Forward the Foundation - Isaac Asimov [222]
Today, though, Seldon was in a dark mood. He was coming to the conclusion that Wanda's mentalic ability would get him nowhere. He had no credits to continue his work-no credits to locate others like Wanda, no credits to pay his workers on the Psychohistory Project at Streeling, no credits to set up his all-important Encyclopedia Project at the Galactic Library.
Now what?
He continued to walk toward the Galactic Library. He would have been better off taking a gravicab, but he wanted to walk-limp or not. He needed time to think.
He heard a cry-"There he is!"-but paid no attention.
It came again. "There he is! Psychohistory!"
The word forced him to look up. -Psychohistory.
A group of young men was closing in around him.
Automatically Seldon placed his back against the wall and raised his cane. "What is it you want?"
They laughed. "Credits, old man. Do you have any credits?"
"Maybe, but why do you want them from me? You said, `Psychohistory!' Do you know who I am?"
"Sure, you're Raven Seldon" said the young man in the lead. He seemed both comfortable and pleased.
"You're a creep," shouted another.
"What are you going to do if I don't give you any credits?"
"We'll beat you up," said the leader, "and we'll take them."
"And if I give you my credits?"
"We'll beat you up anyway!" They all laughed.
Hari Seldon raised his cane higher. "Stay away. All of you."
By now he had managed to count them. There were eight.
He felt himself choking slightly. Once he and Dors and Raych had been attacked by ten and they had had no trouble. He had been only thirty-two at the time and Dors-was Dors.
Now it was different. He waved his cane.
The leader of the hoodlums said, "Hey, the old man is going to attack us. What are we going to do?"
Seldon looked around swiftly. There were no security officers around. Another indication of the deterioration of society. An occasional person or two passed by, but there was no use calling for help. Their footsteps increased in speed and made a wide detour. No one was going to run any risks of getting involved in an imbroglio.
Seldon said, "The first one of you who approaches gets a cracked head."
"Yeah?" And the leader stepped forward rapidly and seized the cane. There was a short sharp struggle and the cane was wrested from Seldon's grip. The leader tossed it to one side.
"Now what, old man?"
Seldon shrunk back. He could only wait for the blows. They crowded around him, each eager to land a blow or two. Seldon lifted his arms to try to ward them off. He could still Twist-after a fashion. If he were facing only one or two, he might be able to Twist his body, avoid their blows, strike back. But not against eight-surely not against eight.
He tried, at any rate, moving quickly to one side to avoid the blows and his right leg, with its sciatica, doubled under him. He fell and knew himself to be utterly helpless.
Then he heard a stentorian voice shouting, "What's going on here? Get back, you thugs! Back or I'll kill you all!"
The leader said, "Well, another old man."
"Not that old," said the newcomer. With the back of one hand, he struck the leader's face, turning it an ugly red.
Seldon said in surprise, "Raych, it's you."
Raych's hand swept back. "Stay out of this, Dad. Just get up and move away."
The leader, rubbing his cheek, said, "We'll get you for that."
"No, you won't," said Raych, drawing out a knife of Dahlite manufacture, long and gleaming. A second knife was withdrawn and he now held one in each hand.
Seldon said weakly, "Still carrying knives, Raych?"
"Always," said Raych. "Nothing will ever make me stop."
"I'll stop you," said the leader, drawing out a blaster.
Faster than the eye could follow,