Foundation's Edge f-6

by Isaac Asimov

  “Of course Trantor isn’t. Earth is.”

  “Then why aren’t you telling me to pilot the ship to Earth?”

  “I am not making myself clear. Earth is a legendary name. It is enshrined in ancient myths. It has no meaning we can be certain of, but it is convenient to use the word as a one-syllable synonym for ‘the planet of origin of the human species.’ Just which planet in real space is the one we are defining as ‘Earth’ is not known.”

  “Will they know on Trantor?”

  “I hope to find information there, certainly. Trantor possesses the Galactic Library, the greatest in the system.”

  “Surely that Library has been searched by those people you said were interested in the ‘Origin Question’ in the time of the First Empire.”

  Pelorat nodded thoughtfully, “Yes, but perhaps not well enough. I have learned a great deal about the ‘Origin Question’ that perhaps the Imperials of five centuries back did not know. I might search the old records with greater understanding, you see. I have been thinking about this for a long time and I have an excellent possibility in mind.”

  “You have told Mayor Branno all this, I imagine, and she approves?”

  “Approves? My dear fellow, she was ecstatic. She told me that Trantor was surely the place to find out all I needed to know.”

  “No doubt,” muttered Trevize.

  That was part of what occupied him that night. Mayor Branno was sending him out to find out what he could about the Second Foundation. She was sending him with Pelorat so that he might mask his real aim with the pretended search for Earth—a search that could carry him anywhere in the Galaxy. It was a perfect cover, in fact, and he admired the Mayor’s ingenuity.

  But Trantor? Where was the sense in that? Once they were on Trantor, Pelorat would find his way into the Galactic Library and would never emerge. With endless stacks of books, films, and recordings, with innumerable computerizations and symbolic representations, he would surely never want to leave.

  Besides that—

  Ebling Mis had once gone to Trantor, in the Mule’s time. The story was that he had found the location of the Second Foundation there and had died before he could reveal it. But then, so had Arkady Darell, and she had succeeded in locating the Second Foundation. But the location she had found was on Terminus itself, and there the nest of Second Foundationers was wiped out. Wherever the Second Foundation was now would be elsewhere, so what more had Trantor to tell? If he were looking for the Second Foundation, it was best to go anywhere but Trantor.

  Besides that—

  What further plans Branno had, he did not know, but he was not in the mood to oblige her. Branno had been ecstatic, had she, about a trip to Trantor? Well, if Branno wanted Trantor, they were not going to Trantor! —Anywhere else. —But not Trantor!

  And worn out, with the night verging toward dawn, Trevize fell at last into a fitful slumber.

  3.

  Mayor Branno had had a good day on the one following the arrest of Trevize. She had been extolled far beyond her deserts and the incident was never mentioned.

  Nevertheless, she knew well that the Council would soon emerge from its paralysis and that questions would be raised. She would have to act quickly. So, putting a great many matters to one side, she pursued the matter of Trevize.

  At the time when Trevize and Pelorat were discussing Earth, Branno was facing Councilman Munn Li Compor in the Mayoralty Office. As he sat across the desk from her, perfectly at ease, she appraised him once again.

  He was smaller and slighter than Trevize and only two years older. Both were freshmen Councilmen, young and brash, and that must have been the only thing that held them together, for they were different in all other respects.

  Where Trevize seemed to radiate a glowering intensity, Compor shone with an almost serene self-confidence. Perhaps it was his blond hair and blue eyes, not at all common among Foundationers. They lent him an almost feminine delicacy that (Branno judged) made him less attractive to women than Trevize was. He was clearly vain of his looks, though, and made the most of them, wearing his hair rather long and making sure that it was carefully waved. He wore a faint blue shadowing under his eyebrows to accentuate the eye color. (Shadowing of various tints had become common among men these last ten years.)

  He was no womanizer. He lived sedately with his wife, but had not yet registered parental intent and was not known to have a clandestine second companion. That, too, was different from Trevize, who changed housemates as often as he changed the loudly colored sashes for which he was notorious.

  There was little about either young Councilman that Kodell’s department had not uncovered, and Kodell himself sat quietly in one corner of the room, exuding a comfortable good cheer as always.

  Branno said, “Councilman Compor, you have done the Foundation good service, but unfortunately for yourself, it is not of the sort that can be praised in public or repaid in ordinary fashion.”

  Compor smiled. He had white and even teeth, and Branno idly wondered for one flashing moment if all the inhabitants of the Sirius Sector looked like that. Compor’s tale of stemming from that particular, rather peripheral, region went back to his maternal grandmother, who had also been blond-haired and blue-eyed and who had maintained that her mother was from the Sirius Sector. According to Kodell, however, there was no hard evidence in favor of that.

  Women being what they were, Kodell had said, she might well have claimed distant and exotic ancestry to add to her glamour and her already formidable attractiveness.

  “Is that how women are?” Branno had asked drily, and Kodell had smiled and muttered that he was referring to ordinary women, of course.

  Compor said, “It is not necessary that the people of the Foundation know of my service—only that you do.”

  “I know and I will not forget. What I also will not do is to let you assume that your obligations are not over. You have embarked on a complicated course and you must continue. We want more about Trevize.”

  “I have told you all I know concerning him.”

  “That may be what you would have me believe. That may even be what you truly believe yourself. Nevertheless, answer my questions. Do you know a gentleman named Janov Pelorat?”

  For just a moment Compor’s forehead creased, then smoothed itself almost at once. He said carefully, “I might know him if I were to see him, but the name does not seem to cause any association within me.”

  “He is a scholar.”

  Compor’s mouth rounded into a rather contemptuous but unsounded “Oh?” as though he were surprised that the Mayor would expect him to know scholars.

  Branno said, “Pelorat is an interesting person who, for reasons of his own, has the ambition of visiting Trantor. Councilman Trevize will accompany him. Now, since you have been a good friend of Trevize and perhaps know his system of thinking, tell me—Do you think Trevize will consent to go to Trantor?”

  Compor said, “If you see to it that Trevize gets on the ship, and if the ship is piloted to Trantor, what can he do but go there? Surely you don’t suggest he will mutiny and take over the ship.”

  “You don’t understand. He and Pelorat will be alone on the ship and it will be Trevize at the controls.”

  “You are asking whether he would go voluntarily to Trantor?”

  “Yes, that is what I am asking.”

  “Madam Mayor, how can I possibly know what he will do?”

  “Councilman Compor, you have been close to Trevize. You know his belief in the existence of the Second Foundation. Has he never spoken to you of his theories as to where it might exist, where it might be found?”

  “Never, Madam Mayor.”

  “Do you think he will find it?”

  Compor chuckled. “I think the Second Foundation, whatever it was and however important it might have been, was wiped out in the time of Arkady Darell. I believe her story.”

  “Indeed? In that case, why did you betray your friend? If he were searching for something that d
oes not exist, what harm could he have done by propounding his quaint theories?”

  Compor said, “It is not the truth alone that can harm. His theories may have been merely quaint, but they might have succeeded in unsettling the people of Terminus and, by introducing doubts and fears as to the Foundation’s role in the great drama of Galactic history, have weakened its leadership of the Federation and its dreams of a Second Galactic Empire. Clearly you thought this yourself, or you would not have seized him on the floor of the Council, and you would not now be forcing him into exile without trial. Why have you done so, if I may ask, Mayor?”

  “Shall we say that I was cautious enough to wonder if there were some faint chance that he might be right, and that the expression of his views might be actively and directly dangerous?”

  Compor said nothing.

  Branno said, “I agree with you, but I am forced by the responsibilities of my position to consider the possibility. Let me ask you again if you have any indication as to where he might think the Second Foundation exists, and where he might go.”

  “I have none.”

  “He has never given you any hints in that direction?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Never? Don’t dismiss the thought easily. Think! Never?”

  “Never,” said Compor firmly.

  “No hints? No joking remarks? No doodles? No thoughtful abstractions at moments that achieve significance as you look back on them?”

  “None. I tell you, Madam Mayor, his dreams of the Second Foundation are the most nebulous star-shine. You know it, and you but waste your time and your emotions in your concern over it.”

  “You are not by some chance suddenly changing sides again and protecting the friend you delivered into my hands?”

  “No,” said Compor. “I turned him over to you for what seemed to me to be good and patriotic reasons. I have no reason to regret the action, or to change my attitude.”

  “Then you can give me no hint as to where he might go once he has a ship at his disposal?”

  “As I have already said—”

  “And yet, Councilman,” and here the lines of the Mayor’s face so folded as to make her seem wistful, “I would like to know where he goes.”

  “In that case, I think you ought to place a hyper-relay on his ship.”

  “I have thought of that, Councilman. He is, however, a suspicious man and I suspect he will find it—however cleverly it might be placed. Of course, it might be placed in such a way that he cannot remove it without crippling the ship, and he might therefore be forced to leave it in place—”

  “An excellent notion.”

  “Except that,” said Branno, “he would then be inhibited. He might not go where he would go if he felt himself free and untrammeled. The knowledge I would gain would be useless to me.”

  “In that case, it appears you cannot find out where he will go.”

  “I might, for I intend to be very primitive. A person who expects the completely sophisticated and who guards against it is quite apt never to think of the primitive. —I’m thinking of having Trevize followed.”

  “Followed?”

  “Exactly. By another pilot in another spaceship. See how astonished you are at the thought? He would be equally astonished. He might not think of scouring space for an accompanying mass and, in any case, we will see to it that his ship is not equipped with our latest mass-detection devices.”

  Compor said, “Madam Mayor, I speak with all possible respect, but I must point out that you lack experience in space flight. To have one ship followed by another is never done—because it won’t work. Trevize will escape with the first hyperspatial Jump. Even if he doesn’t know he is being followed, that first Jump will be his path to freedom. If he doesn’t have a hyper-relay on board ship, he can’t be traced.”

  “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 Secon
d 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—”