Foundation's Edge (45 page)

With a gesture of dissatisfaction, Trevize abandoned the computer.

“Young woman,” he said, as though seeing her for the first time.

“My name is Bliss,” said Bliss firmly.

“Bliss, then! You knew our names.”

“Yes, Trev.”

“How did you know them?”

“It was important that I know them, in order for me to do my job. So I knew them.”

“Do you know who Munn Li Compor is?”

“I would—if it were important for me to know who he is. Since I do not know who he is, Mr. Compor is not coming here. For that

matter,” she paused a moment, “no one is coming here but you two.”

“We’ll see.”

He was looking down. It was a cloudy planet. There wasn’t a solid layer of cloud, but it was a broken layer that was remarkably evenly scattered and offered no clear view of any part of the planetary surface.

He switched to microwave and the radarscope glittered. The surface was almost an image of the sky. It seemed a world of islands— rather like Terminus, but more so. None of the islands was very large and none was very isolated. It was something of an approach to a planetary archipelago. The ship’s orbit was well inclined to the equatorial plane, but he saw no sign of ice caps.

Neither were there the unmistakable marks of uneven population distribution, as would be expected, for instance, in the illumination of the night side.

“Will I be coming down near the capital city, Bliss?” asked Trevize.

Bliss said indifferently, “Gaia will put you down somewhere convenient.”

“I’d prefer a big city.”

“Do you mean a large people-grouping?”

“Yes.”

“It’s up to Gaia.”

The ship continued its downward path and Trevize tried to find amusement in guessing on which island it would land.

Whichever it might be, it appeared they would be landing within the hour.

The ship landed in a quiet, almost feathery manner, without a moment of jarring, without one anomalous gravitational effect. They stepped out, one by one: first Bliss, then Pelorat, and finally Trevize.

The weather was comparable to early summer at Terminus City. There was a mild breeze and with what seemed to be a late-morning sun shining brightly down from a mottled sky. The ground was green underfoot and in one direction there were the serried rows of

trees that bespoke an orchard, while in the other there was the distant line of seashore.

There was the low hum of what might have been insect life, a flash of bird—or some small flying creature—above and to one side, and the clack-clack of what might have been some farm instrument.

Pelorat was the first to speak and he mentioned nothing he either saw or heard. Instead, he drew in his breath raspingly and said, “Ah, it smells good, like fresh-made applesauce.”

Trevize said, “That’s probably an apple orchard we’re looking at and, for all we know, they’re making applesauce.”

“On your ship, on the other hand,” said Bliss, “it smelled like— Well, it smelled terrible.”

“You didn’t complain when you were on it,” growled Trevize.

“I had to be polite. I was a guest on your ship.”

“What’s wrong with staying polite?”

“I’m on my own world now. You’re the guest. You be polite.”

Pelorat said, “She’s probably right about the smell, Golan. Is there any way of airing out the ship?”

“Yes,” said Trevize with a snap. “It can be done—if this little creature can assure us that the ship will not be disturbed. She has already shown us she can exert unusual power over the ship.”

Bliss drew herself up to her full height. “I’m not exactly little and if leaving your ship alone is what it takes to get it cleaned up, I assure you leaving it alone will be a pleasure.”

“And then can we be taken to whoever it is that you speak of as Gaia?” said Trevize.

Bliss looked amused. “I don’t know if you’re going to believe this, Trev. I’m Gaia.”

Trevize stared. He had often heard the phrase “collect one’s thoughts” used metaphorically. For the first time in his life, he felt as though he were engaged in the process literally. Finally he said, “You?”

“Yes. And the ground. And those trees. And that rabbit over there in the grass. And the man you can see through the trees. The whole planet and everything on it is Gaia. We’re all individuals—we’re all separate organisms—but we all share an overall consciousness. The inanimate planet does so least of all, the various forms of life to a varying degree, and human beings most of all—but we all share.”

Pelorat said, “I think, Trevize, that she means Gaia is some sort of group consciousness.”

Trevize nodded. “I gathered that. —In that case, Bliss, who runs this world?”

Bliss said, “It runs itself. Those trees grow in rank and file of their own accord. They multiply only to the extent that is needed to replace those that for any reason die. Human beings harvest the apples that are needed; other animals, including insects, eat their share— and only their share.”

“The insects know what their share is, do they?” said Trevize.

“Yes, they do—in a way. It rains when it is necessary and occasionally it rains rather hard when that is necessary—and occasionally there’s a siege of dry weather when that is necessary.”

“And the rain knows what to do, does it?”

“Yes, it does,” said Bliss very seriously. “In your own body, don’t all the different cells know what to do? When to grow and when to stop growing? When to form certain substances and when not to— and when they form them, just how much to form, neither more nor less? Each cell is, to a certain extent, an independent chemical factory, but all draw from a common fund of raw materials brought to it by a common transportation system, all deliver wastes into common channels, and all contribute to an overall group consciousness.”

Pelorat said with a certain enthusiasm, “But that’s remarkable. You are saying that the planet is a superorganism and that you are a cell of that superorganism.”

“I’m making an analogy, not an identity. We are the analog of cells, but we are not identical with cells—do you understand?”

“In what way,” said Trevize, “are you not cells?”

“We are ourselves made up of cells and have a group consciousness, as far as cells are concerned. This group consciousness, this consciousness of an individual organism—a human being, in my case—”

“With a body men die for.”

“Exactly. My consciousness is far advanced beyond that of any individual cell—incredibly far advanced. The fact that we, in turn, are part of a still greater group consciousness on a higher level does not reduce us to the level of cells. I remain a human being—but above us is a group consciousness as far beyond my grasp as my consciousness is beyond that of one of the muscle cells of my biceps.”

Trevize said, “Surely someone ordered our ship to be taken.”

“No, not someone! Gaia ordered it. All of us ordered it.”

“The trees and the ground, too, Bliss?”

“They contributed very little, but they contributed. Look, if a musician writes a symphony, do you ask which particular cell in his body ordered the symphony written and supervised its construction?”

Pelorat said, “And, I .take it, the group mind, so to speak, of the group consciousness is much stronger than an individual mind, just as a muscle is much stronger than an individual muscle cell. Consequently Gaia can capture our ship at a distance by controlling our computer, even though no individual mind on the planet could have done so.”

“You understand perfectly, Pel,” said Bliss.

“And I understand it, too,” said Trevize. “It is not that hard to understand. But what do you want of us? We have not come to attack you. We have come seeking information. Why have you seized us?”

“To talk to you.”

“You might have talked to us on the ship.”

Bliss shook her head gravely, “I am not the one to do it.”

“Aren’t you part of the group mind?”

“Yes, but I cannot fly like a bird, buzz like an insect, or grow as tall as a tree. I do what it is best for me to do and it is not best that I give you the information—though the knowledge could easily be assigned to me.”

“Who decided not to assign it to you?”

“We all did.”

“Who will give us the information?”

“And who is Dom?”

“Well,” said Bliss. “His full name is Endomandiovizamarondeyaso—and so on. Different people call him different syllables at different times, but I know him as Dom and I think you two will use that syllable as well. He probably has a larger share of Gaia than anyone on the planet and he lives on this island. He asked to see you and it was allowed.”

“Who allowed it?” asked Trevize—and answered himself at once, “Yes, I know; you all did.”

Bliss nodded.

Pelorat said, “When will we be seeing Dom, Bliss?”

“Right away. If you follow me, I’ll take you to him now, Pel. And you, too, of course, Trev.”

“And will you leave, then?” asked Pelorat.

“You don’t want me to, Pel?”

“Actually, no.”

“There you are,” said Bliss as they followed her along a smoothly paved road that skirted the orchard. “Men grow addicted to me on short order. Even dignified elderly men are overcome with boyish ardor.”

Pelorat laughed. “I wouldn’t count on much boyish ardor, Bliss, but if I had it I could do worse than have it on your account, I think.”

Bliss said, “Oh, don’t discount your boyish ardor. I work wonders.”

Trevize said impatiently, “Once we get to where we’re going, how long will we have to wait for this Dom?”

“He will be waiting for you. After all, Dom-through-Gaia has worked for years to bring you here.”

Trevize stopped in midstep and looked quickly at Pelorat, who quietly mouthed: You were right.

Bliss, who was looking straight ahead, said calmly, “I know, Trev, that you have suspected that I/we/Gaia was interested in you.”

“‘I/we/Gaia’?” said Pelorat softly.

She turned to smile at him. “We have a whole complex of different pronouns to express the shades of individuality that exist on Gaia. I could explain them to you, but till then ‘I/we/Gaia’ gets across what I mean in a groping sort of way. —Please move on, Trev. Dom is waiting and I don’t wish to force your legs to move against your will. It is an uncomfortable feeling if you’re not used to it.”

Trevize moved on. His glance at Bliss was compounded of the deepest suspicion.

Dom was an elderly man. He recited the two hundred and fiftythree syllables of his name in a musical flowing of tone and emphasis.

“In a way,” he said, “it is a brief biography of myself. It tells the hearer—or reader, or senser—who I am, what part I have played in the whole, what I have accomplished. For fifty years and more, however, I have been satisfied to be referred to as Dom. When there are other Doms at issue, I can be called Domandio—and in my various professional relationships other variants are used. Once a Gaian year —on my birthday—my full name is recited-in-mind, as I have just recited it for you in voice. It is very effective, but it is personally embarrassing.”

He was tall and thin—almost to the point of emaciation. His deep-set eyes sparkled with anomalous youth, though he moved rather slowly. His jutting nose was thin and long and flared at the nostrils. His hands, prominently veined though they were, showed no signs of arthritic disability. He wore a long robe that was as gray as his hair. It descended to his ankles and his sandals left his toes bare.

Trevize said, “How old are you, sir?”

“Please address me as Dom, Trev. To use other modes of address induces formality and inhibits the free exchange of ideas between you and me. In Galactic Standard Years, I am just past ninety-three, but the real celebration will come not very many months from now, when I reach the ninetieth anniversary of my birth in Gaian years.”

“I would not have guessed you at more than seventy-five, s—Dom,” said Trevize.

“By Gaian standards I am not remarkable, either in years or in appearance of years, Trev. —But come, have we eaten?”

Pelorat looked down at his plate, on which perceptible remnants of a most unremarkable and indifferently prepared meal remained, and said in a diffident manner, “Dom, may I attempt to ask an embarrassing question? Of course, if it’s offensive, you will please say so, and I will withdraw it.”

“Go ahead,” said Dom, smiling. “I am anxious to explain to you anything about Gaia which arouses your curiosity.”

“Why?” said Trevize at once.

“Because you are honored guests— May I have Pel’s question?”

Pelorat said, “Since all things on Gaia share in the group consciousness, how is it that you—one element of the group—can eat this, which was clearly another element?”

“True! But all things recycle. We must eat and everything we can eat, plant as well as animal—even the inanimate seasonings—are part of Gaia. But, then, you see, nothing is killed for pleasure or sport, nothing is killed with unnecessary pain. And I’m afraid we make no attempt to glorify our meal preparations, for no Gaian would eat except that one must. You did not enjoy this meal, Pel? Trev? Well, meals are not to enjoy.

“Then, too, what is eaten remains, after all, part of the planetary consciousness. Insofar as portions of it are incorporated into my body, it will participate in a larger share of the total consciousness. When I die, I, too, will be eaten—even if only by decay bacteria— and I will then participate in a far smaller share of the total. But someday, parts of me will be parts of other human beings, parts of many.”

Pelorat said, “A sort of transmigration of souls.”

“Of what, Pel?”

“I speak of an old myth that is current on some worlds.”

“Ah, I don’t know of it. You must tell me on some occasion.”

Trevize said, “But your individual consciousness—whatever it is about you that is Dom—will never fully reassemble.”

“No, of course not. But does that matter? I will still be part of Gaia and that is what counts. There are mystics among us who wonder if we should take measures to develop group memories of past existences, but the sense-of-Gaia is that this cannot be done in any practical way and would serve no useful purpose. It would merely blur present consciousness. —Of course, as conditions change, the sense-of-Gaia may change, too, but I find no chance of that in the foreseeable future.”