“I know well he did so, Master. It be how a man speak to girl who have no man, no betrothed, who is—not complete. You say her previous. It is more honorable for me if you say ‘Novi’ and I be proud that you say so. And if I have not man now, I have master and I be pleased. I hope it be not offensive to you to say ‘Novi.’ ”
“It certainly isn’t, Novi.”
And her mind was beautifully smooth at that and Gendibal was pleased. Too pleased. Ought he to be so pleased?
A little shamefacedly, he remembered that the Mule was supposed to have been affected in this manner by that woman of the First Foundation, Bayta Darell, to his own undoing.
This, of course, was different. This Hamishwoman was his defense against alien minds and he wanted her to serve that purpose most efficiently.
No, that was not true—His function as a Speaker would be compromised if he ceased to understand his own mind or, worse, if he deliberately misconstrued it to avoid the truth. The truth was that it pleased him when she was calm and peaceful and happy endogenously—without his interference—and that it pleased him simply because she pleased him; and (he thought defiantly) there was nothing wrong with that.
He said, “Sit down, Novi.”
She did so, balancing herself precariously at the edge of the chair and sitting as far away as the confines of the room allowed. Her mind was flooded with respect.
He said, “When you saw me making sounds, Novi, I was speaking at a long distance, scholar-fashion.”
Novi said sadly, her eyes cast down, “I see, Master, that there be much to scowler-fashion I understand not and imagine not. It be difficult mountain-high art. I be ashamed to have come to you to be made scowler. How is it, Master, you did not be-laugh me?”
Gendibal said, “It is no shame to aspire to something even if it is beyond your reach. You are now too old to be made a scholar after my fashion, but you are never too old to learn more than you already know and to become able to do more than you already can. I will teach you something about this ship. By the time we reach our destination, you will know quite a bit about it.”
He felt delighted. Why not? He was deliberately turning his back on the stereotype of the Hamish people. What right, in any case, had the heterogeneous group of the Second Foundation to set up such a stereotype? The young produced by them were only occasionally suited to become high-level Second Foundationers themselves. The children of Speakers almost never qualified to be Speakers. There were the three generations of Linguesters three centuries ago, but there was always the suspicion that the middle Speaker of that series did not really belong. And if that were true, who were the people of the University to place themselves on so high a pedestal?
He watched Novi’s eyes glisten and was pleased that they did.
She said, “I try hard to learn all you teach me, Master.”
“I’m sure you will,” he said—and then hesitated. It occurred to him that, in his conversation with Compor, he had in no way indicated at any time that he was not alone. There was no hint of a companion.
A woman could be taken for granted, perhaps; at least, Compor would no doubt not be surprised. —But a Hamishwoman?
For a moment, despite anything Gendibal could do, the stereotype reigned supreme and he found himself glad that Compor had never been on Trantor and would not recognize Novi as a Hamishwoman.
He shook it off. It didn’t matter if Compor knew or knew not—or if anyone did. Gendibal was a Speaker of the Second Foundation and he could do as he pleased within the constraints of the Seldon Plan—and no one could interfere.
Novi said “Master, once we reach our destination, will we part?”
He looked at her and said, with perhaps more force than he intended, “We will not be separated, Novi.”
And the Hamishwoman smiled shyly and looked for all the Galaxy as though she might have been—any woman.
13
UNIVERSITY
1.
Pelorat wrinkled his nose when he and Trevize reentered the Far Star.
Trevize shrugged. “The human body is a powerful dispenser of odors. Recycling never works instantaneously and artificial scents merely overlay—they do not replace.”
“And I suppose no two ships smell quite alike, once they’ve been occupied for a period of time by different people.”
“That’s right, but did you smell Sayshell Planet after the first hour?”
“No,” admitted Pelorat.
“Well, you won’t smell this after a while, either. In fact, if you live in the ship long enough, you’ll welcome the odor that greets you on your return as signifying home. And by the way, if you become a Galactic rover after this, Janov, you’ll have to learn that it is impolite to comment on the odor of any ship or, for that matter, any world to those who live on that ship or world. Between us, of course, it is all right.”
“As a matter of fact, Golan, the funny thing is I do consider the Far Star home. At least it’s Foundation-made.” Pelorat smiled. “You know, I never considered myself a patriot. I like to think I recognize only humanity as my nation, but I must say that being away from the Foundation fills my heart with love for it.”
Trevize was making his bed. “You’re not very far from the Foundation, you know. The Sayshell Union is almost surrounded by Federation territory. We have an ambassador and an enormous presence here, from consuls on down. The Sayshellians like to oppose us in words, but they are usually very cautious about doing anything that gives us displeasure. —Janov, do turn in. We got nowhere today and we have to do better tomorrow.”
Still, there was no difficulty in hearing between the two rooms, however, and when the ship was dark, Pelorat, tossing restlessly, finally said in a not very loud voice, “Golan?”
“Yes.”
“You’re not sleeping?”
“Not while you’re talking.”
“We did get somewhere today. Your friend, Compor—”
“Ex-friend,” growled Trevize.
“Whatever his status, he talked about Earth and told us something I hadn’t come across in my researches before. Radioactivity!”
Trevize lifted himself to one elbow. “Look, Janov, if Earth is really dead, that doesn’t mean we return home. I still want to find Gaia.”
Pelorat made a puffing noise with his mouth as though he were blowing away feathers. “My dear chap, of course. So do I. Nor do I think Earth is dead. Compor may have been telling what he felt was the truth, but there’s scarcely a sector in the Galaxy that doesn’t have some tale or other that would place the origin of humanity on some local world. And they almost invariably call it Earth or some closely equivalent name.
“We call it ‘globocentrism’ in anthropology. People have a tendency to take it for granted that they are better than their neighbors; that their culture is older and superior to that of other worlds; that what is good in other worlds has been borrowed from them, while what is bad is distorted or perverted in the borrowing or invented elsewhere. And the tendency is to equate superiority in quality with superiority in duration. If they cannot reasonably maintain their own planet to be Earth or its equivalent—and the beginnings of the human species—they almost always do the best they can by placing Earth in their own sector, even when they cannot locate it exactly.”
Trevize said, “And you’re telling me that Compor was just following the common habit when he said Earth existed in the Sirius Sector. —Still, the Sirius Sector does have a long history, so every world in it should be well known and it should be easy to check the matter, even without going there.”