Prelude to Foundation - Isaac Asimov [97]
And then the conveyance came. It was an outmoded version of what Seldon, back on Helicon, would have called a gravi-bus. There were some twenty upholstered benches inside, each capable of holding four people. Each bench had its own doors on both sides of the bus. When it stopped, passengers emerged on either side. (For a moment, Seldon was concerned for those who got out on the traffic side of the gravi-bus, but then he noticed that every vehicle approaching from either direction stopped as it neared the bus. None passed it while it was not moving.)
Dors pushed Seldon impatiently and he moved on to a bench where two adjoining seats were available. Dors followed after. (The men always got on and got off first, he noticed.)
.11.11 try...
"For instance," she said and pointed to a smooth boxed-off area on the back of the bench directly before each of them. As soon as the conveyance had begun to move, words lit up, naming the next stop and the notable structures or crossways that were nearby.
"Now, that will probably tell us when we're approaching the changeover we want. At least the sector isn't completely barbaric."
"Good," said Seldon. Then, after a while, leaning toward Dors, he whispered, "No one is looking at us. It seems that artificial boundaries are set up to preserve individual privacy in any crowded place. Have you noticed that?"
"I've always taken it for granted. If that's going to be a rule of your psychohistory, no one will be very impressed by it."
As Dors had guessed, the direction plaque in front of them eventually announced the approach to the changeover for the direct line to the Sacratorium.
They exited and again had to wait. Some buses ahead had already left this intersection, but another gravi-bus was already approaching. They were on a well-traveled route, which was not surprising; the Sacratorium was bound to be the center and heartbeat of the sector.
They got on the gravi-bus and Seldon whispered, "We're not paying...
"According to the map, public transportation is a free service."
Seldon thrust out his lower lip. "How civilized. I suppose that nothing is all of a piece, not backwardness, not barbarism, nothing."
But Dors nudged him and whispered, "Your rule is broken. We're being watched. The man on your right."
52.
Seldon's eyes shifted briefly. The man to his right was rather thin and seemed quite old. He had dark brown eyes and a swarthy complexion, and Seldon was sure that he would have had black hair if he had not been depilated.
He faced front again, thinking. This Brother was rather atypical. The few Brothers he had paid any attention to had been rather tall, lightskinned, and with blue or gray eyes. Of course, he had not seen enough of them to make a general rule.
Then there was a light touch on the right sleeve of his kirtle. Seldon turned hesitantly and found himself looking at a card on which was written lightly, CAREFUL, TRIBESMAN!
Seldon started and put a hand to his skincap automatically. The man next to him silently mouthed, "Hair."
Seldon's hand found it, a tiny exposure of bristles at his temple. He must have disturbed the skincap at some point or another. Quickly and as unobtrusively as possible, he tugged the skincap, then made sure that it was snug under the pretence of stroking his head.
He turned to his neighbor on his right, nodded slightly, and mouthed, "Thank you."
His neighbor smiled and said in a normal speaking voice, "Going to the Sacratorium?"
Seldon nodded. "Yes, I am."
"Easy guess. So am I. Shall we get off together?" His smile was friendly.
"I'm with my-my-"
"With your woman. Of course. All three together, then?"
Seldon was not sure how to react. A quick look in the other direction showed him that Dors's eyes were turned straight ahead. She was showing no interest in masculine conversation-an attitude appropriate for a Sister. However, Seldon felt a soft pat on his left