Foundation's Edge - Isaac Asimov [96]
They walked into the building, which was not as large as the facade had led them to believe. It was certainly not busy inside.
There were a series of waiting booths, one of which was occupied by a man reading the newsstrips emerging from a small ejector; another contained two women who seemed to be playing some intricate game with cards and tiles. Behind a counter too large for him, with winking computer controls that seemed far too complex for him, was a bored-looking Sayshellian functionary wearing what looked like a multicolored checkerboard.
Pelorat stared and whispered, "This is certainly a world of extroverted garb."
"Yes," said Trevize, "I noticed. Still, fashions change from world to world and even from region to region within a world sometimes. And they change with time. Fifty years ago, everyone on Sayshell might have worn black, for all we know. Take it as it comes, Janov."
"I suppose I'll have to," said Pelorat, "but I prefer our own fashions. At least, they're not an assault upon the optic nerve."
"Because so many of us are gray on gray? That offends some people. I've heard it referred to as 'dressing in dirt.' Then too, it's Foundation colorlessness that probably keeps these people in their rainbows--just to emphasize their independence. It's all what you're accustomed to, anyway. --Come on, Janov."
The two headed toward the counter and, as they did so, the man in the booth forsook his news items, rose, and came to meet them, smiling as he did so. His clothing was in shades of gray.
Trevize didn't look in his direction at first, but when he did he stopped dead.
He took a deep breath, "By the Galaxy--My friend, the traitor!"
12
AGENT
1.
MUNN LI COMPOR, COUNCILMAN OF TERMINUS, looked uncertain as he extended his right hand to Trevize.
Trevize looked at the hand sternly and did not take it. He said, apparently to open air, "I am in no position to create a situation in which I may find myself arrested for disturbing the peace on a foreign planet, but I will do so anyway if this individual comes a step closer."
Compor stopped abruptly, hesitated, and finally said in a low voice after glancing uncertainly at Pelorat, "Am I to have a chance to talk? To explain? Will you listen?"
Pelorat looked from one to the other with a slight frown on his long face. He said, "What's this, Golan? Have we come to this far world and at once met someone you know?"
Trevize's eyes remained firmly fixed on Compor, but he twisted his body slightly to make it clear that he was talking to Pelorat. Trevize said, "This--human being--we would judge that much from his shape--was once a friend of mine on Terminus. As is my habit with my friends, I trusted him. I told him my views, which were perhaps not the kind that should have received a general airing. He told them to the authorities in great detail, apparently, and did not take the trouble to tell me he had done so. For that reason, I walked neatly into a trap and now I find myself in exile. And now this--human being--wishes to be recognized as a friend."
He turned to Compor full on and brushed his fingers through his hair, succeeding only in disarranging the curls further. "See here, you. I do have a question for you. What are you doing here? Of all the worlds in the Galaxy on which you could be, why are you on this one? And why now?"
Compor's hand, which had remained outstretched throughout Trevize's speech, now fell to his side and the smile left his face. The air of self-confidence, which was ordinarily so much a part of him, was gone and in its absence he looked younger than his thirty-four years and a bit woebegone. "I'll explain," he said, "but only from the start!"
Trevize looked about briefly. "Here? You really want to talk about it here? In a public place? You want me to knock you down here after I've listened