Isaac Asimov - Foundation's Edge

Pelorat grunted.

Trevize said, “You can see the planet with the unaided eye now. Right there. See it? The period of rotation is about twenty-two Galactic Hours and the axial inclination is twelve degrees. It is practically a textbook example of a habitable planet and it is life-bearing.”

“How can you tell?”

“There are substantial quantities of free oxygen in the atmosphere. You can’t have that without well-established vegetation.”

“What about intelligent life?”

“That depends on the analysis of radio-wave radiation. Of course, there could be intelligent life that has abandoned technology, I suppose, but that seems very unlikely.”

“There have been cases of that,” said Pelorat.

“I’ll take your word for it. That’s your department. However, it’s not likely that there would be nothing but pastoral survivors on a planet that frightened off the Mule.”

Pelorat said, “Does it have a satellite?”

“Yes, it does,” said Trevize casually.

“How big?” Pelorat said in a voice that was suddenly choking.

“Can’t tell for sure. Perhaps a hundred kilometers across.”

“Dear me,” said Pelorat wistfully. “I wish I had some worthier set of expletives on instant call, my dear chap, but there was just that one little chance—”

“You mean, if it had a giant satellite, it might be Earth itself?”

“Yes, but it clearly isn’t.”

“Well, if Compor is right, Earth wouldn’t be in this Galactic region, anyway. It would be over Sirius way. —Really, Janov, I’m sorry.”

“Oh well.”

“Look, we’ll wait, and risk one more small Jump. If we find no signs of intelligent life, then it should be safe to land—except that there will then be no reason to land, will there?”

After the next Jump, Trevize said in an astonished voice, “That does it, Janov. It’s Gaia, all right. At least, it possesses a technological civilization.”

“Can you tell that from the radio waves?”

“Better than that. There’s a space station circling the planet. Do you see that?”

There was an object on display on the viewscreen. To Pelorat’s unaccustomed eye, it didn’t seem very remarkable, but Trevize said, “Artificial, metallic, and a radio-source.”

“What do we do now?”

“Nothing, for a while. At this stage of technology, they cannot fail to detect us. If, after a while, they do nothing, I will beam a radio message at them. If they still do nothing, I will approach cautiously.”

“What if they do do something?”

“It will depend on the ‘something.’ If I don’t like it, then I’ll have to take advantage of the fact that it is very unlikely that they have anything that can match the facility with which this ship can make a Jump.”

“You mean we’ll leave?”

“Like a hyperspatial missile.”

“But we’ll leave no wiser than we came.”

“Not at all. At the very least we’ll know that Gaia exists, that it has a working technology, and that it’s done something to scare us.”

“But, Golan, let’s not be too easily scared.”

“Now, Janov, I know that you want nothing more in the Galaxy than to learn about Earth at any cost, but please remember that I don’t share your monomania. We are in an unarmed ship and those people down there have been isolated for centuries. Suppose they have never heard of the Foundation and don’t know enough to be respectful of it. Or suppose this is the Second Foundation and once we’re in their grip—if they’re annoyed with us—we may never be the same again. Do you want them to wipe your mind clear and find you are no longer a mythologist and know nothing about any legends whatever?”

Pelorat looked grim. “If you put it that way—But what do we do once we leave?”

“Simple. We get back to Terminus with the news. —Or as near to Terminus as the old woman will allow. Then we might return to Gaia once again—more quickly and without all this inching along—and we return with an armed ship or an armed fleet. Things may well be different then.”

They waited. It had grown to be a routine.

They had spent far more time waiting in the approaches to Gaia than they had spent in all the flight from Terminus to Sayshell.

Trevize set the computer to automatic alarm and was even nonchalant enough to doze in his padded chair.

This meant he woke with a start when the alarm chimed. Pelorat came into Trevize’s room, just as startled. He had been interrupted while shaving.

“Have we received a message?” asked Pelorat.

“No,” said Trevize energetically. “We’re moving .”

“Moving? Where?”

“Toward the space station.”

“Why is that?”

“I don’t know. The motors are on and the computer doesn’t respond to me—but we’re moving. —Janov, we’ve been seized. We’ve come a little too close to Gaia.”

When Stor Gendibal finally made out Compor’s ship on his viewscreen, it seemed like the end of an incredibly long journey. Yet, of course, it was not the end, but merely the beginning. The journey from Trantor to Sayshell had been nothing but prologue.

Novi looked awed. “Is that another ship of space, Master?”

“Spaceship, Novi. It is. It’s the one we have been striving to reach. It is a larger ship than this one—and a better one. It can move through space so quickly that if it fled from us, this ship could not possibly catch it—or even follow it.”

“Faster than a ship of the masters?” Sura Novi seemed appalled by the thought.

Gendibal shrugged. “I may be, as you say, a master, but I am not a master in all things. We scholars do not have ships like these, nor do we have many of the material devices that the owners of those ships have.”

“But how can scholars lack such things, Master?”

“Because we are masters in what is important. The material advances that these others have are trifles.”

Novi’s brows bent together in thought. “It seems to me that to go so quickly that a master cannot follow is no trifle. Who are these people who are wonder-having—who have such things?”

Gendibal was amused. “They call themselves the Foundation. Have you ever heard of the Foundation?”

(He caught himself wondering what the Hamish knew or did not know of the Galaxy and why it never occurred to the Speakers to wonder about such things. —Or was it only he who had never wondered about such things—only he who assumed that the Hamish cared for nothing more than grubbing in the soil.)

Novi shook her head thoughtfully. “I have never heard of it, Master. When the schoolmaster taught me letter-lore—how to read, I mean—he told me there were many other worlds and told me the names of some. He said our Hamish world had the proper name of Trantor and that it once ruled all the worlds. He said Trantor was covered with gleaming iron and had an Emperor who was an all-master.”

Her eyes looked up at Gendibal with a shy merriment. “I unbelieve most of it, though. There are many stories the word-spinners tell in the meeting-halls in the time of longer nights. When I was a small girl, I believed them all, but as I grew older, I found that many of them were not true. I believe very few now; perhaps none. Even schoolmasters tell unbelievables.”

“Just the same, Novi, that particular story of the schoolmaster is true—but it was long ago. Trantor was indeed covered by metal and had indeed an Emperor who ruled all the Galaxy. Now, however, it is the people of the Foundation who will someday rule all the worlds. They grow stronger all the time.”