Women being what they were, Kodell had said, she might well have claimed distant and exotic ancestry to add to her glamour and her already formidable attractiveness.

“Is that how women are?” Branno had asked drily, and Kodell had smiled and muttered that he was referring to ordinary women, of course.

Compor said, “It is not necessary that the people of the Foundation know of my service—only that you do.”

“I know and I will not forget. What I also will not do is to let you assume that your obligations are now over. You have embarked on a complicated course and you must continue. We want more about Trevize.”

“I have told you all I know concerning him.”

“That may be what you would have me believe. That may even be what you truly believe yourself. Nevertheless, answer my questions. Do you know a gentleman named Janov Pelorat?”

For just a moment Compor's forehead creased, then smoothed itself almost at once. He said carefully, “I might know him if I were to see him, but the name does not seem to cause any association within me.”

“He is a scholar.”

Compor's mouth rounded into a rather contemptuous but unsounded “Oh?” as though he were surprised that the Mayor would expect him to know scholars.

Branno said, “Pelorat is an interesting person who, for reasons of his own, has the ambition of visiting Trantor. Councilman Trevize will accompany him. Now, since you have been a good friend of Trevize and . perhaps know his system of thinking, tell me. Do you think Trevize will consent to go to Trantor?”

Compor said, “If you see to it that Trevize gets on the ship, and if the ship is piloted to Trantor, what can he do but go there? Surely you don't suggest he will mutiny and take over the ship.”

“You don't understand. He and Pelorat will be alone on the ship and it will be Trevize at the controls.”

“You are asking whether he would go voluntarily to Trantor?”

“Yes, that is what I am asking.”

“Madam Mayor, how can I possibly know what he will do?”

“Councilman Compor, you have been close to Trevize. You know his belief in the existence of the Second Foundation. Has he never spoken to you of his theories as to where it might exist, where it might be found?”

“Never, Madam Mayor.”

“Do you think he will find it?”

Compor chuckled. “I think the Second Foundation, whatever it was and however important it might have been, was wiped out in the time of Arkady Darell. I believe her story.”

“Indeed? In that case, why did you betray your friend? If he were searching for something that does not exist, what harm could he have done by propounding his quaint theories?”

Compor said, “It is not the truth alone that can harm. His theories may have been merely quaint, but they might have succeeded in unsettling the people of Terminus and, by introducing doubts and fears as to the Foundation's role in the great drama of Galactic history, have weakened its leadership of the Federation and its dreams of a Second Galactic Empire. Clearly you thought this yourself, or you would not have seized him on the floor of the Council, and you would not now be forcing him into exile without trial. Why have you done so, if I may ask, Mayor?”

“Shall we say that I was cautious enough to wonder if there were some faint chance that he might be right, and that the expression of his views might be actively and directly dangerous?”

Compor said nothing.

Branno said, “I agree with you, but I am forced by the responsibilities of my position to consider the possibility. Let me ask you again if you have any indication as to where he might think the Second Foundation exists, and where he might go.”

“I have none.”

“He has never given you any hints in that direction?”

“No, of course not.”

“Never? Don't dismiss the thought easily. Think! Never?”

“Never,” said Compor firmly.

“No hints? no joking remarks? no doodles? no thoughtful abstractions at moments that achieve significance as you look back on them?”

“None. I tell you, Madam Mayor, his dreams of the Second Foundation are the most nebulous starshine. You know it, and you but waste your time and your emotions in your concern over it.”

“You are not by some chance suddenly changing sides again and protecting the friend you delivered into my hands?”

“No,” said Compor. “I turned him over to you for what seemed to me to be good and patriotic reasons. I have no reason to regret the action, or to change my attitude.”

“Then you can give me no hint as to where he might go once he has a ship at his disposal?”

“As I have already said…”

“And yet, Councilman,” and here the lines of the Mayor's face so folded as to make her seem wistful, “I would like to know where he goes.”

“In that case, I think you ought to place a hyper-relay on his ship.”

“I have thought of that, Councilman. He is, however, a suspicious man and I suspect he will find it—however cleverly it might be placed. Of course, it might be placed in such a way that he cannot remove it without crippling the ship, and he might therefore be forced to leave it in place…”

“An excellent notion.”

“Except that,” said Branno, “he would then be inhibited. He might not go where he would go if he felt himself free and untrammeled. The knowledge I would gain would be useless to me.”

“In that case, it appears you cannot find out where he will go.”

“I might, for I intend to be very primitive. A person who expects the completely sophisticated and who guards against it is quite apt never to think of the primitive.—I'm thinking of having Trevize followed.”

“Followed?”

“Exactly. By, another pilot in another spaceship. See how astonished you are at the thought? He would be equally astonished. He might not think of scouring space for an accompanying mass and, in any case, we will see to it that his ship is not equipped with our latest mass-detection devices.”

Compor said, “Madam Mayor, I speak with all possible respect, but I must point out that you lack experience in space flight. To have one ship followed by another is never done—because it won't work. Trevize will escape with the first hyperspatial jump. Even if he doesn't know he is being followed, that first jump will be his path to freedom. If he doesn't have a hyper-relay on board ship, he can't be traced.”

“I admit my lack of experience. Unlike you and Trevize, I have had no naval training. Nevertheless, I am told by my advisers—who have had such training—that if a ship is observed immediately prior to a jump, its direction, speed, and acceleration make it possible to guess what the jump might be—in a general way. Given a good computer and an excellent sense of judgment, a follower might duplicate the jump closely enough to pick up the trail at the other end—especially if the follower has a good mass-detector.”

“That might happen once,” said Compor energetically, “even twice if the follower is very lucky, but that's it. You can't rely on such things.”

“Perhaps we can.—Councilman Compor, you have hyper-raced in your time. You see, I know a great deal about you. You are an excellent pilot and have done amazing things when it comes to following a competitor through a jump.”

Compor's eyes widened. He almost squirmed in his chair. “I was in college then. I am older now.”

“Not too old. Not yet thirty-five. Consequently you are going to follow Trevize, Councilman. Where he goes, you will follow, and you will report back to me. You will leave soon after Trevize does, and he will be leaving in a few hours. If you refuse the task, Councilman, you will be imprisoned for treason. If you take the ship that we will provide for you, and if you fail to follow, you need not bother coming back. You will be shot out of space if you try.”

Compor rose sharply to his feet. “! have a life to live. I have work to do. I have a wife. I cannot leave it all.”