Trantor, the capital world-city of the Galactic Empire, had changed considerably since the day Hari first stepped off the hypership from his native Helicon thirty-eight years ago. Was it the pearly haze of an old man’s memory that made the Trantor of old shine so brightly in his mind’s eye, Hari wondered. Or perhaps it had been the exuberance of youth—how could a young man from a provincial Outer World such as Helicon not be impressed by the gleaming towers, sparkling domes, the colorful, rushing masses of people that had seemed to swirl through Trantor, day and night.

Now, Hari thought sadly, the walkways are nearly deserted, even in the full light of day. Roving gangs of thugs controlled various areas of the city, competing among themselves for territory. The security establishment had dwindled; those who were left had their hands full processing complaints at the central office. Of course, security officers were dispatched as emergency calls came through, but they made it to the scene only after a crime was committed—they no longer made even a pretense of protecting the citizens of Trantor. A person went out at his own risk—and a great risk it was. And yet Hari Seldon still took that risk, in the form of a daily walk, as if defying the forces that were destroying his beloved Empire to destroy him as well.

And so Hari Seldon walked along, limping—and thoughtful.

Nothing worked. Nothing. He had been unable to isolate the genetic pattern that set Wanda apart—and without that, he was unable to locate others like her.

Wanda’s ability to read minds had sharpened considerably in the six years since she had identified the flaw in Yugo Amaryl’s Prime Radiant. Wanda was special in more ways than one. It was as if, once she realized that her mental ability set her apart from other people, she was determined to understand it, to harness its energy, to direct it. As she had progressed through her teen years, she had matured, throwing off the girlish giggles that had so endeared her to Hari, at the same time becoming even dearer to him in her determination to help him in his work with the powers of her “gift.” For Hari Seldon had told Wanda about his plan for a Second Foundation and she had committed herself to realizing that goal with him.

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.