Seldon found himself raging at the passage of time. Eight years ago, when he had first arrived on Trantor, he could take instant action. He had only a hotel room and its contents to forsake¹ and he could range through the sectors² of Trantor at will.
    Now he found himself with department meetings, with decisions to make, with work to do. It was not so easy to dash off at will to see Demerzel-and if he could, Demerzel also had a --full schedule of his own. To find a time when they both could meet would not be easy.
    Nor was it easy to have Dors shake her head at him. "I don't know what you intend to do, Hari."
    And he answered impatiently, "I don't know what I intend to do, either, Dors. I hope to find out when I see Demerzel."
    "Your first duty is to psychohistory. He'll tell you so."
    "Perhaps. I'll find out."
    And then, just as he had arranged a time for the meeting with the First Minister, eight days hence, he received a message on his department office wall screen in slightly archaic³ lettering. And to match that was the more than slightly archaic message: I CRAVE⁴ AN AUDIENCE WITH PROFESSOR HARI SELDON.
    Seldon stared at it with astonishment⁵. Even the Emperor was not addressed in quite that centuries-old turn of phrase.
    Nor was the signature printed as it usually was for clarity. It was scripted with a flourish that left it perfectly⁶ legible and yet gave it the aura of a careless work of art dashed off by a master. The signature was: LASKIN JORANUM. -It was Jo-Jo himself, craving⁷ an audience.
    Seldon found himself chuckling⁸. It was clear why the choice of words -and why the script. It made what was a simple request a device for

分享到：