That was it, thought Compor gloomily, unable to repress the feeling. The ship was no more than an old-fashioned Imperial vessel and a small one at that.

Two figures were moving across the tether—one of them so clumsily that it was clear it had never attempted to maneuver through space before.—

Finally they were on board and removed their space suits. Speaker Stor Gendibal was of moderate height and of unimpressive appearance; he was not large and powerful, nor did he exude an air of learning. His dark, deep-set eyes were the only indication of his wisdom. But now the Speaker looked about with a clear indication of being in awe himself.

The other was a woman as tall as Gendibal, plain in appearance. Her mouth was open in astonishment as she looked about.

Moving across the tether had not been an entirely unpleasant experience for Gendibal. He was not a spaceman—no Second Foundationer was—but neither was he a complete surface worm, for no Second Foundationer was allowed to be that. The possible need for space flight was, after all, always looming above them, though every Second Foundationer hoped the need would arise only infrequently. (Preem Palver—the extent of whose space travels was legendary—had once said, ruefully, that the measure of the success of a Speaker was the fewness of the times he was compelled to move through space in order to assure the success of the Plan.)

Gendibal had had to use a tether three times before. This was his fourth use and even if he had felt tension over the matter, it would have disappeared in his concern for Sura Novi. He needed no mentalics to see that stepping into nothingness had totally upset her.

“I be afeared, Master,” she said when he explained what would have to be done. “It be naughtness into which I will make footstep.” If nothing else, her sudden descent into thick Hamish dialect showed the extent of her disturbance.

Gendibal said gently, “I cannot leave you on board this ship, Novi, for I will be going into the other and I must have you with me. There is no danger, for your space suit will protect you from all harm and there is no place for you to fall to. Even if you lose your grip on the tether, you will remain nearly where you are and I will be within arm's reach so that I can gather you in. Come, Novi, show me that you are brave enough—as well as bright enough—to become a scholar.”

She made no further objection and Gendibal, unwilling to do anything that might disturb the smoothness of her mind-set, nevertheless managed to inject a soothing touch upon the surface of her mind.

“You can still speak to me,” he said, after they were each enclosed in a space suit. “I can hear you if you think hard. Think the words hard and clearly, one by one. You can hear me now, can't you?”

“Yes, Master,” she said.

He could see her lips move through the transparent faceplate and he said, “Say it without moving your lips, Novi. There is no radio in the kind of suits that scholars have. it is all done with the mind.”

Her lips did not move and her look grew more anxious: Can you hear me, Master?

Perfectly well, thought Gendibal—and his lips did not move either: Do you hear me?

I do, Master.

Then come with me and do as I do.

They moved across. Gendibal knew the theory of it, even if he could handle the practice only moderately well. The trick was to keep one's legs extended and together and to swing them from the hips alone. That kept the center of gravity moving in a straight line as the arms swung forward in steady alternation. He had explained this to Sura Novi and, without turning to look at her, he studied the stance of her body from the set of the motor areas of her brain.

For a first-timer, she did very well, almost as well as Gendibal was managing to do. She repressed her own tensions and she followed directions. Gendibal found himself, once again, very pleased with her.

She was, however, clearly glad to be on board ship again—and so was Gendibal. He looked about as he removed his space suit and was rather dumbfounded at the luxury and style of the equipment. He recognized almost nothing and his heart sank at the thought that he might have very little time to learn how to handle it all. He might have to transfer expertise directly from the man already on board, something that was never quite as satisfactory as true learning.

Then he concentrated on Compor. Compor was tall and lean, a few years older than himself, rather handsome in a slightly weak way, with tightly waved hair of a startling buttery yellow.

And it was clear to Gendibal that this person was disappointed in, and even contemptuous of, the Speaker he was now meeting for the first time. What was more, he was entirely unsuccessful in hiding the fact.

Gendibal did not mind such things, on the whole. Compor was not a Trantorian—nor a full Second Foundationer—and he clearly had his illusions. Even the most superficial scan of his mind showed that. Among these was the illusion that true power was necessarily related to the appearance of power. He might, of course, keep his illusions as long as they did not interfere with what Gendibal needed, but at the present moment, this particular illusion did so interfere.

What Gendibal did was the mentalic equivalent of a snap of the fingers. Compor staggered slightly under the impress of a sharp but fleeting pain. There was an impress of enforced concentration that puckered the skin of his thought and left the man with the awareness of a casual but awesome power that could be utilized if the Speaker chose.

Compor was left with a vast respect for Gendibal.

Gendibal said pleasantly, “I am merely attracting your attention, Compor, my friend. Please let me know the present whereabouts of your friend, Golan Trevize, and his friend, Janov Pelorat.”

Compor said hesitantly, “Shall I speak in the presence of the woman, Speaker?”

“The woman, Compor, is an extension of myself. There is no reason, therefore, why you should not speak openly.”

“As you say, Speaker. Trevize and Pelorat are now approaching a planet known as Gaia.”

“So you said in your last communication the other day. Surely they have already landed on Gaia and perhaps left again. They did not stay long on Sayshell Planet.”

“They had not yet landed during the time I followed them, Speaker. They were approaching the planet with great caution, pausing substantial periods between micro-Jumps. it is clear to me they have no information about the planet they are approaching and therefore hesitate.”

“Do you have information, Compor?”

“I have none, Speaker,” said Compor, “or at least my ship's computer has none.”

“This computer?” Gendibal's eyes fell upon the control panel and he asked in sudden hope, “Can it aid usefully in running the ship?”

“It can run the ship completely, Speaker. One need merely think into it.”

Gendibal felt suddenly uneasy. “The Foundation has gone that far?”

“Yes, but clumsily. The computer does not work well. I must repeat my thoughts several times and even then I get but minimal information.”

Gendibal said, “I may be able to do better than that.”

“I am sure of it, Speaker,” said Compor respectfully.

“But never mind that for the moment. Why does it have no information on Gaia?”

“I do not know, Speaker. It claims to have—as far as a computer may be said to be able to claim—records on every human—inhabited planet in the Galaxy.”

“It cannot have more information than has been fed into it and if those who did the feeding thought they had records of all such planets when, in actual fact, they had not, then the computer would labor under the same misapprehension. Correct?”

“Certainly, Speaker.”

“Did you inquire at Sayshell?”

“Speaker,” said Compor uneasily, “there are people who speak of

Gaia on Sayshell, but what they say is valueless. Clearly superstition. The tale they tell is that Gaia is a powerful world that held off even the Mule.”