Asimov’s Future History Volume 20 Read online

  Nor did Trevize believe that his knowledge made him irreplacable. Mitza Lizalor undoubtedly thought so, but Goron Bek just as undoubtedly did not. The only irreplacable man in Bek’s world was Bek. The Defence Minister would not hesitate for a moment to have Trevize executed.

  Which meant that Trevize was faced with the choice of abetting either an innocent man’s murder or his own suicide. It seemed to him that his only viable course of action was to act on Bek’s order as slowly as was safely possible and hope that he was freed from Bek’s control before it became necessary for him to actually sacrifice one of his men.

  Fortunately, the wording of Bek’s directive allowed him some leeway. Since the ostensible purpose of the directive was to discover a saboteur among the members of the Gravitics Project, Trevize would be able to spend a certain amount of time actually looking for evidence of sabotage. He knew he couldn’t drag out his investigation indefinitely, but while he could, he would. Was it possible that his investigation might uncover a genuine saboteur? Trevize didn’t think so. He knew that the Gravitics Project was moving ahead as quickly as possible, and he believed that his own intuition would have alerted him already to the presence of a real saboteur. He would be playing for time, and nothing more.

  With a sigh, Trevize began composing a report to Bek outlining the proposed course of his investigation.

  Part 16: Selection

  GORON BEK WAS being blunt, for him. “Director Trevize, your progress in implementing directive DM-322-303-1 has been unsatisfactory.” In an ordinary conversation, Golan Trevize would have offered either an apology, an excuse, or an explanation. However, he knew that Bek was interested in none of these, so he remained silent and waited for the Defense Minister to continue.

  “Unless you wish to face charges of obstructionism, I expect you to comply with the directive, most especially with regard to paragraph four subsection C. I expect you to have a suitable candidate available for implementation of the remedial phase of the directive in time for our next meeting.” “Yes, Minister.”

  “That will be all for now, Director.”

  “Yes, Minister.”

  Walking back to the Project compound, Trevize’s mind was heavy. Translated into plain Galactic, Bek had just ordered Trevize to identify one of the members of his research team as a traitor and saboteur, in his next report to Bek. The consequences would be swift and deadly: arrest, a mock trial, and a quick execution. Whoever Trevize named would likely be dead within hours of his next meeting with Bek.

  After reaching the Project compound, Trevize went straight to his office, sat behind his desk, and stared at the top. Sometime within the next twenty-four Comporellian hours, he would have to condemn an innocent man to death; either one of his subordinates, or himself.

  All right, he said to his alleged intuition, you’re supposed to be infallible. Tell me what to do next.

  There was no answer.

  Trevize broke with his regular routine tour of inspection around the Project compound, choosing instead to remain within his office. Denrun and the others, perhaps sensing his mood, did not interrupt him. The Comporellian hours, shorter than the Standard hours to reflect Comporellon’s shorter day, passed by Trevize with terrifying speed. He tried to read status reports, tried to write status reports, tried to sleep, tried to eat. It was impossible to do anything while his last fatal Investigation Report to Minister Bek remained unwritten. Finally, in the small hours of the morning, Trevize opened the file on his investigation, and sat looking at the blank screen that would eventually become somebody’s death sentence. His fingers began tapping at the computer’s keyboard, and the bland, verbose opening sentences of the report appeared on the screen. Trevize was barely aware of any conscious thought as the sentences became paragraphs, the paragraphs pages, and the pages a finished document. With all the terrible finality of a murderer pressing the contact of a blaster, Trevize pressed the key that would enter the report in his file, and send a copy to the identical file in Goron Bek’s computer.

  Only then did it seem to Trevize that perhaps his intuition had been guiding his fingers after all. The realization came to him that he did not, after all, have it within him to order another man’s death. He had chosen to return to Comporellon, he had accepted leadership of the Gravitics Project, and now the responsibility for the outcome rested on him alone. If that meant choosing his own death, then so be it.

  Golan Trevize smiled for the first time in weeks as he read the name he had defiantly named in his report: Goron Bek.

  His computer chirped at him, and a message appeared on the screen to remind him that it was time for his daily meeting with the Minister of Defense. Still smiling, Trevize rose from his desk, left his office, and went out to the compound’s exit to meet his escort.

  As the door to the outside slid open, however, the face that met him was not the face of Captain Weklin, his usual escort. Instead, Trevize found himself looking at a man in the black uniform of the Ministry of Security. Furthermore, the man was familiar, though it took a moment for Trevize to place him. The last time Trevize had seen this man had been during his first visit to Comporellon with Janov and Bliss.

  “You’re the taxi driver!” Trevize exclaimed.

  The black-uniformed man nodded at Trevize, clearly pleased at being remembered. He said, “You are correct, sir. Lt. Herris Mindollo of the Comporellian Security Force. I did indeed have the pleasure of escorting you and your companions to the Ministry of Transportation during your initial visit to our world.”

  “Against our will, as you’ll doubtless recall.”

  Lt. Mindollo nodded again. “These things are sometimes necessary in my line of work. I think you’ll agree that matters did eventually resolve themselves to your satisfaction.”

  Was that a veiled reference to Trevize’s first tryst with Mitza Lizalor? Not that that mattered right now. Trevize asked, “Are you here to escort me to Minister Bek’s office?”

  Oddly enough, Lt. Mindollo seemed to be having trouble keeping his expression neutral. Trevize had the strange impression that the security man was trying to keep from grinning at him. Mindollo replied, “I’m here to escort you to the office that was Bek’s.”

  “Was?”

  “Yes, was. Goron Bek is no longer Minister of Defense. He has been arrested on charges of attempting to sabotage the Gravitics Project.” Stunned, it took Trevize several seconds to formulate a response. He finally said, “Who has been chosen to replace him?”

  Lt. Mindollo said, “You have … Minister Trevize.”

  Part 17: Promotions

  IT WAS FORTUNATE for Golan Trevize that there was nobody standing in his way as he walked the corridors of the Ministry of Defense, for if there had been, he would have bumped into them. His attention was completely focused on his escort, Lt. Herris Mindollo of the Comporellian Security Force.

  “Would you mind very much repeating that, Lt. Mindollo?” The security officer clearly did not mind at all. “I said that you have been chosen to replace Goron Bek as Minister of Defense.”

  “How in the Galaxy did that happen?”

  “In the usual fashion,” said Mindollo. “After the position was made vacant by Bek’s arrest, the First Minister appointed someone else to fill it. In this case, you.”

  “Why would First Minister Erkar make me his Defense Minister?” “First Minister Erkar didn’t.”

  By now, Trevize’s mind had begun working well enough for him to figure out what Lt. Mindollo was getting at. He said, “Because Dinnis Erkar isn’t First Minister anymore.”

  Mindollo nodded. “Citizen Erkar has chosen to retire permanently to his vacation home on the Southern Peninsula. His replacement is waiting to meet you in your new office.”

  And then the two men were standing in front of the door to that office. The white-on-gray words had already been changed from “Goron Bek, Min-Def” to “Golan Trevize, Min-Def”. Lt. Mindollo touched the lettering, which glowed briefly, and then the door slid open. />
  The cavernous office within was the same, but the figure standing beside the desk was not Goron Bek. Instead, as Trevize had somehow been half expecting, it was Mitza Lizalor.

  Mindollo saluted Lizalor and said, “First Minister, I present Minister Trevize.”

  Lizalor nodded to Mindollo and said, “I thank you, Lieutenant. Please remain with us for a moment.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Mindollo responded crisply as he stood at attention. “Golan Trevize,” Lizalor continued, “on behalf of the Emergency Policy Formulation Group and the citizens of the Commonwealth of Comporellon, I hereby nominate you for the position of Minister of Defense. Do you swear to fulfill the duties and obligations incumbent upon the office of Minister of Defense, to uphold the laws of the Commonwealth of Comporellon, and to defend the Commonwealth against all foes, foreign and domestic?”

  “I do,” said Trevize.

  “Then Golan Trevize, I hereby appoint you to the position of Minister of Defense for the Commonwealth of Comporellon.” Stepping forward, Lizalor took Trevize by the shoulders and bestowed a formal kiss upon each cheek. Trevize was half tempted to kneel down like a character from an Imperial drama. Instead, he returned Lizalor’s formal kisses and took a step back. Lt. Mindollo saluted Trevize, then turned sharply on his heel and left the room. As soon as the door had shut behind them, Trevize found himself buried under Mitza Lizalor’s fierce embrace, and the kisses she bestowed upon him were considerably more than a formality. Trevize returned her embrace with equal feeling, and the two remained that way for a long time.

  Finally, Mitza pulled back enough to look him in the face, and said, “You, Golan my love, are the most irrepressible madman I have ever met in my life! Sending Bek a report accusing him of sabotaging the Gravitics Project!” “I take it you’ve read it, then,” said Trevize.

  Lizalor shook her head, but Trevize knew she was confirming his guess. “The sheer brazen effrontery of it! Magnificent! Impossible! You mad fool!” She threw her arms around him again, and it was all that Trevize could do to keep her from crushing the life out of him. “Whatever possessed you to do such a thing?”

  When Trevize had recovered his breath, he said, “I knew that if I didn’t accuse one of my team, Bek would have me arrested and executed. I also knew that I didn’t have it in me to sacrifice one of my men to save myself. At that point, I knew I was doomed, so I decided I might as well go out in a blaze of glory. Also, it would probably be my only chance to let Bek know what I really thought of him, and I couldn’t pass that up!

  “Just out of curiosity,” he added, “how did you come to read it?” Lizalor was silent for a time, then she said, “After Erkar let Bek steal you from me, I knew I could expect no help from the First Minister. At that point, there was only one man in the Administration who would be able to help me.” “The Minister of State Security,” said Trevize.

  “The same,” said Lizalor. “Security and Defense have always been rivals within the Presidium, and with Bek in control of the Gravitics Project, it was clear that Defense was in the ascendant. I went to Minister Banasek and offered an alliance. If he gained me access to the contents of Bek’s computer, I would provide him with evidence that would allow him to discredit Bek and Erkar both. He agreed, and I set about finding him his evidence.” Trevize said, “And the evidence you showed him was directive DM-322-308-1.” “Correct.” Lizalor shook her head again in disbelief. “I will never understand how you were able to persuade him to issue such an incriminating document. And if anything else were needed, your final report denouncing Bek was it. Minister Banasek told me that your final report alone would have convinced him of the need to eliminate Bek. He was dubious at first about my plan to set you in Bek’s place, but your report convinced him of that as well. He spoke eloquently in praise of your courage.”

  “And he also knows about our affair,” said Trevize.

  That brought Lizalor up short. “What makes you say that?” “It stands to reason. Why would he allow you to become First Minister, and me to become head of a rival Ministry, unless he had some sort of hold over both of us? And the most obvious hold would be knowledge and evidence of an illicit affair between the two of us. All he has to do is reveal our wrongdoing to the populace at large, and the two of us will find ourselves out of power just as surely as Erkar and Bek are now.”

  The look on Mitza Lizalor’s face made Trevize wish his intuition wasn’t so accurate.

  Part 18: A Sign from the Past

  IRONICALLY, NOW THAT Trevize was Minister of Defense, it made sense to keep the Gravitics Project where it was. Kuel Denrun was once again appointed Project Director, and the locks and guards were removed from the Project compound. Trevize wondered how many of the men on the Project would notice.

  The Gravitics Project was now only one of the matters facing Trevize, though still the most important one. He had assumed responsibility for a vast government bureaucracy charged with the defense of the 37 worlds that made up the Commonwealth of Comporellon. He would be allocating resources, awarding contracts, and overseeing the implementation of strategic policies. True, Comporellon hadn’t fought a war in nearly a century. With the rise of the Foundation, the chaos that had shaken the Sirius Sector since the fall of the Empire had gradually vanished, leaving the Comporellian military with little to do but maintain itself in a state of readiness and plan for various increasingly unlikely contingencies.

  Fortunately, the Min-Def (as the Comporellians called it) largely ran itself, in the manner of established bureaucracies everywhere. Most of Trevize’s work at first consisted of learning what each of the various subministries and subdepartments was involved in. There just weren’t enough hours in the day to stay on top of it all, and Trevized joked to Lizalor that he was now more of a prisoner than he had been under Bek.

  And at the back of Trevize’s mind was the nagging sense of an approaching crisis. Ever since he had returned to Comporellon and begun work on the Gravitics Project, Trevize had had the feeling that he was racing the clock to prevent some sort of catastrophe. He didn’t know what that catastrophe might be or when it might occur, only that Comporellon’s drive to recreate the Foundation’s gravitic drive technology was the key to dealing with it.

  Another consequence of his new position was that Trevize no longer saw Lizalor every day. She was even busier dealing with her new duties as First Minister than he was dealing with the Ministry of Defense. What was more, there was the knowledge that Security Minister Banasek knew of their illicit liaison. Logically, they shouldn’t have let the knowledge affect their relationship; after all, he could already ruin both their careers with what he knew. Adding a few more trysts to his files wouldn’t make the situation any worse. Nevertheless, they knew they were being watched, and it made them more reticent with each other.

  So it was that after calling it a day at the Min-Def, Trevize found himself at loose ends. He didn’t socialize with his subordinates at the Gravitics Project, and he couldn’t appear in public with Lizalor, and he didn’t really know anybody else on Comporellon. He took the tubeway from the Defense Building to a large shopping district he had heard of a few kilometers away.

  Once again Trevize felt as though he was walking in a historical book-film through the subterranean world of lost Trantor. Half a dozen levels rose above him, each one crowded with shops selling various goods and services, all covered over by a clear dome displaying a cloudy sky. Here at last the Comporellian preference for shades of gray had been set aside, and colors rioted everywhere he looked, with the drably-dressed Comporellians providing a kind of sober contrast. Trevize walked slowly along the concourse, stopping from time to time to look at kittens playing in the window of a pet store, displays of toys, art supplies, games, clothing, food from worlds across the Galaxy.

  From the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of a symbol out of history, and he had to stop and search to make sure that he hadn’t imagined it. Tucked in between a Rhodian restaurant and an appliance outlet, th
ere was a maroon-colored storefront with no merchandise on display. Instead, above the door, there was a sign showing an open hand outlined against a rayed sun. There was a sign like that in the heart of Terminus City, carved into the permacrete of a four hundred year old building that had once served as the holiest shrine in the Galactic Periphery: the Temple School of the Church of Science.

  This was the religion that Salvor Hardin had allowed to grow up in the Four Kingdoms, and which he used as an instrument of control against the ambitious monarchs of those distant days. It didn’t merit any mention in the history books after Hober Mallow had ended its role as the Foundation’s state religion, but Trevize knew in a vague sort of way that it had continued to spread across the Galaxy.

  It was a tiny touch of home in the center of a vast, unfamiliar world, and Trevize found himself drawn to it. A red-robed priest emerged from the doorway, and he noticed Trevize gazing up at the sign. “Would you like to come inside, my son?” he said in a voice with the same Comporellian accent as Lizalor’s.