naked spouse. Chen seemed to become a little sleepier, and also a little leaner, a little harder.
“How so?” he asked, his voice dangerously mild.
“The fall of Trantor,” Hari said, “cannot be stopped by any conceivable effort. It can be hastened easily, however. The tale of my interrupted trial will spread through the Galaxy. Frustration of my plans to lighten the disaster will convince people that the future holds no promise to them. Already they recall the lives of their grandfathers with envy. They will see that political revolutions and trade stagnations will increase. The feeling will pervade the Galaxy that only what a man can grasp for himself at that moment will be of any account. Ambitious men will not wait, and unscrupulous men will not hang back. By their every action they will hasten the decay of the worlds. Have me killed, and Trantor will fall not within five centuries but within fifty years and you, yourself, within a single year.”
Chen smiled as if in faint amusement. “These are words to frighten children, and yet your death is not the only answer which will satisfy us. Tell me, will your only activity be that of preparing this encyclopedia you speak of?” Chen seemed to extend a shield of magnanimity over Hari, with a sweep of his hand, and a tap of two fingers beside the bronze bell and gavel.
“It will.”
“And need that be done on Trantor?”