Bliss had placed one shapely leg over the arm of the chair and wriggled her toes at him. “Of course I'm not worried, Trev. You'll handle it.”

Trev said forcefully, “Me?”

Dom said, “Gaia has brought you here by means of a hundred gentle manipulations. It is you who must face our crisis.”

Trev stared at him and slowly his face turned from stupefaction into gathering rage. “Me? Why, in all of space, me? I have nothing to do with this.”

“Nevertheless, Trev,” said Dom with an almost hypnotic calmness, “you. Only you. In all of space, only you.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

COLLISION

Stor Gendibal was edging toward Gaia almost as cautiously as Trevize had—and now that its star was a perceptible disc and could be viewed only through strong filters, he paused to consider.

Sura Novi sat to one side, looking up at him now and then in a timorous manner.

She said softly, “Master?”

“What is it, Novi?” he asked abstractedly.

“Are you unhappy?”

He looked up at her quickly. “No. Concerned. Remember that word? I am trying to decide whether to move in quickly or to wait longer. Shall I be very brave, Novi?”

“I think you are very brave all times, Master.”

“To be very brave is sometimes to be foolish.”

Novi smiled. “How can a master scholar be foolish?—That is a sun, is it not, Master?” She pointed to the screen.

Gendibal nodded.

Novi said, after an irresolute pause, “Is it the sun that shines on Trantor? Is it the Hamish sun?”

Gendibal said, “No, Novi. It is a far different sun. There are many suns, billions of them.”

“Ah! I had known this with my head. I could not make myself believe, however. How is it, Master, that one can know with the head—and yet not believe?”

Gendibal smiled faintly, “In your head, Novi…” he began and, automatically, as he said that, he found himself in her head. He stroked it gently, as he always did, when he found himself there just a soothing touch of mental tendrils to keep her calm and untroubled—and he would then have left again, as he always did, had not something drawn him back.

What he sensed was indescribable in any but mentalic terms but, metaphorically, Novi's brain glowed. It was the faintest possible glow.

It would not be there except for the existence of a mentalic field imposed from without—a mentalic field of an intensity so small that the finest receiving function of Gendibal's own well-trained mind could just barely detect it, even against the utter smoothness of Novi's mentalic structure.

He said sharply, “Novi, how do you feel?”

Her eyes opened wide. “I feel well, Master.”

“Are you dizzy, confused? Close your eyes and sit absolutely still until I say, 'Now.”

Obediently she closed her eyes. Carefully Gendibal brushed away all extraneous sensations from her mind, quieted her thought, soothed her emotions, stroked—stroked. He left nothing but the glow and it was so faint that he could almost persuade himself it was not there.

“Now,” he said and Novi opened her eyes.

“How do you feel, Novi?”

“Very calm, Master. Rested.”

It was clearly too feeble for it to have any noticeable effect on her. He turned to the computer and wrestled with it. He had to admit to himself that he and the computer did not mesh very well together. Perhaps it was because he was too used to using his mind directly to be able to work through an intermediary. But he was looking for a ship, not a mind, and the initial search could be done more efficiently with the help of the computer.

And he found the sort of ship he suspected might be present. It was half a million kilometers away and it was much like his own in design, but it was much larger and more elaborate.

Once it was located with the computer's help, Gendibal could allow his mind to take over directly. He sent it outward—tightbeamed—and with it felt (or the mentalic equivalent of “felt”) the ship, inside and out.

He then sent his mind toward the planet Gaia, approaching it more closely by several millions of kilometers of space—and withdrew. Neither process was sufficient in itself to tell him, unmistakably, which—if either—was the source of the field.

He said, “Novi, I would like you to sit next to me for what is to follow.”

“Master, is there danger?”

“You are not to be in any way concerned, Novi. I will see to it that you are safe and secure.”

“Master, I am not concerned that I be safe and secure. If there is danger, I want to be able to help you.”

Gendibal softened. He said, “Novi, you have already helped. Because of you, I became aware of a very small thing it was important to be aware of. Without you, I might have blundered rather deeply into a bog and might have had to pull out only through a great deal of trouble.”

“Have I done this with my mind, Master, as you once explained?” asked Novi, astonished.

“Quite so, Novi. No instrument could have been more sensitive. My own mind is not; it is too full of complexity.”

Delight filled Novi's face. “I am so grateful I can help.”

Gendibal smiled and nodded—and then subsided into the somber knowledge that he would need other help as well. Something childish within him objected. The job was his—his alone.

Yet it could not be his alone. The odds were climbing—

On Trantor, Quindor Shandess felt the responsibility of First Speakerhood resting upon him with a suffocating weight. Since Gendibal's ship had vanished into the darkness beyond the atmosphere, he had called no meetings of the Table. He had been lost in his own thoughts.

Had it been wise to allow Gendibal to go off on his Own? Gendibal was brilliant, but not so brilliant that it left no room for overconfidence. Gendibal's great fault was arrogance, as Shandess's own great fault (he thought bitterly) was the weariness of age.

Over and over again, it occurred to him that the precedent of Preem Palver, flitting over the Galaxy to set things right, was a dangerous one. Could anyone else be a Preem Palver? Even Gendibal? And Palver had had his wife with him.

To be sure, Gendibal had this Hamishwoman, but she was of no consequence. Palver's wife had been a Speaker in her own right.

Shandess felt himself aging from day to day as he waited for word from Gendibal—and with each day that word did not come, he felt an increasing tension.

It should have been a fleet of ships, a flotilla. No. The Table would not have allowed it.

And yet. When the call finally came, he was asleep—an exhausted sleep that was bringing him no relief. The night had been windy and he had had trouble falling asleep to begin with. Like a child, he had imagined voices in the wind.

His last thoughts before falling into an exhausted slumber had been a wistful building of the fancy of resignation, a wish be could do so together with the knowledge he could not, for at this moment Delarmi would succeed him.

And then the call came and he sat up in bed, instantly awake.

“You are well?” he said.

“Perfectly well, First Speaker,” said Gendibal. “Should we have visual connection for more condensed communication?”

“Later, perhaps,” said Shandess. “First, what is the situation?” Gendibal spoke carefully, for he sensed the other's recent arousal and he perceived a deep weariness. He said, “I am in the neighborhood of an inhabited planet called Gaia, whose existence is not hinted at in any of the Galactic records, as far as I know.”

“The world of those who have been working to perfect the Plan? The Anti-Mules?”

“Possibly, First Speaker. There is the reason to think so. First, the ship bearing Trevize and Pelorat has moved far in toward Gaia and has probably landed there. Second, there is, in space, about half a million kilometers from me, a First Foundation warship.”