Foundation and Earth

COMPORELLON'S sun, distinctly orange, was larger in appearance than the sun of Terminus, but it was low in the sky and gave out little heat. The wind, fortunately light, touched Trevize's cheek with icy fingers.

He shivered inside the electrified coat he had been given by Mitza Lizalor, who now stood next to him. He said, "It must warm up sometime, Mitza."

She glanced up at the sun briefly, and stood there in the emptiness of the spaceport, showing no signs of discomfort-tall, large, wearing a lighter coat than Trevize had on, and if not impervious to the cold, at least scornful of it.

She said, "We have a beautiful summer. It is not a long one but our food crops are adapted to it. The strains are carefully chosen so that they grow quickly in the sun and do not frostbite easily. Our domestic animals are well furred, and Comporellian wool is the best in the Galaxy by general admission. Then, too, we have farm settlements in orbit about Comporellon that grow tropical fruit. We actually export canned pineapples of superior flavor. Most people who know us as a cold world don't know that."

Trevize said, "I thank you for coming to see us off, Mitza, and for being willing to co-operate with us on this mission of ours. For my own peace of mind, however, I must ask whether you will find yourself in serious trouble over this."

"No!" She shook her head proudly. "No trouble. In the first place, I will not be questioned. I am in control of transportation, which means I alone set the rules for this spaceport and others, for the entry stations, for the ships that come and go. The Prime Minister depends on me for all that and is only too delighted to remain ignorant of its details. And even if I were questioned, I have but to tell the truth. The government would applaud me for not turning the ship over to the Foundation. So would the people if it were safe to let them know. And the Foundation itself would not know of it."

Trevize said, "The government might be willing to keep the ship from the Foundation, but would they be willing to approve your letting us take it away?"

Lizalor smiled. "You are a decent human being, Trevize. You have fought tenaciously to keep your ship and now that you have it you take the trouble to concern yourself with my welfare." She reached toward him tentatively as though tempted to give some sign of affection and then, with obvious difficulty, controlled the impulse.

She said, with a renewed brusqueness, "Even if they question my decision, I have but to tell them that you have been, and still are, searching for the Oldest, and they will say I did well to get rid of you as quickly as I did, ship and all, And they will perform the rites of atonement that you were ever allowed to land in the first place, though there was no way we might have guessed what you were doing."

"Do you truly fear misfortune to yourself and the world because of my presence?"

"Indeed," said Lizalor stolidly. Then she said, more softly, "You have brought misfortune to me, already, for now that I have known you, Comporellian men will seem more sapless still. I will be left with an unappeasable longing. He Who Punishes has already seen to that."

Trevize hesitated, then said, "I do not wish you to change your mind on this matter, but I do not wish you to suffer needless apprehension, either. You must know that this matter of my bringing misfortune on you is simply superstition."

"The Skeptic told you that, I presume."

"I know it without his telling me."

Lizalor brushed her face, for a thin rime was gathering on her prominent eyebrows and said, "I know there are some who think it superstition. That the Oldest brings misfortune is, however, a fact. It has been demonstrated many times and all the clever Skeptical arguments can't legislate the truth out of existence."

She thrust out her hand suddenly. "Good-bye, Golan. Get on the ship and join your companions before your soft Terminian body freezes in our cold, but kindly wind."

"Good-bye, Mitza, and I hope to see you when I return."

"Yes, you have promised to return and I have tried to believe that you would. I have even told myself that I would come out and meet you at your ship in space so that misfortune would fall only on me and not upon my world-but you will not return."

"Not so! I will! I would not give you up that easily, having had pleasure of you." And at that moment, Trevize was firmly convinced that he meant it.

"I do not doubt your romantic impulses, my sweet Foundationer, but those who venture outward on a search for the Oldest will never come back-anywhere. I know that in my heart."

Trevize tried to keep his teeth from chattering. It was from cold and he didn't want her to think it was from fear. He said, "That, too, is superstition."

"And yet," she said, "that, too, is true."

28.

IT WAS GOOD TO be back in the pilot-room of the Far Star. It might be cramped** for room. It might be a bubble of imprisonment in infinite space. Nevertheless, it was familiar, friendly, and warm.