“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.”

“What has this to do with yesterday, S. Q. ?” asked Trevize.

“We have legends. A legend. An important one to our society, for it has become our central mystery…”

“Mystery?” said Trevize.

“I don't mean a puzzle or anything of that sort. That, I believe, would be the usual meaning of the word in Galactic Standard. There's a specialized meaning here. It means 'something secret'; something only certain adepts know the full meaning of; something not to be spoken of to outsiders.—And yesterday was the day.”

“The day of what, S. Q. ?” asked Trevize, slightly exaggerating his air of patience.

“Yesterday was the Day of Flight.”

“Ah,” said Trevize, “a day of meditation and quiet, when everyone is supposed to remain at home.”

“Something like that, in theory, except that in the larger cities, the more sophisticated regions, there is little observance in the older fashion.—But you know about it, I see.”

Pelorat, who had grown uneasy at Trevize's annoyed tone, put in hastily, “We heard a little of it, having arrived yesterday.”

“Of all days,” said Trevize sarcastically. “See here, S. Q. As I said, I'm not an academic, but I have a question. You said you were speaking of a central mystery, meaning it was not to be spoken of to outsiders. Why, then, are you speaking of it to us? We are outsiders.”

“So you are. But I'm not an observer of the day and the depth of my superstition in this matter is slight at best. J. P. 's paper, however, reinforced a feeling I have had for a long time. A myth or legend is simply not made up out of a vacuum. Nothing is—or can be. Somehow there is a kernel of truth behind it, however distorted that might be, and I would like the truth behind our legend of the Day of Flight.”

Trevize said, “Is it safe to talk about it?”

Quintesetz shrugged. “Not entirely, I suppose. The conservative elements among our population would be horrified. However, they don't control the government and haven't for a century. The secularists are strong and would be stronger still, if the conservatives didn't take advantage of our—if you'll excuse me—anti-Foundation bias. Then, too, since I am discussing the matter out of my scholarly interest in ancient history, the League of Academicians will support me strongly, in case of need.”

“In that case,” said Pelorat, “would you tell us about your central mystery, SQ. ?”

“Yes, but let me make sure we won't be interrupted or, for that matter, overheard. Even if one must stare the bull in the face, one needn't slap its muzzle, as the saying goes.”

He flicked a pattern on the work-face of an instrument on his desk and said, “We're incommunicado now.”

“Are you sure you're not bugged?” asked Trevize.

“Bugged?”

“Tapped! Eavesdropped!—Subjected to a device that will have you under observation—visual or auditory or both.”

Quintesetz looked shocked. “Not here on Sayshell!”

Trevize shrugged. “If you say so.”

“Please go on, SQ.,” said Pelorat.

Quintesetz pursed his lips, leaned back in his chair (which gave slightly under the pressure) and put the tips of his fingers together. He seemed to be speculating as to just how to begin.

He said, “Do you know what a robot is?”

“A robot?” said Pelorat. “No.”

Quintesetz looked in the direction of Trevize, who shook his head slowly.

“You know what a computer is, however?”

“Of course,” said Trevize impatiently.

“Well then, a mobile computerized tool…”

“Is a mobile computerized tool.” Trevize was still impatient. “There are endless varieties and I don't know of any generalized term for it except mobile computerized tool.”

“—that looks exactly like a human being is a robot.” S. Q. completed his definition with equanimity. “The distinction of a robot is that it is humaniform.”

“Why humaniform?” asked Pelorat in honest amazement. “I'm not sure. It's a remarkably inefficient form for a tool, I grant you, but I'm just repeating the legend. 'Robot' is an old word from no recognizable language, though our scholars say it bears the connotation of 'work.”

“I can't think of any word,” said Trevize skeptically, “that sounds even vaguely like 'robot' and that has any connection with 'work.”

“Nothing in Galactic, certainly,” said Quintesetz, “but that's what they say.”

Pelorat said, “It may have been reverse etymology. These objects were used for work, and so the word was said to mean 'work. '—In any case, why do you tell us this?”

“Because it is a firmly fixed tradition here on Sayshell that when Earth was a single world and the Galaxy lay all uninhabited before it, robots were invented and devised. There were then two sorts of human beings: natural and invented, flesh and metal, biological and mechanical, complex and simple…”