Foundation's Edge (33 page)

“Janov Pelorat of Terminus,” said Pelorat, “with Golan Trevize of the same world.” The door swung open at once.

The man who stood up, walked around his desk, and advanced to meet them was tall and well into middle age. He was light brown in skin color and his hair, which was set in crisp curls over his head, was iron-gray. He held out his hand in greeting and his voice was soft and low. “I am S.Q. I am delighted to meet you, Professors.”

Trevize said, “I don’t own an academic title. I merely accompany Professor Pelorat. You may call me simply Trevize. I am pleased to meet you, Professor Abt.”

Quintesetz held up one hand in clear embarrassment. “No no. Abt is merely a foolish title of some sort that has no significance outside of Sayshell. Ignore it, please, and call me S.Q. We tend to use initials in ordinary social intercourse on Sayshell. I’m so pleased to meet two of you when I had been expecting but one.”

He seemed to hesitate a moment, then extended his right hand after wiping it unobtrusively on his trousers.

Trevize took it, wondering what the proper Sayshellian manner of greeting was.

Quintesetz said, “Please sit down. I’m afraid you’ll find these chairs to be lifeless ones, but I, for one, don’t want my chairs to hug me. It’s all the fashion for chairs to hug you nowadays, but I prefer a hug to mean something, hey?”

Trevize smiled and said, “Who would not? Your name, SQ., seems to be of the Rim Worlds and not Sayshellian. I apologize if the remark is impertinent.”

“I don’t mind. My family traces back, in part, to Askone. Five generations back, my great-great-grandparents left Askone when Foundation domination grew too heavy.”

Pelorat said, “And we are Foundationers. Our apologies.”

Quintesetz waved his hand genially, “I don’t hold a grudge across a stretch of five generations. Not that such things haven’t been done, more’s the pity. Would you like to have something to eat? To drink? Would you like music in the background?”

“If you don’t mind,” said Pelorat, “I’d be willing to get right to business, if Sayshellian ways would permit.”

“Sayshellian ways are not a barrier to that, I assure you. —You have no idea how remarkable this is, Dr. Pelorat. It was only about two weeks ago that I came across your article on origin myths in the Archaeological Review and it struck me as a remarkable synthesis— all too brief.”

Pelorat flushed with pleasure. “How delighted I am that you have read it. I had to condense it, of course, since the Review would not print a full study. I have been planning to do a treatise on the subject.”

“I wish you would. In any case, as soon as I had read it, I had this desire to see you. I even had the notion of visiting Terminus in order to do so, though that would have been hard to arrange—”

“Why so?” asked Trevize.

Quintesetz looked embarrassed. “I’m sorry to say that Sayshell is not eager to join the Foundation Federation and rather discourages any social communication with the Foundation. We’ve a tradition of neutralism, you see. Even the Mule didn’t bother us, except to extort from us a specific statement of neutrality. For that reason, any application for permission to visit Foundation territory generally— and particularly Terminus—is viewed with suspicion, although a scholar such as myself, intent on academic business, would probably obtain his passport in the end. —But none of that was necessary; you have come to me. I can scarcely believe it. I ask myself: Why? Have you heard of me, as I have heard of you?”

Pelorat said, “I know your work, S.Q., and in my records I have abstracts of your papers. It is why I have come to you. I am exploring both the matter of Earth, which is the reputed planet of origin of the human species, and the early period of the exploration and settlement of the Galaxy. In particular, I have come here to inquire as to the founding of Sayshell.”

“From your paper,” said Quintesetz, “I presume you are interested in myths and legends.”

“Even more in history—actual facts—if such exist. Myths and legends, otherwise.”

Quintesetz rose and walked rapidly back and forth the length of his office, paused to stare at Pelorat, then walked again.

Trevize said impatiently, “Well, sir.”

Quintesetz said, “Odd! Really odd! It was only yesterday—”

Pelorat said, “What was only yesterday?”

Quintesetz said, “I told you, Dr. Pelorat—may I call you J.P., by the way? I find using a full-length name rather unnatural”

“Please do.”

“I told you, J.P., that I had admired your paper and that I had wanted to see you. The reason I wanted to see you was that you clearly had an extensive collection of legends concerning the beginnings of the worlds and yet didn’t have ours. In other words, I wanted to see you in order to tell you precisely what you have come to see me to find out.”

“What has this to do with yesterday, S.Q.?” asked Trevize.

“We have legends. A legend. An important one to our society, for it has become our central mystery—”

“Mystery?” said Trevize.

“I don’t mean a puzzle or anything of that sort. That, I believe, would be the usual meaning of the word in Galactic Standard. There’s a specialized meaning here. It means ‘something secret’; something only certain adepts know the full meaning of; something not to be spoken of to outsiders. —And yesterday was the day.”

“The day of what, S.Q.?” asked Trevize, slightly exaggerating his air of patience.

“Yesterday was the Day of Flight.”

“Ah,” said Trevize, “a day of meditation and quiet, when everyone is supposed to remain at home.”

“Something like that, in theory, except that in the larger cities, the more sophisticated regions, there is little observance in the older fashion. —But you know about it, I see.”

Pelorat, who had grown uneasy at Trevize’s annoyed tone, put in hastily, “We heard a little of it, having arrived yesterday.”

“Of all days,” said Trevize sarcastically. “See here, S.Q. As I said, I’m not an academic, but I have a question. You said you were speaking of a central mystery, meaning it was not to be spoken of to outsiders. Why, then, are you speaking of it to us? We are outsiders.”

“So you are. But I’m not an observer of the day and the depth of my superstition in this matter is slight at best. J.P.’s paper, however, reinforced a feeling I have had for a long time. A myth or legend is simply not made up out of a vacuum. Nothing is-or can be. Somehow there is a kernel of truth behind it, however distorted that might be, and I would like the truth behind our legend of the Day of Flight.”

Trevize said, “Is it safe to talk about it?”

Quintesetz shrugged. “Not entirely, I suppose. The conservative elements among our population would be horrified. However, they don’t control the government and haven’t for a century. The secularists are strong and would be stronger still, if the conservatives didn’t take advantage of our—if you’ll excuse me—anti-Foundation bias. Then, too, since I am discussing the matter out of my scholarly interest in ancient history, the League of Academicians will support me strongly, in case of need.”

“In that case,” said Pelorat, “would you tell us about your central mystery, SQ.?”

“Yes, but let me make sure we won’t be interrupted or, for that matter, overheard. Even if one must stare the bull in the face, one needn’t slap its muzzle, as the saying goes.”

He flicked a pattern on the work-face of an instrument on his desk and said, “We’re incommunicado now.”

“Are you sure you’re not bugged?” asked Trevize.

“Bugged?”

“Tapped! Eavesdropped! —Subjected to a device that will have you under observation—visual or auditory or both.”

Quintesetz looked shocked. “Not here on Sayshell!”

Trevize shrugged. “If you say so.”

“Please go on, SQ.,” said Pelorat.

Quintesetz pursed his lips, leaned back in his chair (which gave slightly under the pressure) and put the tips of his fingers together. He seemed to be speculating as to just how to begin.

He said, “Do you know what a robot is?”

“A robot?” said Pelorat. “No.”

Quintesetz looked in the direction of Trevize, who shook his head slowly.

“You know what a computer is, however?”

“Of course,” said Trevize impatiently.

“Well then, a mobile computerized tool—”

“Is a mobile computerized tool.” Trevize was still impatient. “There are endless varieties and I don’t know of any generalized term for it except mobile computerized tool.”

“—that looks exactly like a human being is a robot.” S.Q. completed his definition with equanimity. “The distinction of a robot is that it is humaniform.”

“Why humaniform?” asked Pelorat in honest amazement. “I’m not sure. It’s a remarkably inefficient form for a tool, I grant you, but I’m just repeating the legend. ‘Robot’ is an old word from no recognizable language, though our scholars say it bears the connotation of ‘work.”

“I can’t think of any word,” said Trevize skeptically, “that sounds even vaguely like ‘robot’ and that has any connection with ‘work.”

“Nothing in Galactic, certainly,” said Quintesetz, “but that’s what they say.”

Pelorat said, “It may have been reverse etymology. These objects were used for work, and so the word was said to mean ‘work.’ —In any case, why do you tell us this?”

“Because it is a firmly fixed tradition here on Sayshell that when Earth was a single world and the Galaxy lay all uninhabited before it, robots were invented and devised. There were then two sorts of human beings: natural and invented, flesh and metal, biological and mechanical, complex and simple—”

Quintesetz came to a halt and said with a rueful laugh, “I’m sorry. It is impossible to talk about robots without quoting from the Book of Flight. The people of Earth devised robots—and I need say no more. That’s plain enough.”

“And why did they devise robots?” asked Trevize.

Quintesetz shrugged. “Who can tell at this distance in time? Perhaps they were few in numbers and needed help, particularly in the great task of exploring and populating the Galaxy.”

Trevize said, “That’s a reasonable suggestion. Once the Galaxy was colonized, the robots would no longer be needed. Certainly there are no humanoid mobile computerized tools in the Galaxy today.”

“In any case,” said Quintesetz, “the story is as follows—if I may vastly simplify and leave out many poetic ornamentations which, frankly, I don’t accept, though the general population does or pretends to. Around Earth, there grew up colony worlds circling neighboring stars and these colony worlds were far richer in robots than was Earth itself. There was more use for robots on raw, new worlds. Earth, in fact, retreated, wished no more robots, and rebelled against them.”

“What happened?” asked Pelorat.

“The Outer Worlds were the stronger. With the help of their robots, the children defeated and controlled Earth—the Mother. Pardon me, but I can’t help slipping into quotation. But there were those from Earth who fled their world—with better ships and stronger modes of hyperspatial travel. They fled to far distant stars and worlds, far beyond the closer worlds earlier colonized. New colonies were founded—without robots—in which human beings could live freely. Those were the Times of Flight, so-called, and the day upon which the first Earthmen reached the Sayshell Sector— this very planet, in fact—is the Day of Flight, celebrated annually for many thousands of years.”

Pelorat said, “My dear chap, what you are saying, then, is that Sayshell was founded directly from Earth.”

Quintesetz thought and hesitated for a moment. Then he said, “That is the official belief.”

“Obviously,” said Trevize, “you don’t accept it.”

“It seems to me—” Quintesetz began and then burst out, “Oh, Great Stars and Small Planets, I don’t! It is entirely too unlikely, but it’s official dogma and however secularized the government has become, lip service to that, at least, is essential. —Still, to the point. In your article, J.P., there is no indication that you’re aware of this story—of robots and of two waves of colonization, a lesser one with robots and a greater one without.”

“I certainly was not,” said Pelorat. “I hear it now for the first time and, my dear SQ., I am eternally grateful to you for making this known to me. I am astonished that no hint of this has appeared in any of the writings—”

“It shows,” said Quintesetz, “how effective our social system is. It’s our Sayshellian secret—our great mystery.”

“Perhaps,” said Trevize dryly. “Yet the second wave of colonization—the robotless wave—must have moved out in all directions. Why is it only on Sayshell that this great secret exists?”

Quintesetz said, “It may exist elsewhere and be just as secret. Our own conservatives believe that only Sayshell was settled from Earth and that all the rest of the Galaxy was settled from Sayshell. That, of course, is probably nonsense.”

Pelorat said, “These subsidiary puzzles can be worked out in time. Now that I have the starting point, I can seek out similar information on other worlds. What counts is that I have discovered the question to ask and a good question is, of course, the key by which infinite answers can be educed. How fortunate that I—”

Trevize said, “Yes, Janov, but the good SQ. has not told us the whole story, surely. What happened to the older colonies and their robots? Do your traditions say?”

“Not in detail, but in essence. Human and humanoid cannot live together, apparently. The worlds with robots died. They were not viable.”

“And Earth?”

“Humans left it and settled here and presumably (though the conservatives would disagree) on other planets as well.”

“Surely not every human being left Earth. The planet was not deserted.”

“Presumably not. I don’t know.”

Trevize said abruptly, “Was it left radioactive?”

Quintesetz looked astonished. “Radioactive?” “That’s what I’m asking.”

“Not to my knowledge. I never heard of such a thing.”

Trevize put a knuckle to his teeth and considered. Finally he said, “S.Q., it’s getting late and we have trespassed sufficiently on your time, perhaps.” (Pelorat made a motion as though he were about to protest, but Trevize’s hand was on the other’s knee and his grip tightened—so Pelorat, looking disturbed, subsided.)