"Are we succeeding?" gasped the Student.
"There's no way of telling yet. We have kept the situation stable so far - but for the first time in the history of the Plan, it is possible for the unexpected actions of a single individual to destroy it. We have adjusted a minimum number of outsiders to a needful state of mind; we have our agents - but their paths are planned. They dare not improvise. That should be obvious to you. And I will not conceal the worst - if we are discovered, here, on this world, it will not only be the Plan that is destroyed, but ourselves, our physical selves. So you see, our solution is not very good."
"But the little you have described does not sound like a solution at all, but like a desperate guess."
"No. Let us say, an intelligent guess."
"When is the crisis, Speaker? When will we know whether we have succeeded or not?"
"Well within the year, no doubt."
The Student considered that, then nodded his head. He shook hands with the Speaker. "Well, it's good to know."
He turned on his heel and left.
The first Speaker looked out silently as the window gained transparency. Past the giant structures to the quite, crowding stars.
A year would pass quickly. Would any of them, any of Seldon's heritage, be alive at its end?
11. Stowaway
It was a little over a month before the summer could be said to have started. Started, that is, to the extent that Homir Munn had written his final financial report of the fiscal year, seen to it that the substitute librarian supplied by the Government was sufficiently aware of the subtleties of the post - last year's man had been quite unsatisfactory - and arranged to have his little cruiser the Unimara - named after a tender and mysterious episode of twenty years past - taken out of its winter cobwebbery.
He left Terminus in a sullen distemper. No one was at the port to see him off. That would not have been natural since no one ever had in the past. He knew very well that it was important to have this trip in no way different from any he had made in the past, yet he felt drenched in a vague resentment. He, Homir Munn, was risking his neck in derring-doery of the most outrageous sort, and yet he left alone.
At least, so he thought.
And it was because he thought wrongly, that the following day was one of confusion, both on the Unimara and in Dr. Darell's suburban home.
It hit Dr. Darell's home first, in point of time, through the medium of Poli, the maid, whose month's vacation was now quite a thing of the past. She flew down the stairs in a flurry and stutter.
The good doctor met her and she tried vainly to put emotion into words but ended by thrusting a sheet of paper and a cubical object at him.
He took them unwillingly and said: "What's wrong, Poli?"
"She's gone, doctor."
"Who's gone?"
"Arcadia!"
"What do you mean, gone? Gone where? What are you talking about?"
And she stamped her foot: 'I don't know. She's gone, and there's a suitcase and some clothes gone with her and there's that letter. Why don't you read it, instead of just standing there? Oh, you men!"
Dr. Darell shrugged and opened the envelope. The letter was not long, and except for the angular signature, "Arkady," was in the ornate and flowing handwriting of Arcadia's transcriber.
Dear Father:
It would have been simply too heartbreaking to say good-by to you in person. I might have cried like a little girl and you would have been ashamed of me. So I'm writing a letter instead to tell you how much I'II miss you, even while I'm having this perfectly wonderful summer vacation with Uncle Homir. I'II take good care of myself and it won't be long before I’m home again. Meanwhile, I'm leaving you something that's all my own. You can have it now.
Your loving daughter,
Arkady.
He read it through several times with an expression that grew blanker each time. He said stiffly, "Have you read this, Poli?"
Poli was instantly on the defensive. "I certainly can't be blamed for that, doctor. The envelope has 'Poli' written on the outside, and I had no way of telling there was a letter for you on the inside. I'm no snoop, doctor, and in the years I've been with-"
Darell held up a placating hand, "Very well, Poli. It's not important. I just wanted to make sure you understood what had happened."
He was considering rapidly. It was no use telling her to forget the matter. With regard to the enemy, "forget" was a meaningless word; and the advice, insofar as it made the matter more important, would have had an opposite effect.
He said instead, "She's a queer little girl, you know. Very romantic. Ever since we arranged to have her go off on a space trip this summer, she's been quite excited."
"And just why has no one told me about this space trip?"
"It was arranged while you were away, and we forgot It's nothing more complicated than that."
Poli's original emotions now concentrated themselves into a single, overwhelming indignation, "Simple, is it? The poor chick has gone off with one suitcase, without a decent stitch of clothes to her, and alone at that. How long will she be away?"
"Now I won't have you worrying about it, Poli. There will be plenty of clothes for her on the ship. It's been all arranged. Will you tell Mr. Anthor, that I want to see him? Oh, and first - is this the object that Arcadia has left for me?" He turned it over in his hand.
Poli tossed her head. "I'm sure I don't know. The letter was on top of it and that's every bit I can tell you. Forget to tell me, indeed. If her mother were alive-"
Darell, waved her away. "Please call Mr. Anthor."
***
Anthor's viewpoint on the matter differed radically from that of Arcadia's father. He punctuated his initial remarks with clenched fists and tom hair, and from there, passed on to bitterness.
"Great Space, what are you waiting for? What are we both waiting for? Get the spaceport on the viewer and have them contact the Unimara."
"Softly, Pelleas, she's my daughter."
"But it's not your Galaxy."
"Now, wait. She's an intelligent girl, Pelleas, and she's thought this thing out carefully. We had better follow her thoughts while this thing is fresh. Do you know what this thing is?"
"No. Why should it matter what it is?'
"Because it's a sound-receiver."
"That thing?"
"It's homemade, but it will work. I've tested it. Don't you see? It's her way of telling us that she's been a party to our conversations of policy. She knows where Homir Munn is going and why. She's decided it would be exciting to go along."
"Oh, Great Space," groaned the younger man. "Another mind for the Second Foundation to pick."
"Except that there's no reason why the Second Foundation should, a priori, suspect a fourteen-year-old girl of being a danger - unless we do anything to attract attention to her, such as calling back a ship out of space for no reason other than to take her off. Do you forget with whom we're dealing? How narrow the margin is that separates us from discovery? How helpless we are thereafter?"