WEEKLY WHINE

Live from the Time Vault

The Vault was furnished with considerably more than nine chairs, as though a much larger contingent had been anticipated. The Secretary took note of that fact with some bemusement as he took a seat as distant from the other eight as he could; no doubt the others would be pleased by that fact.

He glanced at his watch – 11:59 EDT – and then to the glass cubicle that dominated half the room. It was absolutely empty but still drew attention as the only unusual feature in the room.

The others in the room continued to talk amongst themselves. The Secretary had no interest in any thoughts or opinions they could possibly offer. He had heard them all before and still had yet to be swayed by any.

The lights went dim!

Not out completely, but the Secretary did jump at the suddenness of the transition as he looked up to the lights recessed into the ceiling, and when he brought his eyes back down, the cubicle was no longer empty.

A figure sat in a wheelchair before them.

For a few moments it merely cast an idle gaze at a book flattened out upon its lap. Then suddenly – just as suddenly as it had appeared – the figure looked up and seemed to come alive, becoming not a figure, but a person.

The person said, “I am Hari Seldon.”

It was a soft, dispassionate voice that continued, as though in idle telephone chatter, “As you see, I am confined to this chair, thanks to a quite inconvenient paralysis, and cannot rise to greet you. I can’t even see you and don’t know how many of you there are, if indeed there is anyone here. So, all this will be conducted informally. If any of you are standing, please have a seat. I understand this is a no-smoking facility, but if you care to smoke, I wouldn’t mind at all.” He chuckled a bit. “I am, after all, not here in the first place.”

The Secretary, despite himself, smiled.

Hari Seldon closed his book and put it to one side, though no table was visible. When his fingers let go, the book disappeared.

“Well, it has been five years since this great project began,” Seldon’s image said, “and while it may feel like a catastrophic mess entirely beyond your control, it is in fact very likely to be proceeding in accordance with our plan. In fact, our figures show a ninety-nine point one percent probability that there has been no significant deviation in the Plan for these first five years.

“And what is this Plan? Unfortunately, it cannot be revealed to anyone without introducing such uncertainties in the psychohistorical equations as to render itself useless. So I will have to keep it a secret. Hopefully,” and here he seemed to smirk somewhat, “you understand.

“But I can now reveal to you one thing. The great project you are currently engaged in is a fraud, and always has been!”

There were some quiet sounds from the other corner of the room – gasps, no doubt – but the Secretary did not turn his gaze from the cubicle.

Seldon, of course, continued unperturbed. “It is a fraud in the sense that none of us have any interest in this great project or its outcome. However, it has served its purpose in that it has drawn your attention and resources, and therefore set you on the path we charted for you.

“In the five years that you have spent on this fraudulent project – there is now no reason to soften our words – you have found that your path of retreat has been closed. You now have no choice but to continue, blindly, on the vastly more important project that we began simultaneously.

“So, we placed you in such circumstances that you no longer have free will. Strictly speaking, of course, that is not true. You do have free will. But, you will find that if you attempt to act outside our Plan, events will conspire as to reverse your actions, often with additional needless hardship for yourselves or for others; most likely you have already seen this happen at least once.

“From now on, and into the decades, your path is inevitable. You will encounter a series of crises, as you now are in the grips of the first. In each case your freedom of action will be similarly constricted until you are forced along one, and only one, path.

“For example, in the present crisis, you may believe that a full-scale conflagration, destroying all you have worked for, is inevitable. But I can tell you now that it is not. There is but a single way to avoid it. It will not be easy, and you will come close to the edge several times, but assuming no significant deviations from the Plan, you will not be pushed over the precipice.

“Today’s problem is quite simple by comparison to the crises you will reach later. In simplest terms, it is this. Your reach has exceeded your manpower, your resources, and even your political and social capital. Your grand vision has clouded your sense of the present, of what is going on around you, of the threats that truly imperil you.

“By the way, please pardon me for speaking in such vagaries. I know neither the specifics of your circumstance, nor the terminology that you are using to describe it. Nonetheless, of the possible outcomes to this point, all – excepting the .9% that I mentioned earlier – share the common thread that I just described.

“Whatever your specific case, then, you have nonetheless been forced into action. The nature of that action, and the solution to your dilemma, is, of course, obvious!”

He reached to his left, and the book flashed into appearance in his hand.

“So, remember that you are now on a path we have set out for you. At its end lies a fundamental change in the organisation and direction of your world, a new and greater Union. Ladies and gentlemen, the problem is yours!”

And as Seldon’s eyes lowered to his book, and as he flickered out of existence, and as the lights went up, the Secretary became aware of the others in the room, the ones with whom he had entered.

He did not need to listen to their conversation to know how they had reacted.

Everyone in the room knew that they would each be out of a job in just under a year. To the others, the Secretary knew, that meant they had less than a year to prove Seldon wrong.

Earlier, the Secretary might have tried to stop them. But today, he was beginning to realise that he would not need to.

When they got to the door, the Vice President said, firmly and without emotion, “He’s full of shit.”

The Secretary regarded the Vice President and, an eyebrow raised, replied, “Is he?”