The Naked Sun Read Free Page A

warm with the evidence of man.
    And he himself was isolated in the cold and featureless air in a small bullet of metal, moving through emptiness.
    His hands trembled, and he forced his eyes to focus on the strip of paper and read a bit.
    It was a short story dealing with Galactic explorationand it was quite obvious that the hero was an Earthman.
    Baley muttered in exasperation, then held his breath momentarily in dismay at his boorishness in making a sound.
    It was completely ridiculous, though. It was pandering to childishness, this pretense that Earthmen could invade space. Galactic exploration! The Galaxy was closed to Earthmen. It was preempted by the Spacers, whose ancestors had been Earthmen centuries before. Those ancestors had reached the Outer Worlds first, found themselves comfortable, and their descendants had lowered the bars to immigration. They had penned in Earth and their Earthman cousins. And Earth’s City civilization completed the task, imprisoning Earthmen within the Cities by a wall of fear of open spaces that barred them from the robot-run farming and mining areas of their own planet; from even that.
    Baley thought bitterly: Jehoshaphat! If we don’t like it, let’s do something about it. Let’s not just waste time with fairy tales.
    But there was nothing to do about it, and he knew it.
    Then the plane landed. He and his fellow-passengers emerged and scattered away from one another, never looking.
    Baley glanced at his watch and decided there was time for freshening before taking the Expressway to the Justice Department. He was glad there was. The sound and clamor of life, the huge vaulted chamber of the airport with City corridors leading off on numerous levels, everything else he saw and heard, gave him the feeling of being safely and warmly enclosed in the bowels and womb of the City.It washed away anxiety and only a shower was necessary to complete the job.
    He needed a transient’s permit to make use of one of the community bathrooms, but presentation of his travel orders eliminated any difficulties. There was only the routine stamping, with private-stall privileges (the date carefully marked to prevent abuse) and a slim strip of directions for getting to the assigned spot.
    Baley was thankful for the feel of the strips beneath his feet. It was with something amounting to luxury that he felt himself accelerate as he moved from strip to moving strip inward toward the speeding Expressway. He swung himself aboard lightly, taking the seat to which his rating entitled him.
    It wasn’t a rush hour; seats were available. The bathroom, when he reached it, was not unduly crowded either. The stall assigned to him was in decent order with a launderette that worked well.
    With his water ration consumed to good purpose and his clothing freshened he felt ready to tackle the Justice Department. Ironically enough, he even felt cheerful.
    Undersecretary Albert Minnim was a small, compact man, ruddy of skin, and graying, with the angles of his body smoothed down and softened. He exuded an air of cleanliness and smelled faintly of tonic. It all spoke of the good things of life that came with the liberal rations obtained by those high in Administration.
    Baley felt sallow and rawboned in comparison. He was conscious of his own large hands, deep-set eyes, a general sense of cragginess.
    Minnim said cordially, “Sit down, Baley. Do you smoke?”
    “Only a pipe, sir,” said Baley.
    He drew it out as he spoke, and Minnim thrust back a cigar he had half drawn.
    Baley was instantly regretful. A cigar was better than nothing and he would have appreciated the gift. Even with the increased tobacco ration that went along with his recent promotion from C-5 to C-6 he wasn’t exactly swimming in pipe fixings.
    “Please light up, if you care to,” said Minnim, and waited with a kind of paternal patience while Baley measured out a careful quantity of tobacco and affixed the pipe baffle.
    Baley said, his eyes on his pipe,