“Yes?”

Sobhaddartha could not resist, pension-risk notwithstanding. “And I hope, sir, we didn't send the wrong one through.”

The Far Star moved rapidly across the face of Sayshell Planet and Pelorat watched with fascination. The cloud layer was thinner and more scattered than upon Terminus and, precisely as the map showed, the land surfaces were more compact and extensive-including broader desert areas, to judge by the rusty color of much of the continental expanse.

There were no signs of anything living. It seemed a world of sterile desert, gray plain, of endless wrinkles that might have represented mountainous areas, and, of course, of ocean.

“It looks lifeless,” muttered Pelorat.

“You don't expect to see any life-signs at this height,” said Trevize. “As we get lower, you'll see the land turn green in patches. Before that, in fact, you'll see the twinkling landscape on the nightside. Human beings have a penchant for lighting their worlds when darkness falls; I've never heard of a world that's an exception to that rule. In other words, the first sign of life you'll see will not only be human but technological.”

Pelorat said thoughtfully, “Human beings are diurnal in nature, after all. It seems to me that among the very first tasks of a developing technology would be the conversion of night to day. In fact, if a world lacked technology and developed one, you ought to be able to follow the progress of technological development by the increase in light upon the darkened surface. How long would it take, do you suppose, to go from uniform darkness to uniform light?”

Trevize laughed. “You have odd thoughts, but I suppose that comes from being a mythologist. I don't think a world would ever achieve a uniform glow. Night light would follow the pattern of population density, so that the continents would spark in knots and strings. Even Trantor at its height, when it was one huge structure, let light escape that structure only at scattered points.”

The land turned green as Trevize had predicted and, on the last circling of the globe, he pointed out markings that he said were cities. “It's not a very urban world. I've never been in the Sayshell Union before, but according to the information the computer gives me, they tend to cling to the past. Technology, in the eyes of all the Galaxy, has been associated with the Foundation, and wherever the Foundation is unpopular, there is a tendency to cling to the past, except, of course, as far as weapons of war are concerned. I assure you Sayshell is quite modern in that respect.”

“Dear me, Golan, this is not going to be unpleasant, is it? We are Foundationers, after all, and being in enemy territory…”

“It's not enemy territory, Janov. They'll be perfectly polite, never fear. The Foundation just isn't popular, that's all. Sayshell is not part of the Foundation Federation. Therefore, because they're proud of their independence and because they don't like to remember that they are much weaker than the Foundation and remain independent only because we're willing to let them remain so, they indulge in the luxury of disliking us.”—

“I fear it will still be unpleasant, then,” said Pelorat despondently. “Not at all,” said Trevize. “Come on, Janov. I'm talking about the official attitude of the Sayshellian government. The individual people on the planet are just people, and if we're pleasant and don't act as though we're Lords of the Galaxy, they'll be pleasant, too. We're not coming to Sayshell in order to establish Foundation mastery. We're just tourists, asking the kind of questions about Sayshell that any tourist would ask.

“And we can have a little legitimate relaxation, too, if the situation permits. There's nothing wrong with staying here a few days and experiencing what they have to offer. They may have an interesting culture, interesting scenery, interesting food, and—if all else fails—interesting women. We have money to spend.”

Pelorat frowned, “Oh, my dear chap.”

“Come on,” said Trevize. “You're not that old. Wouldn't you be interested?”

“I don't say there wasn't a time when I played that role properly, but surely this isn't the time for it. We have a mission. We want to reach Gaia. I have nothing against a good time—I really don't—but if we start involving ourselves, it might be difficult to pull free.” He shook his head and said mildly, “I think you feared that I might have too good a time at the Galactic Library on Trantor and would be unable to pull free. Surely, what the Library is to me, an attractive dark-eyed damsel—or five or six—might be to you.”

Trevize said, “I'm not a rakehell, Janov, but I have no intention of being ascetic, either. Very well, I promise you we'll get on with this business of Gaia, but if something pleasant comes my way, there's no reason in the Galaxy I ought not to respond normally.”

“If you'll just put Gaia first…”

“I will. Just remember, though, don't tell anyone we're from the Foundation. They'll know we are, because we've got Foundation credits and we speak with strong Terminus accents, but if we say nothing about it, they can pretend we are placeless strangers and be friendly. If we make a point of being Foundationers, they will speak politely enough, but they will tell us nothing, show us nothing, take us nowhere, and leave us strictly alone.”

Pelorat sighed. “I will never understand people.”

“There's nothing to it. All you have to do is take a close look at yourself and you will understand everyone else. We're in no way different ourselves. How would Seldon have worked out his Plan, and I don't care how subtle his mathematics was—if he didn't understand people; and how could he have done that if people weren't easy to understand? You show me someone who can't understand people and I'll show you someone who has built up a false image of himself—no offense intended.”

“None taken. I'm willing to admit I'm inexperienced and that I've spent a rather self-centered and constricted life. It may be that I've never really taken a good look at myself, so I'll let you be my guide and adviser where people are concerned.”

“Good. Then take my advice now and just watch the scenery. We'll be landing soon and I assure you you'll feel nothing. The computer and I will take care of everything.”

“Golan, don't be annoyed. If a young woman should…”

“Forget it! Just let me take care of the landing.”

Pelorat turned to look at the world at the end of the ship's contracting spiral. It would be the first foreign world upon which he would ever stand. This thought somehow filled him with foreboding, despite the fact that all the millions of inhabited planets in the Galaxy had been colonized by people who had not been born upon them.

All but one, he thought with a shudder of trepidation/delight.

The spaceport was not large by Foundation standards, but it was well kept. Trevize watched the Far Star moved into a berth and locked in place. They were given an elaborate coded receipt.

Pelorat said in a low voice, “Do we just leave it here?”

Trevize nodded and placed his hand on the other's shoulder in reassurance. “Don't worry,” he said in an equally low voice.

They stepped into the ground-car they had rented and Trevize plugged in the map of the city, whose towers he could see on the horizon.

“Sayshell City,” he said, “the capital of the planet. City—planet —star—all named Sayshell.”

“I'm worried about the ship,” insisted Pelorat.

“Nothing to worry about,” said Trevize. “We'll be back tonight,

because it will be our sleeping quarters if we have to stay here more than a few hours. You have to understand, too, that there's an interstellar code of spaceport ethics that—as far as I know—has never been broken, even in wartime. Spaceships that come in peace are inviolate. If that were not so, no one would be safe and trade would be impossible. Any world on which that code was broken would be boycotted by the space pilots of the Galaxy. I assure you, no world would risk that. Besides…”