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基地系列:基地前奏|Prelude to Foundation

第五章|Chapter 5

属类： 双语小说 【分类】魔幻小说 -[作者: 艾萨克-阿西莫夫] 阅读：[10182]
《基地前奏》 在《基地与地球》中广袤荒凉的星际旅程之后,《基地前奏》将镜头拉回到基地三部曲开场之前几十年,繁华的帝国之都川陀。开创整个基地故事根基.故事的时间线来到《基地》的几十年前，彼时的哈里·谢顿还未开创出完整的心理史学，只是发表了一篇论文。但正是这篇关乎可以预言未来的论文将谢顿带上一段逃亡冒险之旅。
《 字+字- 行+行- 页+页- 字+字- 行+行- 页+页- 》
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经过了一个黄昏、整个夜晚，以及半个上午的时光，谢顿慢慢从与皇上会面的情绪中恢复过来；至少，川陀皇区中人行道、活动回廊、广场与公园的光线明暗变化，使人觉得已过了一个黄昏、整个夜晚，以及第二天的半个上午。

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此刻，他坐在一个小公园的一张小型塑料椅上，椅子的形状曲线与他的身体刚好吻合，他感到非常舒服。根据光线判断，上午似乎刚过一半，空气的凉爽程度适中，刚好使人感到清新，却一点没有寒冷的意思。

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气候是否总是这样？他想到了去见皇上时遇到的那种灰暗天气。然后，他又想起故乡赫利肯的阴天、冷天、热天、雨天，以及下雪天……有谁会怀念那种天气吗？如果坐在川陀的一座公园里，日复一日都是理想的天气，有没有可能使人觉得周遭太过平淡无奇，从而怀念起怒吼的狂风、刺骨的寒冷，或是令人窒息的湿气？

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或许会吧，但绝不会是在第一天、第二天，甚至第七天。而他只剩下今天最后一天，明天便将离开此地。他打定主意乘机享受一番，毕竟，自己可能再也不会重返川陀。

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然而他仍旧感到惴惴不安，始终无法忘怀曾与一个能随意下令监禁或处决任何人的人（至少能剥夺他人的社会地位，造成一种经济性、社会性的死亡）以那种单独的方式做过一次晤谈。

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就寝之前，谢顿利用旅馆房间内的计算机，从电子百科全书中查到了克里昂一世的资料。内容照例为这位皇帝歌功颂德一番，像所有皇帝生前所受到的歌颂一样，这与他们的政绩毫无关系。谢顿略过那些内容，他感兴趣的是发现克里昂生于皇宫，一生从未离开御苑。他从来没有到过真正的川陀——这个覆盖着多面穹顶的世界。也许这是基于安全的考虑．但它代表的是这位皇帝一直遭到囚禁，不论他自已是否承认这一点。那可能是全银河最豪华的一座牢狱，但却无法改变牢狱的事实。

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纵使皇上的态度相当温和，一点也不像历代多位嗜血的独裁暴君，但引起他的注意总不是好事。谢顿很高兴明天就要回赫利肯，虽然家乡如今正值冬季（而且是个酷寒的冬季，日前他仍这么认为）。

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他抬头望了望漫射的明亮光线。虽然此地永远不会下雨，大气却绝对不算干燥。离他不远的地方有座喷泉；植物是绿油油的一片，或许从来末曾尝过干旱的滋味。灌木丛偶尔会沙沙作响，好像有一两只小动物躲在里面。此外，他还听到蜜蜂的嗡嗡声。

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真的，虽然整个银河都说川陀是个金属与陶质建成的人工世界，但在这小小的范围内，却令人有置身田园的感觉。

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附近有些人也在享受这座公园，他们都戴着轻便的帽子，其中有些相当小。不远处有个挺漂亮的年轻女子，不过她正弯腰凑向一具观景器，他无法看清她的脸庞。此时有一名男子经过，对他不经意地望了一眼，然后在他对面的椅子上坐下来，将头埋进一束电讯报表中。那人还跷起二郎腿，谢顿注意到他穿着一条粉红色紧身裤。

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真奇怪，此地男士的衣着有较为花哨的倾向。而大多数女子则身穿白色衣裳。由于环境清洁干净，穿着淡色服装是很合理的事。他低下头来，看了看自己的赫利肯服饰，主要的色系是沉闷的褐色，令他感到有些可笑。假如他要留在川陀——事实不然，就得购买一些适当的衣物，否则必将招来好奇的眼光，或是成为嘲笑或排斥的对象。比方说，那个拿着电讯报表的男子，这回便以比较好奇的眼光抬头望着他，无疑是被他的外星服饰所吸引。

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谢顿庆幸对方并未露出笑容。他对成为笑柄虽可以处之泰然，不过，当然，他绝不会喜欢这种情况。

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谢顿以相当谨慎的态度望着这个男子，因为对方内心似乎在进行一场激战。他原本看来准备开口，然后好像改变了主意，接下来仿佛又回到原先的决定。谢顿很想知道最后的结果究竟如何。

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他仔细打量这名男子。此人的个子很高，肩膀宽阔，看不出有凸出的小腹，头发是浅黑色，其中掺有一束金发，胡子刮得干净，一脸严肃的表情，看起来孔武有力，不过没有盘虬的肌肉，脸庞显得有几分棱角——十分顺眼，但绝对称不上好看。

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等到那名男子的内心交战失败了（或者是胜利了），将身体倾向谢顿的时候，谢顿认定自己对他已有好感。

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那人开口道：“对不起，你是不是曾经出席十年会议？数学十年会议？”

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“是的，我参加了。”谢顿欣然答道。

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“啊，我想我在会场见过你。就是因为——对不起，刚才我认出你来，所以才会坐到这里。如果我侵犯了你的隐私……”

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“一点也没有。我正在享受片刻的悠闲时光。”

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“让我看看还记得多少，你是谢东教授。”

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“谢顿，哈里·谢顿，相当接近了。你呢？”

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“契特·夫铭，”那人似乎有点尴尬，“只怕是个相当普通的名字。”

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“我从没碰见过叫契特的人，”谢顿说，“或者是姓夫铭的，所以我该认为你相当特别。也许可以这样说，这总比跟数不清的哈里，或是无数的谢顿纠缠不清要好得多。”

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谢顿将他的椅子挪近夫铭，椅子在带点弹性的陶砖上摩擦出嘎嘎声。

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“谈到普通，”他说，“我这身外星服装怎么样？我压根没想到该弄一套川陀衣饰。”

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“你可以去买些。”夫铭说，同时以不大赞同的目光打量谢顿。

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“我明天就要离开此地，而且我也买不起。数学家有时会处理一些大数目，但绝不是他们的收入——我猜你也是个数学家，夫铭。”

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“不是，这方面我毫无天分。”

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“哦，”谢顿感到有些失望，“你刚才说曾在十年会议中见到我。”

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“我在那里只是个旁观者，我的职业是新闻记者。”他挥了挥电讯报表，似乎这才发觉一直还拿在手中，立刻将它塞进外衣口袋。“我为全讯新闻提供消息。”然后，他以意味深长的语气说，“其实，我已经相当厌烦。”

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“你的工作？”

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夫铭点了点头：“从各个世界收集各种毫无意义的消息，这种差事令我倒胃口，我恨透了每况愈下的世风。”

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他若有所思地瞥了谢顿一眼：“不过，有时还是会发生些有趣的事。我听说有人看到你和一名禁卫军在一起，朝皇宫大门的方向走去。你该不会是被皇上召见吧，有吗？”

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谢顿脸上的笑容顿时消失无踪，他缓缓说道：“即使有的话，也不是我能对新闻界发表的事。”

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“不，不，不是为了发表。如果你不知道这种事，谢顿，让我告诉你——跑新闻的第一条游戏规则，就是有关皇上或皇上身边亲信的消息，除了官方发布的之外，其他一律不能报道。当然，这样是不对的，因为谣言满天飞比公布真相还要糟得多，可是规则就是这样。”

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“如果不能报道，朋友，你为什么还要问呢？”

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“私下的好奇心。相信我，干我这一行的，知道的比公之于世的消息要多得多——让我猜猜看，我没能听懂你的论文内容，但我推测你谈论的是预测未来的可能性。”

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谢顿摇了摇头，喃喃说道：“那是个错误。”

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“你说什么？”

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“没什么。”

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“嗯，预测——正确的预测，会令皇上或任何一名政府官员感兴趣。所以我猜克里昂一世向你问及这档事，还有你愿不愿意帮他做些预测。”

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谢顿以僵硬的语调说：“我不想谈论这件事。”

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夫铭轻轻耸了耸肩：“伊图·丹莫茨尔也在场吧，我想。”

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“你没听说过伊图·丹莫茨尔？”

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“从来没有。”

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“克里昂的第二自我、克里昂的大脑、克里昂的邪灵——这些都是人们对他的称呼，还不包括那些辱骂性的绰号。他当时也一定在场。”

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谢顿露出困惑的表情，夫铭继续说：“嗯，你也许没看到他，可是他绝对在场。假如他认为你能预测末来……”

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“我无法预测未来。”谢顿一面说，一面使劲摇着头。“如果你听过我发表的论文，就会知道我谈论的只是理论上的可能性。”

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“那没什么不同，假如他认定你能预测未来，他就不会让你走。”

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“他当然会，现在我不就在这里。”

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“这点毫无意义，他知道你在哪里，今后也将继续掌握你的行踪。当他想要你的时候，他就能找到你，不论你在天涯海角。要是他认为你有用处，必定会把你的用处榨干；要是他认为你有危险，就会把你的命榨出来。”

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谢顿瞪着对方：“你想吓唬我？”

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“我是试图警告你。”

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“我不相信你说的这番话。”

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“不相信？刚刚你还提到某件事是个错误。你是不是认为发表那篇论文是个错误，因为它给你带来一种避之唯恐不及的麻烦？”

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谢顿不安地咬着下唇，这个猜测与实情简直太吻合了。与此同时，谢顿突然发觉有外人走近。

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由于光线过度柔和与分散，来人并未投射出仟何阴影。只是他的眼角捕捉到一个动作，动作瞬时停住。

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Seldon had     an evening, a night, and part of a morning to get over his meeting with the Emperor. At least, the changing quality of light within the walkways, moving corridors, squares, and parks of the Imperial Sector of Trantor made it seem that an evening, a night, and part of a morning had passed. He sat now in a small park on a small plastic seat that molded itself neatly to his body and he was comfortable. Judging from the light, it seemed to be midmorning and the air was just cool enough to seem fresh without possessing even the smallest bite.

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Was it like this all the time? He thought of the gray day outside when he went to see the Emperor. And he thought of all the gray days and cold days and hot days and rainy days and snowy days on Helicon, his home, and he wondered if one could miss them. Was it possible to sit in a park on Trantor, having ideal weather day after day, so that it felt as though you were surrounded by nothing at all--and coming to miss a howling wind or a biting cold or a breathless humidity?

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Perhaps. But not on the first day or the second or the seventh. He would have only this one day and he would leave tomorrow. He meant to enjoy it while he could. He might, after all, never return to Trantor. Still, he continued to feel uneasy at having spoken as independently as he had to a man who could, at will, order ones imprisonment or execution--or, at the very least, the economic and social death of loss of position and status. Before going to bed, Seldon had looked up Cleon I in the encyclopedic portion of his hotel room computer. The Emperor had been highly praised as, no doubt,     all Emperors in their own lifetime, regardless of their deeds. Seldon had dismissed that, but he was interested in the fact that Cleon had been born in the Palace and had never left its grounds. He had never been in Trantor itself, in any part of the multi- domed world. It was a matter of security, perhaps, but what it meant was that the Emperor was in prison, whether he admitted the matter to himself or not. It might be the most luxurious prison in the Galaxy , but it was a prison just the same.

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And though the Emperor had seemed mild-mannered and had shown no sign of being a bloody-minded autocrat as so many of his predecessors had been, it was not good to have attracted his attention. Seldon welcomed the thought of leaving tomorrow for Helicon, even though it would be winter (and a rather nasty one, so far) back home.

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He looked up at the bright diffuse light. Although it could never rain in here, the atmosphere was far from dry. A fountain played not far from him; the plants were green and had probably never felt drought. Occasionally, the shrubbery rustled as though a small animal or two was hidden there. He heard the hum of bees.

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Really, though Trantor was spoken of throughout the Galaxy as an artificial world of metal and ceramic , in this small patch it felt positively rustic

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. There were a few other persons taking advantage of the park all wearing light hats, some quite small. There was one rather pretty young woman not far away, but she was bent over a viewer and he could not see her face clearly. A man walked past, looked at him briefly and incuriously, then sat down in a seat facing him and buried himself in a sheaf of teleprints, crossing one leg, in its tight pink trouser leg, over the other.

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There was a tendency to pastel shades among the men, oddly enough, while the women mostly wore white. Being a clean environment, it made sense to wear light colors. He looked down in amusement at his own Heliconian costume, which was predominantly dull brown. If he were to stay on Trantor as he was not he would need to purchase suitable clothing or he would become an object of curiosity or laughter or repulsion. The man with the teleprints had, for instance, looked up at him more curiously this time--no doubt intrigued by his Outworldish clothing. Seldon was relieved that he did not smile. He could be philosophical over being a figure of fun, but, surely, he could not be expected to enjoy it. Seldon watched the man rather unobtrusively, for he seemed to be engaged in some sort of internal debate. At the moment he looked as if he was about to speak, then seemed to think better of it, then seemed to wish to speak again. Seldon wondered what the outcome would be.

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He studied the man. He was tall, with broad shoulders and no sign of a paunch, darkish hair with a glint of blond, smooth-shaven, a grave expression, an air of strength though there were no bulging muscles, a face that was a touch rugged--pleasant, but with nothing "pretty" about it. By the time the man had lost the internal fight with himself (or won, perhaps) and leaned toward him, Seldon had decided he liked him. The man said, "Pardon me, werent you at the Decennial Convention? Mathematics?"

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"Yes, I was," said Seldon agreeably.

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"Ah, I thought I saw you there. It was--excuse me--that moment of recognition that led me to sit here. If I am intruding on your privacy--"

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"Not at all. Im just enjoying an idle moment."

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"Lets see how close I can get. Youre Professor Seldon."

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"Seldon. Hari Seldon. Quite close. And you?"

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"Chetter Hummin." The man seemed slightly embarrassed. "Rather a homespun name, Im afraid."

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"Ive never come across any Chetters before," said Seldon. "Or Hummins. So that makes you somewhat unique, I should think. It might be viewed as being better than being mixed up with all the countless Haris there are. Or Seldons, for that matter."

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Seldon moved his chair closer to Hummin, scraping it against the slightly elastic ceramoid tiles.

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"Talk about homespun," he said, "What about this Outworldish clothing Im wearing? It never occurred to me that I ought to get Trantorian garb ."

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"You could buy some," said Hummin, eyeing Seldon with suppressed disapproval .

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"Ill be leaving tomorrow and, besides, I couldnt afford it. Mathematicians deal with large numbers sometimes, but never in their income.--I presume youre a mathematician , Hummin."

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"No. Zero talent there."

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"Oh." Seldon was disappointed. "You said you saw me at the Decennial Convention."

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"I was there as an onlooker . Im a journalist." He waved his teleprints, seemed suddenly aware that he was holding them and shoved them into his jacket pouch . "I supply the material for the news holocasts." Then, thoughtfully, "Actually, Im rather tired of it."

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"The job?"

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Hummin nodded. "Im sick of gathering together all the nonsense from every world. I hate the downward spiral."

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He glanced speculatively at Seldon. "Sometimes something interesting turns up, though. Ive heard you were seen in the company of an Imperial Guard and making for the Palace gate. You werent by any chance seen by the Emperor, were you?" The smile vanished from Seldons face. He said slowly, "If I was, it would scarcely be something I could talk about for publication."

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"No, no, not for publication. If you dont know this, Seldon, let me be the first to tell you--The first rule of the news game is that nothing is ever said about the Emperor or his personal entourage except what is officially given out. Its a mistake, of course, because rumors fly that are much worse than the truth, but thats the way it is."

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"But if you cant report it, friend, why do you ask?"

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"Private curiosity. Believe me, in my job I know a great deal more than ever gets on the air.--Let me guess. I didnt follow your paper, but I gathered that you were talking about the possibility of predicting the future."

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Seldon shook his head and muttered, "It was a mistake."

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"Pardon me?"

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"Nothing."

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"Well, prediction--accurate prediction--would interest the Emperor, or any man in government, so Im guessing that Cleon, First of that Name, asked you about it and wouldnt you please give him a few predictions."

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Seldon said stiffly, "I dont intend to discuss the matter." Hummin shrugged slightly. "Eto Demerzel was there, I suppose."

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"Who?"

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"Youve never heard of Eto Demerzel?"

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"Never."

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"Cleons alter ego--Cleons brain--Cleons evil spirit. Hes been called all those things--if we confine ourselves to the nonvituperative. He must have been there."

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Seldon looked confused and Hummin said, "Well, you may not have seen him, but he was there. And if he thinks you can predict the future--"

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"I cant predict the future," said Seldon, shaking his head vigorously. "If you listened to my paper, youll know that I only spoke of a theoretical possibility."

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"Just the same, if he thinks you can predict the future, he will not let you go."

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"He must have. Here I am."

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"That means nothing. He knows where you are and hell continue to know. And when he wants you, hell get you, wherever you are. And if he decides youre useful, hell squeeze the use out of you. And if he decides youre dangerous, hell squeeze the life out of you."

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Seldon stared. "What are you trying to do. Frighten me?"

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"Im trying to warn you."

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"I dont believe what youre saying."

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"Dont you? A while ago you said something was a mistake. Were you thinking that presenting the paper was a mistake and that it was getting you into the kind of trouble you dont want to be in?"

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Seldon bit his lower lip uneasily. That was a guess that came entirely too close to the truth--and it was at this moment that Seldon felt the presence of intruders.

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They did not cast a shadow, for the light was too soft and widespread. It was simply a movement that caught the corner of his eye--and then it stopped. Flight TRANTOR-- ... The capital of the First Galactic Empire ... Under Cleon I, it had its " twilight glow." To all appearances, it was then at its peak. Its land surface of 200 million square kilometers was entirely domed (except for the Imperial Palace area) and underlaid with an endless city that extended beneath the continental shelves. The population was 40 billion and although the signs were plentiful (and clearly visible in hindsight) that there were gathering problems, those who lived on Trantor undoubtedly found it still the Eternal World of legend and did not expect it would ever ...

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ENCYCLOPEDIA GALACTICA

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