Foundation and Earth

"But you haven’t given Gaia a chance, Golan. Look, old chap, let me admit something. When Bliss and I are intimate, she sometimes lets me share her mind for a minute or so. Not for more than that because she says I’m too old to adapt to it. Oh, don’t grin, Golan, you would be too old for it, too. If an Isolate, such as you or I, were to remain part of Gaia for more, than a minute or two, there might be brain damage and if it’s as much as five or ten minutes, it would be irreversible. If you could only experience it, Golan."

"What? Irreversible brain damage? No, thanks."

"Golan, you’re deliberately misunderstanding me. I mean, just that small moment of union. You don’t know what you’re missing. It’s indescribable. Bliss says there’s a sense of joy. That’s like saying there’s a sense of joy when you finally drink a bit of water after you have all but died of thirst. I couldn’t even begin to tell you what it’s like. You share all the pleasures that a billion people separately experience. It isn’t a steady joy; if it were you would quickly stop feeling it. It vibrates-twinkles-has a strange pulsing rhythm that doesn’t let you go. It’s more joy-no, not more-it’s a better joy than you could ever experience separately. I could weep when she shuts the door on me-"

Trevize shook his head. "You are amazingly eloquent, my good friend, but you sound very much as though you’re describing pseudendorphin addiction, or that of some other drug that admits you to joy in the short term at the price of leaving you permanently in horror in the long term. Not for me! I am reluctant to sell my individuality for some brief feeling of joy."

"I still have my individuality, Golan."

"But for how long will you have it if you keep it up, Janov? You’ll beg for more and more of your drug until, eventually, your brain will be damaged. Janov, you mustn’t let Bliss do this to you. Perhaps I had better speak to her about it."

"No! Don’t! You’re not the soul of tact, you know, and I don’t want her hurt. I assure you she takes better care of me in that respect than you can imagine. She’s more concerned with the possibility of brain damage than I am. You can be sure of that."

"Well, then, I’ll speak to you. Janov, don’t do this anymore. You’ve lived for fifty-two years with your own kind of pleasure and joy, and your brain is adapted to withstanding that. Don’t be snapped up by a new and unusual vice. There is a price for it; if not immediately, then eventually."

"Yes, Golan," said Pelorat in a low voice, looking down at the tips of his shoes. Then he said, "Suppose you look at it this way. What if you were a one-celled creature-"

"I know what you’re going to say, Janov. Forget it. Bliss and I have already referred to that analogy."

"Yes, but think a moment. Suppose we imagine single-celled organisms with a human level of consciousness and with the power of thought and imagine them faced with the possibility of becoming a multicellular organism. Would not the single-celled organisms mourn their loss of individuality, and bitterly resent their forthcoming enforced regimentation into the personality of an overall organism? And would they not be wrong? Could an individual cell even imagine the power of the human brain?"

Trevize shook his head violently. "No, Janov, it’s a false analogy. Singlecelled organisms don’t have consciousness or any power of thought-or if they do it is so infinitesimal it might as well be considered zero. For such objects to combine and lose individuality is to lose something they have never really had. A human being, however, is conscious and does have the power of thought. He has an actual consciousness and an actual independent intelligence to lose, so the analogy fails."

There was silence between the two of them for a moment; an almost oppressive silence; and finally Pelorat, attempting to wrench the conversation in a new direction, said, "Why do you stare at the viewscreen?"

"Habit," said Trevize, smiling wryly. "The computer tells me that there are no Gaian ships following me and that there are no Sayshellian fleets coming to meet me. Still I look anxiously, comforted by my own failure to see such ships, when the computer’s sensors are hundreds of times keener and more piercing than my eyes. What’s more, the computer is capable of sensing some properties of space very delicately, properties that my senses can’t perceive under any conditions. Knowing all that, I still stare."

Pelorat said, "Golan, if we are indeed friends-"

"I promise you I will do nothing to grieve Bliss; at least, nothing I can help."

"It’s another matter now. You keep your destination from me, as though you don’t trust me with it. Where are we going? Are you of the opinion you know where Earth is?"

Trevize looked up, eyebrows lifted. "I’m sorry. I have been hugging the secret to my own bosom, haven’t I?"

"Yes, but why?"

Trevize said, "Why, indeed. I wonder, my friend, if it isn’t a matter of Bliss."

"Bliss? Is it that you don’t want her to know. Really, old fellow, she is completely to be trusted."

"It’s not that. What’s the use of not trusting her? I suspect she can tweak any secret out of my mind if she wishes to. I think I have a more childish reason than that. I have the feeling that you are paying attention only to her and that I no longer really exist."

Pelorat looked horrified. "But that’s not true, Golan."

"I know, but I’m trying to analyze my own feelings. You came to me just now with fears for our friendship, and thinking about it, I feel as though I’ve had the same fears. I haven’t openly admitted it to myself, but I think I have felt cut out by Bliss. Perhaps I seek to ‘get even’ by petulantly keeping things from you. Childish, I suppose."