by Isaac Asimov
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.
21.
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 means. 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 of 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 childlike 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 adv
ice 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.
6
The Nature of Earth
22.
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 is 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? If 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 sorts of 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 might tempt 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 anoth
er 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.
23.
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.