Foundation's Edge

by Isaac Asimov

  “I see! Well, I understand now why Thoobing reacted so strenuously. I had sent him a similar warning. Since he heard from us both independently, one can scarcely blame him for thinking that the approach of a few Foundation vessels might mean a great deal more than it actually does. —How is it, Liono, you did not consult me on the matter before sending the warning?”

  Kodell said coolly, “If I involved you in everything I do, you would have no time to be Mayor. How is it that you did not inform me of your intention?”

  Branno said sourly, “If I informed you of all my intentions, Liono, you would know far too much. —But it is a small matter, and so is Thoobing’s alarm, and, for that matter, so is any fit that the Sayshellians throw. I am more interested in Trevize.”

  “Our scouts have located Compor. He is following Trevize and both are moving very cautiously toward Gaia.”

  “I have the full reports of those scouts, Liono. Apparently both Trevize and Compor are taking Gaia seriously.”

  “Everyone sneers at the superstitions concerning Gaia, Madam Mayor, but everyone thinks, ‘Yet what if—’ Even Ambassador Thoobing manages to be a little uneasy about it. It could be a very shrewd policy on the part of the Sayshellians. A kind of protective coloration. If one spreads stories of a mysterious and invincible world, people will shy away not only from the world, but from any other worlds close by—such as the Sayshell Union.”

  “You think that is why the Mule turned away from Sayshell?”

  “Possibly.”

  “Surely you don’t think the Foundation has held its hand from Sayshell because of Gaia, when there is no record that we have ever heard of the world?”

  “I admit there’s no mention of Gaia in our archives, but neither is there any other reasonable explanation for our moderation with respect to the Sayshell Union.”

  “Let us hope, then, that the Sayshellian government, despite Thoobing’s opinion to the contrary, has convinced itself—even just a little bit—of Gaia’s might and of its deadly nature.”

  “Why so?”

  “Because then the Sayshell Union will raise no objections to our moving toward Gaia. The more they resent that movement, the more they will persuade themselves that it should be permitted so that Gaia will swallow us. The lesson, they will imagine, will be a salutary one and will not be lost on future invaders.”

  “Yet what if they should be right in such a belief, Mayor? What if Gaia is deadly?”

  Branno smiled. “You raise the ‘Yet what if—’ yourself, do you, Liono?”

  “I must raise all possibilities, Mayor. It is my job.”

  “If Gaia is deadly, Trevize will be taken by them. That is his job as my lightning rod. And so may Compor, I hope.”

  “You hope. Why?”

  “Because it will make them overconfident, which should be useful to us. They will underestimate our power and be the easier to handle.”

  “But what if it is we who are overconfident?”

  “We are not,” said Branno flatly.

  “These Gaians—whatever they are—may be something we have no concept of and cannot properly estimate the danger of. I merely suggest that, Mayor, because even that possibility should be weighed.”

  “Indeed? Why does such a notion fall into your head, Liono?”

  “Because I think you feel that, at the worst, Gaia is the Second Foundation. I suspect you think they are the Second Foundation. However, Sayshell has an interesting history, even under the Empire. Sayshell alone had a measure of self-rule. Sayshell alone was spared some of the worst taxations under the so-called ‘Bad Emperors.’ In short, Sayshell seems to have had the protection of Gaia, even in Imperial times.”

  “Well then?”

  “But the Second Foundation was brought into existence by Hari Seldon at the same time our Foundation was. The Second Foundation did not exist in Imperial times—and Gaia did. Gaia, therefore, is not the Second Foundation. It is something else—and, just possibly, something worse.”

  “I don’t propose to be terrified by the unknown, Liono. There are only two possible sources of danger—physical weapons and mental weapons—and we are fully prepared for both. —You get back to your ship and keep the units on the Sayshellian outskirts. This ship will move toward Gaia alone, but will stay in contact with you at all times and will expect you to come to us in one Jump, if necessary. —Go, Liono, and get that perturbed look off your face.”

  “One last question? Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

  “I do,” she said grimly. “I, too, have studied the history of Sayshell and have seen that Gaia cannot be the Second Foundation, but, as I told you, I have the full report of the scouts and from that—”

  “Yes?”

  “Well, I know where the Second Foundation is located and we will take care of both, Liono. We will take care of Gaia first and then Trantor.”

  17

  GAIA

  1.

  IT TOOK HOURS FOR THE SHIP FROM THE SPACE station to reach the vicinity of the Far Star—very long hours for Trevize to endure.

  Had the situation been normal, Trevize would have tried to signal and would have expected a response. If there had been no response, he would have taken evasive action.

  Since he was unarmed and there had been no response, there was nothing to do but wait. The computer would not respond to any direction he could give it that involved anything outside the ship.

  Internally, at least, everything worked well. The life-support systems were in perfect order, so that he and Pelorat were physically comfortable. Somehow, that didn’t help. Life dragged on and the uncertainty of what was to come was wearing him down. He noticed with irritation that Pelorat seemed calm. As though to make it worse, while Trevize felt no sense of hunger at all, Pelorat opened a small container of chicken-bits, which on opening had rapidly and automatically warmed itself. Now he was eating it methodically.

  Trevize said irritably, “Space, Janov! That stinks!”

  Pelorat looked startled and sniffed at the container. “It smells all right to me, Golan.”

  Trevize shook his head. “Don’t mind me. I’m just upset. But do use a fork. Your fingers will smell of chicken all day.”

  Pelorat looked at his fingers with surprise. “Sorry! I didn’t notice. I was thinking of something else.”

  Trevize said sarcastically, “Would you care to guess at what type of nonhumans the creatures on the approaching ship must be?” He was ashamed that he was less calm than Pelorat was. He was a Navy veteran (though he had never seen battle, of course) and Pelorat was a historian. Yet his companion sat there quietly.

  Pelorat said, “It would be impossible to imagine what direction evolution would take under conditions differing from those of Earth. The possibilities may not be infinite, but they would be so vast that they might as well be. However, I can predict that they are not senselessly violent and they will treat us in a civilized fashion. If that wasn’t true, we would be dead by now.”

  “At least you can still reason, Janov, my friend—you can still be tranquil. My nerves seem to be forcing their way through whatever tranquilization they have put us under. I have an extraordinary desire to stand up and pace. Why doesn’t that blasted ship arrive?”

  Pelorat said, “I am a man of passivity, Golan. I have spent my life doubled over records while waiting for other records to arrive. I do nothing but wait. You are a man of action and you are in deep pain when action is impossible.”

  Trevize felt some of his tension leave. He muttered, “I underestimate your good sense, Janov.”

  “No, you don’t,” said Pelorat placidly, “but even a naïve academic can sometimes make sense out of life.”

  “And even the cleverest politician can sometimes fail to do so.”

  “I didn’t say that, Golan.”

  “No, but I did. —So let me become active. I can still observe. The approaching ship is close enough to seem distinctly primitive.”

  “Seem?”


  Trevize said, “If it’s the product of nonhuman minds and hands, what may seem primitive may, in actual fact, be merely nonhuman.”

  “Do you think it might be a nonhuman artifact?” asked Pelorat, his face reddening slightly.

  “I can’t tell. I suspect that artifacts, however much they may vary from culture to culture, are never quite as plastic as products of genetic differences might be.”

  “That’s just a guess on your part. All we know are different cultures. We don’t know different intelligent species and therefore have no way of judging how different artifacts might be.”

  “Fish, dolphins, penguins, squids, even the ambiflexes, which are not of Earthly origin—assuming the others are—all solve the problem of motion through a viscous medium by streamlining, so that their appearances are not as different as their genetic makeup might lead one to believe. It might be so with artifacts.”

  “The squid’s tentacles and the ambiflex’s helical vibrators,” responded Pelorat, “are enormously different from each other, and from the fins, flippers, and limbs of vertebrates. It might be so with artifacts.”

  “In any case,” said Trevize, “I feel better. Talking nonsense with you, Janov, quiets my nerves. And I suspect we’ll know what we’re getting into soon, too. The ship is not going to be able to dock with ours and whatever is on it will come across on an old-fashioned tether—or we will somehow be urged to cross to it on one—since the unilock will be useless. —Unless some nonhuman will use some other system altogether.”

  “How big is the ship?”

  “Without being able to use the ship’s computer to calculate the distance of the ship by radar, we can’t possibly know the size.”

  A tether snaked out toward the Far Star.

  Trevize said, “Either there’s a human aboard or nonhumans use the same device. Perhaps nothing but a tether can possibly work.”

  “They might use a tube,” said Pelorat, “or a horizontal ladder.”

  “Those are inflexible things. It would be far too complicated to try to make contact with those. You need something that combines strength and flexibility.”

  The tether made a dull clang on the Far Star as the solid hull (and consequently the air within) was set to vibrating. There was the usual slithering as the other ship made the fine adjustments of speed required to bring the two into a common velocity. The tether was motionless relative to both.

  A black dot appeared on the hull of the other ship and expanded like the pupil of an eye.

  Trevize grunted. “An expanding diaphragm, instead of a sliding panel.”

  “Nonhuman?”

  “Not necessarily, I suppose. But interesting.”

  A figure emerged.

  Pelorat’s lips tightened for a moment and then he said in a disappointed voice, “Too bad. Human.”

  “Not necessarily,” said Trevize calmly. “All we can make out is that there seem to be five projections. That could be a head, two arms, and two legs—but it might not be. —Wait!”

  “What?”

  “It moves more rapidly and smoothly than I expected. —Ah!”

  “What?”

  “There’s some sort of propulsion. It’s not rocketry, as nearly as I can tell, but neither is it hand over hand. Still, not necessarily human.”

  There seemed an incredibly long wait despite the quick approach of the figure along the tether, but there was finally the noise of contact.

  Trevize said, “It’s coming in, whatever it is. My impulse is to tackle it the minute it appears.” He balled a fist.

  “I think we had better relax,” said Pelorat. “It may be stronger than we. It can control our minds. There are surely others on the ship. We had better wait till we know more about what we are facing.”

  “You grow more and more sensible by the minute, Janov,” said Trevize, “and I, less and less.”

  They could hear the airlock moving into action and finally the figure appeared inside the ship.

  “About normal size,” muttered Pelorat. “The space suit could fit a human being.”

  “I never saw or heard of such a design, but it doesn’t fall outside the limits of human manufacture, it seems to me. —It doesn’t say anything.”

  The space-suited figure stood before them and a forelimb rose to the rounded helmet, which—if it were made of glass—possessed one-way transparency only. Nothing could be seen inside.

  The limb touched something with a quick motion that Trevize did not clearly make out and the helmet was at once detached from the rest of the suit. It lifted off.

  What was exposed was the face of a young and undeniably pretty woman.

  2.

  PELORAT’S EXPRESSIONLESS FACE DID WHAT IT could to look stupefied. He said hesitantly, “Are you human?”

  The woman’s eyebrows shot up and her lips pouted. There was no way of telling from the action whether she was faced with a strange language and did not understand or whether she understood and wondered at the question.

  Her hand moved quickly to the left side of her suit, which opened in one piece as though it were on a set of hinges. She stepped out and the suit remained standing without content for a moment. Then, with a soft sigh that seemed almost human, it collapsed.

  She looked even younger, now that she had stepped out. Her clothing was loose and translucent, with the skimpy items beneath visible as shadows. The outer robe reached to her knees.

  She was small-breasted and narrow-waisted, with hips rounded and full. Her thighs, which were seen in shadow, were generous, but her legs narrowed to graceful ankles. Her hair was dark and shoulder-length, her eyes brown and large, her lips full and slightly asymmetric.

  She looked down at herself and then solved the problem of her understanding of the language by saying, “Don’t I look human?”

  She spoke Galactic Standard with just a trifle of hesitation, as though she were straining a bit to get the pronunciation quite right.

  Pelorat nodded and said with a small smile, “I can’t deny it. Quite human. Delightfully human.”

  The young woman spread her arms as though inviting closer examination. “I should hope so, gentlemen. Men have died for this body.”

  “I would rather live for it,” said Pelorat, finding a vein of gallantry which faintly surprised him.

  “Good choice,” said the woman solemnly. “Once this body is attained, all sighs become sighs of ecstasy.”

  She laughed and Pelorat laughed with her.

  Trevize, whose forehead had puckered into a frown through this exchange, rapped out, “How old are you?”

  The woman seemed to shrink a little. “Twenty-three—gentleman.”

  “Why have you come? What is your purpose here?”

  “I have come to escort you to Gaia.” Her command of Galactic Standard was slipping slightly and her vowels tended to round into diphthongs. She made “come” sound like “comb” and “Gaia” like “Gay-uh.”

  “A girl to escort us.”

  The woman drew herself up and suddenly she had the bearing of one in charge. “I,” she said, “am Gaia, as well as another. It was my stint on the station.”

  “Your stint? Were you the only one on board?”

  Proudly. “I was all that was needed.”

  “And is it empty now?”

  “I am no longer on it, gentleman, but it is not empty. It is there.”

  “It? To what do you refer?”

  “To the station. It is Gaia. It doesn’t need me. It holds your ship.”

  “Then what are you doing on the station?”

  “It is my stint.”

  Pelorat had taken Trevize by the sleeve and had been shaken off. He tried again. “Golan,” he said in an urgent half-whisper. “Don’t shout at her. She’s only a girl. Let me deal with this.”

  Trevize shook his head angrily, but Pelorat said, “Young woman, what is your name?”

  The woman smiled with sudden sunniness, as though responding to the softer tone. She said, “Bliss.�
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  “Bliss?” said Pelorat. “A very nice name. Surely that’s not all there is.”

  “Of course not. A fine thing it would be to have one syllable. It would be duplicated on every section and we wouldn’t tell one from another, so that the men would be dying for the wrong body. Blisse-nobiarella is my name in full.”

  “Now that’s a mouthful.”

  “What? Seven syllables? That’s not much. I have friends with fifteen syllables in their names and they never get done trying combinations for the friend-name. I’ve stuck with Bliss now ever since I turned fifteen. My mother called me ‘Nobby,’ if you can imagine such a thing.”

  “In Galactic Standard, ‘bliss’ means ‘ecstasy’ or ‘extreme happiness,’ ” said Pelorat.

  “In Gaian language, too. It’s not very different from Standard, and ‘ecstasy’ is the impression I intend to convey.”

  “My name is Janov Pelorat.”

  “I know that. And this other gentleman—the shouter—is Golan Trevize. We received word from Sayshell.”

  Trevize said at once, his eyes narrow, “How did you receive word?”

  Bliss turned to look at him and said calmly, “I didn’t. Gaia did.”

  Pelorat said, “Miss Bliss, may my partner and myself speak privately for a moment?”

  “Yes, certainly, but we have to get on with it, you know.”

  “I won’t take long.” He pulled hard at Trevize’s elbow and was reluctantly followed into the other room.

  Trevize said in a whisper, “What’s all this? I’m sure she can hear us in here. She can probably read our minds, blast the creature.”

  “Whether she can or can’t, we need a bit of psychological isolation for just a moment. Look, old chap, leave her alone. There’s nothing we can do, and there’s no use taking that out on her. There’s probably nothing she can do either. She’s just a messenger girl. Actually, as long as she’s on board, we’re probably safe; they wouldn’t have put her on board if they intended to destroy the ship. Keep bullying and perhaps they will destroy it—and us—after they take her off.”