A large room, all the larger because it was empty of anything resembling furniture. No chairs, no benches, no seats of any kind. No stage, no drapery, no decorations.
No lights, merely a uniform illumination of mild, unfocused light. The walls were not entirely¹ blank. Periodically, arranged in spaced fashion at various heights and in no easy repetitive order, there were small, primitive², two-dimensional television screens, all of which were operating. From where Dors and Seldon stood, there was not even the illusion of a third dimension, not a breath of true holovision.
There were people present. Not many and nowhere together. They stood singly and, like the television monitors, in no easy repetitive order. All were white-kirtled, all sashed.
For the most part, there was silence. No one talked in the usual sense. Some moved their lips, murmuring softly. Those who walked did so stealthily, eyes downcast.
The atmosphere was absolutely funereal³.
Seldon leaned toward Dors, who instantly put a finger to her lips, then pointed⁴ to one of the television monitors. The screen showed an idyllic⁵ garden bursting with blooms, the camera panning over it slowly. They walked toward the monitor in a fashion that imitated the others--slow steps, putting each foot down softly.
When they were within half a meter of the screen, a soft insinuating⁶ voice made itself heard: "The garden of Antennin, as reproduced from ancient guidebooks and photographs, located in the outskirts⁷ of Eos. Note the--"
Dors said in a whisper Seldon had trouble catching⁸ over the sound of the set, "It turns on when someone is close and it will turn off if we step away. If were close enough, we can talk under cover, but dont look at me and stop speaking if anyone approaches."
Seldon, his head

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