Foundation's Edge f-6 Read online

  “Not Terminus Spaceport, Madam Mayor? Am I to be deprived of a proper farewell from weeping thousands?”

  “I see you have recovered your penchant for teenage silliness, Councilman, and I am pleased. It stills what might otherwise be a certain rising twinge of conscience. At Ultimate Spaceport, you and Professor Pelorat will leave quietly.”

  “And never return?”

  “And perhaps never return. Of course,” and here she smiled briefly, “if you discover something of so great an importance and usefulness that even I will be glad to have you back with your information, you will return. You may even be treated with honor.”

  Trevize nodded casually, “That may happen.”

  “Almost anything may happen. —In any case, you will be comfortable. You are being assigned a recently completed pocket-cruiser, the Far Star, named for Hober Mallow’s cruiser. One person can handle it, though it will hold as many as three with reasonable comfort.”

  Trevize was jolted out of his carefully assumed mood of light irony. “Fully armed?”

  “Unarmed but otherwise fully equipped. Wherever you go, you will be citizens of the Foundation and there will always be a consul to whom you can turn, so you will not require arms. You will be able to draw on funds at need. —Not unlimited funds, I might add.”

  “You are generous.”

  “I know that, Councilman. But, Councilman, understand me. You are helping Professor Pelorat search for Earth. Whatever you think you are searching for, you are searching for Earth. All whom you meet must understand that. And always remember that the Far Star is not armed.”

  “I am searching for Earth,” said Trevize. “I understand that perfectly.”

  “Then you will go now.”

  “Pardon me, but surely there is more to all of this than we have discussed. I have piloted ships in my time, but I have had no experience with a late-model pocket-cruiser. What if I cannot pilot it?”

  “I am told that the Far Star is thoroughly computerized. —And before you ask, you don’t have to know how to handle a late-model ship’s computer. It will itself tell you anything you need to know. Is there anything else you need?”

  Trevize looked down at himself ruefully. “A change of clothing.”

  “You will find them on board ship. Including those girdles you wear, or sashes, whichever they are called. The professor is also supplied with what he needs. Everything reasonable is already aboard, although I hasten to add that this does not include female companions.”

  “Too bad,” said Trevize. “It would be pleasant, but then, I have no likely candidate at the moment, as it happens. Still, I presume the Galaxy is populous and that once away from here I may do as I please.”

  “With regard to companions? Suit yourself.”

  She rose heavily. “I will not take you to the spaceport,” she said, “but there are those who will, and you must make no effort to do anything you are not told to do. I believe they will kill you if you make an effort to escape. The fact that I will not be with them will remove any inhibition.”

  Trevize said, “I will make no unauthorized effort, Madam Mayor, but one thing—”

  “Yes?”

  Trevize searched his mind rapidly and finally said with a smile that he very much hoped looked unforced, “The time may come, Madam Mayor, when you will ask me for an effort. I will then do as I choose, but I will remember the past two days.”

  Mayor Branno sighed. “Spare me the melodrama. If the time comes, it will come, but for now—I am asking for nothing.”

  4

  SPACE

  1.

  The ship looked even more impressive than Trevize—with his memories of the time when the new cruiser-class had been glowingly publicized—had expected.

  It was not the size that was impressive—for it was rather small. It was designed for maneuverability and speed, for totally gravitic engines, and most of all for advanced computerization. It didn’t need size—size would have defeated its purpose.

  It was a one-man device that could replace, with advantage, the older ships that required a crew of a dozen or more. With a second or even a third person to establish shifts of duty, one such ship could fight off a flotilla of much larger non-Foundation ships. In addition, it could outspeed and escape from any other ship in existence.

  There was a sleekness about it—not a wasted line, not a superfluous curve inside or out. Every cubic meter of volume was used to its maximum, so as to leave a paradoxical aura of spaciousness within. Nothing the Mayor might have said about the importance of his mission could have impressed Trevize more than the ship with which he was asked to perform it.

  Branno the Bronze, he thought with chagrin, had maneuvered him into a dangerous mission of the greatest significance. He might not have accepted with such determination had she not so arranged matters that he wanted to show her what he could do.

  As for Pelorat, he was transported with wonder. “Would you believe,” he said, placing a gentle finger on the hull before he had climbed inside, “that I’ve never been close to a spaceship?”

  “I’ll believe it, of course, if you say so, Professor, but how did you manage it?”

  “I scarcely know, to be honest with you, dear fel—, I mean, my dear Trevize. I presume I was overly concerned with my research. When one’s home has a really excellent computer capable of reaching other computers anywhere in the Galaxy, one scarcely needs to budge, you know. —Somehow I expected spaceships to be larger than this.”

  “This is a small model, but even so, it’s much larger inside than any other ship of this size.”

  “How can that be? You are making fun of my ignorance.”

  “No, no. I’m serious. This is one of the first ships to be completely graviticized.”

  “What does that mean? —But please don’t explain if it requires extensive physics. I will take your word, as you took mine yesterday in connection with the single species of humanity and the single world of origin.”

  “Let’s try, Professor Pelorat. Through all the thousands of years of space flight, we’ve had chemical motors and ionic motors and hyperatomic motors, and all these things have been bulky. The old Imperial Navy had ships five hundred meters long with no more living space in them than would fit into a small apartment. Fortunately the Foundation has specialized in miniaturization through all the centuries of its existence, thanks to its lack of material resources. This ship is the culmination. It makes use of antigravity and the device that makes that possible takes up virtually no space and is actually included in the hull. If it weren’t that we still need the hyperatomic—”

  A Security guard approached. “You will have to get on, gentlemen!”

  The sky was growing light, though sunrise was still half an hour off.

  Trevize looked about. “Is my baggage loaded?”

  “Yes, Councilman, you will find the ship fully equipped.”

  “With clothing, I suppose, that is not my size or to my taste.”

  The guard smiled, quite suddenly and almost boyishly. “I think it is,” he said. “The Mayor had us working overtime these last thirty or forty hours and we’ve matched what you had closely. Money no object. Listen,” he looked about, as though to make sure no one noticed his sudden fraternization, “you two are lucky. Best ship in the world. Fully equipped, except for armament. You’re swimming in cream.”

  “Sour cream, possibly,” said Trevize. “Well, Professor, are you ready?”

  “With this I am,” Pelorat said and held up a square wafer about twenty centimeters to the side and encased in a jacket of silvery plastic. Trevize was suddenly aware that Pelorat had been holding it since they had left his home, shifting it from hand to hand and never putting it down, even when they had stopped for a quick breakfast.

  “What’s that, Professor?”

  “My library. It’s indexed by subject matter and origin and I’ve gotten it all into one wafer. If you think this ship is a marvel, how about this wafer? A whole library! Ev
erything I have collected! Wonderful! Wonderful!”

  “Well,” said Trevize, “we are swiming in cream.”

  2.

  Trevize marveled at the inside of the ship. The utilization of space was ingenious. There was a storeroom, with supplies of food, clothing, films, and games. There was a gym, a parlor, and two nearly identical bedrooms.

  “This one,” said Trevize, “must be yours, Professor. At least, it contains an FX Reader.”

  “Good,” said Pelorat with satisfaction. “What an ass I have been to avoid space flight as I have. I could live here, my dear Trevize, in utter satisfaction.”

  “Roomier than I expected,” said Trevize with pleasure.

  “And the engines are really in the hull, as you said?”

  “The controlling devices are, at any rate. We don’t have to store fuel or make use of it on the spot. We’re making use of the fundamental energy store of the Universe, so that the fuel and the engines are all—out there.” He gestured vaguely.

  “Well, now that I think of it—what if something goes wrong?”

  Trevize shrugged. “I’ve been trained in space navigation, but not on these ships. If something goes wrong with the gravitics, I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do about it.”

  “But can you run this ship? Pilot it?”

  “I’m wondering that myself.”

  Pelorat said, “Do you suppose this is an automated ship? Might we not merely be passengers? We might simply be expected to sit here.”

  “They have such things in the case of ferries between planets and space stations within a stellar system, but I never heard of automated hyperspace travel. At least, not so far. —Not so far.”

  He looked about again and there was a trickle of apprehension within him. Had that harridan Mayor managed to maneuver that far ahead of him? Had the Foundation automated interstellar travel, too, and was he going to be deposited on Trantor quite against his will, and with no more to say about it than any of the rest of the furniture aboard ship?

  He said with a cheerful animation he didn’t feel, “Professor, you sit down. The Mayor said this ship was completely computerized. If your room has the FX Reader, mine ought to have a computer in it. Make yourself comfortable and let me look around a bit on my own.”

  Pelorat looked instantly anxious. “Trevize, my dear chap—You’re not getting off the ship, are you?”

  “Not my plan at all, Professor. And if I tried, you can count on my being stopped. It is not the Mayor’s intention to allow me off. All I’m planning to do is to learn what operates the Far Star.” He smiled, “I won’t desert you, Professor.”

  He was still smiling as he entered what he felt to be his own bedroom, but his face grew sober as he closed the door softly behind him. Surely there must be some means of communicating with a planet in the neighborhood of the ship. It was impossible to imagine a ship deliberately sealed off from its surroundings and, therefore, somewhere—perhaps in a wall recess—there would have to be a Reacher. He could use it to call the Mayor’s office to ask about controls.

  Carefully he inspected the walls, the headboard of the bed, and the neat, smooth furniture. If nothing turned up here, he would go through the rest of the ship.

  He was about to turn away when his eye caught a glint of light on the smooth, light brown surface of the desk. A round circle of light, with neat lettering that read: COMPUTER INSTRUCTIONS.

  Ah!

  Nevertheless his heart beat rapidly. There were computers and computers, and there were programs that took a long time to master. Trevize had never made the mistake of underestimating his own intelligence, but, on the other hand, he was not a Grand Master. There were those who had a knack for using a computer, and those who had not—and Trevize knew very well into which class he fell.

  In his hitch in the Foundation Navy, he had reached the rank of lieutenant and had, on occasion, been officer of the day and had had occasion to use the ship’s computer. He had never been in sole charge of it; however, and he had never been expected to know anything more than the routine maneuvers being officer of the day required.

  He remembered, with a sinking feeling, the volumes taken up by a fully described program in printout, and he could recall the behavior of Technical Sergeant Krasnet at the console of the ship’s computer. He played it as though it were the most complex musical instrument in the Galaxy, and did it all with an air of nonchalance, as though he were bored at its simplicity—yet even he had had to consult the volumes at times, swearing at himself in embarrassment.

  Hesitantly Trevize placed a finger on the circle of light and at once the light spread out to cover the desk top. On it were the outline of two hands: a right and a left. With a sudden, smooth movement, the desk top tilted to an angle of forty-five degrees.

  Trevize took the seat before the desk. No words were necessary. It was clear what he was expected to do.

  He placed his hands on the outlines on the desk, which were positioned for him to do so without strain. The desk top seemed soft, nearly velvety, where he touched it—and his hands sank in.

  He stared at his hands with astonishment, for they had not sunk in at all. They were on the surface, his eyes told him. Yet to his sense of touch it was as though the desk surface had given way, and as though something were holding his hands softly and warmly.

  Was that all?

  Now what?

  He looked about and then closed his eyes in response to a suggestion.

  He had heard nothing. He had heard nothing!

  But inside his brain, as though it were a vagrant thought of his own, there was the sentence, “Please close your eyes. Relax. We will make connection.”

  Through the hands?

  Somehow Trevize had always assumed that if one were going to communicate by thought with a computer, it would be through a hood placed over the head and with electrodes against the eyes and skull.

  The hands?

  But why not the hands? Trevize found himself floating away, almost drowsy, but with no loss of mental acuity. Why not the hands?

  The eyes were no more than sense organs. The brain was no more than a central switchboard, encased in bone and removed from the working surface of the body. It was the hands that were the working surface, the hands that felt and manipulated the Universe.

  Human beings thought with their hands. It was their hands that were the answer of curiosity, that felt and pinched and turned and lifted and hefted. There were animals that had brains of respectable size, but they had no hands and that made all the difference.

  And as he and the computer held hands, their thinking merged and it no longer mattered whether his eyes were open or closed. Opening them did not improve his vision nor did closing them dim it.

  Either way, he saw the room with complete clarity—not just in the direction in which he was looking, but all around and above and below.

  He saw every room in the spaceship and he saw outside as well. The sun had risen and its brightness was dimmed in the morning mist, but he could look at it directly without being dazzled, for the computer automatically filtered the light waves.

  He felt the gentle wind and its temperature, and the sounds of the world about him. He detected the planet’s magnetic field and the tiny electrical charges on the wall of the ship.

  He became aware of the controls of the ship, without even knowing what they were in detail. He knew only that if he wanted to lift the ship, or turn it, or accelerate it, or make use of any of its abilities, the process was the same as that of performing the analogous process to his body. He had but to use his will.

  Yet his will was not unalloyed. The computer itself could override. At the present moment, there was a formed sentence in his head and he knew exactly when and how the ship would take off. There was no flexibility where that was concerned. Thereafter, he knew just as surely, he would himself be able to decide.

  He found—as he cast the net of his computer-enhanced consciousness outward—that he could sense the con
dition of the upper atmosphere; that he could see the weather patterns; that he could detect the other ships that were swarming upward and the others that were settling downward. All of this had to be taken into account and the computer was taking it into account. If the computer had not been doing so, Trevize realized, he need only desire the computer to do so—and it would be done.

  So much for the volumes of programming; there were none. Trevize thought of Technical Sergeant Krasnet and smiled. He had read often enough of the immense revolution that gravitics would make in the world, but the fusion of computer and mind was still a state secret. It would surely produce a still greater revolution.

  He was aware of time passing. He knew exactly what time it was by Terminus Local and by Galactic Standard.

  How did he let go?

  And even as the thought entered his mind, his hands were released and the desk top moved back to its original position—and Trevize was left with his own unaided senses.

  He felt blind and helpless as though, for a time, he had been held and protected by a superbeing and now was abandoned. Had he not known that he could make contact again at any time, the feeling might have reduced him to tears.

  As it was he merely struggled for re-orientation, for adjustment to limits, then rose uncertainly to his feet and walked out of the room.

  Pelorat looked up. He had adjusted his Reader, obviously, and he said, “It works very well. It has an excellent Search Program. —Did you find the controls, my boy?”

  “Yes, Professor. All is well.”

  “In that case, shouldn’t we do something about takeoff? I mean, self-protection? Aren’t we supposed to strap ourselves in or something? I looked about for instructions, but I didn’t find anything and that made me nervous. I had to turn to my library. Somehow when I am at my work—”

  Trevize had been pushing his hands at the professor as though to dam and stop the flood of words. Now he had to speak loudly in order to override him. “None of that is necessary, Professor. Antigravity is the equivalent of non-inertia. There is no feeling of acceleration when velocity changes, since everything on the ship undergoes the change simultaneously.”