It was over breakfast the next morning, not sooner, that Dors took up the subject—and in a way that Seldon found most wounding.

She said, “Well, that was a pretty fiasco yesterday.”

Seldon, who had honestly thought he had gotten away with it without comment, looked sullen. “What made it a fiasco?”

“Driven out is what we were. And for what? What did we gain?”

“Only the knowledge that there is a robot in there.”

“Mycelium Seventy-Two said there wasn’t.”

“Of course he said that. He’s a scholar—or thinks he is—and what he doesn’t know about the Sacratorium would probably fill that library he goes to. You saw the Elder’s reaction.”

“I certainly did.”

“He would not have reacted like that if there was no robot inside. He was horrified we knew.”

“That’s just your guess, Hari. And even if there was, we couldn’t get in.”

“We could certainly try. After breakfast, we go out and buy a sash for me, one of those obiahs. I put it on, keep my eyes devoutly downward, and walk right in.”

“Skincap and all? They’ll spot you in a microsecond.”

“No, they won’t. We’ll go into the library where all the tribespeople data is kept. I’d like to see it anyway. From the library, which is a Sacratorium annex, I gather, there will probably be an entrance into the Sacratorium—”

“Where you will be picked up at once.”

“Not at all. You heard what Mycelium Seventy-Two had to say. Everyone keeps his eyes down and meditates on their great Lost World, Aurora. No one looks at anyone else. It would probably be a grievous breach of discipline to do so. Then I’ll find the Elders’ aerie—”

“Just like that?”

“At one point, Mycelium Seventy-Two said he would advise me not to try to get up into the Elders’ aerie. Up. It must be somewhere in that tower of the Sacratorium, the central tower.”

Dors shook her head. “I don’t recall the man’s exact words and I don’t think you do either. That’s a terribly weak foundation to—Wait.” She stopped suddenly and frowned.

“Well?” said Seldon.

“There is an archaic word ‘aerie’ that means ‘a dwelling place on high.’ ”

“Ah! There you are. You see, we’ve learned some vital things as the result of what you call a fiasco. And if I can find a living robot that’s twenty thousand years old and if it can tell me—”

“Suppose that such a thing exists, which passes belief, and that you find it, which is not very likely, how long do you think you will be able to talk to it before your presence is discovered?”

“I don’t know, but if I can prove it exists and if I can find it, then I’ll think of some way to talk to it. It’s too late for me to back out now under any circumstances. Hummin should have left me alone when I thought there was no way of achieving psychohistory. Now that it seems