Second Foundation - Isaac Asimov [53]
At least, so he thought.
And it was because he thought wrongly, that the following day was one of confusion, both on the Unimara and in Dr. Darell’s suburban home.
It hit Dr. Darell’s home first, in point of time, through the medium of Poli, the maid, whose month’s vacation was now quite a thing of the past. She flew down the stairs in a flurry and stutter.
The good doctor met her and she tried vainly to put emotion into words but ended by thrusting a sheet of paper and a cubical object at him.
He took them unwillingly and said: “What’s wrong, Poli?”
“She’s gone, doctor.”
“Who’s gone?”
“Arcadia!”
“What do you mean, gone? Gone where? What are you talking about?”
And she stamped her foot: “I don’t know. She’s gone, and there’s a suitcase and some clothes gone with her and there’s that letter. Why don’t you read it, instead of just standing there? Oh, you men!”
Dr. Darell shrugged and opened the envelope. The letter was not long, and except for the angular signature, “Arkady,” was in the ornate and flowing handwriting of Arcadia’s Transcriber.
Dear Father:
It would have been simply too heartbreaking to say good-by to you in person. I might have cried like a little girl and you would have been ashamed of me. So I’m writing a letter instead to tell you how much I’ll miss you, even while I’m having this perfectly wonderful summer vacation with Uncle Homir. I’ll take good care of myself and it won’t be long before I’m home again. Meanwhile, I’m leaving you something that’s all my own. You can have it now.
Your loving daughter,
Arkady.
He read it through several times with an expression that grew blanker each time. He said stiffly, “Have you read this, Poli?”
Poli was instantly on the defensive. “I certainly can’t be blamed for that, doctor. The envelope has ‘Poli’ written on the outside, and I had no way of telling there was a letter for you on the inside. I’m no snoop, doctor, and in the years I’ve been with—”
Darell held up a placating hand, “Very well, Poli. It’s not important. I just wanted to make sure you understood what had happened.”
He was considering rapidly. It was no use telling her to forget the matter. With regard to the enemy, “forget” was a meaningless word; and the advice, insofar as it made the matter more important, would have had an opposite effect.
He said instead, “She’s a queer little girl, you know. Very romantic. Ever since we arranged to have her go off on a space trip this summer, she’s been quite excited.”
“And just why has no one told me about this space trip?”
“It was arranged while you were away, and we forgot. It’s nothing more complicated than that.”
Poli’s original emotions now concentrated themselves into a single, overwhelming indignation, “Simple, is it? The poor chick has gone off with one suitcase, without a decent stitch of clothes to her, and alone at that. How long will she be away?”
“Now I won’t have you worrying about it, Poli. There will be plenty of clothes for her on the ship. It’s been all arranged. Will you tell Mr. Anthor that I want to see him? Oh, and first—is this the object that Arcadia has left for me?” He turned it over in his hand.
Poli tossed her head. “I’m sure I don’t know. The letter was on top of it and that’s every bit I can tell you. Forget to tell me, indeed. If her mother were alive—”
Darell waved her away. “Please call Mr. Anthor.”
Anthor’s viewpoint on the matter differed radically from that of Arcadia’s father. He punctuated his initial remarks with clenched fists and torn hair, and from there, passed on to bitterness.
“Great Space, what are you waiting for? What are we both waiting for? Get the spaceport on the viewer and have them contact the Unimara.”
“Softly, Pelleas, she’s my daughter.”
“But it’s not your Galaxy.”
“Now, wait. She’s an intelligent girl, Pelleas, and she’s thought this thing out carefully. We had better follow her thoughts while this thing is fresh. Do you know what this thing is?”
“No. Why should it matter what it is?