Foundations Edge by Isaac Asimov

Author:Isaac Asimov
Language: eng
Format: mobi
ISBN: 9780345340504
Published: 2010-06-05T04:00:00+00:00

Foundation 4 - Foundation's Edge

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

UNIVERSITY

PELORAT WRINKLED HIS NOSE WHEN HE AND TREVIZE RE-ENTERED THE Far Star.

Trevize shrugged. “The human body is a powerful dispenser of odors. Recycling never works instantaneously and artificial scents merely overlay—they do not replace.”

“And I suppose no two ships smell quite alike, once they’ve been occupied for a period of time by different people.”

“That’s right, but did you smell Sayshell Planet after the first hour?”

“No,” admitted Pelorat.

“Well, you won’t smell this after a while, either. In fact, if you live in the ship long enough, you’ll welcome the odor that greets you on your return as signifying home. And by the way, if you become a Galactic rover after this, Janov, you’ll have to learn that it is impolite to comment on the odor of any ship or, for that matter, any world to those who live on that ship or world. Between us, of course, it is all right.”

“As a matter of fact, Golan, the funny thing is I do consider the Far Star home. At least it’s Foundation-made.” Pelorat smiled. “You know, I never considered myself a patriot. I like to think I recognize only humanity as my nation, but I must say that being away from the Foundation fills my heart with love for it.”

Trevize was making his bed. “You’re not very far from the Foundation, you know. The Sayshell Union is almost surrounded by Federation territory. We have an ambassador and an enormous presence here, from consuls on down. The Sayshellians like to oppose us in words, but they are usually very cautious about doing anything that gives us displeasure. —Janov, do turn in. We got nowhere today and we have to do better tomorrow.”

Still, there was no difficulty in hearing between the two rooms, however, and when the ship was dark, Pelorat, tossing restlessly, finally said in a not very loud voice, “Golan?”

“Yes.”

“You’re not sleeping?”

“Not while you’re talking.”

“We did get somewhere today. Your friend, Compor—”

“Ex-friend,” growled Trevize.

“Whatever his status, he talked about Earth and told us something I hadn’t come across in my researches before. Radioactivity!”

Trevize lifted himself to one elbow. “Look, Golan, if Earth is really dead, that doesn’t mean we return home. I still want to find Gaia.”

Pelorat made a puffing noise with his mouth as though he were blowing away feathers. “My dear chap, of course. So do I. Nor do I think Earth is dead. Compor may have been telling what he felt was the truth, but there’s scarcely a sector in the Galaxy that doesn’t have some tale or other that would place the origin of humanity on some local world. And they almost invariably call it Earth or some closely equivalent name.

“We call it ‘globocentrism’ in anthropology. People have a tendency to take it for granted that they are better than their neighbors; that their culture is older and superior to that of other worlds; that what is good in other worlds has been borrowed from them, while what is bad is distorted or perverted in the borrowing or invented elsewhere.

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