Isaac Asimov - Foundation and Earth

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.

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 another 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.