“You don't mean it.”

“Look out.”

Pelorat did and then said, “But I never felt a thing.”

“You're not supposed to.”

“Aren't we breaking the regulations? Surely we ought to have followed a radio beacon in an upward spiral, as we did in a downward spiral on landing?”

“No reason to, Janov. No one will stop us. No one at all.”

“Coming down, you said…”

“That was different. They weren't anxious to see us arrive, but they're ecstatic to see us go.”

“Why do you say that, Golan? The only person who talked to us about Gaia was Quintesetz and he begged us not to go.”

“Don't you believe it, Janov. That was for form. He made sure we'd go to Gaia.—Janov, you admired the way I bluffed the information out of Quintesetz. I'm sorry, but I don't deserve the admiration. If I had done nothing at all, he would have offered the information. If I had tried to plug my ears, he would have shouted it at me.”

“Why do you say that, Golan? That's crazy.”

“Paranoid? Yes, I know.” Trevize turned to the computer and extended his sense intently. He said, “We're not being stopped. No ships in interfering distance, no warning messages of any kind.”

Again he swiveled in the direction of Pelorat. He said, “Tell me, Janov, how did you find out about Gaia? You knew about Gaia while we were still on Terminus. You knew it was in the Sayshell Sector. You knew the name was, somehow, a form of Earth. Where did you hear all this?”

Pelorat seemed to stiffen. He said, “If I were back in my office on Terminus, I might consult my files. I have not brought everything with me—certainly not the dates on which I first encountered this piece of data or that.”

“Well, think about it,” said Trevize grimly. “Consider that the Sayshellians themselves are close-mouthed about the matter. They are so reluctant to talk about Gaia as it really is that they actually encourage a superstition that has the common people of the sector believing that no such planet exists in ordinary space. In fact, I can tell you something else. Watch this!”

Trevize swung to the computer, his fingers sweeping across the direction hand-rests with the ease and grace of long practice. When he placed his hands on the manuals, he welcomed their warm touch and enclosure. He felt, as always, a bit of his will oozing outward.

He said, “This is the computer's Galactic map, as it existed within its memory banks before we landed on Sayshell. I am going to show you that portion of the map that represents the night sky of Sayshell as we saw it this past night.”

The room darkened and a representation of a night sky sprang out onto the screen.

Pelorat said in a low voice, “As beautiful as we saw it on Sayshell.”

“More beautiful,” said Trevize, impatiently. “There is no atmospheric interference of any kind, no clouds, no absorption at the horizon. But wait, let me make an adjustment”

The view shifted steadily, giving the two the uncomfortable impression that it was they who were moving. Pelorat instinctively took hold of the arms of his chair to steady himself.

“There!” said Trevize. “Do you recognize that?”

“Of course. Those are the Five Sisters—the pentagon of stars that Quintesetz pointed out. It is unmistakable.”

“Yes indeed. But where is Gaia?”

Pelorat blinked. There was no dim star at the center.

“It's not there,” he said.

“That's right. It's not there. And that's because its location is not included in the data banks of the computer. Since it passes the bounds of likelihood that those data banks were deliberately made incomplete in this respect for our benefit, I conclude that to the Foundation Gaiactographers who designed those data banks—and who had tremendous quantities of information at their disposal—Gaia was unknown.”

“Do you suppose if we had gone to Trantor…” began Pelorat.

“I suspect we would have found no data on Gaia there, either. Its existence is kept a secret by the Sayshellians—and even more so, I suspect, by the Gaians themselves. You yourself said a few days ago it was not entirely uncommon that some worlds deliberately stayed out of sight to avoid taxation or outside interference.”

“Usually,” said Pelorat, “when mapmakers and statisticians come across such a world, they are found to exist in thinly populated sections of the Galaxy. It's isolation that makes it possible for them to hide. Gaia is not isolated.”

“That's right. That's another of the things that makes it unusual. So let's leave this map on the screen so that you and I might continue to ponder the ignorance of our Gaiactographers—and let me ask you again.—In view of this ignorance on the part of the most knowledgeable of people, how did you come to hear of Gaia?”

“I have been gathering data on Earth myths, Earth legends, and Earth histories for over thirty years, my good Golan. Without my complete records, how could I possibly…”

“We can begin somewhere, Janov. Did you learn about it in, say, the first fifteen years of your research or in the last fifteen?”

“Oh! Well, if we're going to be that broad, it was later on.”

“You can do better than that. Suppose I suggest that you learned of Gaia only in the last couple of years.”

Trevize peered in Pelorat's direction, felt the absence of any ability to read an unseen expression in the dimness, and raised the light level of the room a bit. The glory of the representation of the night sky on the screen dimmed in proportion. Pelorat's expression was stony and revealed nothing.

“Well?” said Trevize.

“I'm thinking,” said Pelorat mildly. “You may be right. I wouldn't swear to it. When I wrote Jimbor of Ledbet University, I didn't mention Gaia, though in that case it would have been appropriate to do so, and that was in—let's see—in —and that was three years ago. I think you're right, Golan.”

“And how did you come upon it?” asked Trevize. “In a communication? A book? A scientific paper? Some ancient song? How?—Come on!”

Pelorat sat back and crossed his arms. He fell into deep thought and didn't move. Trevize said nothing and waited.

Finally Pelorat said, “In a private communication.—But it's no use asking me from whom, my dear chap. I don't remember.”

Trevize moved his hands over his sash. They felt clammy as he continued his efforts to elicit information without too clearly forcing words into the other's mouth. He said, “From a historian? From an expert in mythology? From a Gaiactographer?”

“No use. I cannot match a name to the communication.”

“Because, perhaps, there was none.”

“Oh no. That scarcely seems possible.”

“Why? Would you have rejected an anonymous communication?”

“I suppose not.”

“Did you ever receive any?”

“Once in a long while. In recent years, I had become well known in certain academic circles as a collector of particular types of myths and legends and some of my correspondents were occasionally kind enough to forward material they had picked up from nonacademic sources. Sometimes these might not be attributed to anyone in particular.”

Trevize said, “Yes, but did you ever receive anonymous information directly, and not by way of some academic correspondent?”

“That sometimes happened—but very rarely.”

“And can you be certain that this was not so in the case of Gaia?”

“Such anonymous communications took place so rarely that I should think I would remember if it had happened in this case. Still, I can't say certainly that the information was not of anonymous origin. Mind, though, that's not to say that I did receive the information from an anonymous source.”

“I realize that. But it remains a possibility, doesn't it?”

Pelorat said, very reluctantly, “I suppose it does. But what's all this about?”

“I'm not finished,” said Trevize peremptorily. “Where did you get the information from—anonymous or not? What world?”