hari seldon sat back in his chair in the alcove that had been assigned to him through dors venabilis intervention. he was dissatisfied. as a matter of fact, although that was the expression he used in his mind, he knew that it was a gross underestimation of his feelings. he was not simply dissatisfied, he was furious--all the more so because he wasnt sure what it was he was furious about. was it about the histories? the writers and compilers of histories? the worlds and people that made the histories? whatever the target of his fury, it didnt really matter. what counted was that his notes were useless, his new knowledge was useless, everything was useless. he had been at the university now for almost six weeks. he had managed to find a computer outlet at the very start and with it had begun work--without instruction, but using the instincts he had developed over a number of years of mathematical labors. it had been slow and halting, but there was a certain pleasure in gradually determining the routes by which he could get his questions answered.

then came the week of instruction with dors, which had taught him several dozen shortcuts and had brought with it two sets of embarrassments. the first set included the sidelong glances he received from the undergraduates, who seemed contemptuously aware of his greater age and who were disposed to frown a bit at dorss constant use of the honorific "doctor" in addressing him. "i dont want them to think," she said, "that youre some backward perpetual student taking remedial history."

"but surely youve established the point. surely, a mere seldon is sufficient now."

"no," dors said and smiled suddenly. "besides, i like to call you dr. seldon. i like the way you look uncomfortable each time."

"you have a peculiar sense of sadistic humor."

"would you deprive me?"

for some reason, that made him laugh. surely, the natural reaction would have been to deny sadism. somehow he found it pleasant that she accepted the ball of conversation and fired it back. the thought led to a natural question. "do you play tennis here at the university?"

"we have courts, but i dont play."

"good. ill teach you. and when i do, ill call you professor venabili."

"thats what you call me in class anyway."

"youll be surprised how ridiculous it will sound on the tennis court."

"i may get to like it."

"in that case, i will try to find what else you might get to like."

"i see you have a peculiar sense of salacious humor."

she had put that ball in that spot deliberately and he said, "would you deprive me?"

she smiled and later did surprisingly well on the tennis court.

"are you sure you never played tennis?" he said, puffing, after one session.

"positive," she said.

the other set of embarrassments was more private. he learned the necessary techniques of historical research and then burned--in private--at his earlier attempts to make use of the computers memory. it was simply an entirely different mind-set from that used in mathematics. it was equally logical, he supposed, since it could be used, consistently and without error, to move in whatever direction he wanted to, but it was a substantially different brand of logic from that to which he was accustomed.

but with or without instructions, whether he stumbled or moved in swiftly, he simply didnt get any results.

his annoyance made itself felt on the tennis court. dors quickly reached the stage where it was no longer necessary to lob easy balls at her to give her time to judge direction and distance. that made it easy to forget that she was just a beginner and he expressed his anger in his swing, firing the ball back at her as though it were a laser beam made solid.

she came trotting up to the net and said, "i can understand your wanting to kill me, since it must annoy you to watch me miss the shots so often. how is it, though, that you managed to miss my head by about three centimeters that time? i mean, you didnt even nick me. cant you do better than that?"

seldon, horrified, tried to explain, but only managed to sound incoherent.

she said, "look. im not going to face any other returns of yours today, so why dont we shower and then get together for some tea and whatever and you can tell me just what you were trying to kill. if it wasnt my poor head and if you dont get the real victim off your chest, youll be entirely too dangerous on the other side of the net for me to want to serve as a target."

over tea he said, "dors, ive scanned history after history; just scanned, browsed. i havent had time for deep study yet. even so, its become obvious. all the book-films concentrate on the same few events."

"crucial ones. history-making ones."

"thats just an excuse. theyre copying each other. there are twenty-five million worlds out there and theres significant mention of perhaps twenty-five."

dors said, "youre reading general galactic histories only. look up the special histories of some of the minor worlds. on every world, however small, the children are taught local histories before they ever find out theres a great big galaxy outside. dont you yourself know more about helicon, right now, than you know about the rise of trantor oooof the great interstellar war?"

"that sort of knowledge is limited too," said seldon gloomily. "i know heliconian geography and the stories of its settlement and of the malfeasance and misfeasance of the planet jennisek--thats our traditional enemy, though our teachers carefully told us that we ought to say traditional rival. but i never learned anything about the contributions of helicon to general galactic history."

"maybe there werent any."

"dont be silly. of course there were. there may not have been great, huge space battles involving helicon or crucial rebellions or peace treaties. there may not have been some imperial competitor making his base on helicon. but there must have been subtle influences. surely, nothing can happen anywhere without affecting everywhere else. yet theres nothing i can find to help me. see here, dors. in mathematics, all can be found in the computer; everything we know or have found out in twenty thousand years. in history, thats not so. historians pick and choose and every one of them picks and chooses the same thing."

"but, hari," said dors, "mathematics is an ooderly thing of human invention. one thing follows from another. there are definitions and axioms, all of which are known. it is ... it is ... all one piece. history is different. it is the unconscious working out of the deeds and thoughts of quadrillions of human beings. historians must pick and choose."

"exactly," said seldon, "but i must know all of history if i am to work out the laws of psychohistory."

"in that case, you wont ever formulate the laws of psychohistory."

that was yesterday. now seldon sat in his chair in his alcove, having spent another day of utter failure, and he could hear dorss voice saying, "in that case, you wont ever formulate the laws of psychohistory." it was what he had thought to begin with and if it hadnt been for hummins conviction to the contrary and his odd ability to fire seldon with his own blaze of conviction, seldon would have continued to think so. and yet neither could he quite let go. might there not be some way out?

he couldnt think of any.

upperside

trantor-- ... it is almost never pictured as a world seen from space. it has long since captured the general mind of humanity as a world of the interior and the image is that of the human hive that existed under the domes. yet there was an exterior as well and there are holographs that still remain that were taken from space and show varying degrees of [devil] (see figures 14 and 15). note that the surface of the domes, the interface of the vast city and the overlying atmosphere, a surface referred to in its time as "upperside," is ...

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