"Asimov, Isaac - 1. Foundation" - читать интересную книгу автора (Asimov Isaac)

Gaal sprang to the door and found it would no longer open. He could only dress
and wait.
They came for him and took him elsewhere, but it was still detention. They asked
him questions most politely. It was all very civilized. He explained that he was
a provincial of Synnax; that he had attended such and such schools and obtained
a Doctor of Mathematics degree on such and such a date. He had applied for a
position on Dr. Seldon's staff and had been accepted. Over and over again, he
gave these details; and over and over again, they returned to the question of
his joining the Seldon Project. How had he heard of it; what were to be his
duties; what secret instructions had he received; what was it all about?
He answered that he did not know. He had no secret instructions. He was a
scholar and a mathematician. He had no interest in politics.
And finally the gentle inquisitor asked, "When will Trantor be destroyed?"
Gaal faltered, "I could not say of my own knowledge."
"Could you say of anyone's?"
"How could I speak for another?" He felt warm; overwarm.
The inquisitor said, "Has anyone told you of such destruction; set a date?" And,
as the young man hesitated, he went on, "You have been followed, doctor. We were
at the airport when you arrived; on the observation tower when you waited for
your appointment; and, of course, we were able to overhear your conversation
with Dr. Seldon."
Gaal said, "Then you know his views on the matter."
"Perhaps. But we would like to hear them from you."
"He is of the opinion that Trantor would be destroyed within three centuries."
"He proved it, Ц uh Ц mathematically?"
"Yes, he did," Ц defiantly.
"You maintain the Ц uh Ц mathematics to be valid, I suppose.
"If Dr. Seldon vouches for it, it is valid."
"Then we will return."
"Wait. I have a right to a lawyer. I demand my rights as an Imperial citizen."
"You shall have them."
And he did.
It was a tall man that eventually entered, a man whose face seemed all vertical
lines and so thin that one could wonder whether there was room for a smile.
Gaal looked up. He felt disheveled and wilted. So much had happened, yet he had
been on Trantor not more than thirty hours.
The man said, "I am Lors Avakim. Dr. Seldon has directed me to represent you."
"Is that so? Well, then, look here. I demand an instant appeal to the Emperor.
I'm being held without cause. I'm innocent of anything. Of anything." He slashed
his hands outward, palms down, "You've got to arrange a hearing with the
Emperor, instantly."
Avakim was carefully emptying the contents of a flat folder onto the floor. If
Gaal had had the stomach for it, he might have recognized Cellomet legal forms,
metal thin and tapelike, adapted for insertion within the smallness of a
personal capsule. He might also have recognized a pocket recorder.
Avakim, paying no attention to Gaal's outburst, finally looked up. He said, "The
Commission will, of course, have a spy beam on our conversation. This is against
the law, but they will use one nevertheless."
Gaal ground his teeth.
"However," and Avakim seated himself deliberately, "the recorder I have on the