Foundation and Earth (15 page)

Lizalor said, “You can’t be serious in this. Any government that kept the ship in the face of the Foundation’s desire to have it would surely experience the Foundation’s wrath, and history shows that the Foundation can be quite uncomfortably wrathful.”

Trevize said, “The Foundation’s wrath would only be exerted if the Foundation knew there was something to be wrathful about.”

“In that case, Trevize—if we assume your analysis of the situation is something other than mad—would it not be to your benefit to give us the ship and drive a hard bargain? We would pay well for the chance of having it quietly, according to your line of argument.”

“Could you then rely on my not reporting the matter to the Foundation?”

“Certainly. Since you would have to report your own part in it.”

“I could report having acted under duress.”

“Yes. Unless your good sense told you that your Mayor would never believe that. —Come, make a deal.”

Trevize shook his head. “I will not, Madam Lizalor. The ship is mine and it must stay mine. As I have told you, it will blow up with extraordinary power if you attempt to force an entry. I assure you I am telling you the truth. Don’t rely on its being a bluff.”

“
You
could open it, and reinstruct the computer.”

“Undoubtedly, but I won’t do that.”

Lizalor drew a heavy sigh. “You know we could make you change your mind—if not by what we could do to you, then by what we could do to your friend, Dr. Pelorat, or to the young woman.”

“Torture, Minister? Is that your law?”

“No, Councilman. But we might not have to do anything so crude. There is always the Psychic Probe.”

For the first time since entering the Minister’s apartment, Trevize felt an inner chill.

“You can’t do that either. The use of the Psychic Probe for anything but medical purposes is outlawed throughout the Galaxy.”

“But if we are driven to desperation—”

“I am willing to chance that,” said Trevize calmly, “for it would do you no good. My determination to retain my ship is so deep that the Psychic Probe would destroy my mind before it twisted it into giving it to you.” (
That
was a bluff, he thought, and the chill inside him deepened.) “And even if you were so skillful as to persuade me without destroying my mind and if I were to open the ship and disarm it and hand it over to you, it would still do you no good. The ship’s computer is even more advanced than the ship is, and it is designed somehow—I don’t know how—to work at its full potential only with me. It is what I might call a one-person computer.”

“Suppose, then, you retained your ship, and remained its pilot. Would you consider piloting it for us—as an honored Comporellian citizen? A large salary. Considerable luxury. Your friends, too.”

“No.”

“What is it you suggest? That we simply let you and your friends launch your ship and go off into the Galaxy? I warn you that before we allow you to do this, we might simply inform the Foundation that you are here with your ship, and leave all to them.”

“And lose the ship yourself?”

“If we must lose it, perhaps we would rather lose it to the Foundation than to an impudent Outworlder.”

“Then let me suggest a compromise of my own.”

“A compromise? Well, I will listen. Proceed.”

Trevize said carefully, “I am on an important mission. It began with Foundation support. That support seems to have been suspended, but the mission remains important. Let me have Comporellian support instead and if I complete the mission successfully, Comporellon will benefit.”

Lizalor wore a dubious expression. “And you will not return the ship to the Foundation?”

“I have never planned to do that. The Foundation would not be searching for the ship so desperately if
they
thought there was any intention of my casually returning it to them.”

“That is not quite the same thing as saying that you will give the ship to us.”

“Once I have completed the mission, the ship may be of no further use to me. In that case, I would not object to Comporellon having it.”

The two looked at each other in silence for a few moments.

Lizalor said, “You use the conditional. The ship ‘may be.’ That is of no value to us.”

“I could make wild promises, but of what value would that be to you? The fact that my promises are cautious and limited should show you that they are at least sincere.”

“Clever,” said Lizalor, nodding. “I like that. Well, what is your mission and how might it benefit Comporellon?”

Trevize said, “No, no, it is your turn. Will you support me if I show you that the mission is of importance to Comporellon?”

Minister Lizalor rose from the couch, a tall, overpowering presence. “I am hungry, Councilman Trevize, and I will get no further on an empty stomach. I will offer you something to eat and drink—in moderation. After that, we will finish the matter.”

And it seemed to Trevize that there was a rather carnivorous look of anticipation about her at that moment, so that he tightened his lips with just a bit of unease.

THE MEAL MIGHT HAVE BEEN A NOURISHING ONE, but it was not one to delight the palate. The main course consisted of boiled beef in a mustardy sauce, resting on a foundation of a leafy vegetable Trevize did not recognize. Nor did he like it for it had a bitter-salty taste he did not enjoy. He found out later it was a form of seaweed.

There was, afterward, a piece of fruit that tasted something like an apple tainted by peach (not bad, actually) and a hot, dark beverage that was bitter enough for Trevize to leave half behind and ask if he might have some cold water instead. The portions were all small, but, under the circumstances, Trevize did not mind.

The meal had been private, with no servants in view. The Minister had herself heated and served the food, and herself cleared away the dishes and cutlery.

“I hope you found the meal pleasant,” said Lizalor, as they left the dining room.

“Quite pleasant,” said Trevize, without enthusiasm.

The Minister again took her seat on the couch. “Let us return then,” she said, “to our earlier discussion. You had mentioned that Comporellon might resent the
Foundation’s lead in technology and its overlordship of the Galaxy. In a way that’s true, but that aspect of the situation would interest only those who are interested in interstellar politics, and they are comparatively few. What is much more to the point is that the average Comporellian is horrified at the immorality of the Foundation. There is immorality in most worlds, but it seems most marked in Terminus. I would say that any anti-Terminus animus that exists on this world is rooted in that, rather than in more abstract matters.”

“Immorality?” said Trevize, puzzled. “Whatever the faults of the Foundation you have to admit it runs its part of the Galaxy with reasonable efficiency and fiscal honesty. Civil rights are, by and large, respected and—”

“Councilman Trevize, I speak of
sexual
morality.”

“In that case, I certainly don’t understand you. We are a thoroughly moral society, sexually speaking. Women are well represented in every facet of social life. Our Mayor is a woman and nearly half the Council consists of—”

The Minister allowed a look of exasperation to fleet across her face. “Councilman, are you mocking me? Surely you know what sexual morality means. Is, or is not, marriage a sacrament upon Terminus?”

“What do you mean by sacrament?”

“Is there a formal marriage ceremony binding a couple together?”

“Certainly, if people wish it. Such a ceremony simplifies tax problems and inheritance.”

“But divorce can take place.”

“Of course. It would certainly be sexually immoral to keep people tied to each other, when—”

“Are there no religious restrictions?”

“Religious? There are people who make a philosophy out of ancient cults, but what has that to do with marriage?”

“Councilman, here on Comporellon, every aspect of sex is strongly controlled. It may not take place out of marriage. Its expression is limited even within
marriage. We are sadly shocked at those worlds, at Terminus, particularly, where sex seems to be considered a mere social pleasure of no great importance to be indulged in when, how, and with whom one pleases without regard to the values of religion.”

Trevize shrugged. “I’m sorry, but I can’t undertake to reform the Galaxy, or even Terminus—and what has this to do with the matter of my ship?”

“I’m talking about public opinion in the matter of your ship and how it limits my ability to compromise the matter. The people of Comporellon would be horrified if they found you had taken a young and attractive woman on board to serve the lustful urges of you and your companion. It is out of consideration for the safety of the three of you that I have been urging you to accept peaceful surrender in place of a public trial.”

Trevize said, “I see you have used the meal to think of a new type of persuasion by threat. Am I now to fear a lynch mob?”

“I merely point out dangers. Will you be able to deny that the woman you have taken on board ship is anything other than a sexual convenience?”

“Of course I can deny it. Bliss is the companion of my friend, Dr. Pelorat. He has no other competing companion. You may not define their state as marriage, but I believe that in Pelorat’s mind, and in the woman’s, too, there is a marriage between them.”

“Are you telling me you are not involved yourself?”

“Certainly not,” said Trevize. “What do you take me for?”

“I cannot tell. I do not know your notions of morality.”

“Then let me explain that my notions of morality tell me that I don’t trifle with my friend’s possessions—or his companionships.”

“You are not even tempted?”

“I can’t control the fact of temptation, but there’s no chance of my giving in to it.”

“No chance at all? Perhaps you are not interested in women.”

“Don’t you believe that. I am interested.”

“How long has it been since you have had sex with a woman?”

“Months. Not at all since I left Terminus.”

“Surely you don’t enjoy that.”

“I certainly don’t,” said Trevize, with strong feeling, “but the situation is such that I have no choice.”

“Surely your friend, Pelorat, noting your suffering, would be willing to share his woman.”

“I show him no evidence of suffering, but if I did, he would not be willing to share Bliss. Nor, I think, would the woman consent. She is not attracted to me.”

“Do you say that because you have tested the matter?”

“I have not tested it. I make the judgment without feeling the need to test it. In any case, I don’t particularly like her.”

“Astonishing! She is what a man would consider attractive.”

“Physically, she
is
attractive. Nevertheless, she does not appeal to me. For one thing, she is too young, too childlike in some ways.”

“Do you prefer women of maturity, then?”

Trevize paused. Was there a trap here? He said cautiously, “I am old enough to value some women of maturity. And what has this to do with my ship?”

Lizalor said, “For a moment, forget your ship. —I am forty-six years old, and I am not married. I have somehow been too busy to marry.”

“In that case, by the rules of your society, you must have remained continent all your life. Is that why you asked how long it had been since I have had sex? Are you asking my advice in the matter? —If so, I say it is not food and drink. It is uncomfortable to do without sex, but not impossible.”

The Minister smiled and there was again that carnivorous look in her eyes. “Don’t mistake me, Trevize.
Rank has its privileges and it is possible to be discreet. I am not altogether an abstainer. Nevertheless, Comporellian men are unsatisfying. I accept the fact that morality is an absolute good, but it does tend to burden the men of this world with guilt, so that they become unadventurous, unenterprising, slow to begin, quick to conclude, and, in general, unskilled.”

Trevize said, very cautiously, “There is nothing I can do about that, either.”

“Are you implying that the fault may be mine? That I am uninspiring?”

Trevize raised a hand. “I don’t say that at all.”

“In that case, how would
you
react, given the opportunity? You, a man from an immoral world, who must have had a vast variety of sexual experiences of all kinds, who is under the pressure of several months of enforced abstinence even though in the constant presence of a young and charming woman. How would
you
react in the presence of a woman such as myself, who is the mature type you profess to like?”

Trevize said, “I would behave with the respect and decency appropriate to your rank and importance.”

“Don’t be a fool!” said the Minister. Her hand went to the right side of her waist. The strip of white that encircled it came loose and unwound from her chest and neck. The bodice of her black gown hung noticeably looser.

Trevize sat frozen. Had this been in her mind since—when? Or was it a bribe to accomplish what threats had not?

The bodice flipped down, along with its sturdy reinforcement at the breasts. The Minister sat there, with a look of proud disdain on her face, and bare from the waist up. Her breasts were a smaller version of the woman herself—massive, firm, and overpoweringly impressive.

“Well?” she said.

Trevize said, in all honesty, “Magnificent!”

“And what will you do about it?”

“What does morality dictate on Comporellon, Madam Lizalor?”

“What is that to a man of Terminus? What does
your
morality dictate? —And begin. My chest is cold and wishes warmth.”

Trevize stood up and began to disrobe.

TREVIZE FELT ALMOST DRUGGED, AND WONDERED how much time had elapsed.

Beside him lay Mitza Lizalor, Minister of Transportation. She was on her stomach, head to one side, mouth open, snoring distinctly. Trevize was relieved that she was asleep. Once she woke up, he hoped she would be quite aware that she had been asleep.