by Isaac Asimov
“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 call 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.”
7
Leaving Comporellon
26.
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 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 an 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. There 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-feat
hers.”
“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.”
