“Yes, I know what you mean. Lots of us say that Sayshellians are people.”
“That’s just the way it should be. I’ve never seen Terminus. It must be a big city.”
“Actually it isn’t,” said Trevize matter-of-factly. “I suspect it’s smaller than Sayshell City.”
“You’re tweaking my finger,” she said. “It’s the capital of the Foundation Federation, isn’t it? I mean, there isn’t another Terminus, is there?”
“No, there’s only one Terminus, as far as I know, and that’s where we’re from—the capital of the Foundation Federation.”
“Well then, it must be an enormous city. —And you’re coming all the way here to see the professor. We’re very proud of him, you know. He’s considered the biggest authority in the whole Galaxy.”
“Really?” said Trevize. “On what?”
Her eyes opened wide again, “You are a teaser. He knows more about ancient history than—than I know about my own family.” And she continued to walk on ahead on her musical feet.
One can only be called a teaser and a finger-tweaker so often without developing an actual impulse in that direction. Trevize smiled and said, “The professor knows all about Earth, I suppose?”
“Earth?” She stopped at an office door and looked at them blankly.
“You know. The world where humanity got its start.”
“Oh, you mean the planet-that-was-first. I guess so. I guess he should know all about it. After all, it’s located in the Sayshell Sector. Everyone knows that! —This is his office. Let me signal him.”
“No, don’t,” said Trevize. “Not for just a minute. Tell me about Earth.”
“Actually I never heard anyone call it Earth. I suppose that’s a Foundation word. We call it Gaia, here.”
Trevize cast a swift look at Pelorat. “Oh? And where is it located?”
“Nowhere. It’s in hyperspace and there’s no way anyone can get to it. When I was a little girl, my grandmother said that Gaia was once in real space, but it was so disgusted at the—”
“Crimes and stupidities of human beings,” muttered Pelorat, “that, out of shame, it left space and refused to have anything more to do with the human beings it had sent out into the Galaxy.”
“You know the story, then. See? —A girlfriend of mine says it’s superstition. Well, I’ll tell her. If it’s good enough for professors from the Foundation—”
A glittering section of lettering on the smoky glass of the door read: SOTAYN QUINTESETZ ABT in the hard-to-read Sayshellian calligraphy—and under it was printed, in the same fashion: DEPARTMENT OF ANCIENT HISTORY.
The woman placed her finger on a smooth metal circle. There was no sound, but the smokiness of the glass turned a milky white for a moment and a soft voice said, in an abstracted sort of way, “Identify yourself, please.”
“Janov Pelorat of Terminus,” said Pelorat, “with Golan Trevize of the same world.” The door swung open at once.
3.
The man who stood up, walked around his desk, and advanced to meet them was tall and well into middle age. He was light brown in skin color and his hair, which was set in crisp curls over his head, was iron-gray. He held out his hand in greeting and his voice was soft and low. “I am S.Q. I am delighted to meet you, Professor.”
Trevize said, “I don’t own an academic title. I merely accompany Professor Pelorat. You may call me simply Trevize. I am pleased to meet you, Professor Abt.”
Quintesetz held up one hand in clear embarrassment. “No no. Abt is merely a foolish title of some sort that has no significance outside of Sayshell. Ignore it, please, and call me S.Q. We tend to use initials in ordinary social intercourse on Sayshell. I’m so pleased to meet two of you when I had been expecting but one.”
He seemed to hesitate a moment, then extended his right hand after wiping it unobtrusively on his trousers.
Trevize took it, wondering what the proper Sayshellian manner of greeting was.
Quintesetz said, “Please sit down. I’m afraid you’ll find these chairs to be lifeless ones, but I, for one, don’t want my chairs to hug me. It’s all the fashion for chairs to hug you nowadays, but I prefer a hug to mean something, hey?”
Trevize smiled and said, “Who would not? Your name, S.Q., seems to be of the Rim Worlds and not Sayshellian. I apologize if the remark is impertinent.”
“I don’t mind. My family traces back, in part, to Askone. Five generations back, my great-great-grandparents left Askone when Foundation domination grew too heavy.”
Pelorat said, “And we are Foundationers. Our apologies.”
Quintesetz waved his hand genially, “I don’t hold a grudge across a stretch of five generations. Not that such things haven’t been done, more’s the pity. Would you like to have something to eat? To drink? Would you like music in the background?”
“If you don’t mind,” said Pelorat, “I’d be willing to get right to business, if Sayshellian ways would permit.”
“Sayshellian ways are not a barrier to that, I assure you. —You have no idea how remarkable this is, Dr. Pelorat. It was only about two weeks ago that I came across your article on origin myths in the Archaeological Review and it struck me as a remarkable synthesis—all too brief.”
Pelorat flushed with pleasure. “How delighted I am that you have read it. I had to condense it, of course, since the Review would not print a full study. I have been planning to do a treatise on the subject.”
“I wish you would. In any case, as soon as I had read it, I had this desire to see you. I even had the notion of visiting Terminus in order to do so, though that would have been hard to arrange—”
“Why so?” asked Trevize.
Quintesetz looked embarrassed. “I’m sorry to say that Sayshell is not eager to join the Foundation Federation and rather discourages any social communication with the Foundation. We’ve a tradition of neutralism, you see. Even the Mule didn’t bother us, except to extort from us a specific statement of neutrality. For that reason, any application for permission to visit Foundation territory generally—and particularly Terminus—is viewed with suspicion, although a scholar such as myself, intent on academic business, would probably obtain his passport in the end. —But none of that was necessary; you have come to me. I can scarcely believe it. I ask myself: Why? Have you heard of me, as I have heard of you?”
Pelorat said, “I know your work, S.Q., and in my records I have abstracts of your papers. It is why I have come to you. I am exploring both the matter of Earth, which is the reputed planet of origin of the human species, and the early period of the exploration and settlement of the Galaxy. In particular, I have come here to inquire as to the founding of Sayshell.”
“From your paper,” said Quintesetz, “I presume you are interested in myths and legends.”
“Even more in history—actual facts—if such exist. Myths and legends, otherwise.”
Quintesetz rose and walked rapidly back and forth the length of his office, paused to stare at Pelorat, then walked again.
Trevize said impatiently, “Well, sir.”
Quintesetz said, “Odd! Really odd! It was only yesterday—”
Pelorat said, “What was only yesterday?”
Quintesetz said, “I told you, Dr. Pelorat—may I call you J.P., by the way? I find using a full-length name rather unnatural.”
“Please do.”
“I told you, J.P., that I had admired your paper and that I had wanted to see you. The reason I wanted to see you was that you clearly had an extensive collection of legends concerning the beginnings of the worlds and yet didn’t have ours. In other words, I wanted to see you in order to tell you precisely what you have come to see me to find out.”