by Isaac Asimov
“I admit my lack of experience. Unlike you and Trevize, I have had no naval training. Nevertheless, I am told by my advisers—who have had such training—that if a ship is observed immediately prior to a Jump, its direction, speed, and acceleration make it possible to guess what the Jump might be—in a general way. Given a good computer and an excellent sense of judgment, a follower might duplicate the Jump closely enough to pick up the trail at the other end—especially if the follower has a good mass-detector.”
“That might happen once,” said Compor energetically, “even twice if the follower is very lucky, but that’s it. You can’t rely on such things.”
“Perhaps we can. —Councilman Compor, you have hyper-raced in your time. You see, I know a great deal about you. You are an excellent pilot and have done amazing things when it comes to following a competitor through a Jump.”
Compor’s eyes widened. He almost squirmed in his chair. “I was in college then. I am older now.”
“Not too old. Not yet thirty-five. Consequently you are going to follow Trevize, Councilman. Where he goes, you will follow, and you will report back to me. You will leave soon after Trevize does, and he will be leaving in a few hours. If you refuse the task, Councilman, you will be imprisoned for treason. If you take the ship that we will provide for you, and if you fail to follow, you need not bother coming back. You will be shot out of space if you try.”
Compor rose sharply to his feet. “I have a life to live. I have work to do. I have a wife. I cannot leave it all.”
“You will have to. Those of us who choose to serve the Foundation must be prepared at all times to serve it in a prolonged and uncomfortable fashion, if that should become necessary.”
“My wife must go with me, of course.”
“Do you take me for an idiot? She stays here, of course.”
“As a hostage?”
“If you like the word. I prefer to say that you will be taking yourself into danger and my kind heart wants her to stay here where she will not be in danger. —There is no room for discussion. You are as much under arrest as Trevize is, and I am sure you understand I must act quickly—before the euphoria enveloping Terminus wears off. I fear my star will soon be in the descendant.”
4.
KODELL SAID, “YOU WERE NOT EASY ON HIM, Madam Mayor.”
The Mayor said with a sniff, “Why should I have been? He betrayed a friend.”
“That was useful to us.”
“Yes, as it happened. His next betrayal, however, might not be.”
“Why should there be another?”
“Come, Liono,” said Branno impatiently, “don’t play games with me. Anyone who displays a capacity for double-dealing must forever be suspected of being capable of displaying it again.”
“He may use the capability to combine with Trevize once again. Together, they may—”
“You don’t believe that. With all his folly and naïveté, Trevize goes straight for his goal. He does not understand betrayal and he will never, under any circumstances, trust Compor a second time.”
Kodell said, “Pardon me, Mayor, but let me make sure I follow your thinking. How far, then, can you trust Compor? How do you know he will follow Trevize and report honestly? Do you count on his fears for the welfare of his wife as a restraint? His longing to return to her?”
“Both are factors, but I don’t entirely rely on that. On Compor’s ship there will be a hyper-relay. Trevize would suspect pursuit and would search for one. However Compor—being the pursuer—will, I assume, not suspect pursuit and will not search for one. —Of course, if he does, and if he finds it, then we must depend on the attractions of his wife.”
Kodell laughed. “To think I once had to give you lessons. And the purpose of the pursuit?”
“A double layer of protection. If Trevize is caught, it may be that Compor will carry on and give us the information that Trevize will not be able to.”
“One more question. What if, by some chance, Trevize finds the Second Foundation, and we learn of it through him, or through Compor, or if we gain reason to suspect its existence—despite the deaths of both?”
“I’m hoping the Second Foundation does exist, Liono,” she said. “In any case, the Seldon Plan is not going to serve us much longer. The great Hari Seldon devised it in the dying days of the Empire, when technological advance had virtually stopped. Seldon was a product of his times, too, and however brilliant this semimythical science of psychohistory must have been, it could not rise out of its roots. It surely would not allow for rapid technological advance. The Foundation has been achieving that, especially in this last century. We have mass-detection devices of a kind undreamed of earlier, computers that can respond to thought, and—most of all—mental shielding. The Second Foundation cannot control us for much longer, if they can do so now. I want, in my final years in power, to be the one to start Terminus on a new path.”
“And if there is, in fact, no Second Foundation?”
“Then we start on a new path at once.”
5.
THE TROUBLED SLEEP THAT HAD FINALLY COME TO Trevize did not last long. A touch on his shoulder was repeated a second time.
Trevize started up, bleary and utterly failing to understand why he should be in a strange bed. “What—What—?”
Pelorat said to him apologetically, “I’m sorry, Councilman Trevize. You are my guest and I owe you rest, but the Mayor is here.” He was standing at the side of the bed in flannel pajamas and shivering slightly. Trevize’s senses leaped to a weary wakefulness and he remembered.
The Mayor was in Pelorat’s living room, looking as composed as always. Kodell was with her, rubbing lightly at his white mustache.
Trevize adjusted his sash to the proper snugness and wondered how long the two of them—Branno and Kodell—were ever apart.
Trevize said mockingly, “Has the Council recovered yet? Are its members concerned over the absence of one of them?”
The Mayor said, “There are signs of life, yes, but not enough to do you any good. There is no question but that I still have the power to force you to leave. You will be taken to Ultimate Spaceport—”
“Not Terminus Spaceport, Madam Mayor? Am I to be deprived of a proper farewell from weeping thousands?”
“I see you have recovered your penchant for teenage silliness, Councilman, and I am pleased. It stills what might otherwise be a certain rising twinge of conscience. At Ultimate Spaceport, you and Professor Pelorat will leave quietly.”
“And never return?”
“And perhaps never return. Of course,” and here she smiled briefly, “if you discover something of so great an importance and usefulness that even I will be glad to have you back with your information, you will return. You may even be treated with honor.”
Trevize nodded casually, “That may happen.”
“Almost anything may happen. —In any case, you will be comfortable. You are being assigned a recently completed pocket-cruiser, the Far Star, named for Hober Mallow’s cruiser. One person can handle it, though it will hold as many as three with reasonable comfort.”
Trevize was jolted out of his carefully assumed mood of light irony. “Fully armed?”
“Unarmed but otherwise fully equipped. Wherever you go, you will be citizens of the Foundation and there will always be a consul to whom you can turn, so you will not require arms. You will be able to draw on funds at need. —Not unlimited funds, I might add.”
“You are generous.”
“I know that, Councilman. But, Councilman, understand me. You are helping Professor Pelorat search for Earth. Whatever you think you are searching for, you are searching for Earth. All whom you meet must understand that. And always remember that the Far Star is not armed.”
“I am searching for Earth,” said Trevize. “I understand that perfectly.”
“Then you will go now.”
“Pardon me, but surely there is more to all of this than we have discussed. I have piloted ships in my t
ime, but I have had no experience with a late-model pocket-cruiser. What if I cannot pilot it?”
“I am told that the Far Star is thoroughly computerized. —And before you ask, you don’t have to know how to handle a late-model ship’s computer. It will itself tell you anything you need to know. Is there anything else you need?”
Trevize looked down at himself ruefully. “A change of clothing.”
“You will find them on board ship. Including those girdles you wear, or sashes, whichever they are called. The professor is also supplied with what he needs. Everything reasonable is already aboard, although I hasten to add that this does not include female companions.”
“Too bad,” said Trevize. “It would be pleasant, but then, I have no likely candidate at the moment, as it happens. Still, I presume the Galaxy is populous and that once away from here I may do as I please.”
“With regard to companions? Suit yourself.”
She rose heavily. “I will not take you to the spaceport,” she said, “but there are those who will, and you must make no effort to do anything you are not told to do. I believe they will kill you if you make an effort to escape. The fact that I will not be with them will remove any inhibition.”
Trevize said, “I will make no unauthorized effort, Madam Mayor, but one thing—”
“Yes?”
Trevize searched his mind rapidly and finally said with a smile that he very much hoped looked unforced, “The time may come, Madam Mayor, when you will ask me for an effort. I will then do as I choose, but I will remember the past two days.”
Mayor Branno sighed. “Spare me the melodrama. If the time comes, it will come, but for now—I am asking for nothing.”
4
SPACE
1.
THE SHIP LOOKED EVEN MORE IMPRESSIVE THAN Trevize—with his memories of the time when the new cruiser-class had been glowingly publicized—had expected.
It was not the size that was impressive—for it was rather small. It was designed for maneuverability and speed, for totally gravitic engines, and most of all for advanced computerization. It didn’t need size—size would have defeated its purpose.
It was a one-man device that could replace, with advantage, the older ships that required a crew of a dozen or more. With a second or even a third person to establish shifts of duty, one such ship could fight off a flotilla of much larger non-Foundation ships. In addition, it could outspeed and escape from any other ship in existence.
There was a sleekness about it—not a wasted line, not a superfluous curve inside or out. Every cubic meter of volume was used to its maximum, so as to leave a paradoxical aura of spaciousness within. Nothing the Mayor might have said about the importance of his mission could have impressed Trevize more than the ship with which he was asked to perform it.
Branno the Bronze, he thought with chagrin, had maneuvered him into a dangerous mission of the greatest significance. He might not have accepted with such determination had she not so arranged matters that he wanted to show her what he could do.
As for Pelorat, he was transported with wonder. “Would you believe,” he said, placing a gentle finger on the hull before he had climbed inside, “that I’ve never been close to a spaceship?”
“I’ll believe it, of course, if you say so, Professor, but how did you manage it?”
“I scarcely know, to be honest with you, dear fel—, I mean, my dear Trevize. I presume I was overly concerned with my research. When one’s home has a really excellent computer capable of reaching other computers anywhere in the Galaxy, one scarcely needs to budge, you know. —Somehow I expected spaceships to be larger than this.”
“This is a small model, but even so, it’s much larger inside than any other ship of this size.”
“How can that be? You are making fun of my ignorance.”
“No, no. I’m serious. This is one of the first ships to be completely graviticized.”
“What does that mean? —But please don’t explain if it requires extensive physics. I will take your word, as you took mine yesterday in connection with the single species of humanity and the single world of origin.”
“Let’s try, Professor Pelorat. Through all the thousands of years of space flight, we’ve had chemical motors and ionic motors and hyperatomic motors, and all these things have been bulky. The old Imperial Navy had ships five hundred meters long with no more living space in them than would fit into a small apartment. Fortunately the Foundation has specialized in miniaturization through all the centuries of its existence, thanks to its lack of material resources. This ship is the culmination. It makes use of antigravity and the device that makes that possible takes up virtually no space and is actually included in the hull. If it weren’t that we still need the hyperatomic—”
A Security guard approached. “You will have to get on, gentlemen!”
The sky was growing light, though sunrise was still half an hour off.
Trevize looked about. “Is my baggage loaded?”
“Yes, Councilman, you will find the ship fully equipped.”
“With clothing, I suppose, that is not my size or to my taste.”
The guard smiled, quite suddenly and almost boyishly. “I think it is,” he said. “The Mayor had us working overtime these last thirty or forty hours and we’ve matched what you had closely. Money no object. Listen,” he looked about, as though to make sure no one noticed his sudden fraternization, “you two are lucky. Best ship in the world. Fully equipped, except for armament. You’re swimming in cream.”
“Sour cream, possibly,” said Trevize. “Well, Professor, are you ready?”
“With this I am,” Pelorat said and held up a square wafer about twenty centimeters to the side and encased in a jacket of silvery plastic. Trevize was suddenly aware that Pelorat had been holding it since they had left his home, shifting it from hand to hand and never putting it down, even when they had stopped for a quick breakfast.
“What’s that, Professor?”
“My library. It’s indexed by subject matter and origin and I’ve gotten it all into one wafer. If you think this ship is a marvel, how about this wafer? A whole library! Everything I have collected! Wonderful! Wonderful!”
“Well,” said Trevize, “we are swiming in cream.”
2.
TREVIZE MARVELED AT THE INSIDE OF THE SHIP. The utilization of space was ingenious. There was a storeroom, with supplies of food, clothing, films, and games. There was a gym, a parlor, and two nearly identical bedrooms.
“This one,” said Trevize, “must be yours, Professor. At least, it contains an FX Reader.”
“Good,” said Pelorat with satisfaction. “What an ass I have been to avoid space flight as I have. I could live here, my dear Trevize, in utter satisfaction.”
“Roomier than I expected,” said Trevize with pleasure.
“And the engines are really in the hull, as you said?”
“The controlling devices are, at any rate. We don’t have to store fuel or make use of it on the spot. We’re making use of the fundamental energy store of the Universe, so that the fuel and the engines are all—out there.” He gestured vaguely.
“Well, now that I think of it—what if something goes wrong?”
Trevize shrugged. “I’ve been trained in space navigation, but not on these ships. If something goes wrong with the gravitics, I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do about it.”
“But can you run this ship? Pilot it?”
“I’m wondering that myself.”
Pelorat said, “Do you suppose this is an automated ship? Might we not merely be passengers? We might simply be expected to sit here.”
“They have such things in the case of ferries between planets and space stations within a stellar system, but I never heard of automated hyperspace travel. At least, not so far. —Not so far.”
He looked about again and there was a trickle of apprehension within him. Had that harridan Mayor managed to maneuver that far ahead of him? Had the Foundation
automated interstellar travel, too, and was he going to be deposited on Trantor quite against his will, and with no more to say about it than any of the rest of the furniture aboard ship?
He said with a cheerful animation he didn’t feel, “Professor, you sit down. The Mayor said this ship was completely computerized. If your room has the FX Reader, mine ought to have a computer in it. Make yourself comfortable and let me look around a bit on my own.”
Pelorat looked instantly anxious. “Trevize, my dear chap—You’re not getting off the ship, are you?”
“Not my plan at all, Professor. And if I tried, you can count on my being stopped. It is not the Mayor’s intention to allow me off. All I’m planning to do is to learn what operates the Far Star.” He smiled, “I won’t desert you, Professor.”
He was still smiling as he entered what he felt to be his own bedroom, but his face grew sober as he closed the door softly behind him. Surely there must be some means of communicating with a planet in the neighborhood of the ship. It was impossible to imagine a ship deliberately sealed off from its surroundings and, therefore, somewhere—perhaps in a wall recess—there would have to be a Reacher. He could use it to call the Mayor’s office to ask about controls.
Carefully he inspected the walls, the headboard of the bed, and the neat, smooth furniture. If nothing turned up here, he would go through the rest of the ship.
He was about to turn away when his eye caught a glint of light on the smooth, light brown surface of the desk. A round circle of light, with neat lettering that read: COMPUTER INSTRUCTIONS.
Ah!
Nevertheless his heart beat rapidly. There were computers and computers, and there were programs that took a long time to master. Trevize had never made the mistake of underestimating his own intelligence, but, on the other hand, he was not a Grand Master. There were those who had a knack for using a computer, and those who had not—and Trevize knew very well into which class he fell.
In his hitch in the Foundation Navy, he had reached the rank of lieutenant and had, on occasion, been officer of the day and had had occasion to use the ship’s computer. He had never been in sole charge of it; however, and he had never been expected to know anything more than the routine maneuvers being officer of the day required.
