Isaac Asimov - Foundation and Earth

“Then you are wrong, Gaia . I did not sell my body’s services. I gave them gladly. I enjoyed it and did no one harm. As for the consequences, they turned out well from my standpoint and I accept that. And if Comporellon wants the ship for its own purposes, who is to say who is right in this matter? It is a Foundation ship, but it was given to me to search for Earth. It is mine then until I complete the search and I feel that the Foundation has no right to go back on its agreement. As for Comporellon, it does not enjoy Foundation domination, so it dreams of independence. In its own eyes, it is correct to do so and to deceive the Foundation, for that is not an act of treason to them but an act of patriotism. Who knows?”

“Exactly. Who knows? In a Galaxy of anarchy, how is it possible to sort out reasonable actions from unreasonable ones? How decide between right and wrong, good and evil, justice and crime, useful and useless? And how do you explain the Minister’s betrayal of her own government, when she lets you keep the ship? Does she long for personal independence from an oppressive world? Is she a traitor or a personal one-woman self-patriot?”

“To be truthful,” said Trevize, “I don’t know that she was willing to let me have my ship simply because she was grateful to me for the pleasure I gave her. I believe she made that decision only when I told her I was searching for the Oldest. It is a world of ill-omen to her and we and the ship that carries us, by searching for it, have become ill-omened, too. It is my feeling that she feels she incurred the ill-omen for herself and her world by attempting to take the ship, which she may, by now, be viewing with horror. Perhaps she feels that by allowing us and our ship to leave and go about our business, she is averting the misfortune from Comporellon and is, in that way, performing a patriotic act.”

“If that were so, which I doubt, Trevize, superstition is the spring of the action. Do you admire that?”

“I neither admire nor condemn. Superstition always directs action in the absence of knowledge. The Foundation believes in the Seldon Plan, though no one in our realm can understand it, interpret its details, or use it to predict. We follow blindly out of ignorance and faith, and isn’t that superstition?”

“Yes, it might be.”

“And Gaia, too. You believe I have given the correct decision in judging that Gaia should absorb the Galaxy into one large organism, but you do not know why I should be right, or how safe it would be for you to follow that decision. You are willing to go along only out of ignorance and faith, and are even annoyed with me for trying to find evidence that will remove the ignorance and make mere faith unnecessary. Isn’t that superstition?”

“I think he has you there, Bliss,” said Pelorat.

Bliss said, “Not so. He will either find nothing at all in this search, or he will find something that confirms his decision.”

Trevize said, “And to back up that belief, you have only ignorance and faith. In other words, superstition!”

Vasil Deniador was a small man, little of feature, with a way of looking up by raising his eyes without raising his head. This, combined with the brief smiles that periodically lit his face, gave him the appearance of laughing silently at the world.

His office was long and narrow, filled with tapes that seemed to be in wild disorder, not because there was any definite evidence for that, but because they were not evenly placed in their recesses so that they gave the shelves a snaggle-toothed appearance. The three seats he indicated for his visitors were not matched and showed signs of having been recently, and imperfectly, dusted.

He said, “Janov Pelorat, Golan Trevize, and Bliss. —I do not have your second name, madam.”

“Bliss,” she said, “is all I am usually called,” and sat down.

“It is enough after all,” said Deniador, twinkling at her. “You are attractive enough to be forgiven if you had no name at all.”

All were sitting now. Deniador said, “I have heard of you, Dr. Pelorat, though we have never corresponded. You are a Foundationer, are you not? From Terminus?”

“Yes, Dr. Deniador.”

“And you, Councilman Trevize. I seem to have heard that recently you were expelled from the Council and exiled. I don’t think I have ever understood why.”

“Not expelled, sir. I am still a member of the Council although I don’t know when I will take up my duties again. Nor exiled, quite. I was assigned a mission, concerning which we wish to consult you.”

“Happy to try to help,” said Deniador. “And the blissful lady? Is she from Terminus, too.”

Trevize interposed quickly. “She is from elsewhere, Doctor.”

“Ah, a strange world, this Elsewhere. A most unusual collection of human beings are native to it. —But since two of you are from the Foundation’s capital at Terminus, and the third is an attractive young woman, and Mitza Lizalor is not known for her affection for either category, how is it that she recommends you to my care so warmly?”

“I think,” said Trevize, “to get rid of us. The sooner you help us, you see, the sooner we will leave Comporellon.”

Deniador eyed Trevize with interest (again the twinkling smile) and said, “Of course, a vigorous young man such as yourself might attract her whatever his origin. She plays the role of cold vestal well, but not perfectly.”

“I know nothing about that,” said Trevize stiffly.

“And you had better not. In public, at least. But I am a Skeptic and I am professionally unattuned to believing in surfaces. So come, Councilman, what is your mission? Let me find out if I can help you.”

Trevize said, “In this, Dr. Pelorat is our spokesman.”

“I have no objection to that,” said Deniador. “Dr. Pelorat?”

Pelorat said, “To put it at the simplest, dear Doctor, I have all my mature life attempted to penetrate to the basic core of knowledge concerning the world on which the human species originated, and I was sent out along with my good friend, Golan Trevize—although, to be sure, I did not know him at the time—to find, if we could, the—uh—Oldest, I believe you call it.”

“The Oldest?” said Deniador. “I take it you mean Earth.”

Pelorat’s jaw dropped. Then he said, with a slight stutter, “I was under the impression—that is, I was given to understand—that one did not—”

He looked at Trevize, rather helplessly.

Trevize said, “Minister Lizalor told me that that word was not used on Comporellon.”

“You mean she did this?” Deniador’s mouth turned downward, his nose screwed up, and he thrust his arms vigorously forward, crossing the first two fingers on each hand.

“Yes,” said Trevize. “That’s what I mean.”

Deniador relaxed and laughed. “Nonsense, gentlemen. We do it as a matter of habit, and in the backwoods they may be serious about it but, on the whole, it doesn’t matter. I don’t know any Comporellian who wouldn’t say ‘Earth’ when annoyed or startled. It’s the most common vulgarism we have.”

“Vulgarism?” said Pelorat faintly.

“Or expletive, if you prefer.”

“Nevertheless,” said Trevize, “the Minister seemed quite upset when I used the word.”

“Oh well, she’s a mountain woman.”

“What does that mean, sir?”

“What it says. Mitza Lizalor is from the Central Mountain Range. The children out there are brought up in what is called the good old-fashioned way, which means that no matter how well educated they become you can never knock those crossed fingers out of them.”

“Then the word ‘Earth’ doesn’t bother you at all, does it, Doctor?” said Bliss.

“Not at all, dear lady. I am a Skeptic.”