The Currents of Space

The Currents of Space

by Isaac Asimov

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Overview

Classic science fiction adventure in the Foundation universe by grandmaster Isaac Asimov. Only one man can warn the planet Florinia that it is doomed by an astronomical catastrophe -- but he has amnesia and is a slave.

High above planet Florinia, the Squires of Sark live in unimaginable wealth and comfort. Down in the eternal spring of the planet, however, the native Florinians labor ceaselessly to produce the precious kyrt that brings prosperity to their Sarkite masters.

Rebellion is unthinkable and impossible. Not only do the Florinians no longer have a concept of freedom, any disruption of the vital kyrt trade would cause other planets to rise in protest, resulting in a galactic war. So the Trantorian Empire, whose grand plan is to unite all humanity in peace, prosperity, and freedom, has allowed the oppression to continue.

Living among the workers of Florinia, Rik is a man without a memory or a past. He has been abducted and brainwashed. Barely able to speak or care for himself when he was found, Rik is widely regarded as a simpleton by the worker community where he lives. As his memories begin to return, however, Rik finds himself driven by a cryptic message he is determined to deliver: Everyone on Florinia is doomed…the Currents of Space are bringing destruction. But if the planet is evacuated, the power of Sark will end-so there are those who would kill the messenger. The fate of the Galaxy hangs in the balance.

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Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781429968461
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates
Publication date: 04/27/2009
Series: Galactic Empire Series
Sold by: Macmillan
Format: NOOK Book
Pages: 240
Sales rank: 68,018
File size: 274 KB

About the Author

Isaac Asimov, author of the Foundation trilogy and many other novels, was one of the great SF writers of the 20th century.


Isaac Asimov, author of the Foundation trilogy and many other novels, was one of the great SF writers of the 20th century, and his hundreds of books introduced many thousands of readers to science fiction. Born in Brooklyn, he lived in Boston and in New York City for most of his life.

Date of Birth:

January 20, 1920

Date of Death:

April 6, 1992

Place of Birth:

Petrovichi, Russia

Place of Death:

New York, New York

Education:

Columbia University, B.S. in chemistry, 1939; M.A. in chemistry, 1941; Ph.D. in biochemistry, 1948

Read an Excerpt

The Currents of Space


By Isaac Asimov

Tom Doherty Associates

Copyright © 1980 The Estate of Isaac Asimov
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4299-6846-1



CHAPTER 1

THE FOUNDLING


Rik put down his feeder and jumped to his feet. He was trembling so hard he had to lean against the bare milk-white wall.

He shouted, "I remember!"

They looked at him and the gritty mumble of men at lunch died somewhat. Eyes met his out of faces indifferently clean and indifferently shaven, glistening and white in the imperfect wall illumination. The eyes reflected no great interest, merely the reflex attention enforced by any sudden and unexpected cry.

Rik cried again, "I remember my job. I had a job!"

Someone called, "Shoddop!" and someone else yelled, "Sid-down!"

The faces turned away, the mumble rose again. Rik stared blankly along the table. He heard the remark, "Crazy Rik," and a shrug of shoulders. He saw a finger spiral at a man's temple. It all meant nothing to him. None of it reached his mind.

Slowly he sat down. Again he clutched his feeder, a spoonlike affair, with sharp edges and little tines projecting from the front curve of the bowl, which could therefore with equal clumsiness cut, scoop and impale. It was enough for a millworker. He turned it over and stared without seeing at his number on the back of the handle. He didn't have to see it. He knew it by heart. All the others had registration numbers, just as he had, but the others had names also. He didn't. They called him Rik because it meant something like "moron" in the slang of the kyrt mills. And often enough they called him "Crazy Rik."

But perhaps he would be remembering more and more now. This was the first time since he had come to the mill that he had remembered anything at all from before the beginning. If he thought hard! If he thought with all his mind!

All at once he wasn't hungry; he wasn't the least hungry. With a sudden gesture, he thrust his feeder into the jellied briquet of meat and vegetables before him, pushed the food away, and buried his eyes in the heels of his palms. His fingers thrust and clutched at his hair and painstakingly he tried to follow his mind into the pitch from which it had extracted a single item — one muddy, undecipherable item.

Then he burst into tears, just as the clanging bell announced the end of his lunch shift.

* * *

Valona March fell in beside him when he left the mill that evening. He was scarcely conscious of her at first, at least as an individual. It was only that he heard his footsteps matched. He stopped and looked at her. Her hair was something between blonde and brown. She wore it in two thick plaits that she clamped together with little magnetized green-stoned pins. They were very cheap pins and had a faded look about them. She wore the simple cotton dress which was all that was needed in that mild climate, just as Rik himself needed only an open, sleeveless shirt and cotton slacks.

She said, "I heard something went wrong lunchtime."

She spoke in the sharp, peasant accents one would expect. Rik's own language was full of flat vowels and had a nasal touch. They laughed at him because of it and imitated his way of speaking, but Valona would tell him that that was only their own ignorance.

Rik mumbled, "Nothing's wrong, Lona."

She persisted. "I heard you said you remembered something. Is that right, Rik?"

She called him Rik too. There wasn't anything else to call him. He couldn't remember his real name. He had tried desperately enough. Valona had tried with him. One day she had obtained a torn city directory somehow and had read all the first names to him. None had seemed more familiar than any other.

He looked her full in the face and said, "I'll have to quit the mill."

Valona frowned. Her round, broad face with its flat, high cheekbones was troubled. "I don't think you can. It wouldn't be right."

"I've got to find out more about myself."

Valona licked her lips. "I don't think you should."

Rik turned away. He knew her concern to be sincere. She had obtained the mill job for him in the first place. He had had no experience with mill machinery. Or perhaps he had, but just didn't remember. In any case, Lona had insisted that he was too small for manual labor and they had agreed to give him technical training without charge. Before that, in the nightmarish days when he could scarcely make sounds and when he didn't know what food was for, she had watched him and fed him. She had kept him alive.

He said, "I've got to."

"Is it the headaches again, Rik?"

"No. I really remember something. I remember what my job was before — Before!"

He wasn't sure he wanted to tell her. He looked away. The warm, pleasant sun was at least two hours above the horizon. The monotonous rows of workers' cubicles that stretched out and round the mills were tiresome to look at, but Rik knew that as soon as they topped the rise the field would lie before them in all the beauty of crimson and gold.

He liked to look at the fields. From the very first the sight had soothed and pleased him. Even before he knew that the colors were crimson and gold, before he knew that there were such things as colors, before he could express his pleasure in anything more than a soft gurgle, the headaches would flicker away faster in the fields. In those days Valona would borrow a diamagnetic scooter and take him out of the village every idle-day. They would skim along, a foot above the road, gliding on the cushioned smoothness of the counter-gravity field, until they were miles and miles away from any human habitation and there would be left only the wind against his face, fragrant with the kyrt blossoms.

They would sit beside the road then, surrounded by color and scent, and between them share a food briquet, while the sun glowed down upon them until it was time to return again.

Rik was stirred by the memory. He said, "Let's go to the fields, Lona."

"It's late."

"Please. Just outside town."

She fumbled at the thin money pouch she kept between herself and the soft blue leather belt she wore, the only luxury of dress she allowed herself.

Rik caught her arm. "Let's walk."

* * *

They left the highway for the winding, dustless, packed-sand roads half an hour later. There was a heavy silence between them and Valona felt a familiar fear clutching at her. She had no words to express her feelings for him, so she had never tried.

What if he should leave her? He was a little fellow, no taller than herself and weighing somewhat less, in fact. He was still like a helpless child in many ways. But before they had turned his mind off he must have been an educated man. A very important educated man.

Valona had never had any education besides reading and writing and enough trade-school technology to be able to handle mill machinery, but she knew enough to know that all people were not so limited. There was the Townman, of course, whose great knowledge was so helpful to all of them. Occasionally Squires came on inspection tours. She had never seen them close up but once, on a holiday, she had visited the City and seen a group of incredibly gorgeous creatures at a distance. Occasionally the millworkers were allowed to listen to what educated people sounded like. They spoke differently, more fluently, with longer words and softer tones. Rik talked like that more and more as his memory improved.

She had been frightened at his first words. They came so suddenly after long whimpering over a headache. They were pronounced queerly. When she tried to correct him he wouldn't change.

Even then she had been afraid that he might remember too much and then leave her. She was only Valona March. They called her Big Lona. She had never married. She never would. A large, big-footed girl with work-reddened hands like herself could never marry. She had never been able to do more than look at the boys with dumb resentment when they ignored her at the idle-day dinner festivals. She was too big to giggle and smirk at them.

She would never have a baby to cuddle and hold. The other girls did, one after the other, and she could only crowd about for a quick glimpse of something red and hairless with screwed-up eyes, fists impotently clenched, gummy mouth —

"It's your turn next, Lona."

"When will you have a baby, Lona?"

She could only turn away.

But when Rik had come, he was like a baby. He had to be fed and taken care of, brought out into the sun, soothed to sleep when the headaches racked him.

The children would run after her, laughing. They would yell, "Lona's got a boy friend. Big Lona's got a crazy boy friend. Lona's boy friend is a rik."

Later on, when Rik could walk by himself (she had been as proud the day he took his first step as though he were really only one year old, instead of more like thirty-one) and stepped out, unescorted, into the village streets, they had run about him in rings, yelling their laughter and foolish ridicule in order to see a grown man cover his eyes in fear, and cringe, with nothing but whimpers to answer them. Dozens of times she had come charging out of the house, shouting at them, waving her large fists.

Even grown men feared those fists. She had felled her section head with a single wild blow the first day she had brought Rik to work at the mill because of a sniggering indecency concerning them which she overheard. The mill council fined her a week's pay for that incident, and might have sent her to the City for further trial at the Squire's court, but for the Townman's intervention and the plea that there had been provocation.

So she wanted to stop Rik's remembering. She knew she had nothing to offer him; it was selfish of her to want him to stay mind-blank and helpless forever. It was just that no one had ever before depended upon her so utterly. It was just that she dreaded a return to loneliness.

She said, "Are you sure you remember, Rik?"

"Yes."

They stopped there in the fields, with the sun adding its reddening blaze to all that surrounded them. The mild, scented evening breeze would soon spring up, and the checkerboard irrigation canals were already beginning to purple.

He said, "I can trust my memories as they come back, Lona. You know I can. You didn't teach me to speak, for instance. I remembered the words myself. Didn't I? Didn't I?"

She said reluctantly, "Yes."

"I even remember the times you took me out into the fields before I could speak. I keep remembering new things all the time. Yesterday I remembered that once you caught a kyrt fly for me. You held it closed in your hands and made me put my eye to the space between your thumbs so that I could see it flash purple and orange in the darkness. I laughed and tried to force my hand between yours to get it, so that it flew away and left me crying after all. I didn't know it was a kyrt fly then, or anything about it, but it's all very clear to me now. You never told me about that, did you, Lona?"

She shook her head.

"But it did happen, didn't it? I remember the truth, don't I?"

"Yes, Rik."

"And now I remember something about myself from before. There must have been a before, Lona."

There must have been. She felt the weight on her heart when she thought that. It was a different before, nothing like the now they lived in. It had been on a different world. She knew that because one word he had never remembered was kyrt. She had to teach him the word for the most important object on all the world of Florina.

"What is it you remember?" she asked.

At this, Rik's excitement seemed suddenly to die. He hung back. "It doesn't make much sense, Lona. It's just that I had a job once, and I know what it was. At least, in a way."

"What was it?"

"I analyzed Nothing."

She turned sharply upon him, peering into his eyes. For a moment she put the flat of her hand upon his forehead, until he moved away irritably. She said, "You don't have a headache again, Rik, have you? You haven't had one in weeks."

"I'm all right. Don't you go bothering me."

Her eyes fell, and he added at once, "I don't mean that you bother me, Lona. It's just that I feel fine and I don't want you to worry."

She brightened. "What does 'analyzed' mean?" He knew words she didn't. She felt very humble at the thought of how educated he must once have been.

He thought a moment. "It means — it means 'to take apart.'

You know, like we would take apart a sorter to find out why the scanning beam was out of alignment."

"Oh. But, Rik, how can anyone have a job not analyzing anything? That's not a job."

"I didn't say I didn't analyze anything. I said I analyzed Nothing. With a capital N."

"Isn't that the same thing?" It was coming, she thought. She was beginning to sound stupid to him. Soon he would throw her off in disgust.

"No, of course not." He took a deep breath. "I'm afraid I can't explain though. That's all I remember about that. But it must have been an important job. That's the way it feels. I couldn't have been a criminal."

Valona winced. She should never have told him that. She had told herself it was only for his own protection that she warned him, but now she felt that it had really been to keep him bound tighter to herself.

* * *

It was when he had first begun to speak. It was so sudden it had frightened her. She hadn't even dared speak to the Townman about it. The next idle-day she had withdrawn five credits from her life-hoard — there would never be a man to claim it as dowry, so that it didn't matter — and taken Rik to a City doctor. She had the name and address on a scrap of paper, but even so it took two frightening hours to find her way to the proper building through the huge pillars that held the Upper City up to the sun.

She had insisted on watching and the doctor had done all sorts of fearful things with strange instruments. When he put Rik's head between two metal objects and then made it glow like a kyrt fly in the night, she had jumped to her feet and tried to make him stop. He called two men who dragged her out, struggling wildly.

Half an hour afterward the doctor came out to her, tall and frowning. She felt uncomfortable with him because he was a Squire, even though he kept an office down in the Lower City, but his eyes were mild, even kind. He was wiping his hands on a little towel, which he tossed into a wastecan, even though it looked perfectly clean to her.

He said, "Where did you meet this man?"

She had told him the circumstances cautiously, reducing it to the very barest essentials and leaving out all mention of the Townman and the patrollers.

"Then you know nothing about him?"

She shook her head. "Nothing before that."

He said, "This man has been treated with a psychic probe. Do you know what that is?"

At first she had shaken her head again, but then she said in a dry whisper, "Is it what they do to crazy people, Doctor?"

"And to criminals. It is done to change their minds for their own good. It makes their minds healthy, or it changes the parts that make them want to steal and kill. Do you understand?"

She did. She grew brick-red and said, "Rik never stole anything or hurt anybody."

"You call him Rik?" He seemed amused. "Now look here, how do you know what he did before you met him? It's hard to tell from the condition of his mind now. The probing was thorough and brutal. I can't say how much of his mind has been permanently removed and how much has been temporarily lost through shock. What I mean is that some of it will come back, like his speaking, as time goes on, but not all of it. He should be kept under observation."

"No, no. He's got to stay with me. I've been taking good care of him, Doctor."

He frowned, and then his voice grew milder. "Well, I'm thinking of you, my girl. Not all the bad may be out of his mind. You wouldn't want him to hurt you someday."

At that moment a nurse led out Rik. She was making little sounds to quiet him, as one would an infant. Rik put a hand to his head and stared vacantly, until his eyes focused on Valona; then he held out his hands and cried, feebly, "Lona —"

She sprang to him and put his head on her shoulder, holding him tightly. She said to the doctor, "He wouldn't hurt me, no matter what."

The doctor said thoughtfully, "His case will have to be reported, of course. I don't know how he escaped from the authorities in the condition he must have been in."

"Does that mean they'll take him away, Doctor?"

"I'm afraid so."

"Please, Doctor, don't do that." She wrenched at the handkerchief, in which were the five gleaming pieces of credit-alloy. She said, "You can have it all, Doctor. I'll take good care of him. He won't hurt anyone."

The doctor looked at the pieces in his hand. "You're a mill-worker, aren't you?"

She nodded.

"How much do they pay you a week?"

"Two point eight credits."

He tossed the coins gently, brought them together in his closed palm with a tinkle of metal, then held them out to her. "Take it, girl. There's no charge."

She accepted them with wonder. "You're not going to tell anyone, Doctor?"

But he said, "I'm afraid I have to. It's the law."

She had driven blindly, heavily, back to the village, clutching Rik to her desperately.

The next week on the hypervideo newscast there had been the news of a doctor dying in a gyro-crash during a short failure in one of the local transit power-beams. The name was familiar and in her room that night she compared it with that on the scrap of paper. It was the same.


(Continues...)

Excerpted from The Currents of Space by Isaac Asimov. Copyright © 1980 The Estate of Isaac Asimov. Excerpted by permission of Tom Doherty Associates.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

Table of Contents

Contents

Title Page,
Copyright Notice,
Dedication,
Prolog: A Year Before,
1. The Foundling,
2. The Townman,
3. The Librarian,
4. The Rebel,
5. The Scientist,
6. The Ambassador,
7. The Patroller,
8. The Lady,
9. The Squire,
10. The Fugitive,
11. The Captain,
12. The Detective,
13. The Yachtsman,
14. The Renegade,
15. The Captive,
16. The Accused,
17. The Accuser,
18. The Victors,
Epilog: A Year After,
By Isaac Asimov from Tom Doherty Associates,
About the Author,
Copyright,

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The Currents of Space 4 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 31 reviews.
JoelCT More than 1 year ago
I was shocked when I figured out that I had not read this. I thought I had read everything he wrote in fiction. This is a pretty standard "amnesiac mystery" with a sci-fi twist, yet with Asimov's amazing ability to write a thriller, I couldn't put it down. The twists are original and the political debate between the planets kept my attention. If you like Asimov's mysteries, do not pass this one up!
Anonymous 11 months ago
Not a place for the casual reader to begin in Asimov writings, but a must if you've read the stories of Detective Bailey or the Foundation series. It's another grand part of the Asimov universe that makes you wonder, what's next.
bezoar44 on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
A man wakes up in a rural town on an oppressed planet with no memory of his identity or past. Slowly, as his memories begin to return, events are set in motion that will shake the future of two worlds, and possibly the entire Galactic Empire. This shorter novel shares some of the same characteristics of Asimov's more famous Foundation series: a big concept hook that underpins the story but isn't actually that integral to it; an emphasis on plot rather than characters; and a reliance on wildly improbable coincidences, some of which turn out not to be coincidences after all, to drive the story. On the other hand, in the various perspectives this novel offers of a radically unjust social and economic system -- and the compromises power makes to preserve privilege -- the novel implies a little more political reflection than the Foundation or Robot series. It's also a little less fun.
pmsyyz on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
Read for the first time ever, and in one sitting. As off a novel written in 1951, the non-pervasiveness of computers and electronic information storage and retrieval was obvious. Still enjoyable. The middle book of the three novels later grouped together as Asimov's Galactic Empire novels, it takes place when only half of the galaxy under Trantor's control.
endersreads on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
This is Asimov's 2nd Galactic Empire Novel. I was a little disapointed to not find a direct sequel to "The Stars, Like Dust". The power that gained control of the US Constitution (Asimov noted in his autobiography he regretted, and was annoyed at letting editor H.L. Gold talk him in to naming the document the US Constitution, I congratulate Gold on job well done)--which is thought to be Trantor--is now in a power struggle with Sark over the control of the Planet Florina. These powers manifest themselves in the form of Abel--Tantorian Ambassador--and the most powerful Great Squire of Sark, Fife. All together there are 5 Great Squires of Sark, each with a highly entertaining personality. Dr. Junz, from the ISB, has been searching for a missing man of his organization, a Spatio Analyst who disappeared after warning of immense danger to Florina. Florina is the producer of Kyrt, a material unique to the planet, and most economically vialble. Rik, our missing man, turns up with wiped memory working at the kyrt mills and in the care of Valona--a plain country girl--and the Townman. He begins to remember his past.
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