Disclaimer: Neither Golan Trevize nor his abominable fashion sense belongs to me.
A/N: Don't ask why I wrote this. I seem to be starting a large number of Foundation stories for no reason, but that's just because I can't resist poking fun at Asimov. It's so easy...Anyway, this is my first story dealing with the intrepid crew of the Far Star. I was thinking about it while being dragged around by my family at the mall. My sister was looking at some ridiculously wide belts and for some reason I started thinking about Trevize and his sashes...
A Change of Pace
Golan Trevize was having a bad day.
"I'm having a bad day," he announced to his friend Janov Pelorat as he slammed the door to Pelorat's room behind him.
Looking up from his bookfilm viewer, Pelorat fixed Trevize with a look of mild concern. "Oh, I'm sorry to hear that, Golan," he said sympathetically. "What's wrong?"
What a question. Trevize wondered briefly where to start. "Janov," he began tentatively, "have you ever had the kind of day where you feel like the universe is watching you and having a good laugh?" Actually, this was the feeling he had most days, but it was as good a place to start as any. If Pelorat wanted to know what was wrong...
Pelorat cocked his head and blinked a few times. "Well...actually, no," he admitted. "I don't think I have. Why?" He glanced furtively down at his book as if he would like to go back to it, but Trevize cleared his throat and Pelorat jumped a little. When Trevize was sure he had his friend's full attention, he went on.
"The thing is," he complained, beginning to pace, "that nobody understands. I tell them the universe is laughing at me and they look at me and...well...laugh." Pelorat coughed—a cough that sounded suspiciously like a disguised laugh—but Trevize ignored him.
"And then there are all these problems I'm burdened with," Trevize went on mournfully. "First this whole wild goose chase, and then Bliss—"
"Golan..." Pelorat warned, looking uncharacteristically serious. "You're my friend, but if you say one more word about Bliss I'll—"
"And Fallom." Trevize was getting really warmed up now, and nothing was going to stop him from pouring out his grievances against life, the universe, and everything. "Fallom was the last straw. I don't like children at the best of times, but she—it—whatever!" He shuddered in horror at the memory of that short time when the child had contaminated his beloved ship. No doubt he would remain traumatized for the rest of his life.
Pelorat was frowning now. "Now see here, Golan, it wasn't all that bad. And I realize you're not on the best of terms with Bliss, but you could try. Honestly, old chap, I think she'd like to be friends with you."
Whatever else he might have planned to say about friendship and civilized behavior was cut off as Trevize stormed out of the room, banging the door shut again. Pelorat sighed, shook his head, and went back to his book, muttering, "Young people these days."
As is the way of life on spaceships, Trevize didn't go far before he bumped into Bliss. She was sprawled on the sofa in the parlor, eating. Trevize made polite noises indicating that he would like to sit on the sofa as well and would appreciate it if she moved, but she ignored him completely and continued to stuff her face.
"Ahem." It was time for the slightly less polite noises. "Ahem." No response whatsoever. "AHEM." There, Trevize thought with satisfaction. Bliss couldn't possibly ignore that...
Then again, maybe she could. Trevize shook his head in disbelief. This was it. He had tried to be polite and friendly for Janov's sake. However, Bliss was clearly being deliberately antagonistic. "All right," he muttered. "No more Mr. Nice Guy."
"Bliss," he said flatly, taking the container out of her hands and glowering down at her. "Move." Bliss blinked up at him and reached for the container, but he held it just out of reach. "Move and I'll give you back the food."
"What is this, Trevize?" Bliss asked with every appearance of innocence. "Why are you doing this?" She made another futile grab for the food.
Trevize wasn't fooled by her act. "As if you didn't know," he snarled. "Every single time I want to sit on this sofa, you are here taking up all the room and eating..." He shuddered in revulsion. "...Seafood." If he had to name one reason for his persistent squabbles with Bliss, it would have to be the seafood. Shrimp, oysters, calamari...she devoured it all. But that wasn't the issue at the moment.
"So you want me to move?" she asked. "Why didn't you just say so?"
Ha. That was a good one. "Come on," he snapped. "Do you honestly expect me to believe that you haven't noticed me standing here for the past minute trying to nicely ask you to move?"
"What?" Bliss snorted. "And how was I supposed to know that's what you wanted? You're just standing there clearing your throat and you expect me to read your mind?"
"Yes!" Trevize fired back. "Or isn't Gaia good enough to read my emotions? Aw, poor little Bliss," he taunted. "She's far away from home and she misses her little planet. Or maybe she just misses Dom..." He knew he was going too far, but he couldn't seem to control his vocal cords.
Bliss's eyes were wide with anger. "What? Say that again, Trevize." Oh boy. He was in trouble now. "Go on, say it. You already said it once. You think I'm in love with Dom, Trevize? You think I'm just stringing Pel along, is that it?" She rose from the sofa, her eyes flashing. Trevize gulped and backed toward the door. Why couldn't he control his big mouth at times like this?
"No," he protested weakly as she advanced on him. "I didn't mean—I wasn't thinking—"
"Oh, that much is obvious," Bliss replied coldly. She stopped and regarded him, her lip curling in total disgust. "I don't know why Pel tolerates you. If it were up to me, I'd throw you out the airlock. Of course, that's just my personal opinion—don't worry, I won't harm a hair of your head. It's not worth the effort anyway."
Shaking her head, she turned her back on Trevize and started to go back to the sofa. Then she turned back to face him. Trevize drew away slightly, wanting to stay out of arm's reach, but she merely held out her hand. "My shrimp, if you please, Ex-councilman," she said, glaring just over his right shoulder.
Ex-councilman...that was a new one. Wordlessly, Trevize handed over the container. Bliss snatched it from him, flounced back over to the sofa, and flopped down on it once more with a dark look in his direction. "We'll need more seafood soon," she said to the room at large. "I hope Trevize remembers to get some the next time we make planetfall."
Trevize made a squeaky noise in the back of his throat and stalked out of the parlor.
Somehow, he made it to his room without murdering any innocent bystanders and made a point of closing the door quietly and carefully. No sense in damaging his beautiful ship, after all...Sitting down on the bed, he let out a tremendous sigh and slumped forward, elbows resting on knees in his typical depressed position.
Looking down at himself, Trevize realized something he hadn't noticed before in the routine of everyday life on the Far Star. "I've had this sash for a long time," he said to himself, fingering the ends of the bright green sash. Or, at least, it had once been bright green—now it was a sort of drab olive shade that barely clashed with the brown of his pants and tunic at all.
This was serious, Trevize realized. Quickly, he got up and crossed to his small closet. He inspected his large collection of sashes as furnished by Mayor Branno—the same sashes that had been through his adventures on Sayshell, Gaia, Comporellon, Aurora, and all the other places he had visited over the last months. They were all, without exception, faded to the point where the entire effect of wearing annoyingly bright colors was lost.
"Well, that settles it," Trevize said aloud, frowning as he wondered why this had escaped his notice until now. "I need more sashes." He then lay down on the bed and proceeded to have a long, refreshing nap.
But the computer of the Far Star did not sleep...
Deep inside the gravitic memory banks of the computer, there was an almost insurmountable instinct: Obey the wishes of Master Golan. And, although Master Golan had not expressed his wishes directly to the computer, it was nonetheless aware of them for the simple reason that it was aware of every word that was spoken on the ship.
As Golan Trevize slept, Janov Pelorat read, and Blissenobiarella ate seafood, the computer conducted research on its own. If it had been the type of ancient computer that hummed or buzzed as it operated, the noise would surely have been earsplitting. However, it was perfectly silent as it went about its work, functioning many times faster than the human brain at its best.
Search: Nearest planet with good malls.
Slowly, slowly the Far Star changed its course. Its passengers were blissfully unaware of any change in their direction or speed, but that was immaterial. Without any human direction at all, the computer successfully performed Jump after Jump, coming closer and closer to its goal.
Master Golan would be pleased indeed.
A/N: This is really strange. I'm having fun with it, though, so I hope you are too. Yes, supposedly Trevize and Bliss became friends, but there was always that element of just barely getting along. And Fallom really, really didn't help. For some reason, I can't get rid of the thought of Bliss sitting around all day eating seafood! Odd, yes, but it makes for an interesting story. So if you loved this, hated it, just want me to update so you can see whether it's worth reading, review! I'll try to write more soon.