[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
a good many of which are probably apocryphal. Nevertheless, it is reported
that on a certain occasion, he said:
"It pays to be obvious, especially if you have a reputation for subtlety."
file:///F|/rah/Isaac%20Asimov/Foundation.txt (58 of 146) [1/14/03 9:33:41 PM]
file:///F|/rah/Isaac%20Asimov/Foundation.txt
Poly Verisof had had occasion to act on that advice more than once for he
was now in the fourteenth year of his double status on Anacreon a double
status the upkeep of which reminded him often and unpleasantly of a dance
performed barefoot on hot metal.
To the people of Anacreon he was high priest, representative of that
Foundation which, to those "barbarians," was the acme of mystery and the
physical center of this religion they had created with Hardin's help in
the last three decades. As such, he received a homage that had become
horribly wearying, for from his soul he despised the ritual of which he was
the center.
But to the King of Anacreon the old one that had been, and the young
grandson that was now on the throne he was simply the ambassador of a
power at once feared and coveted.
On the whole, it was an uncomfortable job, and his first trip to the
Foundation in three years, despite the disturbing incident that had made it
necessary, was something in the nature of a holiday.
And since it was not the first time he had had to travel in absolute
secrecy, he again made use of Hardin's epigram on the uses of the obvious.
He changed into his civilian clothes a holiday in itself and boarded a
passenger liner to the Foundation, second class. Once at Terminus, he
threaded his way through the crowd at the spaceport and called up City Hall at
a public visiphone.
He said, "My name is Jan Smite. I have an appointment with the mayor this
afternoon."
The dead-voiced but efficient young lady at the other end made a second
connection and exchanged a few rapid words, then said to Verisof in dry,
mechanical tone, "Mayor Hardin will see you in half an hour, sir," and the
screen went blank.
Whereupon the ambassador to Anacreon bought the latest edition of the
Terminus City Journal, sauntered casually to City Hall Park and, sitting.
down on the first empty bench he came to, read the editorial page, sport
section and comic sheet while waiting. At the end of half an hour, he
tucked the paper under his arm, entered City Hall and presented himself in
the anteroom.
In doing all this he remained safely and thoroughly unrecognized, for since he
was so entirely obvious, no one gave him a second look.
Hardin looked up at him and grinned. "Have a cigar! How was the trip?"
Verisof helped himself. "Interesting. There was a priest in the next cabin on
his way here to take a special course in the preparation of radioactive
synthetics for the treatment of cancer, you know "
"Surely, he didn't call it radioactive synthetics, now?"
"I guess not! It was the Holy Food to him."
The mayor smiled. "Go on."
"He inveigled me into a theological discussion and did his level best to
elevate me out of sordid materialism."
"And never recognized his own high priest?"
file:///F|/rah/Isaac%20Asimov/Foundation.txt (59 of 146) [1/14/03 9:33:41 PM]
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"Without my crimson robe? Besides, he was a Smyrnian. It was an interesting
experience, though. It is remarkable, Hardin, how the religion of science
has grabbed hold. I've written an essay on the subject entirely for my
own amusement; it wouldn't do to have it published. Treating the problem
sociologically, it would seem that when the old Empire began to rot at the
fringes, it could be considered that science, as science, had failed the
outer worlds. To be reaccepted it would have to present itself in another
guise and it has done just that. It works out beautifully."
"Interesting!" The mayor placed his arms around his neck and said suddenly,
"Start talking about the situation at Anacreon!"
The ambassador frowned and withdrew the cigar from his mouth. He looked at it
distastefully and put it down. "Well, it's pretty bad."
"You wouldn't be here, otherwise."
"Scarcely. Here's the position. The key man at Anacreon is the Prince
Regent, Wienis. He's King Lepold's uncle."
"I know. But Lepold is coming of age next year, isn't he? I believe he'll be
sixteen in February."
"Yes." Pause, and then a wry addition. "If he lives. The king's father died
under suspicious circumstances. A needle bullet through the chest during a
hunt. It was called an accident."
"Hmph. I seem to remember Wienis the time I was on Anacreon, when we kicked
them off Terminus. It was before your time. Let's see now. If I remember, he
was a dark young fellow, black hair and a squint in his right eye. He had a
funny hook in his nose."
"Same fellow. The hook and the squint are still there, but his hair's gray
now. He plays the game dirty. Luckily, he's the most egregious fool on the
planet. Fancies himself as a shrewd devil, too, which mades his folly the
more transparent."
"That's usually the way."
"His notion of cracking an egg is to shoot a nuclear blast at it. Witness
the tax on Temple property he tried to impose just after the old king died
two years ago. Remember?"
Hardin nodded thoughtfully, then smiled. "The priests raised a howl."
"They raised one you could hear way out to Lucreza. He's shown more caution in
dealing with the priesthood since, but he still manages to do things the hard
way. In a way, it's unfortunate for us; he has unlimited
self-confidence."
"Probably an over-compensated inferiority complex. Younger sons of royalty
get that way, you know."
"But it amounts to the same thing. He's foaming at the mouth with eagerness to
attack the Foundation. He scarcely troubles to conceal it. And he's in a
position to do it, too, from the standpoint of armament. The old king built up
a magnificent navy, and Wienis hasn't been sleeping the last two years.
In fact, the tax on Temple property was originally intended for further
armament, and when that fell through he increased the income tax twice."
"Any grumbling at that?"
file:///F|/rah/Isaac%20Asimov/Foundation.txt (60 of 146) [1/14/03 9:33:41 PM]
file:///F|/rah/Isaac%20Asimov/Foundation.txt
"None of serious importance. Obedience to appointed authority was the text of
every sermon in the kingdom for weeks. Not that Wienis showed any
gratitude."
"All right. I've got the background. Now what's happened?"
"Two weeks ago an Anacreonian merchant ship came across a derelict battle
cruiser of the old Imperial Navy. It must have been drifting in space for at
least three centuries."
Interest flickered in Hardin's eyes. He sat up. "Yes, I've heard of that. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl exclamation.htw.pl
a good many of which are probably apocryphal. Nevertheless, it is reported
that on a certain occasion, he said:
"It pays to be obvious, especially if you have a reputation for subtlety."
file:///F|/rah/Isaac%20Asimov/Foundation.txt (58 of 146) [1/14/03 9:33:41 PM]
file:///F|/rah/Isaac%20Asimov/Foundation.txt
Poly Verisof had had occasion to act on that advice more than once for he
was now in the fourteenth year of his double status on Anacreon a double
status the upkeep of which reminded him often and unpleasantly of a dance
performed barefoot on hot metal.
To the people of Anacreon he was high priest, representative of that
Foundation which, to those "barbarians," was the acme of mystery and the
physical center of this religion they had created with Hardin's help in
the last three decades. As such, he received a homage that had become
horribly wearying, for from his soul he despised the ritual of which he was
the center.
But to the King of Anacreon the old one that had been, and the young
grandson that was now on the throne he was simply the ambassador of a
power at once feared and coveted.
On the whole, it was an uncomfortable job, and his first trip to the
Foundation in three years, despite the disturbing incident that had made it
necessary, was something in the nature of a holiday.
And since it was not the first time he had had to travel in absolute
secrecy, he again made use of Hardin's epigram on the uses of the obvious.
He changed into his civilian clothes a holiday in itself and boarded a
passenger liner to the Foundation, second class. Once at Terminus, he
threaded his way through the crowd at the spaceport and called up City Hall at
a public visiphone.
He said, "My name is Jan Smite. I have an appointment with the mayor this
afternoon."
The dead-voiced but efficient young lady at the other end made a second
connection and exchanged a few rapid words, then said to Verisof in dry,
mechanical tone, "Mayor Hardin will see you in half an hour, sir," and the
screen went blank.
Whereupon the ambassador to Anacreon bought the latest edition of the
Terminus City Journal, sauntered casually to City Hall Park and, sitting.
down on the first empty bench he came to, read the editorial page, sport
section and comic sheet while waiting. At the end of half an hour, he
tucked the paper under his arm, entered City Hall and presented himself in
the anteroom.
In doing all this he remained safely and thoroughly unrecognized, for since he
was so entirely obvious, no one gave him a second look.
Hardin looked up at him and grinned. "Have a cigar! How was the trip?"
Verisof helped himself. "Interesting. There was a priest in the next cabin on
his way here to take a special course in the preparation of radioactive
synthetics for the treatment of cancer, you know "
"Surely, he didn't call it radioactive synthetics, now?"
"I guess not! It was the Holy Food to him."
The mayor smiled. "Go on."
"He inveigled me into a theological discussion and did his level best to
elevate me out of sordid materialism."
"And never recognized his own high priest?"
file:///F|/rah/Isaac%20Asimov/Foundation.txt (59 of 146) [1/14/03 9:33:41 PM]
Page 49
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
file:///F|/rah/Isaac%20Asimov/Foundation.txt
"Without my crimson robe? Besides, he was a Smyrnian. It was an interesting
experience, though. It is remarkable, Hardin, how the religion of science
has grabbed hold. I've written an essay on the subject entirely for my
own amusement; it wouldn't do to have it published. Treating the problem
sociologically, it would seem that when the old Empire began to rot at the
fringes, it could be considered that science, as science, had failed the
outer worlds. To be reaccepted it would have to present itself in another
guise and it has done just that. It works out beautifully."
"Interesting!" The mayor placed his arms around his neck and said suddenly,
"Start talking about the situation at Anacreon!"
The ambassador frowned and withdrew the cigar from his mouth. He looked at it
distastefully and put it down. "Well, it's pretty bad."
"You wouldn't be here, otherwise."
"Scarcely. Here's the position. The key man at Anacreon is the Prince
Regent, Wienis. He's King Lepold's uncle."
"I know. But Lepold is coming of age next year, isn't he? I believe he'll be
sixteen in February."
"Yes." Pause, and then a wry addition. "If he lives. The king's father died
under suspicious circumstances. A needle bullet through the chest during a
hunt. It was called an accident."
"Hmph. I seem to remember Wienis the time I was on Anacreon, when we kicked
them off Terminus. It was before your time. Let's see now. If I remember, he
was a dark young fellow, black hair and a squint in his right eye. He had a
funny hook in his nose."
"Same fellow. The hook and the squint are still there, but his hair's gray
now. He plays the game dirty. Luckily, he's the most egregious fool on the
planet. Fancies himself as a shrewd devil, too, which mades his folly the
more transparent."
"That's usually the way."
"His notion of cracking an egg is to shoot a nuclear blast at it. Witness
the tax on Temple property he tried to impose just after the old king died
two years ago. Remember?"
Hardin nodded thoughtfully, then smiled. "The priests raised a howl."
"They raised one you could hear way out to Lucreza. He's shown more caution in
dealing with the priesthood since, but he still manages to do things the hard
way. In a way, it's unfortunate for us; he has unlimited
self-confidence."
"Probably an over-compensated inferiority complex. Younger sons of royalty
get that way, you know."
"But it amounts to the same thing. He's foaming at the mouth with eagerness to
attack the Foundation. He scarcely troubles to conceal it. And he's in a
position to do it, too, from the standpoint of armament. The old king built up
a magnificent navy, and Wienis hasn't been sleeping the last two years.
In fact, the tax on Temple property was originally intended for further
armament, and when that fell through he increased the income tax twice."
"Any grumbling at that?"
file:///F|/rah/Isaac%20Asimov/Foundation.txt (60 of 146) [1/14/03 9:33:41 PM]
file:///F|/rah/Isaac%20Asimov/Foundation.txt
"None of serious importance. Obedience to appointed authority was the text of
every sermon in the kingdom for weeks. Not that Wienis showed any
gratitude."
"All right. I've got the background. Now what's happened?"
"Two weeks ago an Anacreonian merchant ship came across a derelict battle
cruiser of the old Imperial Navy. It must have been drifting in space for at
least three centuries."
Interest flickered in Hardin's eyes. He sat up. "Yes, I've heard of that. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]