Chapter 3

TRANTOR?..At  the beginning  of the  thirteenth millennium,  this tendencyreached its  climax. As the center of  the Imperial Government for unbrokenhundreds of generations and  located, as it was, toward the central regionsof the  Galaxy among  the most densely populated  and industrially advancedworlds of the system,  it could scarcely help being the densest and richestclot of humanity the Race had ever seen.
Its urbanization,  progressing steadily, had finally  reached the ultimate.
All the  land surface of Trantor, 75,000,000 square  miles in extent, was asingle city.  The population,  at its height,  was well in  excess of fortybillions.  This  enormous population  was  devoted almost  entirely to  theadministrative necessities of Empire,  and found themselves all too few forthe  complications  of  the   task.  (It  is  to  be  remembered  that  theimpossibility  of proper  administration of  the Galactic Empire  under theuninspired leadership  of the  later Emperors was a  considerable factor inthe  Fall.) Daily,  fleets of ships  in the  tens of thousands  brought theproduce of  twenty agricultural worlds to  the dinner tables of Trantor....
Its  dependence  upon  the  outer worlds  for  food  and,  indeed, for  allnecessities of  life, made  Trantor increasingly vulnerable  to conquest bysiege.  In the  last millennium  of the  Empire, the  monotonously numerousrevolts made  Emperor after Emperor conscious  of this, and Imperial policybecame  little  more  than the  protection  of  Trantor's delicate  jugularvein....
ENCYCLOPEDIA GALACTICAGaal was not certain whether the sun shone, or, for that matter, whether itwas day  or night.  He was ashamed  to ask. All  the planet  seemed to livebeneath metal.  The meal  of which he  had just partaken  had been labelledluncheon, but there were many planets which lived a standard timescale thattook no  account of the perhaps inconvenient  alternation of day and night.
The  rate of  planetary  turnings differed,  and he  did  not know  that ofTrantor.
At first, he had  eagerly followed the signs to the "Sun Room" and found itbut a chamber for  basking in artificial radiation. He lingered a moment ortwo, then returned to the Luxor's main lobby.
He said to the room clerk, "Where can I buy a ticket for a planetary tour?""Right here.""When will it start?""You  just missed  it. Another  one tomorrow.  Buy a  ticket now  and we'llreserve a place for you.""Oh." Tomorrow  would be  too late. He  would have to be  at the Universitytomorrow. He said, "There  wouldn't be an observation tower ?or something?
I mean, in the open air.""Sure! Sell you a ticket for that, if you want. Better let me check if it'sraining  or not." He  closed a contact  at his  elbow and read  the flowingletters  that   raced  across  a  frosted   screen.  Gaal  read  with  him.
The room clerk said,  "Good weather. Come to think of it, I do believe it'sthe dry  season now." He added, conversationally,  "I don't bother with theoutside myself.  The last time I  was in the open  was three years ago. Yousee it  once, you know and  that's all there is  to it. Here's your ticket.
Special elevator  in the rear. It's  marked 'To the Tower.'  Just take it."The  elevator was  of the  new sort  that ran  by gravitic  repulsion. Gaalentered and others flowed in behind him. The operator closed a contact. Fora moment,  Gaal felt  suspended in space  as gravity switched  to zero, andthen  he had  weight  again in  small measure  as the  elevator acceleratedupward.  Deceleration followed  and his  feet left  the floor.  He squawkedagainst his will.
The operator called out,  "Tuck your feet under the railing. Can't you readthe sign?"The others  had done  so. They were smiling  at him as he  madly and vainlytried to clamber back down the wall. Their shoes pressed upward against thechromium of  the railings that stretched across  the floor in parallels settwo feet  apart. He had noticed those railings  on entering and had ignoredthem.
Then a hand reached out and pulled him down.
He gasped his thanks as the elevator came to a halt.
He stepped out upon  an open terrace bathed in a white brilliance that hurlhis eyes.  The man, whose helping  hand he had just  now been the recipientof, was immediately behind him.
The man said, kindly, "Plenty of seats."Gaal closed  his mouth; he had  been gaping; and said,  "It certainly seemsso." He started for them automatically, then stopped.
He said, "If you  don't mind, I'll just stop a moment at the railing. I ?Iwant to look a bit."The  man  waved  him  on, good-naturedly,  and  Gaal  leaned  out over  theshoulder-high   railing   and  bathed   himself   in   all  the   panorama.
He  could  not  see  the  ground.  It  was  lost  in  the  ever  increasingcomplexities  of man-made structures.  He could  see no horizon  other thanthat of  metal against sky, stretching out  to almost uniform grayness, andhe  knew it  was  so over  all the  land-surface of  the planet.  There wasscarcely any  motion to  be seen ? a few pleasure-craft  lazed against thesky-but all  the busy  traffic of billions  of men were going  on, he knew,beneath the metal skin of the world.
There was no  green to be seen; no green, no soil,  no life other than man.
Somewhere on the world,  he realized vaguely, was the Emperor's palace, setamid one hundred square  miles of natural soil, green with trees, rainbowedwith flowers.  It was a small island amid an ocean  of steel, but it wasn'tvisible from  where he stood. It  might be ten thousand  miles away. He didnot know.
Before very long, he must have his tour!
He sighed noisily, and  realized finally that he was on Trantor at last; onthe planet  which was  the center of all  the Galaxy and the  kernel of thehuman race. He saw none of its weaknesses. He saw no ships of food landing.
He was not aware  of a jugular vein delicately connecting the forty billionof  Trantor with  the  rest of  the Galaxy.  He was  conscious only  of themightiest  deed  of  man;  the  complete and  almost  contemptuously  finalconquest of a world.
He came away a little blank-eyed. His friend of the elevator was indicatinga seat next to himself and Gaal took it.
The   man  smiled.   "My   name  is   Jerril.  First   time   on  Trantor?""Yes, Mr. Jerril.""Thought so.  Jerril's my  first name. Trantor  gets you if  you've got thepoetic temperament. Trantorians never come up here, though. They don't likeit. Gives them nerves.""Nerves! ?My name's Gaal, by the way. Why should it give them nerves? It'sglorious.""Subjective matter  of opinion, Gaal. If you're born  in a cubicle and growup in  a corridor, and work in a cell, and  vacation in a crowded sun-room,then coming up into  the open with nothing but sky over you might just giveyou a  nervous breakdown. They make the children come  up here once a year,after they're five. I don't know if it does any good. They don't get enoughof  it,  really,  and  the first  few  times  they  scream themselves  intohysteria. They  ought to start as soon as they're  weaned and have the triponce a week."He went  on, "Of course, it doesn't really matter.  What if they never comeout at  all? They're happy down there and they run  the Empire. How high updo you think we are?"He   said,  "Half   a   mile?"  and   wondered  if   that   sounded  naive.
It must have, for Jerril chuckled a little. He said, "No. Just five hundredfeet.""What? But the elevator took about ?
"I  know. But  most of  the time it  was just  getting up to  ground level.
Trantor is tunneled over  a mile down. It's like an iceberg. Nine-tenths ofit is out of sight. It even works itself out a few miles into the sub-oceansoil at the shorelines.  In fact, we're down so low that we can make use ofthe temperature difference between ground level and a couple of miles underto  supply   us  with  all  the  energy  we   need.  Did  you  know  that?""No, I thought you used atomic generators.""Did once. But this is cheaper.""I imagine so.""What  do  you think  of  it  all?" For  a  moment, the  man's good  natureevaporated into shrewdness. He looked almost sly.
Gaal fumbled. "Glorious," he said, again.
"Here on vacation? Traveling? Sight-seeing?""No exactly. At least,  I've always wanted to visit Trantor but I came hereprimarily for a job.""Oh?"Gaal felt  obliged to  explain further, "With  Dr. Seldon's project  at theUniversity of Trantor.""Raven Seldon?""Why, no.  The one  I mean is  Hari Seldon. -The  psychohistorian Seldon. Idon't know of any Raven Seldon.""Hari's  the one I  mean. They call  him Raven.  Slang, you know.  He keepspredicting disaster.""He does?" Gaal was genuinely astonished.
"Surely, you must know." Jerril was not smiling. "You're coming to work forhim, aren't you?""Well, yes, I'm a mathematician. Why does he predict disaster? What kind ofdisaster?""What kind would you think?""I'm afraid I wouldn't have the least idea. I've read the papers Dr. Seldonand   his  group   have   published.  They're   on  mathematical   theory.""Yes, the ones they publish."Gaal felt  annoyed. He said, "I think I'll go to  my room now. Very pleasedto have met you."Jerril waved his arm indifferently in farewell.
Gaal found  a man  waiting for him  in his room.  For a moment,  he was toostartled to put into  words the inevitable, "What are you doing here?" thatcame to his lips.
The man rose. He was old and almost bald and he walked with a limp, but hiseyes were very bright and blue.
He  said, "I  am  Hari Seldon,"  an instant  before Gaal's  befuddled brainplaced the  face alongside the memory  of the many times  he had seen it inpictures.