Foundation and Earth

by Isaac Asimov

  Trevize heaved a tremulous sigh. “A small stroke of good fortune is better than none. Carry on, Janov.”

  Pelorat turned to the robots, waited a moment, then looked back at Trevize. “What am I supposed to say?”

  “Let’s go all the way. Ask them where Earth is.”

  Pelorat said the words one at a time, with exaggerated gestures of his hands.

  The robots looked at each other and made a few sounds. The middle one then spoke to Pelorat, who replied while moving his hands apart as though he were stretching a length of rubber. The robot responded by spacing his words as carefully as Pelorat had.

  Pelorat said to Trevize, “I’m not sure I’m getting across what I mean by ‘Earth.’ I suspect they think I’m referring to some region on their planet and they say they don’t know of any such region.”

  “Do they use the name of this planet, Janov?”

  “The closest I can come to what I think they are using as the name is ‘Solaria.’ ”

  “Have you ever heard of it in your legends?”

  “No—any more than I had ever heard of Aurora.”

  “Well, ask them if there is any place named Earth in the sky—among the stars. Point upward.”

  Again an exchange, and finally Pelorat turned and said, “All I can get from them, Golan, is that there are no places in the sky.”

  Bliss said, “Ask those robots how old they are; or rather, how long they have been functioning.”

  “I don’t know how to say ‘functioning,’ ” said Pelorat, shaking his head. “In fact, I’m not sure if I can say ‘how old.’ I’m not a very good interpreter.”

  “Do the best you can, Pel dear,” said Bliss.

  And after several exchanges, Pelorat said, “They’ve been functioning for twenty-six years.”

  “Twenty-six years,” muttered Trevize in disgust. “They’re hardly older than you are, Bliss.”

  Bliss said, with sudden pride, “It so happens—”

  “I know. You’re Gaia, which is thousands of years old. —In any case, these robots cannot talk about Earth from personal experience, and their memory-banks clearly do not include anything not necessary to their functioning. So they know nothing about astronomy.”

  Pelorat said, “There may be other robots somewhere on the planet that are primordial, perhaps.”

  “I doubt it,” said Trevize, “but ask them, if you can find the words for it, Janov.”

  This time there was quite a long conversation and Pelorat eventually broke it off with a flushed face and a clear air of frustration.

  “Golan,” he said, “I don’t understand part of what they’re trying to say, but I gather that the older robots are used for manual labor and don’t know anything. If this robot were a human, I’d say he spoke of the older robots with contempt. These three are house robots, they say, and are not allowed to grow old before being replaced. They’re the ones who really know things—their words, not mine.”

  “They don’t know much,” growled Trevize. “At least of the things we want to know.”

  “I now regret,” said Pelorat, “that we left Aurora so hurriedly. If we had found a robot survivor there, and we surely would have, since the very first one I encountered still had a spark of life left in it, they would know of Earth through personal memory.”

  “Provided their memories were intact, Janov,” said Trevize. “We can always go back there and, if we have to, dog packs or not, we will. —But if these robots are only a couple of decades old, there must be those who manufacture them, and the manufacturers must be human, I should think.” He turned to Bliss. “Are you sure you sensed—”

  But she raised a hand to stop him and there was a strained and intent look on her face. “Coming now,” she said, in a low voice.

  Trevize turned his face toward the rise and there, first appearing from behind it, and then striding toward them, was the unmistakable figure of a human being. His complexion was pale and his hair light and long, standing out slightly from the sides of his head. His face was grave but quite young in appearance. His bare arms and legs were not particularly muscled.

  The robots stepped aside for him, and he advanced till he stood in their midst.

  He then spoke in a clear, pleasant voice and his words, although used archaically, were in Galactic Standard, and easily understood.

  “Greetings, wanderers from space,” he said. “What would you with my robots?”

  46.

  TREVIZE DID NOT COVER HIMSELF WITH GLORY. HE said foolishly, “You speak Galactic?”

  The Solarian said, with a grim smile, “And why not, since I am not mute?”

  “But these?” Trevize gestured toward the robots.

  “These are robots. They speak our language, as I do. But I am Solarian and hear the hyperspatial communications of the worlds beyond so that I have learned your way of speaking, as have my predecessors. My predecessors have left descriptions of the language, but I constantly hear new words and expressions that change with the years, as though you Settlers can settle worlds, but not words. How is it you are surprised at my understanding of your language?”

  “I should not have been,” said Trevize. “I apologize. It was just that speaking to the robots, I had not thought to hear Galactic on this world.”

  He studied the Solarian. He was wearing a thin white robe, draped loosely over his shoulder, with large openings for his arms. It was open in front, exposing a bare chest and loincloth below. Except for a pair of light sandals, he wore nothing else.

  It occurred to Trevize that he could not tell whether the Solarian was male or female. The breasts were male certainly but the chest was hairless and the thin loincloth showed no bulge of any kind.

  He turned to Bliss and said in a low voice, “This might still be a robot, but very like a human being in—”

  Bliss said, her lips hardly moving, “The mind is that of a human being, not a robot.”

  The Solarian said, “Yet you have not answered my original question. I shall excuse the failure and put it down to your surprise. I now ask again and you must not fail a second time. What would you with my robots?”

  Trevize said, “We are travelers who seek information to reach our destination. We asked your robots for information that would help us, but they lacked the knowledge.”

  “What is the information you seek? Perhaps I can help you.”

  “We seek the location of Earth. Could you tell us that?”

  The Solarian’s eyebrows lifted. “I would have thought that your first object of curiosity would have been myself. I will supply that information although you have not asked for it. I am Sarton Bander and you stand upon the Bander estate, which stretches as far as your eye can see in every direction and far beyond. I cannot say that you are welcome here, for in coming here, you have violated a trust. You are the first Settlers to touch down upon Solaria in many thousands of years and, as it turns out, you have come here merely to inquire as to the best way of reaching another world. In the old days, Settlers, you and your ship would have been destroyed on sight.”

  “That would be a barbaric way of treating people who mean no harm and offer none,” said Trevize cautiously.

  “I agree, but when members of an expanding society set foot upon an inoffensive and static one, that mere touch is filled with potential harm. While we feared that harm, we were ready to destroy those who came at the instant of their coming. Since we no longer have reason to fear, we are, as you see, ready to talk.”

  Trevize said, “I appreciate the information you have offered us so freely, and yet you failed to answer the question I did ask. I will repeat it. Could you tell us the location of the planet Earth?”

  “By Earth, I take it you mean the world on which the human species, and the various species of plants and animals”—his hand moved gracefully about as though to indicate all the surroundings about them—“originated.”

  “Yes, I do, sir.”

  A queer look of repugnance flitted over the S
olarian’s face. He said, “Please address me simply as Bander, if you must use a form of address. Do not address me by any word that includes a sign of gender. I am neither male nor female. I am whole.”

  Trevize nodded (he had been right). “As you wish, Bander. What, then, is the location of Earth, the world of origin of all of us?”

  Bander said, “I do not know. Nor do I wish to know. If I did know, or if I could find out, it would do you no good, for Earth no longer exists as a world. —Ah,” he went on, stretching out his arms. “The sun feels good. I am not often on the surface, and never when the sun does not show itself. My robots were sent to greet you while the sun was yet hiding behind the clouds. I followed only when the clouds cleared.”

  “Why is it that Earth no longer exists as a world?” said Trevize insistently, steeling himself for the tale of radioactivity once again.

  Bander, however, ignored the question or, rather, put it to one side carelessly. “The story is too long,” he said. “You told me that you came with no intent of harm.”

  “That is correct.”

  “Why then did you come armed?”

  “That is merely a precaution. I did not know what I might meet.”

  “It doesn’t matter. Your little weapons represent no danger to me. Yet I am curious. I have, of course, heard much of your arms, and of your curiously barbaric history that seems to depend so entirely upon arms. Even so, I have never actually seen a weapon. May I see yours?”

  Trevize took a step backward. “I’m afraid not, Bander.”

  Bander seemed amused. “I asked only out of politeness. I need not have asked at all.”

  It held out its hand and from Trevize’s right holster, there emerged his blaster, while from his left holster, there rose up his neuronic whip. Trevize snatched at his weapons but felt his arms held back as though by stiffly elastic bonds. Both Pelorat and Bliss started forward and it was clear that they were held as well.

  Bander said, “Don’t bother trying to interfere. You cannot.” The weapons flew to its hands and it looked them over carefully. “This one,” it said, indicating the blaster, “seems to be a microwave beamer that produces heat, thus exploding any fluid-containing body. The other is more subtle, and, I must confess, I do not see at a glance what it is intended to do. However, since you mean no harm and offer no harm, you don’t need arms. I can, and I do, bleed the energy content of the units of each weapon. That leaves them harmless unless you use one or the other as a club, and they would be clumsy indeed if used for that purpose.”

  The Solarian released the weapons and again they drifted through the air, this time back toward Trevize. Each settled neatly into its holster.

  Trevize, feeling himself released, pulled out his blaster, but there was no need to use it. The contact hung loosely, and the energy unit had clearly been totally drained. That was precisely the case with the neuronic whip as well.

  He looked up at Bander, who said, smiling, “You are quite helpless, Outworlder. I can as easily, if I so desired, destroy your ship and, of course, you.”

  11

  Underground

  47.

  TREVIZE FELT FROZEN. TRYING TO BREATHE NORMALLY, he turned to look at Bliss.

  She was standing with her arm protectively about Pelorat’s waist, and, to all appearances, was quite calm. She smiled slightly and, even more slightly, nodded her head.

  Trevize turned back to Bander. Having interpreted Bliss’s actions as signifying confidence, and hoping with dreadful earnestness that he was correct, he said grimly, “How did you do that, Bander?”

  Bander smiled, obviously in high good humor. “Tell me, little Outworlders, do you believe in sorcery? In magic?”

  “No, we do not, little Solarian,” snapped Trevize.

  Bliss tugged at Trevize’s sleeve and whispered, “Don’t irritate him. He’s dangerous.”

  “I can see he is,” said Trevize, keeping his voice low with difficulty. “You do something, then.”

  Her voice barely heard, Bliss said, “Not yet. He will be less dangerous if he feels secure.”

  Bander paid no attention to the brief whispering among the Outworlders. It moved away from them uncaringly, the robots separating to let it pass.

  Then it looked back and crooked a finger languidly. “Come. Follow me. All three of you. I will tell you a story that may not interest you, but that interests me.” It continued to walk forward leisurely.

  Trevize remained in place for a while, uncertain as to the best course of action. Bliss walked forward, however, and the pressure of her arm led Pelorat forward as well. Eventually, Trevize moved; the alternative was to be left standing alone with the robots.

  Bliss said lightly, “If Bander will be so kind as to tell the story that may not interest us—”

  Bander turned and looked intently at Bliss as though he were truly aware of her for the first time. “You are the feminine half-human,” he said, “aren’t you? The lesser half?”

  “The smaller half, Bander. Yes.”

  “These other two are masculine half-humans, then?”

  “So they are.”

  “Have you had your child yet, feminine?”

  “My name, Bander, is Bliss. I have not yet had a child. This is Trevize. This is Pel.”

  “And which of these two masculines is to assist you when it is your time? Or will it be both? Or neither?”

  “Pel will assist me, Bander.”

  Bander turned his attention to Pelorat. “You have white hair, I see.”

  Pelorat said, “I have.”

  “Was it always that color?”

  “No, Bander, it became so with age.”

  “And how old are you?”

  “I am fifty-two years old, Bander,” Pelorat said, then added hastily, “That’s Galactic Standard Years.”

  Bander continued to walk (toward the distant mansion, Trevize assumed), but more slowly. It said, “I don’t know how long a Galactic Standard Year is, but it can’t be very different from our year. And how old will you be when you die, Pel?”

  “I can’t say. I may live thirty more years.”

  “Eighty-two years, then. Short-lived, and divided in halves. Unbelievable, and yet my distant ancestors were like you and lived on Earth. —But some of them left Earth to establish new worlds around other stars, wonderful worlds, well organized, and many.”

  Trevize said loudly, “Not many. Fifty.”

  Bander turned a lofty eye on Trevize. There seemed less humor in it now. “Trevize. That’s your name.”

  “Golan Trevize in full. I say there were fifty Spacer worlds. Our worlds number in the millions.”

  “Do you know, then, the story that I wish to tell you?” said Bander softly.

  “If the story is that there were once fifty Spacer worlds, we know it.”

  “We count not in numbers only, little half-human,” said Bander. “We count the quality, too. There were fifty, but such a fifty that not all your millions could make up one of them. And Solaria was the fiftieth and, therefore, the best. Solaria was as far beyond the other Spacer worlds, as they were beyond Earth.

  “We of Solaria alone learned how life was to be lived. We did not herd and flock like animals, as they did on Earth, as they did on other worlds, as they did even on the other Spacer worlds. We lived each alone, with robots to help us, viewing each other electronically as often as we wished, but coming within natural sight of one another only rarely. It is many years since I have gazed at human beings as I now gaze at you but, then, you are only half-humans and your presence, therefore, does not limit my freedom any more than a cow would limit it, or a robot.

  “Yet we were once half-human, too. No matter how we perfected our freedom; no matter how we developed as solitary masters over countless robots; the freedom was never absolute. In order to produce young there had to be two individuals in co-operation. It was possible, of course, to contribute sperm cells and egg cells, to have the fertilization process and the consequent embryonic gro
wth take place artificially in automated fashion. It was possible for the infant to live adequately under robotic care. It could all be done, but the half-humans would not give up the pleasure that went with biological impregnation. Perverse emotional attachments would develop in consequence and freedom vanished. Do you see that that had to be changed?”

  Trevize said, “No, Bander, because we do not measure freedom by your standards.”

  “That is because you do not know what freedom is. You have never lived but in swarms, and you know no way of life but to be constantly forced, in even the smallest things, to bend your wills to those of others or, which is equally vile, to spend your days struggling to force others to bend their wills to yours. Where is any possible freedom there? Freedom is nothing if it is not to live as you wish! Exactly as you wish!

  “Then came the time when the Earthpeople began to swarm outward once more, when their clinging crowds again swirled through space. The other Spacers, who did not flock as the Earthpeople did, but who flocked nevertheless, if to a lesser degree, tried to compete.

  “We Solarians did not. We foresaw inevitable failure in swarming. We moved underground and broke off all contact with the rest of the Galaxy. We were determined to remain ourselves at all costs. We developed suitable robots and weapons to protect our apparently empty surface, and they did the job admirably. Ships came and were destroyed, and stopped coming. The planet was considered deserted, and was forgotten, as we hoped it would be.

  “And meanwhile, underground, we worked to solve our problems. We adjusted our genes gingerly, delicately. We had failures, but some successes, and we capitalized on the successes. It took us many centuries, but we finally became whole human beings, incorporating both the masculine and feminine principles in one body, supplying our own complete pleasure at will, and producing, when we wished, fertilized eggs for development under skilled robotic care.”