They landed at a jetport that seemed deserted to Seldon’s wondering eyes. The pilot, having completed his task, shook hands with both Hari and Dors and took his jet up into the air with a rush, plunging it into an opening that appeared for his benefit.

There seemed, then, nothing to do but wait. There were benches that could seat perhaps a hundred people, but Seldon and Dors Venabili were the only two people around. The port was rectangular, surrounded by walls in which there must be many tunnels that could open to receive or deliver jets, but there were no jets present after their own had departed and none arrived while they waited.

There were no people arriving or any indications of habitation; the very life hum of Trantor was muted.

Seldon felt this aloneness to be oppressive. He turned to Dors and said, “What is it that we must do here? Have you any idea?”

Dors shook her head. “Hummin told me we would be met by Sunmaster Fourteen. I don’t know anything beyond that.”

“Sunmaster Fourteen? What would that be?”

“A human being, I presume. From the name I can’t be certain whether it would be a man or a woman.”

“An odd name.”

“Oddity is in the mind of the receiver. I am sometimes taken to be a man by those who have never met me.”

“What fools they must be,” said Seldon, smiling.

“Not at all. Judging from my name, they are justified. I’m told it is a popular masculine name on various worlds.”

“I’ve never encountered it before.”

“That’s because you aren’t much of a Galactic traveler. The name ‘Hari’ is common enough everywhere, although I once knew a woman named ‘Hare,’ pronounced like your name but spelled with an ‘e.’ In Mycogen, as I recall, particular names are confined to families—and numbered.”

“But Sunmaster seems so unrestrained a name.”

“What’s a little braggadocio? Back on Cinna, ‘Dors’ is from an old local expression meaning ‘spring gift.’ ”

“Because you were born in the spring?”

“No. I first saw the light of day at the height of Cinna’s summer, but the name struck my people as pleasant regardless of its traditional—and largely forgotten—meaning.”

“In that case, perhaps Sunmaster—”

And a deep, severe voice said, “That is my name, tribesman.”

Seldon, startled, looked to his left. An open ground-car had somehow drawn close. It was boxy and archaic, looking almost like a delivery wagon. In it, at the controls, was a tall old man who looked vigorous despite his age. With stately majesty, he got out of the ground-car.

He wore a long white gown with voluminous sleeves, pinched in at the wrists. Beneath the gown were soft sandals from which the big toe protruded, while his head, beautifully shaped, was completely hairless. He regarded the two calmly with his deep blue eyes.

He said, “I greet you, tribesman.”

Seldon said with automatic politeness, “Greetings, sir.” Then, honestly puzzled, he asked, “How did you get