TOWARD COMPORELLON

5.

It was raining lightly. Trevize looked up at the sky, which was a solid grayish white.

He was wearing a rain hat that repelled the drops and sent them flying well away from his body in all directions. Pelorat, standing out of range of the flying drops, had no such protection.

Trevize said, “I don’t see the point of your letting yourself get wet, Janov.”

“The wet doesn’t bother me, my dear chap,” said Pelorat, looking as solemn as he always did. “It’s a light and warm rain. There’s no wind to speak of. And besides, to quote the old saying: ‘In Anacreon, do as the Anacreonians do.’ ” He indicated the few Gaians standing near the Far Star, watching quietly. They were well scattered, as though they were trees in a Gaian grove, and none wore rain hats.

“I suppose,” said Trevize, “they don’t mind being wet, because all the rest of Gaia is getting wet. The trees—the grass—the soil—all wet, and all equally part of Gaia, along with the Gaians.”

“I think it makes sense,” said Pelorat. “The sun will come out soon enough and everything will dry quickly. The clothing won’t wrinkle or shrink, there’s no chilling effect, and, since there aren’t any unnecessary pathogenic microorganisms, no one will get colds, or flu, or pneumonia. Why worry about a bit of damp then?”

Trevize had no trouble in seeing the logic of that, but he hated to let go of his grievance. He said, “Still, there is no need for it to rain as we are leaving. After all, the rain is voluntary. Gaia wouldn’t rain if it didn’t want to. It’s almost as though it were showing its contempt for us.”

“Perhaps”—and Pelorat’s lip twitched a bit—“Gaia is weeping with sorrow at our leaving.”

Trevize said, “That may be, but I’m not.”

“Actually,” Pelorat went on, “I presume that the soil in this region needs a wetting down, and that need is more important than your desire to have the sun shine.”

Trevize smiled. “I suspect you really like this world, don’t you? Even aside from Bliss, I mean.”

“Yes, I do,” said Pelorat, a trace defensively. “I’ve always led a quiet, orderly life, and think how I could manage here, with a whole world laboring to keep it quiet and orderly. —After all, Golan, when we build a house—or that ship—we try to create a perfect shelter. We equip it with everything we need; we arrange to have its temperature, air quality, illumination, and everything else of importance, controlled by us and manipulated in a way to make it perfectly accommodating to us. Gaia is just an extension of the desire for comfort and security extended to an entire planet. What’s wrong with that?”

“What’s wrong with that,” said Trevize, “is that my house or my ship is engineered to suit me. I am not engineered to suit it. If I were part of Gaia, then no matter how ideally the planet