He said, “If I did nothing to Rufirant, it was because I did not wish to. We scholars must never do anything to the Hamish. We are guests on your world. Do you understand that?”
“You are our masters. That is what we always say.”
For a moment Gendibal was diverted. “How is it, then, that this Rufirant attacked me?”
“I do not know,” she said simply. “I don't think he knew. He must have been mind-wandering—uh, out of his mind.”
Gendibal grunted. “In any case, we do not harm the Hamish. If I had been forced to stop him by—hurting him, I might have been poorly thought of by the other scholars and might perhaps have lost my position. But to save myself being badly hurt, I might have had to handle him just a small bit—the smallest possible.”
Novi drooped. “Then I need not have come rushing in like a great fool myself.”
“You did exactly right,” said Gendibal. “I have just said I would have done ill to have hurt him. You made it unnecessary to do so. You stopped him and that was well done. I am grateful.”
She smiled again—blissfully. “I see, then, why you have been so kind to me.”
“I was grateful, of course,” said Gendibal, a little flustered, “but the important thing is that you must understand there is no danger. I can handle an army of ordinary people. Any scholar can especially the important ones—and I told you I am the best of all of them. There is no one in the Galaxy who can stand against me.”
“If you say so, Master, I am sure of it.”
“I do say so. Now, are you afraid for me?”
“No, Master, except Master, is it only our scholars who can read minds and. Are there other scholars, other places, who can oppose you?”
For a moment Gendibal was staggered. The woman had an astonishing gift of penetration.
It was necessary to lie. He said, “There are none.”
“But there are so many stars in the sky. I once tried to count them and couldn't. If there are as many worlds of people as there are stars, wouldn't some of them be scholars? Besides the scholars on our own world, I mean?”
“What if there are?”
“They would not be as strong as I am.”
“What if they leap upon you suddenly before you are aware?”
“They cannot do that. If any strange scholar were to approach, I would know at once. I would know it long before he could harm me.”
“Could you run?”
“I would not have to run.—But” (anticipating her objection) “if
I had to, I could be in a new ship soon—better than any in the Galaxy. They would not catch me.”
“Might they not change your thoughts and make you stay?”
“No.”
“There might be many of them. You are but one.”
“As soon as they are there, long before they can imagine it would be possible, I would know they were there and I would leave. Our whole world of scholars would then turn against them and they would not stand. And they would know that, so they would not dare do anything against me. In fact, they would not want me to know of them at all—and yet I will.”
“Because you are so much better than they?” said Novi, her face shining with a doubtful pride.
Gendibal could not resist. Her native intelligence, her quick understanding was such that it was simple joy to be with her. That softvoiced monster, Speaker Debra Delarmi, had done him an incredible favor when she had forced this Hamish farmwoman upon him.
He said, “No, Novi, not because I am better than they, although I am. It is because I have you with me.”
“I?”
“Exactly, Novi. Had you guessed that?”
“No, Master,” she said, wondering. “What is it I could do?”
“It is your mind.” He held up his hand at once. “I am not reading your thoughts. I see merely the outline of your mind and it is a smooth outline, an unusually smooth outline.”
She put her hand to her forehead. “Because I am unlearned, Master? Because I am so foolish?”
“No, dear.” He did not notice the manner of address. “It is because you are honest and possess no guile; because you are truthful and speak your mind; because you are warm of heart and—and other things. If other scholars send out anything to touch our minds yours and mine—the touch will be instantly visible on the smoothness of your mind. I will be aware of that even before I would be aware of a touch on my own mind—and I will then have time for counteractive strategy; that is, to fight it off.”
There was a silence for long moments after that. Gendibal realized that it was not just happiness in Novi's eyes, but exultation and pride, too. She said softly, “And you took me with you for that reason?”
Gendibal nodded. “That was an important reason. Yes.”
Her voice sank to a whisper. “How can I help as much as possible, Master?”
He said. “Remain calm. Don't be afraid. And just—just stay as you are.”
She said, “I will stay as I am. And I will stand between you and danger, as I did in the case of Rufirant.”
She left the room and Gendibal looked after her.
It was strange how much there was to her. How could so simple a creature hold such complexity? The smoothness of her mind structure had, beneath it, enormous intelligence, understanding, and courage. What more could he ask—of anyone?
Somehow, he caught an image of Sura Novi—who was not a Speaker, not even a Second Foundationer, not even educated grimly at his side, playing a vital auxiliary role in the drama that was coming.
Yet he could not see the details clearly.—He could not yet see precisely what it was that awaited them.
“A single Jump,” muttered Trevize, “and there it is.”
“Gaia?” asked Pelorat, looking over Trevize's shoulder at the screen.
“Gaia's sun,” said Trevize. “Call it Gaia-S, if you like, to avoid confusion. Gaiactographers do that sometimes.”
“And where is Gaia itself, then? Or do we call it Gaia-P—for planet?”
“Gaia would be sufficient for the planet. We can't see Gaia yet, however. Planets aren't as easy to see as stars are and we're still a hundred microparsecs away from Gaia-S. Notice that it's only a star, even though a very bright one. We're not close enough for it to show as a disc.—And don't stare at it directly, Janov. It's still bright enough to damage the retina. I'll throw in a filter, once I'm through with my observations. Then you can stare.”
“How much is a hundred microparsecs in units which a mythologist can understand, Golan?”
“Three billion kilometers; about twenty times the distance of Terminus from our own sun. Does that help?”
“Enormously.—But shouldn't we get closer?”
“No!” Trevize looked up in surprise. “Not right away. After what we've heard about Gaia, why should we rush? It's one thing to have guts; it's another to be crazy. Let's take a look first.”
“At what, Golan? You said we can't see Gaia yet?”
“Not at a glance, no. But we have telescopic viewers and we have an excellent computer for rapid analysis. We can certainly study Gaia-S, to begin with, and we can perhaps make a few other observations.—Relax, Janov” He reached out and slapped the other's shoulder with an avuncular flourish.
After a pause Trevize said, “Gaia-S is a single star or, if it has a companion, that companion is much farther away from it than we are at the present moment and it is, at best, a red dwarf, which means we need not be concerned with it. Gaia-S is a G4 star, which means it is perfectly capable of having a habitable planet, and that's good. If it were an A or an M, we would have to turn around and leave right now.”
Pelorat said, “I may be only a mythologist, but couldn't we have determined the spectral class of Gaia-S from Sayshell?”
“We could and we did, Janov, but it never hurts to check at closer quarters.—Gaia-S has a planetary system, which is no surprise. There are two gas giants in view and one of them is nice and large—if the computer's distance estimate is accurate. There could easily be another on the other side of the star and therefore not easily detectable, since we happen—by chance—to be somewhat close to the planetary plane. I can't make out anything in the inner regions, which is also no surprise.”