“Dangerous?”

“Since we're still alive, it's almost certainly not dangerous. A planet could be a hundred million kilometers away and still introduce a large enough gravitational modification to require recalculation. A dwarf star could be ten billion kilometers away and…”

The screen shifted again and Trevize fell silent. It shifted again—and again.—Finally, when Pelorat said, “a8,” there was no further motion.

Trevize consulted the computer. “We're here,” he said.

“I counted the first jump as ‘r.’ and in this series I started with ‘z’ That's twenty-eight jumps altogether. You said twenty-nine.”

“The recalculation at jump is probably saved us one jump. I can check with the computer if you wish, but there's really no need. We're in the vicinity of Sayshell Planet. The computer says so and I don't doubt it. If I were to orient the screen properly, we'd see a nice, bright sun, but there's no point in placing a needless strain on its screening capacity. SaysheIl Planet is the fourth one out and it's about 3.2 million kilometers away from our present position, which is about as close as we want to be at a jump conclusion. We can get there in three days—two, if we hurry.”

Trevize drew a deep breath and tried to let the tension drain.

“Do you realize what this means, Janov?” he said. “Every ship I've ever been in—or heard of—would have made those jumps with at least a day in between for painstaking calculation and re-checking, even with a computer. The trip would have taken nearly a month.

“Or perhaps two or three weeks, if they were willing to be reckless about it. We did it in half an hour. When every ship is equipped with a computer like this one…”

Pelorat said, “I wonder why the Mayor' let us have a ship this advanced. It must be incredibly expensive.”

“It's experimental,” said Trevize dryly. “Maybe fine good woman was perfectly willing to have us try it out and see what deficiencies might develop.”

“Are you serious?”

“Don't get nervous. After all, there's nothing to worry about. We haven't found any deficiencies. I wouldn't put it past her, though. Such a thing would put no great strain on her sense of humanity. Besides, she hasn't trusted us with offensive weapons and that cuts the expense considerably.”

Pelorat said thoughtfully, “It's the computer I'm thinking about. It seems to be adjusted so well for you—and it can't be adjusted that well for everyone. It just barely works with me.”

“So much the better for us, that it works so well with one of us.”

“Yes, but is that merely chance?”

“What else, Janov?”

“Surely the Mayor knows you pretty well.”

“I think she does, the old battlecraft.”

“Might she not have had a computer designed particularly for you?”

“I just wonder if we're not going where the computer wants to take us.”

Trevize stared. “You mean that while I'm connected to the computer, it is the computer—and not me—who is in real charge?”

“I just wonder.”

“That is ridiculous. Paranoid. Come on, Janov.”

Trevize turned back to the computer to focus Sayshell Planet on the screen and to plot a normal-space course to it.

Ridiculous!

But why had Pelorat put the notion into his head?

CHAPTER TEN.

TABLE

Two days had passed and Gendibal found himself not so much heavyhearted as enraged. There was no reason why there could not have been an immediate hearing. Had he been unprepared—had he needed time—they would have forced an immediate hearing on him, he was sure.

But since there was nothing more facing the Second Foundation than the greatest crisis since the Mule, they wasted time—and to no purpose but to irritate him.

They did irritate him and, by Seldon, that would make his counterstroke the heavier. He was determined on that.

He looked about him. The anteroom was empty. It had been like that for two days now. He was a marked man, a Speaker whom all knew would—by means of an action unprecedented in the five-century history of the Second Foundation—soon lose his position. He would be demoted to the ranks, demoted to the position of a Second Foundationer, plain and simple.

It was one thing, however—and a very honored thing—to be a Second Foundationer of the ranks, particularly if one held a respectable title, as Gendibal might even after the impeachment. It would be quite another thing to have once been a Speaker and to have been demoted.

It won't happen though, thought Gendibal savagely, even though for two days he had been avoided. Only Sura Novi treated him as before, but she was too nave to understand the situation. To her, Gendibal was still “Master.”

It irritated Gendibal that he found a certain comfort in this. He felt ashamed when he began to notice that his spirits rose when he noticed her gazing at him worshipfully. Was he becoming grateful for gifts that small?

A clerk emerged from the Chamber to tell him that the Table was ready for him and Gendibal stalked in. The clerk was one GendibaI knew well; he was one who knew—to the tiniest fraction—the precise gradation of civility that each Speaker deserved. At the moment, that accorded Gendibal was appallingly low. Even the clerk thought him as good as convicted.

They were all sitting about the Table gravely, wearing the black robes of judgment. First Speaker Shandess looked a bit uncomfortable, but he did not allow his face to crease into the smallest touch of friendliness. Delarmi—one of the three Speakers who were women—did not even look at him.

The First Speaker said, “Speaker Stor Gendibal, you have been impeached for behaving in a manner unbecoming a Speaker. You have, before us all, accused the Table—vaguely and without evidence—of treason and attempted murder. You have implied that all Second Foundationers—including the Speakers and the First Speaker—require a thorough mental analysis to ascertain who among them are no longer to be trusted. Such behavior breaks the bonds of community, without which the Second Foundation cannot control an intricate and potentially hostile Galaxy and without which they cannot build, with surety, a viable Second Empire.

“Since we have all witnessed those offenses, we will forego the presentation of a formal case for the prosecution. We will therefore move directly to the next stage. Speaker Stor Gendibal, do you have a defense?”

Now Delarmi—still not looking at him—allowed herself a small catlike smile.

Gendibal said, “If truth be considered a defense, I have one. There are grounds for suspecting a breach of security. That breach may involve the mental control of one or more Second Foundationers—not excluding members here present—and this has created a deadly crisis for the Second Foundation. If, indeed, you hasten this trial because you cannot waste time, you may all perhaps dimly recognize the seriousness of the crisis, but in that case, why have you wasted two days after I had formally requested an immediate trial? I submit that it is this deadly crisis that has forced me to say what I have said. I would have behaved in a manner unbecoming a Speaker—had I not done so.”

“He but repeats the offense, First Speaker,” said Delarmi softly.

Gendibal's seat was further removed from the Table than that of the others—a clear demotion already. He pushed it farther back, as though he cared nothing for that, and rose.

He said, “Will you convict me now, out of hand, in defiance of law—or may I present my defense in detail?”

The First Speaker said, “This is not a lawless assemblage, Speaker. Without much in fine way of precedent to guide us, we will lean in your direction, recognizing that if our too-human abilities should cause us to deviate from absolute justice, it is better to allow the guilty to go free than to convict the innocent. Therefore, although the case before us is so grave that we may not lightly allow the guilty to go free, we will permit you to present your case in such manner as you wish and for as long as you require, until it is decided by unanimous vote, including my own” (and he raised his voice at that phrase) “that enough has been heard.”