Prelude to Foundation - Isaac Asimov [72]
"Or think they know," said Dors with a historian's skepticism. "I understand they have legends that are supposed to date back to primordial times, but I can't believe they can be taken seriously."
"We can't know that until we find out what those legends are. Are there no outside records of them?"
"Not that I know of. These people are terribly ingrown. They're almost psychotic in their inward clinging. That Hummin can break down their barriers somewhat and even get them to take us in is remarkable-really remarkable."
Seldon brooded. "There has to be an opening somewhere. Sunmaster was surprised--angry, in fact-that I didn't know Mycogen was an agricultural community. That seems to be something they don't want kept a secret."
"The point is, it isn't a secret. 'Mycogen' is supposed to be from archaic words meaning 'yeast producer.' At least, that's what I've been told. I'm not a paleolinguist. In any case, they culture all varieties of microfood-yeast, of course, along with algae, bacteria, multicellular fungi, and so on."
"Thai s not uncommon," said Seldon. "Most worlds have this microculture. We have some even on Helicon."
"Not like Mycogen. It's their specialty. They use methods as archaic as the name of their section-secret fertilizing formulas, secret environmental influences. Who knows what? All is secret."
"Ingrown..
..With a vengeance. What it amounts to is that they produce protein and subtle flavoring, so that their microfood isn't like any other in the world. They keep the volume comparatively low and the price is skyhigh. I've never tasted any and I'm sure you haven't, but it sells in great quantities to the Imperial bureaucracy and to the upper classes on other worlds. Mycogen depends on such sales for its economic health, so they want everyone to know that they are the source of this valuable food. That, at least, is no secret.'.
"Mycogen must be rich, then."
"They're not poor, but I suspect that it's not wealth they're after. It's protection. The Imperial government protects them because, without them, there wouldn't be these microfoods that add the subtlest flavors, the tangiest spices, to every dish. That means that
Mycogen can maintain its odd way of life and be haughty toward its neighbors, who probably find them insupportable."
Dors looked about. "They live an austere life. There's no holovision, I notice, and no book-films."
"I noticed one in the closet up on the shelf." Seldon reached for it, stared at the label, and then said in clear disgust, "A cookbook."
Dors held out her hand for it and manipulated the keys. It took a while, for the arrangement was not quite orthodox, but she finally managed to light the screen and inspect the pages. She said, "There are a few recipes, but for the most part this seems to consist of philsophical essays on gastronomy."
She shut it off and turned it round and about. "It seems to be a single unit. I don't see how one would eject the microcard and insert another. A one-book scanner. Now that's a waste."
"Maybe they think this one book-film is all anyone needs." He reached toward the end table that was between the two beds and picked up another object. "This could be a speaker, except that there's no screen."
"Perhaps they consider the voice sufficient."
"How does it work, I wonder?" Seldon lifted it and looked at it from different sides. "Did you ever see anything like this?"
"In a museum once-if this is the same thing. Mycogen seems to keep itself deliberately archaic. I suppose they consider that another way of separating themselves from the so-called tribesmen that surround them in overwhelming numbers. Their archaism and odd customs make them indigestible, so to speak. There's a kind of perverse logic to all that."
Seldon, still playing with the device, said, "Whoops! It went on. Or something went on. But I don't hear anything."
Dors frowned and picked up a small felt-lined cylinder that remained behind on the end table. She put it to her ear. "There's a voice coming out of this," she said. "Here, try it."