pretend to be sitting on a different planet-one that had not been flattened and subdued in service to the Galactic Empire of Humanity.The forest teased Hari. Its total absence of straight lines seemed perverse, a riot of greenery that defied any effort to decipher or decode. The geometries seemed unpredictable, evenchaotic.Mentally, he reached out to the chaos, so vibrant and undisciplined. He spoke to it as an equal. His great enemy.All my life I fought against you, using mathematics to overcome nature’s vast complexity. With tools of psychohistory, I probed the matrices of human society, wresting order from that murky tangle. And when my victories still felt incomplete, I used politics and guile to combat uncertainty, driving you like an enemy before me.So why now, at my time of supposed triumph, do I hear you calling out to me? Chaos, my old foe? Hari’s answer came in the same phrase that kept threading his thoughts.Because I am finished.Finished as a mathematician.It was more than a year since Stettin Palver or Gaal Dornick or any other member of the Fifty had consulted Hari with a serious permutation or revision to the “Seldon Plan.” Their awe and reverence for him was unchanged. But urgent tasks kept them busy. Besides, anyone could tell that his mind no longer had the suppleness to juggle a myriad abstractions at the same time. It took a youngster’s mental agility, concentration, andarroganceto challenge the hyperdimensional algorithms of psychohistory. His successors, culled from among the best minds on twenty-five million worlds, had all these traits in superabundance.But Hari could no longer afford conceit. There remained too little time.Finished as a politician.How he used to hate that word! Pretending, even t
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