Isaac Asimov - Foundation and Earth

Bliss said, “I’ve only been at hyperspatial distances from Gaia twice before, and those were both when I was at or near Sayshell. I’ve never been at anything like this distance.”

Trevize looked at her sharply. “Does it matter? You’re still Gaia, aren’t you?”

For a moment, Bliss looked irritated, but then dissolved into what was almost an embarrassed titter. “I must admit you’ve caught me this time, Trevize. There is a double meaning in the word ‘Gaia.’ It can be used to refer to the physical planet as a solid globular object in space. It can also be used to refer to the living object that includes that globe. Properly speaking, we should use two different words for these two different concepts, but Gaians always know from the context what is being referred to. I admit that an Isolate might be puzzled at times.”

“Well, then,” said Trevize, “admitting that you are many thousands of parsecs from Gaia as globe, are you still part of Gaia as organism?”

“Referring to the organism, I am still Gaia.”

“No attenuation?”

“Not in essence. I’m sure I’ve already told you there is some added complexity in remaining Gaia across hyperspace, but I remain Gaia.”

Trevize said, “Does it occur to you that Gaia may be viewed as a Galactic kraken—the tentacled monster of the legends—with its tentacles reaching everywhere. You have but to put a few Gaians on each of the populated worlds and you will virtually have Galaxia right there. In fact, you have probably done exactly that. Where are your Gaians located? I presume that one or more are on Terminus and one or more are on Trantor. How much farther does this go?”

Bliss looked distinctly uncomfortable. “I have said I won’t lie to you, Trevize, but that doesn’t mean I feel compelled to give you the whole truth. There are some things you have no need to know, and the position and identity of individual bits of Gaia are among them.”

“Do I need to know the reason for the existence of those tentacles, Bliss, even if I don’t know where they are?”

“It is the opinion of Gaia that you do not.”

“I presume, though, that I may guess. You believe you serve as the guardians of the Galaxy.”

“We are anxious to have a stable and secure Galaxy; a peaceful and prosperous one. The Seldon Plan, as originally worked out by Hari Seldon at least, is designed to develop a Second Galactic Empire, one that is more stable and more workable than the First was. The Plan, which has been continually modified and improved by the Second Foundation, has appeared to be working well so far.”

“But Gaia doesn’t want a Second Galactic Empire in the classic sense, does it? You want Galaxia—a living Galaxy.”

“Since you permit it, we hope, in time, to have Galaxia. If you had not permitted it, we would have striven for Seldon’s Second Empire and made it as secure as we could.”

“But what is wrong with—”

His ear caught the soft, burring signal. Trevize said, “The computer is signaling me. I suppose it is receiving directions concerning the entry station. I’ll be back.”

He stepped into the pilot-room and placed his hands on those marked out on the desk top and found that there were directions for the specific entry station he was to approach—its co-ordinates with reference to the line from Comporellon’s center to its north pole—the prescribed route of approach.

Trevize signaled his acceptance, and then sat back for a moment.

The Seldon Plan! He had not thought of it for quite a time. The First Galactic Empire had crumbled and for five hundred years the Foundation had grown, first in competition with that Empire, and then upon its ruins—all in accordance with the Plan.

There had been the interruption of the Mule, which, for a time, had threatened to shiver the Plan into fragments, but the Foundation had pulled through—probably with the help of the ever-hidden Second Foundation—possibly with the help of the even-better-hidden Gaia.

Now the Plan was threatened by something more serious than the Mule had ever been. It was to be diverted from a renewal of Empire to something utterly different from anything in history—Galaxia. And he himself had agreed to that .

But why? Was there a flaw in the Plan? A basic flaw?

For one flashing moment, it seemed to Trevize that this flaw did indeed exist and that he knew what it was, that he had known what it was when he made his decision—but the knowledge . . . if that were what it was . . . vanished as fast as it came, and it left him with nothing.

Perhaps it was all only an illusion; both when he had made his decision, and now. After all, he knew nothing about the Plan beyond the basic assumptions that validated psychohistory. Apart from that, he knew no detail, and certainly not a single scrap of its mathematics.

He closed his eyes and thought—

There was nothing.

Might it be the added power he received from the computer? He placed his hands on the desk top and felt the warmth of the computer’s hands embracing them. He closed his eyes and once more he thought—

There was still nothing.

The Comporellian who boarded the ship wore a holographic identity card. It displayed his chubby, lightly bearded face with remarkable fidelity, and underneath it was his name, A. Kendray.

He was rather short, and his body was as softly rounded as his face was. He had a fresh and easygoing look and manner, and he stared about the ship with clear amazement.

He said, “How did you get down this fast? We weren’t expecting you for two hours.”

“It’s a new-model ship,” said Trevize, with noncommittal politeness.

Kendray was not quite the young innocent he looked, however. He stepped into the pilot-room and said at once, “Gravitic?”

Trevize saw no point in denying anything that was apparently that obvious. He said tonelessly, “Yes.”

“Very interesting. You hear of them, but you never see them somehow. Motors in the hull?”

“That’s so.”

Kendray looked at the computer. “Computer circuits, likewise?”

“That’s so. Anyway, I’m told so. I’ve never looked.”

“Oh well. What I need is the ship’s documentation; engine number, place of manufacture, identification code, the whole patty-cake. It’s all in the computer, I’m sure, and it can probably turn out the formal card I need in half a second.”

It took very little more than that. Kendray looked about again. “You three all the people on board?”

Trevize said, “That’s right.”

“Any live animals? Plants? State of health?”

“No. No. And good,” said Trevize crisply.

“Um!” said Kendray, making notes. “Could you put your hand in here? Just routine. —Right hand, please.”

Trevize looked at the device without favor. It was being used more and more commonly, and was growing quickly more elaborate. You could almost tell the backwardness of a world at a glance by the backwardness of its microdetector. There were now few worlds, however backward, that didn’t have one at all. The start had come with the final breakup of the Empire, as each fragment of the whole grew increasingly anxious to protect itself from the diseases and alien microorganisms of all the others.

“What is that?” asked Bliss, in a low and interested voice, craning her head to see it first on one side, then the other.

Pelorat said, “A microdetector, I believe they call it.”

Trevize added, “It’s nothing mysterious. It’s a device that automatically checks a portion of your body, inside and out, for any microorganism capable of transmitting disease.”

“This will classify the microorganisms, too,” said Kendray, with rather more than a hint of pride. “It’s been worked out right here on Comporellon. —And if you don’t mind, I still want your right hand.”