Pelorat looked grim. “If you put it that way. But what do we do once we leave?”

“Simple. We get back to Terminus with the news.—Or as near to Terminus as the old woman will allow. Then we might return to Gaia once again—more quickly and without all this inching along, and we return with an armed ship or an armed fleet. Things may well be different then.”

They waited. It had grown to be a routine. They had spent far more time waiting in the approaches to Gaia than they had spent in all the flight from Terminus to Sayshell.

Trevize set the computer to automatic alarm and was even nonchalant enough to doze in his padded chair.

This meant he woke with a start when the alarm chimed. Pelorat came into Trevize's room, just as startled. He bad been interrupted while shaving.

“Have we received a message?” asked Pelorat.

“No,” said Trevize energetically. “We're moving.”

“Moving? Where?”

“Toward the space station.”

“Why is that?”

“I don't know. The motors are on and the computer doesn't respond to me—but we're moving.—Janov, we've been seized. We've come a little too close to Gaia.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

CONVERGENCE

When Stor Gendibal finally made out Compor's ship on his viewscreen, it seemed like the end of an incredibly long journey. Yet, of course, it was not the end, but merely the beginning. The journey from Trantor to Sayshell had been nothing but prologue.

Novi looked awed. “Is that another ship of space, Master?”

“Spaceship, Novi. It is. It's the one we have been striving to reach. It is a larger ship than this one—and a better one. It can move through space so quickly that if it fled from us, this ship could not possibly catch it—or even follow it.”

“Faster than a ship of the masters?” Sura Novi seemed appalled by the thought.

Gendibal shrugged. “I may be, as you say, a master, but I am not a master in all things. We scholars do not have ships like these, nor do we have many of the material devices that the owners of those ships have.”

“But how can scholars lack such things, Master?”

“Because we are masters in what is important. The material advances that these others have are trifles.”

Novi's brows bent together in thought. “It seems to me that to go so quickly that a master cannot follow is no trifle. Who are these people who are wonder—having—who have such things?”

Gendibal was amused. “They call themselves the Foundation. Have you ever heard of the Foundation?”

(He caught himself wondering what the Hamish knew or did not know of the Galaxy and why it never occurred to the Speakers to wonder about such things.—Or was it only he who had never wondered about such things—only he who assumed that the Hamish cared for nothing more than grubbing in the soil.)

Novi shook her head thoughtfully. “I have never heard of it, Master. When the schoolmaster taught me letter-lore—how to read, I mean—he told me there were many other worlds and told me the names of some. He said our Hamish world had the proper name of Trantor and that it once ruled all the worlds. He said Trantor was covered with gleaming iron and had an Emperor who was an allmaster.”

Her eyes looked up at Gendibal with a shy merriment. “I unbelieve most of it, though. There are many stories the wordspinners tell in the meeting-halls in the time of longer nights. When I was a small girl, I believed them all, but as I grew older, I found that many of them were not true. I believe very few now; perhaps none. Even schoolmasters tell unbelievables.”

“Just the same, Novi, that particular story of the schoolmaster is true—but it was long ago. Trantor was indeed covered by metal and had indeed an Emperor who ruled all the Galaxy. Now, however, it is the people of the Foundation who will someday rule all the worlds. They grow stronger all the time.”

“They will rule all, Master?”

“Not immediately. In five hundred years.”

“And they will master the masters as well?”

“No, no. They will rule the worlds. We will rule them—for their safety and the safety of all the worlds.”

Novi was frowning again. She said, “Master, do these people of the Foundation have many of these remarkable ships?”

“I imagine so, Novi.”

“And other things that are very-astonishing?”

“They have powerful weapons of all kinds.”

“Then, Master, can they not take all the worlds now?”

“No, they cannot. It is not yet time.”

“But why can they not? Would the masters stop them?”

“We wouldn't have to, Novi. Even if we did nothing, they could not take all the worlds.”

“But what would stop them?”

“You see,” began Gendibal, “there is a plan that a wise man once devised…”

He stopped, smiled slightly, and shook his head. “It is hard to explain, Novi. Another time, perhaps. In fact, when you see what will happen before we ever see Trantor again, you may even understand without my explaining.”

“What will happen, Master?”

“I am not sure, Novi. But all will happen well.”

He turned away and prepared to make contact with Compor. And, as he did so, he could not quite keep an inner thought from saying: At least I hope so.

He was instantly angry with himself, for he knew the source of that foolish and weakening drift of thought. It was the picture of the elaborate and enormous Foundation might in the shape of Compor's ship and it was his chagrin at Novi's open admiration of it.

Stupid! How could he let himself compare the possession of mere strength and power with the possession of the ability to guide events? It was what generations of Speakers had called “the fallacy of the hand at the throat.”

To think that he was not yet immune to its allures.

Munn Li Compor was not in the least sure as to how he ought to comport himself. For most of his life, he had had the vision of allpowerful Speakers existing just beyond his circle of experience, Speakers, with whom he was occasionally in contact and who had, in their mysterious grip, the whole of humanity.

Of them all, it had been Stor Gendibal to whom, in recent years, he had turned for direction. It was not even a voice he had encountered most times, but a mere presence in his mind-hyperspeech without a hyper-relay.

In this respect, the Second Foundation had gone far beyond the Foundation. Without material device, but just by the educated and advanced power of the mind alone, they could reach across the par. sees in a manner that could not be tapped, could not be infringed upon. It was an invisible, indetectable network that held all the worlds fast through the mediation of a relatively few dedicated individuals.

Compor had, more than once, experienced a kind of uplifting at the thought of his role. How small the band of which he was one; how enormous an influence they exerted.—And how secret it all was. Even his wife knew nothing of his hidden life.

And it was the Speakers who held the strings—and this one Speaker, this Gendibal, who might (Compor thought) be the next First Speaker, the more-than-Emperor of a more-than-Empire.

Now Gendibal was here, in a ship of Trantor, and Compor fought to stifle his disappointment at not having such a meeting take place on Trantor itself.

Could that be a ship of Trantor? Any of the early Traders who had carried the Foundation's wares through a hostile Galaxy would have had a better ship than that. No wonder it had taken the Speaker so long to cover the distance from Trantor to Sayshell.

It was not even equipped with a unidock mechanism that would have welded the two ships into one when the crosstransfer of personnel was desired. Even the contemptible Sayshellian fleet was equipped with it. Instead, the Speaker had to match velocities and then cast a tether across the gap and swing along it, as in Imperial days.