Free Foundation Fear by Gregory Benford Page B

Dors paused as though searching for a distant memory, and then said, “A
     firm engaged in computer systems architecture.”
    “Right, one of the best. They've got a market for old sims as entertainment.”
    Hari said, “Never heard of them.”
    Yugo shook his head in amazement. “You don't keep up, Hari.”
    “I don't try to keep up. I try to stay ahead.”
    Dors said, “I don't like using any outside agency. And what's this about paying?”
    Yugo beamed. “They're paying for license rights. I negotiated it all.”
    “Do we have any control over how they use the sims?” Dors leaned forward alertly.
    “We don't need any,” Yugo said defensively. “They'll probably use them in advertisements
     or something. How much use can you get out of a son nobody will probably understand?”
    “I don't like it. Aside from the commercial aspects, it's risky to even revive an ancient
     sim. Public outrage -- ”
    “Hey, that's the past. People don't fed that way about tiktoks, and they're getting pretty
     smart.”
    Tiktoks were machines of low mental capacity held rigorously beneath an intelligence
     ceiling by the Encoding Laws of antiquity Hari had always suspected that the true, ancient
     robots had made those laws, so that the realm of machine intelligence did not spawn ever
     more specialized and unpredictable types.
    The true robots, such as R. Daneel Olivaw, remained aloof, cool, and long-visioned. But in
     the gathering anxieties across the entire Empire, traditional cybernetic protocols were
     breaking down. Like everything else.
    Dors stood. “I'm opposed. We must stop the at once.”
    Yugo rose too, startled. “You helped me find the sims. Now you -- ”
    “I did not intend this.” Her face tightened.
    Hari wondered at her intensity. Something else was at stake here, but what? He said
     mildly, “I see no reason to not make a bit of profit from side avenues of our research.
     And we do need increased computing capacity.”
    Dors' mouth worked with irritation, but she aid nothing more. Hari wondered why she was so
     opposed. “Usually you don't give a damn about social conventions.”
    She said acidly, “Usually you are not a candidate for First Minister.”
    “I will not let such considerations deflect our research,” he said firmly. “Understand?”
    She nodded and said nothing. He instantly felt like an overbearing tyrant. There was
     always a potential conflict between being coworkers and lovers. Usually they waltzed
     around the problems. Why was she so adamant?
    They got through some more work on psychohistory, and Dors mentioned his next appointment.
     “She's from my history department. I asked her to look into patterns in Trantorian trends
     over the last ten millennia.”
    “Oh, good, thanks. Could you show her in, please?”
    Sylvin Thoranax was a striking woman, bearing a box of old data pyramids. “I found these
     in a library halfway around the planet,” she explained.
    Hari picked one up. “I've never seen one of these. Dusty!”
    “For some there's no library index. I down-coded a few and they're good, still readable
     with a translation matrix.”
    “Ummm.” Hari liked the musty feel of old technology from simpler times. “We can read these
     directly?”
    She nodded. “I know how the reduced Seldon Equations function. You should be able to do a
     mat comparison and find the coefficients you need.”
    Hari grimaced. “They're not my equations; they come out of a body of research by many -- ”
    “Come come, Academician, everyone knows you wrote down the procedures, the approach.”
    Hari groused a little more, because it did irk him, but the Thoranax woman went on about
     using the pyramids and Yugo joined in enthusiastically and he let the point pass. She went
     off with Yugo to work and he settled into his usual academic grind. His daily schedule
     hovered on the holo:
    á
    
    
     Get Symposia speakers -- sweeten the invitation for the reluctant
    á