The three stared at each other for a while and then Compor felt it necessary to repeat. He said, “I tell you, there’s no Earth. There’s no use looking for it.”
2.
Janov Pelorat’s face was, for once, not expressionless. It was not that there was passion in it—or any of the more unstable emotions. It was that his eyes had narrowed—and that a kind of fierce intensity had filled every plane of his face.
He said, and his voice lacked any trace of its usual tentative quality, “How did you say you know all this?”
“I told you,” said Compor. “It’s my heritage.”
“Don’t be silly, young man. You are a Councilman. That means you must be born on one of the Federation worlds—Smyrno, I think you said earlier.”
“That’s right.”
“Well then, what heritage are you talking about? Are you telling me that you possess Sirian genes that fill you with inborn knowledge of the Sirian myths concerning Earth?”
Compor looked taken aback. “No, of course not.”
“Then what are you talking about?”
Compor paused and seemed to gather his thoughts. He said quietly, “My family has old books of Sirian history. An external heritage, not an internal one. It’s not something we talk about outside, especially if one is intent on political advancement. Trevize seems to think I am, but, believe me, I mention it only to good friends.”
There was a trace of bitterness in his voice. “Theoretically all Foundation citizens are alike, but those from the old worlds of the Federation are more alike than those from the newer ones—and those that trace from worlds outside the Federation are least alike of all. But, never mind that. Aside from the books, I once visited the old worlds. Trevize—hey, there—”
Trevize had wandered off toward one end of the room, looking out a triangular window. It served to let in a view of the sky and to diminish the view of the city—more light and more privacy. Trevize stretched upward to look down.
He returned through the empty room. “Interesting window design,” he said. “You called me, Councilman?”
“Yes. Remember the postcollegiate tour I took?”
“After graduation? I remember very well. We were pals. Pals forever. Foundation of trust. Two against the world. You went off on your tour. I joined the Navy, full of patriotism. Somehow I didn’t think I wanted to tour with you—some instinct told me not to. I wish the instinct had stayed with me.”
Compor did not rise to the bait. He said, “I visited Comporellon. Family tradition said that my ancestors had come from there—at least on my father’s side. We were of the ruling family in ancient times before the Empire absorbed us, and my name is derived from the world—or so the family tradition has it. We had an old, poetic name for the star Comporellon circled—Epsilon Eridani.”
“What does that mean?” asked Pelorat.
Compor shook his head. “I don’t know that it has any meaning. Just tradition. They live with a great deal of tradition. It’s an old world. They have long, detailed records of Earth’s history, but no one talks about it much. They’re superstitious about it. Every time they mention the word, they lift up both hands with first and second fingers crossed to ward off misfortune.”
“Did you tell this to anyone when you came back?”
“Of course not. Who would be interested? And I wasn’t going to force the tale on anyone. No, thank you! I had a political career to develop and the last thing I want is to stress my foreign origin.”
“What about the satellite? Describe Earth’s satellite,” said Pelorat sharply.
Compor looked astonished. “I don’t know anything about that.”
“Does it have one?”
“I don’t recall reading or hearing about it. But I’m sure if you’ll consult the Comporellonian records, you can find out.”
“But you know nothing?”
“Not about the satellite. Not that I recall.”
“Huh! How did Earth come to be radioactive?”
Compor shook his head and said nothing.
Pelorat said, “Think! You must have heard something.”
“It was seven years ago, Professor. I didn’t know then you’d be questioning me about it now. There was some sort of legend—they considered it history—”
“What was the legend?”
“Earth was radioactive—ostracized and mistreated by the Empire, its population dwindling—and it was going to destroy the Empire somehow.”
“One dying world was going to destroy the whole Empire?” interposed Trevize.
Compor said defensively, “I said it was a legend. I don’t know the details. Bel Arvardan was involved in the tale, I know.”
“Who was he?” asked Trevize.
“A historical character. I looked him up. He was an honest-to-Galaxy archaeologist back in the early days of the Empire and he maintained that Earth was in the Sirius Sector.”
“I’ve heard the name,” said Pelorat.
“He’s a folk hero in Comporellon. Look, if you want to know these things—go to Comporellon. It’s no use hanging around here.”
Pelorat said, “Just how did they say Earth planned to destroy the Empire?”
“Don’t know.” A certain sullenness was entering Compor’s voice.
“Did the radiation have anything to do with it?”
“Don’t know. There were tales of some mind-expander developed on Earth—a Synapsifier or something.”
“Did it create superminds?” said Pelorat in deepest tones of incredulity.
“I don’t think so. What I chiefly remember is that it didn’t work. People became bright and died young.”
Trevize said, “It was probably a morality myth. If you ask for too much, you lose even that which you have.”
Pelorat turned on Trevize in annoyance. “What do you know of morality myths?”
Trevize raised his eyebrows. “Your field may not be my field, Janov, but that doesn’t mean I’m totally ignorant.”
“What else do you remember about what you call the Synapsifier, Councilman Compor?” asked Pelorat.
“Nothing, and I won’t submit to any further cross-examination. Look, I followed you on orders from the Mayor. I was not ordered to make personal contact with you. I have done so only to warn you that you were followed and to tell you that you had been sent out to serve the Mayor’s purposes, whatever those might be. There was nothing else I should have discussed with you, but you surprised me by suddenly bringing up the matter of Earth. Well, let me repeat: Whatever there has existed there in the past—Bel Arvardan, the Synapsifier, whatever—that has nothing to do with what exists now. I’ll tell you again: Earth is a dead world. I strongly advise you to go to Comporellon, where you’ll find out everything you want to know. Just get away from here.”
“And, of course, you will dutifully tell the Mayor that we’re going to Comporellon—and you’ll follow us to make sure. Or maybe the Mayor knows already. I imagine she has carefully instructed and rehearsed you in every word you have spoken to us here because, for her own purposes, it’s in Comporellon that she wants us. Right?”
Compor’s face paled. He rose to his feet and almost stuttered in his effort to control his voice. “I’ve tried to explain. I’ve tried to be helpful. I shouldn’t have tried. You can drop yourself into a black hole, Trevize.”
He turned on his heel and walked away briskly without looking back.
Pelorat seemed a bit stunned. “That was rather tactless of you, Golan, old fellow. I could have gotten more out of him.”
“No, you couldn’t,” said Trevize gravely. “You could not have gotten one thing out of him that he was not ready to let you have. Janov, you don’t know what he is —Until today, I didn’t know what he is.”