MINISTER Lizalor was still at her desk when they returned to her office. Her face broke into a grim smile as they walked in.
She said, “I trust, Councilman Trevize, that you have returned to tell me that you are giving up this Foundation ship you have.”
“I have come, Minister,” said Trevize calmly, “to discuss terms.”
“There are no terms to discuss, Councilman. A trial, if you insist on one, can be arranged very quickly and would be carried through even more quickly. I guarantee your conviction even in a perfectly fair trial since your guilt in bringing in a worldless person is obvious and indisputable. After that, we will be legally justified in seizing the ship and you three would suffer heavy penalties. Don’t force those penalties on yourself just to delay us for a day.”
“Nevertheless, there are terms to discuss, Minister, because no matter how quickly you convict us, you cannot seize the ship without my consent. Any attempt you make to force your way into the ship without me will destroy it, and the spaceport with it, and every human being in the spaceport. This will surely infuriate the Foundation, something you dare not do. Threatening us or mistreating us in order to force me to open the ship is surely against your law, and if you break your own law in desperation and subject us to torture or even to a period of cruel and unusual imprisonment, the Foundation will find out about it and they will be even more furious. However much they want the ship they cannot allow a precedent that would permit the mistreatment of Foundation citizens.-Shall we talk terms?”
“This is all nonsense,” said the Minister, scowling. “If necessary, we will call in the Foundation itself. They will know how to open their own ship, or they will force you to open it.”
Trevize said, “You do not use my title, Minister, but you are emotionally moved, so that is perhaps forgivable. You know that the very last thing you will do is call in the Foundation, since you have no intention of delivering the ship to them.”
The smile faded from the Minister’s face. “What nonsense is this, Councilman?”
“The kind of nonsense, Minister, that others, perhaps, ought not to hear. Let my friend and the young woman go to some comfortable hotel room and obtain the rest they need so badly and let your guards leave, too. They can remain just outside and you can have them leave you a blaster. You are not a small woman and, with a blaster, you have nothing to fear from me. I am unarmed.”
The Minister leaned toward him across the desk. “I have nothing to fear from you in any case.”
Without looking behind her, she beckoned to one of the guards, who approached at once and came to a halt at her side with a stamp of his feet. said, “Guard, take that one and that one to Suite 5. They are to stay there and to be made comfortable and to be well guarded. You will be held responsible for any mistreatment they may receive, as well as for any breach of security.”
She stood up, and not all of Trevize’s determination to maintain an absolute composure sufficed to keep him from flinching a little. She was tall; as tall, at least, as Trevize’s own 1.85 meters, perhaps a centimeter or so taller. She had a narrow waistline, with the two white strips across her chest continuing into an encirclement of her waist, making it look even narrower, There was a massive grace about her and Trevize thought ruefully that her statement that she had nothing to fear from him might well be correct. In a rough-and-tumble, he thought, she would have no trouble pinning his shoulders to the mat.
She said, “Come with me, Councilman. If you are going to talk nonsense then, for your own sake, the fewer who hear you, the better.”
She led the way in a brisk stride, and Trevize followed,’ feeling shrunken in her massive shadow, a feeling he had never before had with a woman.
They entered an elevator and, as the door closed behind them, she said, “We are alone now and if you are under the illusion, Councilman, that You can use force with me in order to accomplish some imagined purpose, please forget that.” The singsong in her voice grew more pronounced as she said, with clear amusement, “You look like a reasonably strong specimen, but I assure you I will have no trouble in breaking your arm-or your back, if I must. I am armed, but I will not have to use any weapon.”
Trevize scratched at his cheek as his eyes drifted first down, then up her body. “Minister, I can hold my own in a wrestling match with any man my weight, but I have already decided to forfeit a bout with you. I know when I am outclassed.”
“Good,” said the Minister, and looked pleased.
Trevize said, “Where are we going, Minister?”
“Down! Quite far down. Don’t be upset, however. In the hyperdramas, this would be a preliminary to taking you to a dungeon, I suppose, but we have no dungeons on Comporellon-only reasonable prisons. We are going to my private apartment; not as romantic as a dungeon in the bad old Imperial days, but more comfortable.”
Trevize estimated that they were at least fifty meters below the surface of the planet, when the elevator door slid to one side and they stepped out.
TREVIZE looked about the apartment with clear surprise.
The Minister said grimly, “Do you disapprove of my living quarters, Councilman?”
“No, I have no reason to, Minister. I am merely surprised. I find it unexpected. The impression I had of your world from what little I saw and heard since arriving was that it was an-an abstemious one, eschewing useless luxury.”
“So it is, Councilman. Our resources are limited, and our life must be as harsh as our climate.”
“But this, Minister,” and Trevize held out both hands as though to embrace the room where, for the first time on this world, he saw color, where the couches were well cushioned, where the light from the illuminated walls was soft, and where the floor was force-carpeted so that steps were springy and silent. “This is surely luxury.”
“We eschew, as you say, Councilman, useless luxury; ostentatious luxury; wastefully excessive luxury. This, however, is private luxury, which has its use. I work hard and bear much responsibility. I need a place where I can forget, for a while, the difficulties of my post.”
Trevize said, “And do all Comporellians live like this when the eyes of others are averted, Minister?”
“It depends on the degree of work and responsibility. Few can afford to, or deserve to, or, thanks to our code of ethics, want to.”
“But you, Minister, can afford to, deserve to-and want to?”
The Minister said, “Rank has its privileges as well as its duties. And now sit down, Councilman, and tell me of this madness of yours.” She sat down on the couch, which gave slowly under her solid weight, and pointed to an equally soft chair in which Trevize would be facing her at not too great a distance.”
Trevize sat down. “Madness, Minister?”
The Minister relaxed visibly, leaning her right elbow on a pillow. “In private conversation, we need not observe the rules of formal discourse too punctiliously. You may call me Lizalor. I will call you, Trevize.-Tell me what is on your mind, Trevize, and let us inspect it.”
Trevize crossed his legs and sat back in his chair. “See here, Lizalor, you gave me the choice of either agreeing to give up the ship voluntarily, or of being subjected to a formal trial. In both cases, you would end up with the ship.-Yet you have been going out of your way to persuade me to adopt the former alternative. You are willing to offer me another ship to replace mine, so that my friends and I might go anywhere we chose. We might even stay here on Comporellon and qualify for citizenship, if we chose. In smaller things, you were willing to allow me fifteen minutes to consult with my friends. You were even willing to bring me here to your private apartment, while my friends are now, presumably, in comfortable quarters. In short, you are bribing me, Lizalor, rather desperately, to grant you the ship without the necessity of a trial.”
“Come, Trevize, are you in no mood to give me credit for humane impulses?”
“None.”
“Or the thought that voluntary surrender would be quicker and more convenient than a trial would be?”
“No! I would offer a different suggestion.”
“Which is?”
“A trial has one thing in its strong disfavor; it is a public affair. You have several times referred to this world’s rigorous legal system, and I suspect it would be difficult to arrange a trial without its being fully recorded. If were so, the Foundation would know of it and you would have to hand the ship to it once the trial was over.”
“Of course,” said Lizalor, without expression. “It is the Foundation owns the ship.”
“But,” said Trevize, “a private agreement with me would not have to be placed on formal record. You could have the ship and, since the foundation would not know of the matter-they don’t even know that we are on this world-Comporellon could keep the ship. That, I am sure, is what you intend to do.”
“Why should we do that?” She was still without expression. “Are we not part of the Foundation Confederation?”
“Not quite. Your status is that of an Associated Power. In any map on which the member worlds of the Federation are shown in red, Comporellon and its dependent worlds would show up as a patch of pale pink.”
“Even so, as an Associated Power, we would surely co-operate with the Foundation.”
“Would you? Might not Comporellon be dreaming of total independence; even leadership? You are an old world. Almost all worlds claim to be older than they are, but Comporellon is an old world.”
Minister Lizalor allowed a cold smile to cross her face. “The oldest, if some of our enthusiasts are to be believed.”
“Might there not have been a time when Comporellon was indeed the leading world of a relatively small group of worlds? Might you not still dream of recovering that lost position of power?”
“Do you think we dream of so impossible a goal? I called it madness before I knew your thoughts, and it is certainly madness now that I do.”
“Dreams may be impossible, yet still be dreamed. Terminus, located at the very edge of the Galaxy and with a five-century history that is briefer than that of any other world, virtually rules the Galaxy. And shall Comporellon not? Eh?” Trevize was smiling.
Lizalor remained grave. “Terminus reached that position, we are given to understand, by the working out of Hari Seldon’s Plan.”
“That is the psychological buttress of its superiority and it will hold only as long, perhaps, as people believe it. It may be that the Comporellian government does not believe it. Even so, Terminus also enjoys a technological buttress. Terminus’s hegemony over the Galaxy undoubtedly rests on its advanced technology-of which the gravitic ship you are so anxious to have is an example. No other world but Terminus disposes of gravitic ships. If Comporellon could have one, and could learn its workings in detail, it would be bound to have taken a giant technological step forward. I don’t think it would be sufficient to help you overcome Terminus’s lead, but your government might think so.”
Lizalor said, “You can’t be serious in this. Any government that kept the ship in the face of the Foundation’s desire to have it would surely experience the Foundation’s wrath, and history shows that the Foundation can be quite uncomfortably wrathful.”
Trevize said, “The Foundation’s wrath would only be exerted if the Foundation knew there was something to be wrathful about.”
“In that case; Trevize-if we assume your analysis of the situation is something other than mad-would it not be to your benefit to give us the ship and drive a hard bargain? We would pay well for the chance of having it quietly, according to your line of argument.”
“Could you then rely on my not reporting the matter to the Foundation?”
“Certainly. Since you would have to report your own part in it.”
“I could report having acted under duress.”
“Yes. Unless your good sense told you that your Mayor would never believe that.-Come, make a deal.”
Trevize shook his head. “I will not, Madam Lizalor. The ship is mine and it must stay mine. As I have told you, it will blow up with extraordinary power if you attempt to force an entry. I assure you I am telling you the truth. Don’t rely on its being a bluff.”
“You could open it, and reinstruct the computer.”
“Undoubtedly, but I won’t do that.”
Lizalor drew a heavy sigh. “You know we could make you change your mind-if not by what we could do to you, then by what we could do to your friend, Dr. Pelorat, or to the young woman.”
“Torture, Minister? Is that your law?”
“No, Councilman. But we might not have to do anything so crude. There is always the Psychic Probe.”
For the first time since entering the Minister’s apartment, Trevize felt an inner chill.
“You can’t do that either. The use of the Psychic Probe for anything but medical purposes is outlawed throughout the Galaxy.”
“But if we are driven to desperation-”
“I am willing to chance that,” said Trevize calmly, “for it would do you no good. My determination to retain my ship is so deep that the Psychic Probe would destroy my mind before it twisted it into giving it to you.” (That was a bluff, he thought, and the chill inside him deepened.) “And even if you were so skillful as to persuade me without destroying my mind and if I were to open the ship and disarm it and hand it over to you, it would still do you no good. The ship’s computer is even more advanced than the ship is, and it is designed somehow-I don’t know how-to work at its full potential only with me. It is what I might call a one-person computer.”
“Suppose, then, you retained your ship, and remained its pilot. Would you consider piloting it for us-as an honored Comporellian citizen? A large salary. Considerable luxury. Your friends, too.”
“No.”
“What is it you suggest? That we simply let you and your friends launch your ship and go off into the Galaxy? I warn you that before we allow you to do this, we might simply inform the Foundation that you are here with your ship, and leave all to them.”
“And lose the ship yourself?”
“If we must lose it, perhaps we would rather lose it to the Foundation than to an impudent Outworlder.”
“Then let me suggest a compromise of my own.”
“A compromise? Well, I will listen. Proceed.”
Trevize said carefully, “I am on an important mission. It began with Foundation support. That support seems to have been suspended, but the mission remains important. Let me have Comporellian support instead and if I complete the mission successfully, Comporellon will benefit.” ‘
Lizalor wore a dubious expression. “And you will not return the ship to the Foundation?”
“I have never planned to do that. The Foundation would not be searching for the ship so desperately if they thought there was any intention of my casually returning it to them.”
“That is not quite the same thing as saying that you will give the ship to us.”
“Once I have completed the mission, the ship may be of no further use to me. In that case, I would not object to Comporellon having it.”
The two looked at each other in silence for a few moments.
Lizalor said, “You use the conditional. The ship ‘may be.’ That is of no value to us.”
“I could make wild promises, but of what value would that be to you? The fact that my promises are cautious and limited should show you that they are at least sincere.”
“Clever,” said Lizalor, nodding. “I like that. Well, what is your mission and how might it benefit Comporellon?”
Trevize said, “No, no, it is your turn. Will you support me if I show you that the mission is of importance to Comporellon?”
Minister Lizalor rose from the couch, a tall, overpowering presence. “I am hungry, Councilman Trevize, and I will get no further on an empty stomach. I will offer you something to eat and drink-in moderation. After that, we will finish the matter.”
And it seemed to Trevize that there was a rather carnivorous look of anticipation about her at that moment, so that he tightened his lips with just a bit of unease.
THE MEAL might have been a nourishing one, but it was not one to delight the palate. The main course consisted of boiled beef in a mustardy sauce, resting on a foundation of a leafy vegetable Trevize did not recognize. Nor did he like it for it had a bitter-salty taste he did not enjoy. He found out later it was a form of seaweed.
There was, afterward, a piece of fruit that tasted something like an apple tainted by peach (not bad, actually) and a hot, dark beverage that was bitter enough for Trevize to leave half behind and ask if he might have some cold water instead. The portions were all small, but, under the circumstances, Trevize did not mind.
The meal had been private, with no servants in view. The Minister had herself heated and served the food, and herself cleared away the dishes and cutlery.
“I hope you found the meal pleasant,” said Lizalor, as they left the dining room.
“Quite pleasant,” said Trevize, without enthusiasm.
The Minister again took her seat on the couch. “Let us return then,” she said, “to our earlier discussion. You had mentioned that Comporellon might resent the Foundation’s lead in technology and its overlordship of the Galaxy. In a way that’s true, but that aspect of the situation would interest only those who are interested in interstellar politics, and they are comparatively few. What is much more to the point is that the average Comporellian is horrified at the immorality of the Foundation. There is immorality in most worlds, but it seems most marked in Terminus. I would say that any anti-Terminus animus that exists on this world is rooted in that, rather than in more abstract matters.”
“Immorality?” said Trevize, puzzled. “Whatever the faults of the Foundation you have to admit it runs its part of the Galaxy with reasonable efficiency and fiscal honesty. Civil rights are, by and large, respected and-”
“Councilman Trevize, I speak of sexual morality.”
“In that case, I certainly don’t understand you. We are a thoroughly moral society, sexually speaking. Women are well represented in every facet of social life. Our Mayor is a woman and nearly half the Council consists of-”
The Minister allowed a look of exasperation to fleet across her face. “Councilman, are you mocking me? Surely you know what sexual morality meant. Is, or is not, marriage a sacrament upon Terminus?”
“What do you mean by sacrament?”
“Is there a formal marriage ceremony binding a couple together?”
“Certainly, if people wish it. Such a ceremony simplifies tax problems and inheritance.”
“But divorce can take place.”
“Of course. It would certainly be sexually immoral to keep people tied to, each other, when-”
“Are there no religious restrictions?”
“Religious? There are people who make a philosophy out of ancient cults, but what has that to do with marriage?”
“Councilman, here on Comporellon, every aspect of sex is strongly controlled. It may not take place out of marriage. Its expression is limited even within marriage. We are sadly shocked at those worlds, at Terminus, particularly, where sex seems to be considered a mere social pleasure of no great importance to be indulged in when, how, and with whom one pleases without regard to the values of religion.”
Trevize shrugged. “I’m sorry, but I can’t undertake to reform the Galaxy, or even Terminus-and what has this to do with the matter of my ship?”
“I’m talking about public opinion in the matter of your ship and how it limits my ability to compromise the matter. The people of Comporellon would be horrified if they found you had taken a young and attractive woman on board to serve the lustful urges of you and your companion. It is out consideration for the safety of the three of you that I have been urging you to accept peaceful surrender in place of a public trial.”
Trevize said, “I see you have used the meal to think of a new type of persuasion by threat. Am I now to fear a lynch mob?”
“I merely point out dangers. Will you be able to deny that the woman you have taken on board ship is anything other than a sexual convenience?”
“Of course I can deny it. Bliss is the companion of my friend, Dr. Pelorat. He has no other competing companion. You may not define their state as marriage, but I believe that in Pelorat’s mind, and in the woman’s, too, there is a marriage between them.”
“Are you telling me you are not involved yourself?”
“Certainly not,” said Trevize. “What do you take me for?”
“I cannot tell. I do not know your notions of morality.”
“Then let me explain that my notions of morality tell me that I don’t trifle with my friend’s possessions-or his companionships.”
“You are not even tempted?”
“I can’t control the fact of temptation, but there’s no chance of my giving in to it.”
“No chance at all? Perhaps you are not interested in women.”
“Don’t you believe that. I am interested.”
“How long has it been since you have had sex with a woman?”
“Months. Not at all since I left Terminus.”
“Surely you don’t enjoy that.”
“I certainly don’t,” said Trevize, with strong feeling, “but the situation is such that I have no choice.”
“Surely your friend, Pelorat, noting your suffering, would be willing to share his woman.”
“I show him no evidence of suffering, but if I did, he would not be willing to share Bliss. Nor, I think, would the woman consent. She is not attracted to me.”
“Do you say that because you have tested the matter?”
“I have not tested it. I make the judgment without feeling the need to test it. In any case, I don’t particularly like her.”
“Astonishing! She is what a man would consider attractive.”
“Physically, she is attractive. Nevertheless, she does not appeal to me. For one thing, she is too young, too child-like in some ways.”
“Do you prefer women of maturity, then?”
Trevize paused. Was there a trap here? He said cautiously, “I am old enough to value some women of maturity. And what has this to do with my ship?”
Lizalor said, “For a moment, forget your ship.-I am forty-six years old, and I am not married. I have somehow been too busy to marry.”
“In that case, by the rules of your society, you must have remained continent all your life. Is that why you asked how long it had been since I have had sex? Are you asking my advice in the matter?-If so, I say it is not food and drink. It is uncomfortable to do without sex, but not impossible.”
The Minister smiled and there was again that carnivorous look in her eyes. “Don’t mistake me, Trevize. Rank has its privileges and it is possible to be discreet. I am not altogether an abstainer. Nevertheless, Comporellian men are unsatisfying. I accept the fact that morality is an absolute good, but it does tend to burden the men of this world with guilt, so that they become unadventurous, unenterprising, slow to begin, quick to conclude, and, in general, unskilled.”
Trevize said, very cautiously, “There is nothing I can do about that, either.”
“Are you implying that the fault may be mine? That I am uninspiring?”
Trevize raised a hand. “I don’t say that at all.”
“In that case, how would you react, given the opportunity? You, a man from an immoral world, who must have had a vast variety of sexual experiences of all kinds, who is under the pressure of several months of enforced abstinence even though in the constant presence of a young and charming woman. How would you react in the presence of a woman such as myself; who is the mature type you profess to like?”
Trevize said, “I would behave with the respect and decency appropriate to your rank and importance.”
“Don’t be a fool!” said the Minister. Her hand went to the right side of her waist. The strip of white that encircled it came loose and unwound from her chest and neck. The bodice of her black gown hung noticeably looser.
Trevize sat frozen. Had this been in her mind since-when? Or was it a bribe to accomplish what threats had not?
The bodice flipped down, along with its sturdy reinforcement at the breasts. The Minister sat there, with a look of proud disdain on her face, and bare from the waist up. Her breasts were a smaller version of the woman herself-massive, firm, and overpoweringly impressive.
“Well?” she said.
Trevize said, in all honesty, “Magnificent!”
“And what will you do about it?”
“What does morality dictate on Comporellon, Madam Lizalor?”
“What is that to a man of Terminus? What does your morality dictate?-And begin. My chest is cold and wishes warmth.”
Trevize stood up and began to disrobe.
TREVIZE felt almost drugged, and wondered how much time had elapsed.
Beside him lay Mitza Lizalor, Minister of Transportation. She was on her stomach, head to one side, mouth open, snoring distinctly. Trevize was relieved that she was asleep. Once she woke up, he hoped she would be quite aware that she had been asleep.
Trevize longed to sleep himself, but he felt it important that he not do so. She must not wake to find him asleep. She must realize that while she had been ground down to unconsciousness, he had endured. She would expect such endurance from a Foundation-reared immoralist and, at this point, it was better she not be disappointed.
In a way, he had done well. He had guessed, correctly, that Lizalor, given her physical size and strength, her political power, her contempt for the Comporellian men she had encountered, her mingled horror and fascination with tales (what had she heard? Trevize wondered) of the sexual feats of the decadents of Terminus, would want to be dominated. She might even expect to be, without being able to express her desire and expectation.
He had acted on that belief and, to his good fortune, found he was correct. (Trevize, the ever-right, he mocked himself.) It pleased the woman and it enabled Trevize to steer activities in a direction that would tend to wear her out while leaving himself relatively untouched.
It had not been easy. She had a marvelous body (forty-six, she had said, but it would not have shamed a twenty-five-year-old athlete) and enormous stamina-a stamina exceeded only by the careless zest with which she had spent it.
Indeed, if she could be tamed and taught moderation; if practice (but could he himself survive the practice?) brought her to a better sense of her own capacities, and, even more important, his, it might be pleasant to-
The snoring stopped suddenly and she stirred. He placed his hand on the shoulder nearest him and stroked it lightly-and her eyes opened. Trevize was leaning on his elbow, and did his best to look unworn and full of life.
“I’m glad you were sleeping, dear,” he said. “You needed your rest.”
She smiled at him sleepily and, for one queasy moment, Trevize thought she might suggest renewed activity, but she merely heaved herself about till she was resting on her back. She said, in a soft and satisfied voice, “I had you judged correctly from the start. You are a king of sexuality.”
Trevize tried to look modest. “I must be more moderate.”
“Nonsense. You were just right. I was afraid that you had been kept active and drained by that young woman, but you assured me you had not. That it true, isn’t it?”
“Have I acted like someone who was half-sated to begin with?”
“No, you did not,” and her laughter boomed.
“Are you still thinking of Psychic Probes?”
She laughed again. “Are you mad? Would I want to lose you now?”
“Yet it would be better if you lost me temporarily-”
“What!” She frowned.
“If I were to stay here permanently, my-my dear, how long would it be before eyes would begin to watch, and mouths would begin to whisper? It I went off on my mission, however, I would naturally return periodically to, report, and it would then be only natural that we should be closeted together for a while-and my mission is important.”
She thought about that, scratching idly at her right hip. Then she said, “I suppose you’re right. I hate the thought but-I suppose you’re right.”
“And you need not think I would not come back,” said Trevize. “I am not so witless as to forget what I would have waiting for me here.”
She smiled at him, touched his cheek gently, and said, looking into his eyes, “Did you find it pleasant, love?”
“Much more than pleasant, dear.”
“Yet you are a Foundationer. A man in the prime of youth from Terminus itself. You must be accustomed to all sorts of women with all soul skills-”
“I have encountered nothing-nothing-in the least like you,” said Trevize, with a forcefulness that came easily to someone who was but telling the truth, after all.
Lizalor said complacently, “Well, if you say so. Still, old habits die hard, you know, and I don’t think I could bring myself to trust a man’s word without some sort of surety. You and your friend, Pelorat, might conceivably go on this mission of yours once I hear about it and approve, but I will keep the young woman here. She will be well treated, never fear, but I presume your Dr. Pelorat will want her, and he will see to it that there are frequent returns to Comporellon, even if your enthusiasm for this mission you to stay away too long.”
“But, Lizalor, that’s impossible.”
“Indeed?” Suspicion at once seeped into her eyes. “Why impossible? For what purpose would you need the woman?”
“Not for sex. I told you that, and I told you truthfully. She is Pelorat’s and I have no interest in her. Besides, I’m sure she’d break in two if she attempted what you so triumphantly carried through.”
Lizalor almost smiled, but repressed it and said severely, “What is it to you, then, if she remains on Comporellon?”
“Because she is of essential importance to our mission. That is why we must have her.”
“Well, then, what is your mission? It is time you told me.”
Trevize hesitated very briefly. It would have to be the truth. He could think of no lie as effective.
“Listen to me,” he said. “Comporellon may be an old world, even among the oldest, but it can’t be the oldest. Human life did not originate here. The earliest human beings reached here from some other world, and perhaps human life didn’t originate there either, but came from still another and still older world. Eventually, though, those probings back into time must stop, and we must reach the first world, the world of human origins. I am seeking Earth.”
The change that suddenly came over Mitza Lizalor staggered him.
Her eyes had widened, her breathing took on a sudden urgency, and every muscle seemed to stiffen as she lay there in bed. Her arms shot upward rigidly, and the first two fingers of both hands crossed.
“You named it,” she whispered hoarsely.
SHE DIDN’T say anything after that; she didn’t look at him. Her arms slowly came down, her legs swung over the side of the bed, and she sat up, back to him. Trevize lay where he was, frozen.
He could hear, in memory, the words of Munn Li Compor, as they stood there in the empty tourist center at Sayshell. He could hear him saying of his own ancestral planet-the one that Trevize was on now-”They’re superstitious about it. Every time they mention the word, they lift up both hands with first and second fingers crossed to ward off misfortune.”
How useless to remember after the fact.
“What should I have said, Mitza?” he muttered.
She shook her head slightly, stood up, stalked toward and then through a door. It closed behind her and, after a moment, there was the sound of water running.
He had no recourse but to wait, bare, undignified, wondering whether to join her in the shower, and then quite certain he had better not. And because, in a way, he felt the shower denied him, he at once experienced a growing need for one.
She emerged at last and silently began to select clothing.
He said, “Do you mind if I-”
She said nothing, and he took silence for consent. He tried to stride into the room in a strong and masculine way but he felt uncommonly as he had in those days when his mother, offended by some misbehavior on his part, offered him no punishment but silence, causing him to shrivel in discomfort.
He looked about inside the smoothly walled cubicle that was bare-completely bare. He looked more minutely.-There was nothing.
He opened the door again, thrust his head out, and said, “Listen, how are you supposed to start the shower?”
She put down the deodorant (at least, Trevize guessed that was its function), strode to the shower-room and, still without looking at him, pointed. Trevize followed the finger and noted a spot on the wall that was round and faintly pink, barely colored, as though the designer resented having to spoil the starkness of the white, for no reason more important than to give a hint of function.
Trevize shrugged lightly, leaned toward the wall, and touched the spot. Presumably that was what one had to do, for in a moment a deluge of fine-sprayed water struck him from every direction. Gasping, he touched the spot again and it stopped.
He opened the door, knowing he looked several degrees more undignified still as he shivered hard enough to make it difficult to articulate words. He croaked, “How do you get hot water?”
Now she looked at him and, apparently, his appearance overcame her anger (or fear, or whatever emotion was victimizing her) for she snickered and then, without warning, boomed her laughter at him.
“What hot water?” she said. “Do you think we’re going to waste the energy to heat water for washing? That’s good mild water you had, water with the chill taken off. What more do you want? You sludge-soft Terminians!-Get back in there and wash!”
Trevize hesitated, but not for long, since it was clear he had no choice in the matter.
With remarkable reluctance he touched the pink spot again and this time steeled his body for the icy spray. Mild water? He found suds forming on his body and he rubbed hastily here, there, everywhere, judging it to be the wash cycle and suspecting it would not last long.
Then came the rinse cycle. Ah, warm-Well, perhaps not warm, but not quite as cold, and definitely feeling warm to his thoroughly chilled body. Then, even as he was considering touching the contact spot again to stop the water, and was wondering how Lizalor had come out dry when there was absolutely no towel or towel-substitute in the place-the water stopped. It was followed by a blast of air that would have certainly bowled him over if it had not come from various directions equally.
It was hot; almost too hot. It took far less energy, Trevize knew, to heat air than to heat water. The hot air steamed the water off him and, in a few minutes, he was able to step out as dry as though he had never encountered water in his life.
Lizalor seemed to have recovered completely. “Do you feel well?”
“Pretty well,” said Trevize. Actually, he felt astonishingly comfortable. “All I had to do was prepare myself for the temperature. You didn’t tell me-”
“Sludge-soft,” said Lizalor, with mild contempt.
He borrowed her deodorant, then began to dress, conscious of the fact that she had fresh underwear and he did not. He said, “What should I have called-that world?”
She said, “We refer to it as the Oldest.”
He said, “How was I to know the name I used was forbidden? Did you tell me?”
“Did you ask?”
“How was I to know to ask?”
“You know now.”
“I’m bound to forget.”
“You had better not.”
“What’s the difference?” Trevize felt his temper rising. “It’s just a word, a sound.”
Lizalor said darkly, “There are words one doesn’t say. Do you say every word you know under all circumstances?”
“Some words are vulgar, some are inappropriate, some under particular circumstances would be hurtful. Which is-that word I used?”
Lizalor said, “It’s a sad word, a solemn word. It represents a world that was ancestor to us all and that now doesn’t exist. It’s tragic, and we feel it because it was near to us. We prefer not to speak of it or, if we must, not to use its name.”
“And the crossing of fingers at me? How does that relieve the hurt and sadness?”
Lizalor’s face flushed. “That was an automatic reaction, and I don’t thank you for forcing it on me. There are people who believe that the word, even the thought, brings on misfortune-and that is how they ward it off.”
“Do you, too, believe crossing fingers wards off misfortune?”
“No.-Well, yes, in a way. It makes me uneasy if I don’t do it.” She didn’t look at him. Then, as though eager to shift the subject, she said quickly, “And how is that black-haired woman of yours of the essence with respect to your mission to reach-that world you mentioned.”
“Say ‘the Oldest.’ Or would you rather not even say that?”
“I would rather not discuss it at all, but I asked you a question.”
“I believe that her people reached their present world as emigrants from the Oldest.”
“As we did,” said Lizalor proudly.
“But her people have traditions of some sort which she says are the key to understanding the Oldest, but only if we reach it and can study its records.”
“She is lying.”
“Perhaps, but we must check it out.”
“If you have this woman with her problematical knowledge, and if you want to reach the Oldest with her, why did you come to Comporellon?”
“To find the location of the Oldest. I had a friend once, who, like myself, was a Foundationer. He, however, was descended from Comporellian ancestors and he assured me that much of the history of the Oldest was well known, on Comporellon.”
“Did he indeed? And did he tell you any of its history?”
“Yes,” said Trevize, reaching for the truth again. “He said that the Oldest was a dead world, entirely radioactive. He did not know why, but he thought that it might be the result of nuclear explosions. In a war, perhaps.”
“No!” said Lizalor explosively.
“No, there was no war? Or no, the Oldest is not radioactive?”
“It is radioactive, but there was no war.”
“Then how did it become radioactive? It could not have been radioactive to begin with since human life began on the Oldest. There would have been n0 life on it ever.”
Lizalor seemed to hesitate. She stood erect, and was breathing deeply, ‘ almost gasping. She said, “It was a punishment. It was a world that used robots. Do you know what robots are?”
“Yes.”
“They had robots and for that they were punished. Every world that has had robots has been punished and no longer exists.”
“Who punished them, Lizalor?”
“He Who Punishes. The forces of history. I don’t know.” She looked away from him, uncomfortable, then said, in a lower voice, “Ask others.”
“I would like to, but whom do I ask? Are there those on Comporellon who have studied primeval history?”
“There are. They are not popular with us-with the average Comporellian-but the Foundation, your Foundation, insists on intellectual freedom, 11 they call it.”
“Not a bad insistence, in my opinion,” said Trevize.
“All is bad that is imposed from without,” said Lizalor.
Trevize shrugged. There was no purpose in arguing the matter. He Bald, x My friend, Dr. Pelorat, is himself a primeval historian of a sort. He would, I’m sure, like to meet his Comporellian colleagues. Can you arrange that, Lizalor?”
She nodded. “There is a historian named Vasil Deniador, who is based at the University here in the city. He does not teach class, but he may be able to tell you what you want to know.”
“Why doesn’t he teach class?”
“It’s not that he is forbidden; it’s just that students do not elect his course.”
“I presume,” said Trevize, trying not to say it sardonically, “that the students are encouraged not to elect it.”
“Why should they want to? He is a Skeptic. We have them, you know. There are always individuals who pit their minds against the general modes of thought and who are arrogant enough to feel that they alone are right and that the many are wrong.”
“Might it not be that that could actually be so in some cases?”
“Never!” snapped Lizalor, with a firmness of belief that made it quite clear that no further discussion in that direction would be of any use. “And for all his Skepticism, he will be forced to tell you exactly what any Comporellian would tell you.”
“And that is?”
“That if you search for the Oldest, you will not find it.”
IN THE PRIVATE quarters assigned them, Pelorat listened to Trevize thoughtfully, his long solemn face expressionless, then said, “Vasil Deniador? I do not recall having heard of him, but it may be that back on the ship I will find papers by him in my library.”
“Are you sure you haven’t heard of him? Think!” said Trevize.
“I don’t recall, at the moment, having heard of him,” said Pelorat cautiously, “but after all, my dear chap, there must be hundreds of estimable scholars I haven’t heard of; or have, but can’t remember.”
“Still, he can’t be first-class, or you would have heard of him.”
“The study of Earth-”
“Practice saying ‘the Oldest,’ Janov. It would complicate matters otherwise.”
“The study of the Oldest,” said Pelorat, “is not a well-rewarded niche in the corridors of learning, so that first-class scholars, even in the field of primeval history, would not tend to find their way there. Or, if we put it the other way around, those who are already there do not make enough of a name for themselves in an uninterested world to be considered first-class, even if they were.-I am not first-class in anyone’s estimation, I am sure.”
Bliss said tenderly, “In mine, Pel.”
“Yes, certainly in yours, my dear,” said Pelorat, smiling slightly, “but you are not judging me in my capacity as scholar.”
It was almost night now, going by the clock, and Trevize felt himself grow slightly impatient, as he always did when Bliss and Pelorat traded endearments.
He said, “I’ll try to arrange our seeing this Deniador tomorrow, but if he knows as little about the matter as the Minister does, we’re not going to be much better off than we are now.”
Pelorat said, “He may be able to lead us to someone more useful.”
“I doubt it. This world’s attitude toward Earth-but I had better practice speaking of it elliptically, too. This world’s attitude toward the Oldest is a foolish and superstitious one.” He turned away. “But it’s been a rough day and we ought to think of an evening meal-if we can face their uninspired cookery-and then begin thinking of getting some sleep. Have you two learned how to use the shower?”
“My dear fellow,” said Pelorat, “we have been very kindly treated. We’ve received all sorts of instructions, most of which we didn’t need.”
Bliss said, “Listen, Trevize. What about the ship?”
“What about it?”
“Is the Comporellian government confiscating it?”
“No. I don’t think they will.”
“Ah. Very pleasant. Why aren’t they?”
“Because I persuaded the Minister to change her mind.”
Pelorat said, “Astonishing. She didn’t seem a particularly persuadable individual to me.”
Bliss said, “I don’t know. It was clear from the texture of her mind that 1b1 was attracted to Trevize.”
Trevize looked at Bliss with sudden exasperation. “Did you do that, Bliss?”,
“What do you mean, Trevize?”
“I mean tamper with her-”
“I didn’t tamper. However, when I noted that she was attracted to you, I couldn’t resist just snapping an inhibition or two. It was a very small thing to do. Those inhibitions might have snapped anyway, and it seemed to be important to make certain that she was filled with good will toward you.”
“Good will? It was more than that! She softened, yes, but post-coitally.” Pelorat said, “Surely you don’t mean, old man-”
“Why not?” said Trevize testily. “She may be past her first youth, but she knew the art well. She was no beginner, I assure you. Nor will I play the gentleman and lie on her behalf. It was her idea-thanks to Bliss’s fiddling with her inhibitions-and I was not in a position to refuse, even if that thought had occurred to me, which it didn’t.-Come, Janov, don’t stand there looking puritanical. It’s been months since I’ve had an opportunity. You’ve-” And he waved his hand vaguely in Bliss’s direction.
“Believe me, Golan,” said Pelorat, embarrassed, “if you are interpreting my expression as puritanical, you mistake me. I have no objection.”
Bliss said, “But she is puritanical. I meant to make her warm toward you; I did not count on a sexual paroxysm.”
Trevize said, “But that is exactly what you brought on, my little interfering Bliss. It may be necessary for the Minister to play the puritan in public, but if so, that seems merely to stoke the fires.”
“And so, provided you scratch the itch, she will betray the Foundation-”
“She would have done that in any case,” said Trevize. “She wanted the ship-” He broke off, and said in a whisper, “Are we being overheard?”
Bliss said, “No!”
“Are you sure?”
“It is certain. It is impossible to impinge upon the mind of Gaia in any unauthorized fashion without Gaia being aware of it.”
“In that case, Comporellon wants the ship for itself-a valuable addition to its fleet.”
“Surely, the Foundation would not allow that.”
“Comporellon does not intend to have the Foundation know.”
Bliss sighed. “There are your Isolates. The Minister intends to betray the Foundation on behalf of Comporellon and, in return for sex, will promptly betray Comporellon, too.-And as for Trevize, he will gladly sell his body’s services as a way of inducing the betrayal. What anarchy there is in this Galaxy of yours. What chaos.”
Trevize said coldly, “You are wrong, young woman-”
“In what I have just said, I am not a young woman, I am Gaia. I am all of Gaia.”
“Then you are wrong, Gaia I did not sell my body’s services. I gave them gladly. I enjoyed it and did no one harm. As for the consequences, they turned out well from my standpoint and I accept that. And if Comporellon wants the ship for its own purposes, who is to say who is right in this matter? It is a Foundation ship, but it was given to me to search for Earth. It is mine then until I complete the search and I feel that the Foundation has no right to go back on its agreement. As for Comporellon, it does not enjoy Foundation domination, so it dreams of independence. In its own eyes, it is correct to do so and to deceive the Foundation, for that is not an act of treason to them but an act of patriotism. Who knows?”
“Exactly. Who knows? In a Galaxy of anarchy, how is it possible to sort out reasonable actions from unreasonable ones? How decide between right and wrong, good and evil, justice and crime, useful and useless? And how do you explain the Minister’s betrayal of her own government, when she lets you keep the ship? Does she long for personal independence from an oppressive world? Is she a traitor or a personal one-woman self-patriot?”
“To be truthful,” said Trevize, “I don’t know that she was willing to let me have my ship simply because she was grateful to me for the pleasure I gave: her. I believe she made that decision only when I told her I was searching for the Oldest. It is a world of ill-omen to her and we and the ship that carries u1, by searching for it, have become ill-omened, too. It is my feeling that she feet/ she incurred the ill-omen for herself and her world by attempting to take the ship, which she may, by now, be viewing with horror. Perhaps she feels that by allowing us and our ship to leave and go about our business, she is averting the misfortune from Comporellon and is, in that way, performing a patriotic act.”
“If that were so, which I doubt, Trevize, superstition is the spring of the action. Do you admire that?”
“I neither admire nor condemn. Superstition always directs action in the absence of knowledge. The Foundation believes in the Seldon Plan, though no one in our realm can understand it, interpret its details, or use it to predict. We follow blindly out of ignorance and faith, and isn’t that superstition?”
“Yes, it might be.”
“And Gaia, too. You believe I have given the correct decision in judging that Gaia should absorb the Galaxy into one large organism, but you do not know why I should be right, or how safe it would be for you to follow that . decision. You are willing to go along only out of ignorance and faith, and are even annoyed with me for trying to find evidence that will remove the ignorance and make mere faith unnecessary. Isn’t that superstition?”
“I think he has you there, Bliss,” said Pelorat.
Bliss said, “Not so. He will either find nothing at all in this search, or he will find something that confirms his decision.”
Trevize said, “And to back up that belief, you have only ignorance and faith. In other words, superstition!”
VASIL DENIADOR was a small man, little of feature, with a way of looking up by raising his eyes without raising his head. This, combined with the brief smiles that periodically lit his face, gave him the appearance of laughing silently at the world.
His office was long and narrow, filled with tapes that seemed to be in wild disorder, not because there was any definite evidence for that, but because they were not evenly placed in their recesses so that they gave the shelves a snaggle-toothed appearance. The three seats he indicated for his visitors were not matched and showed signs of having been recently, and imperfectly, dusted.
He said, “Janov Pelorat, Golan Trevize, and Bliss.-I do not have your second name, madam.”
“Bliss,” she said, “is all I am usually called,” and sat down.
“It is enough after all,” said Deniador, twinkling at her. “You are attractive enough to be forgiven if you had no name at all.”
All were sitting now. Deniador said, “I have heard of you, Dr. Pelorat, though we have never corresponded. You are a Foundationer, are you not? From Terminus?”
“Yes, Dr. Deniador.”
“And you, Councilman Trevize. I seem to have heard that recently you were expelled from the Council and exiled. I don’t think I have ever understood why.”
“Not expelled, sir. I am still a member of the Council although I don’t know when I will take up my duties again. Nor exiled, quite. I was assigned a mission, concerning which we wish to consult you.”
“Happy to try to help,” said Deniador. “And the blissful lady? Is she from Terminus, too.”
Trevize interposed quickly. “She is from elsewhere, Doctor.”
“Ah, a strange world, this Elsewhere. A most unusual collection of human beings are native to it.-But since two of you are from the Foundation’s capital at Terminus, and the third is an attractive young woman, and Mitza Lizalor is not known for her affection for either category, how is it that she recommends you to my care so warmly?”
“I think,” said Trevize, “to get rid of us. The sooner you help us, you see, the sooner we will leave Comporellon.”
Deniador eyed Trevize with interest (again the twinkling smile) and said, “Of course, a vigorous young man such as yourself might attract her whatever his origin. She plays the role of cold vestal well, but not perfectly.”
“I know nothing about that,” said Trevize stiffly.
“And you had better not. In public, at least. But I am a Skeptic and I am professionally unattuned to believing in surfaces. So come, Councilman, what is your mission? Let me find out if I can help you.”
Trevize said, “In this, Dr. Pelorat is our spokesman.”
“I have no objection to that,” said Deniador. “Dr. Pelorat?”
Pelorat said, “To put it at the simplest, dear Doctor, I have all my mature life attempted to penetrate to the basic core of knowledge concerning the world on which the human species originated, and I was sent out along with my good friend, Golan Trevize-although, to be sure, I did not know him at the time-to find, if we could, the-uh-Oldest, I believe you call it.”
“The Oldest?” said Deniador. “I take it you mean Earth.”
Pelorat’s jaw dropped. Then he said, with a slight stutter, “I was under the impression-that is, I was given to understand-that one did not-”
He looked at Trevize, rather helplessly.
Trevize said, “Minister Lizalor told me that that word was not used on Comporellon.”
“You mean she did this?” Deniador’s mouth turned downward, his nose screwed up, and he thrust his arms vigorously forward, crossing the first two fingers on each hand.
“Yes,” said Trevize. “That’s what I mean.”
Deniador relaxed and laughed. “Nonsense, gentlemen. We do it as a matter of habit, and in the backwoods they may be serious about it but, on the whole, it doesn’t matter. I don’t know any Comporellian who wouldn’t say ‘Earth’ when annoyed or startled. It’s the most common vulgarism we have.”
“Vulgarism?” said Pelorat faintly.
“Or expletive, if you prefer.”
“Nevertheless,” said Trevize, “the Minister seemed quite upset when I used the word.”
“Oh well, she’s a mountain woman.”
“What does that mean, sir?”
“What it says. Mitza Lizalor is from the Central Mountain Range. The children out there are brought up in what is called the good old-fashioned way, which means that no matter how well educated they become you can never knock those crossed fingers out of them.”
“Then the word ‘Earth’ doesn’t bother you at all, does it, Doctor?” said Bliss.
“Not at all, dear lady. I am a Skeptic.”
Trevize said, “I know what the word ‘skeptic’ means in Galactic, but how. do you use the word?”
“Exactly as you do, Councilman. I accept only what I am forced to accept by reasonably reliable evidence, and keep that acceptance tentative pending the arrival of further evidence. That doesn’t make us popular.”
“Why not?” said Trevize.
“We wouldn’t be popular anywhere. Where is the world whose people don’t prefer a comfortable, warm, and well-worn belief, however illogical, to the chilly winds of uncertainty?-Consider how you believe in the Seldon Plan without evidence.”
“Yes,” said Trevize, studying his finger ends. “I put that forward yesterday as an example, too.”
Pelorat said, “May I return to the subject, old fellow? What is known about Earth that a Skeptic would accept?”
Deniador said, “Very little. We can assume that there is a single planet on which the human species developed, because it is unlikely in the extreme that the same species, so nearly identical as to be interfertile, would develop on a number of worlds, or even on just two, independently. We can choose to cal) this world of origin Earth. The belief is general, here, that Earth exists in this corner of the Galaxy, for the worlds here are unusually old and it is likely that the first worlds to be settled were close to Earth rather than far from it.”
“And has the Earth any unique characteristics aside from being the planet of origin?” asked Pelorat eagerly.
“Do you have something in mind?” said Deniador, with his quick smile.
“I’m thinking of its satellite, which some call the moon. That would be unusual, wouldn’t it?”
“That’s a leading question, Dr. Pelorat. You may be putting thoughts into my mind.”
“I do not say what it is that would make the moon unusual.”
“Its size, of course. Am I right?-Yes, I see I am. All the legends of Earth speak of its vast array of living species and of its vast satellite-one that is some three thousand to three thousand five hundred kilometers in diameter. The vast array of life is easy to accept since it would naturally have come about through biological evolution, if what we know of the process is accurate. A giant satellite is more difficult to accept. No other inhabited world in the Galaxy has such a satellite. Large satellites are invariably associated with the uninhabited and uninhabitable gas-giants. As a Skeptic, then, I prefer not to accept the existence of the moon.”
Pelorat said, “If Earth is unique in its possession of millions of species, might it not also be unique in its possession of a giant satellite? One uniqueness might imply the other.”
Deniador smiled. “I don’t see how the presence of millions of species on Earth could create a giant satellite out of nothing.”
“But the other way around-Perhaps a giant satellite could help create the millions of species.”
“I don’t see how that could be either.”
Trevize said, “What about the story of Earth’s radioactivity?”
“That is universally told; universally believed.”
“But,” said Trevize, “Earth could not have been so radioactive as to preclude life in the billions of years when it supported life. How did it become radioactive? A nuclear war?”
“That is the most common opinion, Councilman Trevize.”
“From the manner in which you say that, I gather you don’t believe it.”
“There is no evidence that such a war took place. Common belief, even universal belief, is not, in itself, evidence.”
“What else might have happened?”
“There is no evidence that anything happened. The radioactivity might be as purely invented a legend as the large satellite.”
Pelorat said, “What is the generally accepted story of Earth’s history? I have, during my professional career, collected a large number of origin-legends, many of them involving a world called Earth, or some name very much like that. I have none from Comporellon, nothing beyond the vague mention of a Benbally who might have come from nowhere for all that Comporellian legends say.”
“That’s not surprising. We don’t usually export our legends and I’m astonished you have found references even to Benbally. Superstition, again.”
“But you are not superstitious and you would not hesitate to talk about it, would you?”
“That’s correct,” said the small historian, casting his eyes upward at Pelorat. “It would certainly add greatly, perhaps even dangerously, to my unpopularity if I did, but you three are leaving Comporellon soon and I take it you will never quote me as a source.”
“You have our word of honor,” said Pelorat quickly.
“Then here is a summary of what is supposed to have happened, shorn of any supernaturalism or moralizing. Earth existed as the sole world of human beings for an immeasurable period and then, about’ twenty to twenty-five thousand years ago, the human species developed interstellar travel by way of the hyperspatial Jump and colonized a group of planets.
“The Settlers on these planets made use of robots, which had first been devised on Earth before the days of hyperspatial travel and-do you know what robots are, by the way?”
“Yes,” said Trevize. “We have been asked that more than once. We know what robots are.”
“The Settlers, with a thoroughly roboticized society, developed a high technology and unusual longevity and despised their ancestral world. According to more dramatic versions of their story, they dominated and oppressed the ancestral world.
“Eventually, then, Earth sent out a new group of Settlers, among whom robots were forbidden. Of the new worlds, Comporellon was among the first. Our own patriots insist it was the first, but there is no evidence of that that a Skeptic can accept. The first group of Settlers died out, and-”
Trevize said, “Why did the first set die out, Dr. Deniador?”
“Why? Usually they are imagined by our romantics as having been punished for their crimes by He Who Punishes, though no one bothers to say why He waited so long. But one doesn’t have to resort to fairy tales. It is easy to argue that a society that depends totally on robots becomes soft and decadent, dwindling and dying out of sheer boredom or, more subtly, by losing the will to live.
“The second wave of Settlers, without robots, lived on and took over the entire Galaxy, but Earth grew radioactive and slowly dropped out of sight. The reason usually given for this is that there were robots on Earth, too, since the first wave had encouraged that.”
Bliss, who had listened to the account with some visible impatience, said, “Well, Dr. Deniador, radioactivity or not, and however many waves of settlers there might have been, the crucial question is a simple one. Exactly where is Earth? What are its co-ordinates?”
Deniador said, “The answer to that question is: I don’t know.-But come, it is time for lunch. I can have one brought in, and we can discuss Earth over it for as long as you want.”
“You don’t know?” said Trevize, the sound of his voice rising in pitch and intensity.
“Actually, as far as I know, no one knows.”
“But that is impossible.”
“Councilman,” said Deniador, with a soft sigh, “if you wish to call the truth impossible, that is your privilege, but it will get you nowhere.”
LUNCHEON consisted of a heap of soft, crusty balls that came in different shades and that contained a variety of fillings.
Deniador picked up a small object which unfolded into a pair of thin, transparent gloves, and put them on. His guests followed suit.
Bliss said, “What is inside these objects, please?”
Deniador said, “The pink ones are filled with spicy chopped fish, a great Comporellian delicacy. These yellow ones contain a cheese filling that is very mild. The green ones contain a vegetable mixture. Do eat them while they are a quite warm. Later we will have hot almond pie and the usual beverages. I might recommend the hot cider. In a cold climate, we have a tendency to heat our foods, even desserts.”
“You do yourself well,” said Pelorat.
“Not really,” said Deniador. “I’m being hospitable to guests. For myself, I get along on very little. I don’t have much body mass to support, as you have probably noticed.” ‘
Trevize bit into one of the pink ones and found it very fishy indeed, with all overlay of spices that was pleasant to the taste but which, he thought, along with the fish itself, would remain with him for the rest of the day and, perhaps, into the night.
When he withdrew the object with the bite taken out of it, he found that the crust had closed in over the contents. There was no squirt, no leakage, and, for a moment, he wondered at the purpose of the gloves. These seemed no chance of getting his hands moist and sticky if he didn’t use them, so he decided it was a matter of hygiene. The gloves substituted for a washing of the hands if that were inconvenient and custom, probably, now dictated their use even if the hands were washed. (Lizalor hadn’t used gloves when he had eaten with her the day before.-Perhaps that was because she was a mountain woman.)
He said, “Would it be unmannerly to talk business over lunch?”
“By Comporellian standards, Councilman, it would be, but you are my guests, and we will go by your standards. If you wish to speak seriously, and do not think-or care-that that might diminish your pleasure in the food, please do so, and I will join you.”
Trevize said, “Thank you. Minister Lizalor implied-no, she stated quite bluntly-that Skeptics were unpopular on this world. Is that so?”
Deniador’s good humor seemed to intensify. “Certainly. How hurt we’d be if we weren’t. Comporellon, you see, is a frustrated world. Without any knowledge of the details, there is the general mythic belief, that once, many millennia ago, when the inhabited Galaxy was small, Comporellon was the leading world. We never forget that, and the fact that in known history we have not been leaders irks us, fills us-the population in general, that is-with a feeling of injustice.
“Yet what can we do? The government was forced to be a loyal vassal of the Emperor once, and is a loyal Associate of the Foundation now. And the more we are made aware of our subordinate position, the stronger the belief in the great, mysterious days of the past become.
“What, then, can Comporellon do? They could never defy the Empire in older times and they can’t openly defy the Foundation now. They take refuge, therefore, in attacking and hating us, since we don’t believe the legends and laugh at the superstitions.
“Nevertheless, we are safe from the grosser effects of persecution. We control the technology, and we fill the faculties of the Universities. Some of us, who are particularly outspoken, have difficulty in teaching classes openly. I have that difficulty, for instance, though I have my students and hold meetings quietly off-campus. Nevertheless, if we were really driven out of public life, the technology would fail and the Universities would lose accreditation with the Galaxy generally. Presumably, such is the folly of human beings, the prospects of intellectual suicide might not stop them from indulging their hatred, but the Foundation supports us. Therefore, we are constantly scolded and sneered at and denounced-and never touched.”
Trevize said, “Is it popular opposition that keeps you from telling us where Earth is? Do you fear that, despite everything, the anti-Skeptic feeling might turn ugly if you go too far?”
Deniador shook his head. “No. Earth’s location is unknown. I am not hiding anything from you out of fear-or for any other reason.”
“But look,” said Trevize urgently. “There are a limited number of planets in this sector of the Galaxy that possess the physical characteristics associated with habitability, and almost all of them must be not only inhabitable, but inhabited, and therefore well known to you. How difficult would it be to explore the sector for a planet that would be habitable were it not for the fact that it was radioactive? Besides that, you would look for such a planet with a large, satellite in attendance. Between radioactivity and a large satellite, Earth would be absolutely unmistakable and could not be missed even with only a casual search. It might take some time but that would be the only difficulty.”
Deniador said, “The Skeptic’s view is, of course, that Earth’s radioactivity and its large satellite are both simply legends. If we look for them, we look for sparrow-milk and rabbit-feathers.”
“Perhaps, but that shouldn’t stop Comporellon from at least taking on the search. If they find a radioactive world of the proper size for habitability, with a large satellite, what an appearance of credibility it would lend to Comporellian legendry in general.”
Deniador laughed. “It may be that Comporellon doesn’t search for that very reason. If we fail, or if we find an Earth obviously different from the legends, the reverse would take place. Comporellian legendry in general would be blasted and made into a laughingstock. Comporellon wouldn’t risk that.”
Trevize paused, then went on, very earnestly, “Besides, even if we discount those two uniquities-if there is such a word in Galactic-of radioactivity and a large satellite, there is a third that, by definition, must exist, without any reference to legends. Earth must have upon it either a flourishing life of incredible diversity, or the remnants of one, or, at the very least, the fossil record of such a one.”
Deniador said, “Councilman, while Comporellon has sent out no organized search party for Earth, we do have occasion to travel through space, and we occasionally have reports from ships that have strayed from their intended routes for one reason or another. Jumps are not always perfect, as perhaps you know. Nevertheless, there have been no reports of any planets with properties resembling those of the legendary Earth, or any planet that is bursting with life. Nor is any ship likely to land on what seems an uninhabited planet in order that the crew might go fossil-hunting. If, then, in thousands of years nothing of the sort has been reported, I am perfectly willing to believe that locating Earth is impossible, because Earth is not there to be located.”
Trevize said, in frustration, “But Earth must be somewhere. Somewhere there is a planet on which humanity and all the familiar forms of life associated with humanity evolved. If Earth is not in this section of the Galaxy, it must be elsewhere.”
“Perhaps,” said Deniador cold-bloodedly, “but in all this time, it hasn’t turned up anywhere.”
“People haven’t really looked for it.”
“Well, apparently you are. I wish you luck, but I would never bet on your success.”
Trevize said, “Have there been attempts to determine the possible position of Earth by indirect means, by some means other than a direct search?”
“Yes,” said two voices at once. Deniador, who was the owner of one of the voices, said to Pelorat, “Are you thinking of Yariff’s project?”
“I am,” said Pelorat.
“Then would you explain it to the Councilman? I think he would more readily believe you than me.”
Pelorat said, “You see, Golan, in the last days of the Empire, there was a time when the Search for Origins, as they called it, was a popular pastime, perhaps to get away from the unpleasantness of the surrounding reality. The Empire was in a process of disintegration at that time, you know.
“It occurred to a Livian historian, Humbal Yariff, that whatever the planet of origin, it would have settled worlds near itself sooner than it would settle planets farther away. In general, the farther a world from the point of origin the later it would have been settled.
“Suppose, then, one recorded the date of settlement of all habitable planets in the Galaxy, and made networks of all that were a given number of Millennia old. There could be a network drawn through all planets ten thousand years old; another through those twelve thousand years old, still another through those fifteen thousand years old. Each network would, in theory, be roughly spherical and they should be roughly concentric. The older networks would form spheres smaller in radius than the younger ones, and if one worked out all the centers they should fall within a comparatively small volume of space that would include the planet of origin-Earth.”
Pelorat’s face was very earnest as he kept drawing spherical surfaces with his cupped hands. “Do you see my point, Golan?”
Trevize nodded. “Yes. But I take it that it didn’t work.”
“Theoretically, it should have, old fellow. One trouble was that times of origin were totally inaccurate. Every world exaggerated its own age to one degree or another and there was no easy way of determining age independently of legend.”
Bliss said, “Carbon-14 decay in ancient timber.”
“Certainly, dear,” said Pelorat, “but you would have had to get co-operation from the worlds in question, and that was never given. No world wanted its own exaggerated claim of age to be destroyed and the Empire was then in no position to override local objections in a matter so unimportant. It had other things on its mind.
“All that Yariff could do was to make use of worlds that were only two thousand years old at most, and whose founding had been meticulously recorded under reliable circumstances. There were few of those, and while they were distributed in roughly spherical symmetry, the center was relatively close to Trantor, the Imperial capital, because that was where the colonizing expeditions had originated for those relatively few worlds.
“That, of course, was another problem. Earth was not the only point of origin of settlement for other worlds. As time went on, the older worlds sent out settlement expeditions of their own, and at the time of the height of Empire, Trantor was a rather copious source of those. Yariff was, rather unfairly, laughed at and ridiculed and his professional reputation was destroyed.”
Trevize said, “I get the story, Janov.-Dr. Deniador, is there then nothing at all you could give me that represents the faintest possibility of hope? Is there any other world where it is conceivable there may be some information concerning Earth?”
Deniador sank into doubtful thought for a while. “We-e-ell,” he said at last, drawing out the word hesitantly, “as a Skeptic I must tell you that I’m not sure that Earth exists, or has ever existed. However-” He fell silent again.
Finally, Bliss said, “I think you’ve thought of something that might be important, Doctor.”
“Important? I doubt it,” said Deniador faintly. “Perhaps amusing, however. Earth is not the only planet whose position is a mystery. There are the worlds of the first group of Settlers; the Spacers, as they are called in our legends. Some call the planets they inhabited the ‘Spacer worlds’; others call them the ‘Forbidden Worlds.’ The latter name is now the usual one.
“In their pride and prime, the legend goes, the Spacers had lifetimes stretching out for centuries, and refused to allow our own short-lived ancestors to land on their worlds. After we had defeated them, the situation was reversed. We scorned to deal with them and left them to themselves, forbidding our own ships and Traders to deal with them. Hence those planets became the Forbidden Worlds. We were certain, so the legend states, that He Who Punishes would destroy them without our intervention, and, apparently, He did. At least, no Spacer has appeared in the Galaxy to our knowledge, in many millennia.”
“Do you think that the Spacers would know about Earth?” said Trevize.
“Conceivably, since their worlds were older than any of ours. That is, if any Spacers exist, which is extremely unlikely.”
“Even if they don’t exist, their worlds do and may contain records.”
“If you can find the worlds.”
Trevize looked exasperated. “Do you mean to say that the key to Earth, the location of which is unknown, may be found on Spacer worlds, the location of which is also unknown?”
Deniador shrugged. “We have had no dealings with them for twenty thousand years. No thought of them. They, too, like Earth, have receded into the mists.”
“How many worlds did the Spacers live on?”
“The legends speak of fifty such worlds-a suspiciously round number. There were probably far fewer.”
“And you don’t know the location of a single one of the fifty?”
“Well, now, I wonder-”
“What do you wonder?”
Deniador said, “Since primeval history is my hobby, as it is Dr. Pelorat’s, I have occasionally explored old documents in search of anything that might refer to early time; something more than legends. Last year, I came upon the records of an old ship, records that were almost indecipherable. It dated back to the very old days when our world was not yet known as Comporellon. The name ‘Baleyworld’ was used, which, it seems to me, may be an even earlier form of the ‘Benbally world’ of our legends.”
Pelorat said, excitedly, “Have you published?”
“No,” said Deniador. “I do not wish to dive until I am sure there is water in the swimming pool, as the old saying has it. You see, the record says that the captain of the ship had visited a Spacer world and taken off with him a Spacer woman.”
Bliss said, “But you said that the Spacers did not allow visitors.”
“Exactly, and that is the reason I don’t publish the material. It sounds incredible. There are vague tales that could be interpreted as referring to the Spacers and to their conflict with the Settlers-our own ancestors.-Such tales exist not only on Comporellon but on many worlds in many variations, but all are in absolute accord in one respect. The two groups, Spacers and Settlers, did not mingle. There was no social contact, let alone sexual contact, and yet apparently the Settler captain and the Spacer woman were held together by bonds of love. This is so incredible that I see no chance of the story being accepted as anything but, at best, a piece of romantic historical fiction.”
Trevize looked disappointed. “Is that all?”
“No, Councilman, there is one more matter. I came across some figures in what was left of the log of the ship that might-or might not-represent spatial co-ordinates. If they were-and I repeat, since my Skeptic’s honor compels me to, that they might not be-then internal evidence made me conclude they were the spatial co-ordinates of three of the Spacer worlds. One of them might be the Spacer world where the captain landed and from which he withdrew his Spacer love.”
Trevize said, “Might it not be that even if the tale is fiction, the coordinates are real?”
“It might be,” said Deniador. “I will give you the figures, and you are free to use them, but you might get nowhere.-And yet I have an amusing notion.” His quick smile made its appearance.
“What is that?” said Trevize.
“What if one of those sets of co-ordinates represented Earth?”
COMPORELLON’S sun, distinctly orange, was larger in appearance than the sun of Terminus, but it was low in the sky and gave out little heat. The wind, fortunately light, touched Trevize’s cheek with icy fingers.
He shivered inside the electrified coat he had been given by Mitza Lizalor, who now stood next to him. He said, “It must warm up sometime, Mitza.”
She glanced up at the sun briefly, and stood there in the emptiness of the spaceport, showing no signs of discomfort-tall, large, wearing a lighter coat than Trevize had on, and if not impervious to the cold, at least scornful of it.
She said, “We have a beautiful summer. It is not a long one but our food crops are adapted to it. The strains are carefully chosen so that they grow quickly in the sun and do not frostbite easily. Our domestic animals are well furred, and Comporellian wool is the best in the Galaxy by general admission. Then, too, we have farm settlements in orbit about Comporellon that grow ‘ tropical fruit. We actually export canned pineapples of superior flavor. Most people who know us as a cold world don’t know that.”
Trevize said, “I thank you for coming to see us off, Mitza, and for being willing to co-operate with us on this mission of ours. For my own peace of mind, however, I must ask whether you will find yourself in serious trouble over this.”
“No!” She shook her head proudly. “No trouble. In the first place, I will not be questioned. I am in control of transportation, which means I alone set the rules for this spaceport and others, for the entry stations, for the ships that come and go. The Prime Minister depends on me for all that and is only too delighted to remain ignorant of its details.-And even if I were questioned, I have but to tell the truth. The government would applaud me for not turning the ship over to the Foundation. So would the people if it were safe to let them know. And the Foundation itself would not know of it.”
Trevize said, “The government might be willing to keep the ship from the Foundation, but would they be willing to approve your letting us take it away?”
Lizalor smiled. “You are a decent human being, Trevize. You have fought tenaciously to keep your ship and now that you have it you take the trouble to concern yourself with my welfare.” She reached toward him tentatively as though tempted to give some sign of affection and then, with obvious difficulty, controlled the impulse.
She said, with a renewed brusqueness, “Even if they question my decision, I have but to tell them that you have been, and still are, searching for the Oldest, and they will say I did well to get rid of you as quickly as I did, ship and all, And they will perform the rites of atonement that you were ever allowed to land in the first place, though there was no way we might have guessed what you were doing.”
“Do you truly fear misfortune to yourself and the world because of my presence?”
“Indeed,” said Lizalor stolidly. Then she said, more softly, “You have brought misfortune to me, already, for now that I have known you, Comporellian men will seem more sapless still. I will be left with an unappeasable longing. He Who Punishes has already seen to that.”
Trevize hesitated, then said, “I do not wish you to change your mind on this matter, but I do not wish you to suffer needless apprehension, either. You must know that this matter of my bringing misfortune on you is simply superstition.”
“The Skeptic told you that, I presume.”
“I know it without his telling me.”
Lizalor brushed her face, for a thin rime was gathering on her prominent eyebrows and said, “I know there are some who think it superstition. That the Oldest brings misfortune is, however, a fact. It has been demonstrated many times and all the clever Skeptical arguments can’t legislate the truth out of existence.”
She thrust out her .hand suddenly. “Good-bye, Golan. Get on the ship and join your companions before your soft Terminian body freezes in our cold, but kindly wind.”
“Good-bye, Mitza, and I hope to see you when I return.”
“Yes, you have promised to return and I have tried to believe that you would. I have even told myself that I would come out and meet you at your ship in space so that misfortune would fall only on me and not upon my world-but you will not return.”
“Not so! I will! I would not give you up that easily, having had pleasure of you.” And at that moment, Trevize was firmly convinced that he meant it.
“I do not doubt your romantic impulses, my sweet Foundationer, but those who venture outward on a search for the Oldest will never come back-anywhere. I know that in my heart.”
Trevize tried to keep his teeth from chattering. It was from cold and he didn’t want her to think it was from fear. He said, “That, too, is superstition.”
“And yet,” she said, “that, too, is true.”
IT WAS GOOD T0 be back in the pilot-room of the Far Star. It might be cramped for room. It might be a bubble of imprisonment in infinite space. Nevertheless, it was familiar, friendly, and warm.
Bliss said, “I’m glad you finally came aboard. I was wondering how long you would remain with the Minister.”
“Not long,” said Trevize. “It was cold.”
“It seemed to me,” said Bliss, “that you were considering remaining with her and postponing the search for Earth. I do not like to probe your mind even lightly, but I was concerned for you and that temptation under which you labored seemed to leap out at me.”
Trevize said, “You’re quite right. Momentarily at least, I felt the temptation. The Minister is a remarkable woman and I’ve never met anyone quite like her.-Did you strengthen my resistance, Bliss?”
She said, “I’ve told you many times I must not and will not tamper with your mind in any way, Trevize. You beat down the temptation, I imagine, through your strong sense of duty.”
“No, I rather think not.” He smiled wryly. “Nothing so dramatic and noble. My resistance was strengthened, for one thing, by the fact that is was cold, and for another, by the sad thought that it wouldn’t take many sessions with her to kill me. I could never keep up the pace.”
Pelorat said, “Well, anyway, you are safely aboard. What are we going to do next?”
“In the immediate future, we are going to move outward through the planetary system at a brisk pace until we are far enough from Comporellon’s sun to make a Jump.”
“Do you think we will be stopped or followed?”
“No, I really think that the Minister is anxious only that we go away as rapidly as possible and stay away, in order that the vengeance of He Who Punishes not fall upon the planet. In fact-”
“Yes?”
“She believes the vengeance will surely fall on us. She is under the firm conviction that we will never return. This, I hasten to add, is not an estimate of my probable level of infidelity, which she has had no occasion to measure. She meant that Earth is so terrible a bearer of misfortune that anyone who seeks it must die in the process.”
Bliss said, “How many have left Comporellon in search of Earth that she can make such a statement?”
“I doubt that any Comporellian has ever left on such a search. I told her that her fears were mere superstition.”
“Are you sure you believe that, or have you let her shake you?”
“I know her fears are the purest superstition in the form she expresses them, but they may be well founded just the same.”
“You mean, radioactivity will kill us if we try to land on it?”
“I don’t believe that Earth is radioactive. What I do believe is that Earth protects itself. Remember that all reference to Earth in the Library on Trantor has been removed. Remember that Gaia’s marvelous memory, in which all the planet takes part down to the rock strata of the surface and the molten metal at the core, stops short of penetrating far enough back to tell us anything of Earth.
“Clearly, if Earth is powerful enough to do that, it might also be capable of adjusting minds in order to force belief in its radioactivity, and thus preventing any search for it. Perhaps because Comporellon is so close that it represents a particular danger to Earth, there is the further reinforcement of a curious blankness. Deniador, who is a Skeptic and a scientist, is utterly convinced that there is no use searching for Earth. He says it cannot be found.-And that is why the Minister’s superstition may be well founded. If Earth is so intent on concealing itself, might it not kill us, or distort us, rather than allow us to find it?”
Bliss frowned and said, “Gaia-”
Trevize said quickly, “Don’t say Gaia will protect us. Since Earth was able to remove Gaia’s earliest memories, it is clear that in any conflict between the two Earth will win.”
Bliss said coldly, “How do you know that the memories were removed? It might be that it simply took time for Gaia to develop a planetary memory and that we can now probe backward only to the time of the completion of that development. And if the memory was removed, how can you be sure that it was Earth that did it?”
Trevize said, “I don’t know. I merely advance my speculations.”
Pelorat put in, rather timidly, “If Earth is so powerful, and so intent on preserving its privacy, so to speak, of what use is our search? You seem to think Earth won’t allow us to succeed and will kill us if that will be what it takes to keep us from succeeding. In that case, is there any sense in not abandoning this whole thing?”
“It might seem we ought to give up, I admit, but I have this powerful conviction that Earth exists, and I must and will find it. And Gaia tells me that when I have powerful convictions of this sort, I am always right.”
“But how can we survive the discovery, old chap?”
“It may be,” said Trevize, with an effort at lightness, “that Earth, too, will recognize the value of my extraordinary rightness and will leave me to myself. But-and this is what I am finally getting at-I cannot be certain that you two will survive and that is of concern to me. It always has been, but it is increasing now and it seems to me that I ought to take you two back to Gaia and then proceed on my own. It is I, not you, who first decided I must search for Earth; it is I, not you, who see value in it; it is 1, not you, who am driven. Let it be I, then, not you, who take the risk. Let me go on alone.-Janov?”
Pelorat’s long face seemed to grow longer as he buried his chin in his neck. “I won’t deny I feel nervous, Golan, but I’d be ashamed to abandon you. I would disown myself if I did so.”
“Bliss?”
“Gaia will not abandon you, Trevize, whatever you do. If Earth should prove dangerous, Gaia will protect you as far as it can. And in any case, in my role as Bliss, I will not abandon Pel, and if he clings to you, then I certainly cling to him.”
Trevize said grimly, “Very well, then. I’ve given you your chance. We go on together.”
“Together,” said Bliss.
Pelorat smiled slightly, and gripped Trevize’s shoulder. “Together. Always.”
BLISS SAID, “Look at that, Pel.”
She had been making use of the ship’s telescope by hand, almost aimlessly, as a change from Pelorat’s library of Earth-legendry.
Pelorat approached, placed an arm about her shoulders and looked at the viewscreen. One of the gas giants of the Comporellian planetary system was in sight, magnified till it seemed the large body it really was.
In color it was a soft orange streaked with paler stripes. Viewed from the planetary plane, and more distant from the sun than the ship itself was, it was almost a complete circle of light.
“Beautiful,” said Pelorat.
“The central streak extends beyond the planet, Pel.”
Pelorat furrowed his brow and said, “You know, Bliss, I believe it does,”
“Do you suppose it’s an optical illusion?”
Pelorat said, “I’m not sure, Bliss. I’m as much a space-novice as you am-Golan!”
Trevize answered the call with a rather feeble “What is it?” and entered the pilot-room, looking a bit rumpled, as though he had just been napping on his bed with his clothes on-which was exactly what he had been doing.
He said, in a rather peevish way, “Please! Don’t be handling the instruments.”
“It’s just the telescope,” said Pelorat. “Look at that.”
Trevize did. “It’s a gas giant, the one they call Gallia, according to the information I was given.”
“How can you tell it’s that one, just looking?”
“For one thing,” said Trevize, “at our distance from the sun, and because of the planetary sizes and orbital positions, which I’ve been studying in plotting our course, that’s the only one you could magnify to that extent et this time. For another thing, there’s the ring.”
“Ring?” said Bliss, mystified.
“All you can see is a thin, pale marking, because we’re viewing it almost edge-on. We can zoom up out of the planetary plane and give you a better view. Would you like that?”
Pelorat said, “I don’t want to make you have to recalculate positions and courses, Golan. “
“Oh well, the computer will do it for me with little trouble.” He sat down at the computer as he spoke and placed his hands on the markings that received them. The computer, finely attuned to his mind, did the rest.
The Far Star, free of fuel problems or of inertial sensations, accelerated rapidly, and once again, Trevize felt a surge of love for a computer-and-ship that responded in such a way to him-as though it was his thought that powered and directed it, as though it were a powerful and obedient extension of his will.
It was no wonder the Foundation wanted it back; no wonder Comporellon had wanted it for itself. The only surprise was that the force of superstition had been strong enough to cause Comporellon to be willing to give it up.
Properly armed, it could outrun or outfight any ship in the Galaxy, or any combination of ships-provided only that it did not encounter another ship like itself.
Of course, it was not properly armed. Mayor Branno, in assigning him the ship, had at least been cautious enough to leave it unarmed.
Pelorat and Bliss watched intently as the planet, Gallia, slowly, slowly, tipped toward them. The upper pole (whichever it was) became visible, with turbulence in a large circular region around it, while the lower pole retired behind the bulge of the sphere.
At the upper end, the dark side of the planet invaded the sphere of orange light, and the beautiful circle became increasingly lopsided.
What seemed more exciting was that the central pale streak was no longer straight but had come to be curved, as were the other streaks to the north and south, but more noticeably so.
Now the central streak extended beyond the edges of the planet very distinctly and did so in a narrow loop on either side. There was no question of illusion; its nature was apparent. It was a ring of matter, looping about the planet, and hidden on the far side.
“That’s enough to give you the idea, I think,” said Trevize. “If we were to move over the planet, you would see the ring in its circular form, concentric about the planet, touching it nowhere. You’ll probably see that it’s not one ring either but several concentric rings.”
“I wouldn’t have thought it possible,” said Pelorat blankly. “What keeps it in space?”
“The same thing that keeps a satellite in space,” said Trevize. “The rings consist of tiny particles, every one of which is orbiting the planet. The rings are so close to the planet that tidal effects prevent it from coalescing into a single body.”
Pelorat shook his head. “It’s horrifying when I think of it, old man. How is it possible that I can have spent my whole life as a scholar and yet know so little about astronomy?”
“And I know nothing at all about the myths of humanity. No one can encompass all of knowledge.-The point is that these planetary rings aren’t unusual. Almost every single gas giant has them, even if it’s only a thin curve of dust. As it happens, the sun of Terminus has no true gas giant in its planetary family, so unless a Terminian is a space traveler, or has taken University instruction in astronomy, he’s likely to know nothing about planetary rings. What is unusual is a ring that is sufficiently broad to be bright and noticeable, like that one. It’s beautiful. It must be a couple of hundred kilometers wide, at least.”
At this point, Pelorat snapped his fingers. “That’s what it meant.”
Bliss looked startled. “What is it, Pel?”
Pelorat said, “I came across a scrap of poetry once, very ancient, and in an archaic version of Galactic that was hard to make out but that was good evidence of great age.-Though I shouldn’t complain of the archaism, old chap. My work has made me an expert on various varieties of Old Galactic, which is quite gratifying even if it is of no use to me whatever outside my work.-What was I talking about?”
Bliss said, “An old scrap of poetry, Pel dear.”
“Thank you, Bliss,” he said. And to Trevize, “She keeps close track of what I say in order to pull me back whenever I get off-course, which is most of the time.”
“It’s part of your charm, Pel,” said Bliss, smiling.
“Anyway, this scrap of poetry purported to describe the planetary system of which Earth was part. Why it should do so, I don’t know, for the poem as a whole does not survive; at least, I was never able to locate it. Only this one portion survived, perhaps because of its astronomical content. In any case, it spoke of the brilliant triple ring of the sixth planet ‘both brade and large, sae the woruld shronk in comparisoun.’ I can still quote it, you see. I didn’t understand what a planet’s ring could be. I remember thinking of three circles on one side of the planet, all in a row. It seemed so nonsensical, I didn’t bother to include it in my library. I’m sorry now I didn’t inquire.” He shook his head. “Being a mythologist in today’s Galaxy is so solitary a job, one forgets the good of inquiring.”
Trevize said consolingly, “You were probably right to ignore it, Janov. It’s a mistake to take poetic chatter literally.”
“But that’s what was meant,” said Pelorat, pointing at the screen. “That’s what the poem was speaking of. Three wide rings, concentric, wider than the planet itself.”
Trevize said, “I never heard of such a thing. I don’t think rings can be that wide. Compared to the planet they circle, they are always very narrow.”
Pelorat said, “We never heard of a habitable planet with a giant satellite, either. Or one with a radioactive crust. This is uniqueness .number three. If we find a radioactive planet that might be otherwise habitable, with a giant satellite, and with another planet in the system that has a huge ring, there would be no doubt at all that we had encountered Earth.”
Trevize smiled. “I agree, Janov. If we find all three, we will certainly have found Earth.”
“If!” said Bliss, with a sigh.
THEY WERE beyond the main worlds of the planetary system, plunging outward between the positions of the two outermost planets so that there was now no significant mass within 1.5 billion kilometers. Ahead lay only the vast cometary cloud which, gravitationally, was insignificant.
The Far Star had accelerated to a speed of 0.1 c, one tenth the speed of light. Trevize knew well that, in theory, the ship could be accelerated to nearly the speed of light, but he also knew that, in practice, 0.1 c was the reasonable limit.
At that speed, any object with appreciable mass could be avoided, but there was no way of dodging the innumerable dust particles in space, and, to a far greater extent even, individual atoms and molecules. At very fast speeds, even such small objects could do damage, scouring and scraping the ship’s hull. At speeds near the speed of light, each atom smashing into the hull had the properties of a cosmic ray particle. Under that penetrating cosmic radiation, anyone on board ship would not long survive.
The distant stars showed no perceptible motion in the viewscreen, and even though the ship was moving at thirty thousand kilometers per second, there was every appearance of its standing still.
The computer scanned space to great distances for any oncoming object of small but significant size that might be on a collision course, and the ship veered gently to avoid it, in the extremely unlikely case that that would be necessary. Between the small size of any possible oncoming object, the speed with which it was passed, and the lack of inertial effect as the result of the course change, there was no way of telling whether anything ever took place in the nature of what might be termed a “close call.”
Trevize, therefore, did not worry about such things, or even give it the most casual thought. He kept his full attention on the three sets of co-ordinates he had been given by Deniador, and, particularly, on the set which indicated the object closest to themselves.
“Is there something wrong with the figures?” asked Pelorat anxiously.
“I can’t tell yet,” said Trevize. “Co-ordinates in themselves aren’t useful, unless you know the zero point and the conventions used in setting them up-the direction in which to mark off the distance, so to speak, what the equivalent of a prime meridian is, and so on.”
“How do you find out such things?” said Pelorat blankly.
“I obtained the co-ordinates of Terminus and a few other known points, relative to Comporellon. If I put them into the computer, it will calculate what the conventions must be for such co-ordinates if Terminus and the other points are to be correctly located. I’m only trying to organize things in my mind so that I can properly program the computer for this. Once the conventions are determined, the figures we have for the Forbidden Worlds might possibly have meaning.”
“Only possibly?” said Bliss.
“Only possibly, I’m afraid,” said Trevize. “These are old figures after all-presumably Comporellian, but not definitely. What if they are based on other conventions?”
“In that case?”
“In that case, we have only meaningless figures. But-we just have to find out.”
His hands flickered over the softly glowing keys of the computer, feeding it the necessary information. He then placed his hands on the handmarks on the desk. He waited while the computer worked out the conventions of the known co-ordinates, paused a moment, then interpreted the co-ordinates of the nearest Forbidden World by the same conventions, and finally located those co-ordinates on the Galactic map in its memory.
A starfield appeared on the screen and moved rapidly as it adjusted itself. When it reached stasis, it expanded with stars bleeding off the edges in all directions until they were almost all gone. At no point could the eye follow the rapid change; it was all a speckled blur. Until finally, a space one tenth of a parsec on each side (according to the index figures below the screen) “ all that remained. There was no further change, and only half a dozen dial sparks relieved the darkness of the screen.
“Which one is the Forbidden World?” asked Pelorat softly.
“None of them,” said Trevize. “Four of them are red dwarfs, one a near-red dwarf, and the last a white dwarf. None of them can possibly have a habitable world in orbit about them.”
“How do you know they’re red dwarfs just by looking at them?”
Trevize said, “We’re not looking at real stars; we’re looking at a section of the Galactic map stored in the computer’s memory. Each one is labeled. You can’t see it and ordinarily I couldn’t see it either, but as long as my hands are making contact, as they are, I am aware of a considerable amount of data on any star on which my eyes concentrate.”
Pelorat said in a woebegone tone, “Then the co-ordinates are useless.”
Trevize looked up at him, “No, Janov. I’m not finished. There’s still the matter of time. The co-ordinates for the Forbidden World are those of twenty thousand years ago. In that time, both it and Comporellon have been revolving about the Galactic Center, and they may well be revolving at different speeds and in orbits of different inclinations and eccentricities. With time, therefore, the two worlds may be drifting closer together or farther apart and, in twenty thousand years, the Forbidden World may have drifted anywhere from one-half to five parsecs off the mark. It certainly wouldn’t be included in that tenth-parsec square.”
“What do we do, then?”
“We have the computer move the Galaxy twenty thousand years back in time relative to Comporellon.”
“Can it do that?” asked Bliss, sounding rather awe-struck.
“Well, it can’t move the Galaxy itself back in time, but it can move the map in its memory banks back in time.”
Bliss said, “Will we see anything happen?”
“Watch,” said Trevize.
Very slowly, the half-dozen stars crawled over the face of the screen. A new star, not hitherto on the screen, drifted in from the left hand edge, and Pelorat pointed in excitement. “There! There!”
Trevize said, “Sorry. Another red dwarf. They’re very common. At least three fourths of all the stars in the Galaxy are red dwarfs.”
The screen settled down and stopped moving.
“Well?” said Bliss.
Trevize said, “That’s it. That’s the view of that portion of the Galaxy as it would have been twenty thousand years ago. At the very center of the screen is a point where the Forbidden World ought to be if it had been drifting at some average velocity.”
“Ought to be, but isn’t,” said Bliss sharply.
“It isn’t,” agreed Trevize, with remarkably little emotion.
Pelorat released his breath in a long sigh. “Oh, too bad, Golan.”
Trevize said, “Wait, don’t despair. I wasn’t expecting to see the star there.”
“You weren’t?” said Pelorat, astonished.
“No. I told you that this isn’t the Galaxy itself, but the computer’s map of the Galaxy. If a real star is not included in the map, we don’t see it. If the planet is called ‘Forbidden’ and has been called so for twenty thousand years, the chances are it wouldn’t be included in the map. And it isn’t, for we don’t see it.”
Bliss said, “We might not see it because it doesn’t exist. The Comporellian legends may be false, or the co-ordinates may be wrong.”
“Very true. The computer, however, can now make an estimate as to what the co-ordinates ought to be at this time, now that it has located the spot where it may have been twenty thousand years ago. Using the co-ordinates corrected for time, a correction I could only have made through use of the star map, we can now switch to the real starfield of the Galaxy itself.”
Bliss said, “But you only assumed an average velocity for the Forbidden World. What if its velocity was not average? You would not now have the correct co-ordinates.”
“True enough, but a correction, assuming average velocity, is almost certain to be closer to its real position, than if we had made no time correction at all.”
“You hope!” said Bliss doubtfully.
“That’s exactly what I do,” said Trevize. “I hope.-And now let’s look at the real Galaxy.”
The two onlookers watched tensely, while Trevize (perhaps to reduce his own tensions and delay the zero moment) spoke softly, almost as though he were lecturing.
“It’s more difficult to observe the real Galaxy,” he said. “The map in the computer is an artificial construction, with irrelevancies capable of being eliminated. If there is a nebula obscuring the view, I can remove it. If the angle of view is inconvenient for what I have in mind, I can change the angle, and so on. The real Galaxy, however, I must take as I find it, and if I want a change I must move physically through space, which will take far more time than it would take to adjust a map.”
And as he spoke, the screen showed a star cloud so rich in individual stars as to seem an irregular heap of powder.
Trevize said, “That’s a large angle view of a section of the Milky Way, and I want the foreground, of course. If I expand the foreground, the background will tend to fade in comparison. The co-ordinate spot is close enough to Comporellon so that I should be able to expand it to about the situation I had on the view of the map. Just let me put in the necessary instructions, if I can hold on to my sanity long enough. Now.”
The starfield expanded with a rush so that thousands of stars pushed off every edge, giving the watchers so real a sensation of moving toward the screen that all three automatically leaned backward as though in response to a forward rush.
The old view returned, not quite as dark as it had been on the map, but with the half-dozen stars shown as they had been in the original view. And there, close to the center, was another star, shining far more brightly than the others.
“There it is,” said Pelorat, in an awed whisper.
“It may be. I’ll have the computer take its spectrum and analyze it.” There was a moderately long pause, then Trevize said, “Spectral class, G-4, which makes it a trifle dimmer and smaller than Terminus’s sun, but rather brighter than Comporellon’s sun. And no G-class star should be omitted from the computer’s Galactic map. Since this one is, that is a strong indication that it may be the sun about which the Forbidden World revolves.”
Bliss said, “Is there any chance of its turning out that there is no habitable planet revolving about this star after all?”
“There’s a chance, I suppose. In that case, we’ll try to find the other two Forbidden Worlds.”
Bliss persevered. “And if the other two are false alarms, too?”
“Then we’ll try something else.”
“Like what?”
“I wish I knew,” said Trevize grimly.