Foundation and Earth (5 page)

“Are criminals the only possible payment? Can’t you have genius without criminals?”

“You can’t have geniuses and saints without having people far outside the norm, and I don’t see how you can have such things on only one side of the norm. There is bound to be a certain symmetry. —In any case, I want a better reason for my decision to make Gaia the model for the future of humanity than that it is a planetary version of a comfortable house.”

“Oh, my dear fellow. I wasn’t trying to argue you into being satisfied with your decision. I was just making an observa—”

He broke off. Bliss was striding toward them, her dark hair wet and her robe clinging to her body and emphasizing the rather generous width of her hips. She was nodding to them as she came.

“I’m sorry I delayed you,” she said, panting a little. “It took longer to check with Dom than I had anticipated.”

“Surely,” said Trevize, “you know everything he knows.”

“Sometimes it’s a matter of a difference in interpretation. We are not identical, after all, so we discuss. Look here,” she said, with a touch of asperity, “you have two hands. They are each part of you, and they seem identical except for one being the mirror-image of the other. Yet you do not use them entirely alike, do you? There are some things you do with your right
hand most of the time, and some with your left. Differences in interpretation, so to speak.”

“She’s got you,” said Pelorat, with obvious satisfaction.

Trevize nodded. “It’s an effective analogy, if it were relevant, and I’m not at all sure it is. In any case, does this mean we can board the ship now? It
is
raining.”

“Yes, yes. Our people are all off it, and it’s in perfect shape.” Then, with a sudden curious look at Trevize, “You’re keeping dry. The raindrops are missing you.”

“Yes, indeed,” said Trevize. “I am avoiding wetness.”

“But doesn’t it feel good to be wet now and then?”

“Absolutely. But at my choice, not the rain’s.”

Bliss shrugged. “Well, as you please. All our baggage is loaded so let’s board.”

The three walked toward the
Far Star
. The rain was growing still lighter, but the grass was quite wet. Trevize found himself walking gingerly, but Bliss had kicked off her slippers, which she was now carrying in one hand, and was slogging through the grass barefoot.

“It feels delightful,” she said, in response to Trevize’s downward glance.

“Good,” he said absently. Then, with a touch of irritation, “Why are those other Gaians standing about, anyway?”

Bliss said, “They’re recording this event, which Gaia finds momentous. You are important to us, Trevize. Consider that if you should change your mind as a result of this trip and decide against us, we would never grow into Galaxia, or even remain as Gaia.”

“Then I represent life and death for Gaia; for the whole world.”

“We believe so.”

Trevize stopped suddenly, and took off his rain hat. Blue patches were appearing in the sky. He said, “But you have my vote in your favor
now
. If you kill me, I’ll never be able to change it.”

“Golan,” murmured Pelorat, shocked. “That is a terrible thing to say.”

“Typical of an Isolate,” said Bliss calmly. “You must understand, Trevize, that we are not interested in you as a person, or even in your vote, but in the truth, in the facts of the matter. You are only important as a conduit to the truth, and your vote as an indication of the truth. That is what we want from you, and if we kill you to avoid a change in your vote, we would merely be hiding the truth from ourselves.”

“If I tell you the truth is non-Gaia, will you all then cheerfully agree to die?”

“Not entirely cheerfully, perhaps, but it’s what it would amount to in the end.”

Trevize shook his head. “If anything ought to convince me that Gaia is a horror and
should
die, it might be that very statement you’ve just made.” Then he said, his eyes returning to the patiently watching (and, presumably, listening) Gaians, “Why are they spread out like that? And why do you need so many? If one of them observes this event and stores it in his or her memory, isn’t it available to all the rest of the planet? Can’t it be stored in a million different places if you want it to be?”

Bliss said, “They are observing this each from a different angle, and each is storing it in a slightly different brain. When all the observations are studied, it will be seen that what is taking place will be far better understood from all the observations together than from any one of them, taken singly.”

“The whole is greater than the sum of the parts, in other words.”

“Exactly. You have grasped the basic justification of Gaia’s existence. You, as a human individual, are composed of perhaps fifty trillion cells, but you, as a multicellular individual, are far more important than those fifty trillion as the sum of their individual importance. Surely you would agree with that.”

“Yes,” said Trevize. “I agree with that.”

He stepped into the ship, and turned briefly for one more look at Gaia. The brief rain had lent a new freshness to the atmosphere. He saw a green, lush, quiet, peaceful world; a garden of serenity set amid the turbulence of the weary Galaxy.

—And Trevize earnestly hoped he would never see it again.

WHEN THE AIRLOCK CLOSED BEHIND THEM, TREVIZE felt as though he had shut out not exactly a nightmare, but something so seriously abnormal that it had prevented him from breathing freely.

He was fully aware that an element of that abnormality was still with him in the person of Bliss. While she was there, Gaia was there—and yet he was also convinced that her presence was essential. It was the black box working again, and earnestly he hoped he would never begin believing in that black box too much.

He looked about the vessel and found it beautiful. It had been his only since Mayor Harla Branno of the Foundation had forced him into it and sent him out among the stars—a living lightning rod designed to draw the fire of those she considered enemies of the Foundation. That task was done but the ship was still his, and he had no plans to return it.

It had been his for merely a matter of a few months, but it seemed like home to him and he could only dimly remember what had once been his home in Terminus.

Terminus! The off-center hub of the Foundation, destined, by Seldon’s Plan, to form a second and greater Empire in the course of the next five centuries, except that he, Trevize, had now derailed it. By his own decision he was converting the Foundation to
nothing, and was making possible instead, a new society, a new scheme of life, a frightening revolution that would be greater than any since the development of multicellular life.

Now he was engaged in a journey designed to prove to himself (or to disprove) that what he had done was right.

He found himself lost in thought and motionless, so that he shook himself in self-irritation. He hastened to the pilot-room and found his computer still there.

It glistened; everything glistened. There had been a most careful cleaning. The contacts he closed, nearly at random, worked perfectly, and, it surely seemed, with greater ease than ever. The ventilating system was so noiseless that he had to put his hand over the vents to make sure he felt air currents.

The circle of light on the computer glowed invitingly. Trevize touched it and the light spread out to cover the desk top and the outline of a right and left hand appeared on it. He drew a deep breath and realized that he had stopped breathing for a while. The Gaians knew nothing about Foundation technology and they might easily have damaged the computer without meaning any malice. Thus far they had not—the hands were still there.

The crucial test came with the laying on of his own hands, however, and, for a moment, he hesitated. He would know, almost at once, if anything were wrong—but if something was, what could he do? For repairs, he would have to go back to Terminus, and if he did, he felt quite confident that Mayor Branno would not let him leave again. And if he did not—

He could feel his heart pounding, and there was clearly no point in deliberately lengthening the suspense.

He thrust his hands out, right, left, and placed them on the outlines upon the desk. At once, he had the illusion of another pair of hands holding his. His
senses extended, and he could see Gaia in all directions, green and moist, the Gaians still watching. When he willed himself to look upward, he saw a largely cloudy sky. Again, at his will, the clouds vanished and he looked at an unbroken blue sky with the orb of Gaia’s sun filtered out.

Again he willed and the blue parted and he saw the stars.

He wiped them out, and willed and saw the Galaxy, like a foreshortened pinwheel. He tested the computerized image, adjusting its orientation, altering the apparent progress of time, making it spin first in one direction, then the other. He located the sun of Sayshell, the nearest important star to Gaia; then the sun of Terminus; then of Trantor; one after the other. He traveled from star to star in the Galactic map that dwelt in the bowels of the computer.

Then he withdrew his hands and let the world of reality surround him again—and realized he had been standing all this time, half-bowing over the computer to make the hand contact. He felt stiff and had to stretch his back muscles before sitting down.

He stared at the computer with warm relief. It had worked perfectly. It had been, if anything, more responsive, and what he felt for it he could only describe as love. After all, while he held its hands (he resolutely refused to admit to himself that he thought of it as
her
hands) they were part of each other, and his will directed, controlled, experienced, and was part of a greater self. He and it must feel, in a small way (he suddenly, and disturbingly, thought), what Gaia did in a much larger way.

He shook his head. No! In the case of the computer and himself, it was he—Trevize—who was in entire control. The computer was a thing of total submission.

He rose and moved out to the compact galley and dining area. There was plenty of food of all kinds, with proper refrigeration and easy-heating facilities. He had
already noted that the book-films in his room were in the proper order, and he was reasonably sure—no, completely sure—that Pelorat had his personal library in safe storage. He would otherwise surely have heard from him by now.

Pelorat! That reminded him. He stepped into Pelorat’s room. “Is there room for Bliss here, Janov?”

“Oh yes, quite.”

“I can convert the common room into her bedroom.”

Bliss looked up, wide-eyed. “I have no desire for a separate bedroom. I am quite content to stay here with Pel. I suppose, though, that I may use the other rooms when needed. The gym, for instance.”

“Certainly. Any room but mine.”

“Good. That’s what I would have suggested be the arrangement, if I had had the making of it. Naturally, you will stay out of ours.”

“Naturally,” said Trevize, looking down and realizing that his shoes overlapped the threshold. He took a half-step backward and said grimly, “These are not honeymoon quarters, Bliss.”

“I should say, in view of its compactness, that it is exactly that even though Gaia extended it to half again as wide as it was.”

Trevize tried not to smile. “You’ll have to be very friendly.”

“We are,” said Pelorat, clearly ill at ease at the topic of conversation, “but really, old chap, you can leave it to us to make our own arrangements.”

“Actually, I can’t,” said Trevize slowly. “I still want to make it clear that these are not honeymoon accommodations. I have no objection to anything you do by mutual consent, but you must realize that you will have no privacy. I hope you understand that, Bliss.”

“There is a door,” said Bliss, “and I imagine you will not disturb us when it is locked—short of a real emergency, that is.”

“Of course I won’t. However, there is no soundproofing.”

“What you are trying to say, Trevize,” said Bliss, “is that you will hear, quite clearly, any conversation we may have, and any sounds we may make in the course of sex.”

“Yes, that is what I am trying to say. With that in mind, I expect you may find you will have to limit your activities here. This may discommode you, and I’m sorry, but that’s the situation as it is.”

Pelorat cleared his throat, and said gently, “Actually, Golan, this is a problem I’ve already had to face. You realize that any sensation Bliss experiences, when together with me, is experienced by all of Gaia.”

“I have thought of that, Janov,” said Trevize, looking as though he were repressing a wince. “I didn’t intend to mention it—just in case the thought had not occurred to you.”

“But it did, I’m afraid,” said Pelorat.

Bliss said, “Don’t make too much of that, Trevize. At any given moment, there may be thousands of human beings on Gaia who are engaged in sex; millions who are eating, drinking, or engaged in other pleasure-giving activities. This gives rise to a general aura of delight that Gaia feels, every part of it. The lower animals, the plants, the minerals have their progressively milder pleasures that also contribute to a generalized joy of consciousness that Gaia feels in all its parts always, and that is unfelt in any other world.”

“We have our own particular joys,” said Trevize, “which we can share after a fashion, if we wish; or keep private, if we wish.”

“If you could feel ours, you would know how poverty-stricken you Isolates are in that respect.”

“How can you know what we feel?”

“Without knowing how you feel, it is still reasonable to suppose that a world of common pleasures must be more intense than those available to a single isolated individual.”

“Perhaps, but even if my pleasures were poverty-stricken, I would keep my own joys and sorrows and be satisfied with them, thin as they are, and be
me
and not blood brother to the nearest rock.”

“Don’t sneer,” said Bliss. “You value every mineral crystal in your bones and teeth and would not have one of them damaged, though they have no more consciousness than the average rock crystal of the same size.”