Jenarr Leggen had a dark look about him. It was not so much his complexion, which was fair enough. It was not even his eyebrows, which were thick and dark enough. It was, rather, that those eyebrows were hunched over deepset eyes and a long and rather prominent nose. He had, as a result, a most unmerry look. His eyes did not smile and when he spoke, which wasn’t often, he had a deep, strong voice, surprisingly resonant for his rather thin body.

He said, “You’ll need warmer clothing than that, Seldon.”

Seldon said, “Oh?” and looked about.

There were two men and two women who were making ready to go up with Leggen and Seldon and, as in Leggen’s own case, their rather satiny Trantorian clothing was covered by thick sweaters that, not surprisingly, were brightly colored in bold designs. No two were even faintly alike, of course.

Seldon looked down at himself and said, “Sorry, I didn’t know—but I don’t have any suitable outer garment.”

“I can give you one. I think there’s a spare here somewhere. —Yes, here it is. A little threadbare, but it’s better than nothing.”

“Wearing sweaters like these can make you unpleasantly warm,” said Seldon.

“Here they would,” said Leggen. “Other conditions exist Upperside. Cold and windy. Too bad I don’t have spare leggings and boots for you too. You’ll want them later.”

They were taking with them a cart of instruments, which they were testing one by one with what Seldon thought was unnecessary slowness.

“Your home planet cold?” asked Leggen.

Seldon said, “Parts of it, of course. The part of Helicon I come from is mild and often rainy.”

“Too bad. You won’t like the weather Upperside.”

“I think I can manage to endure it for the time we’ll be up there.”

When they were ready, the group filed into an elevator that was marked: OFFICIAL USE ONLY.

“That’s because it goes Upperside,” said one of the young women, “and people aren’t supposed to be up there without good reason.”

Seldon had not met the young woman before, but he had heard her addressed as Clowzia. He didn’t know if that was a first name, a last name, or a nickname.

The elevator seemed no different from others that Seldon had been on, either here on Trantor or at home in Helicon (barring, of course, the gravitic lift he and Hummin had used), but there was something about knowing that it was going to take him out of the confines of the planet and into emptiness above that made it feel like a spaceship.

Seldon smiled internally. A foolish fantasy.

The elevator quivered slightly, which reminded Seldon of Hummin’s forebodings of Galactic decay. Leggen, along with the other men and one of the women, seemed frozen and waiting, as though they had suspended thought as well as activity until they could get out, but Clowzia kept glancing at him as though she found him terribly impressive.

Seldon leaned close and whispered