Isaac Asimov - The Naked Sun

Baley said, “Don’t you have a robot to do this? Closing contacts?”

“Shush, now,” she said impatiently. “I don’t keep robots in here. This is—me.” She looked at him, frowning. “I don’t know you well enough. That’s the trouble.”

She wasn’t looking at the pedestal, but her fingers rested lightly on its smooth upper surface. All ten fingers were curved, tense, waiting.

One finger moved, describing a half curve over smoothness. A bar of deep yellow light grew and slanted obliquely across the air above. The finger inched backward a fraction and the light grew slightly less deep in shade.

She looked at it momentarily. “I suppose that’s it. A kind of strength without weight.”

“Jehoshaphat,” said Baley.

“Are you offended?” Her fingers lifted and the yellow slant of light remained solitary and stationary.

“No, not at all. But what is it? How do you do it?”

“That’s hard to explain,” said Gladia, looking at the pedestal

thoughtfully, “considering I don’t really understand it myself. It’s a kind of optical illusion, I’ve been told. We set up force-fields at different energy levels. They’re extrusions of hyperspace, really, and don’t have the properties of ordinary space at all. Depending on the energy level, the human eye sees light of different shades. The shapes and colors are controlled by the warmth of my fingers against appropriate spots on the pedestal. There are all sorts of controls inside each pedestal.”

“You mean if I were to put my finger there—” Baley advanced and Gladia made way for him. He put a hesitant forefinger down upon the pedestal and felt a soft throbbing.

“Go ahead. Move your finger, Elijah,” said Gladia.

Baley did so and a dirty-gray jag of light lifted upward, skewing the yellow light. Baley withdrew his finger sharply and Gladia laughed and then was instantly contrite.

“I shouldn’t laugh,” she said. “It’s really very hard to do, even for people who’ve tried a long time.” Her own hand moved lightly and too quickly for Baley to follow and the monstrosity he had set up disappeared, leaving the yellow light in isolation again.

“How did you learn to do this?” asked Baley.

“I just kept on trying. It’s a new art form, you know, and only one or two really know how—”

“And you’re the best,” said Baley somberly. “On Solaria everyone is either the only or the best or both.”

“You needn’t laugh. I’ve had some of my pedestals on display. I’ve given shows.” Her chin lifted. There was no mistaking her pride.

She continued, “Let me go on with your portrait.” Her fingers moved again.

There were few curves in the light-form that grew under her ministrations. It was all sharp angles. And the dominant color was blue.

“That’s Earth, somehow,” said Gladia, biting her lower lip. “I always think of Earth as blue. All those people and seeing, seeing, seeing. Viewing is more rose. How does it seem to you?”

“Jehoshaphat, I can’t picture things as colors.”

“Can’t you?” she asked abstractedly. “Now you say ‘Jehoshaphat’ sometimes and that’s just a little blob of violet. A little sharp blob because it usually comes out ping, like that.” And the little blob was there, glowing just off-center.

“And then,” she said, “I can finish it like this.” And a flat, lusterless hollow cube of slate gray sprang up to enclose everything. The light within shone through it, but dimmer; imprisoned, somehow.

Baley felt a sadness at it, as though it were something enclosing him, keeping him from something he wanted. He said, “What’s that last?”

Gladia said, “Why, the walls about you. That’s what’s most in you, the way you can’t go outside, the way you have to be inside. You are inside there. Don’t you see?”

Baley saw and somehow he disapproved. He said, “Those walls aren’t permanent. I’ve been out today.”

“You have? Did you mind?”

He could not resist a counter dig. “The way you mind seeing me. You don’t like it but you can stand it.”

She looked at him thoughtfully. “Do you want to come out now? With me? For a walk?”

It was Baley’s impulse to say: Jehoshaphat, no.

She said, “I’ve never walked with anyone, seeing. It’s still daytime, and it’s pleasant weather.”

Baley looked at his abstractionist portrait and said, “If I go, will you take away the gray?”

She smiled and said, “I’ll see how you behave.”

The structure of light remained as they left the room. It stayed behind, holding Baley’s imprisoned soul fast in the gray of the Cities.

Baley shivered slightly. Air moved against him and there was a chill to it.

Gladia said, “Are you cold?”

“It wasn’t like this before,” muttered Baley.

“It’s late in the day now, but it isn’t really cold. Would you like a coat? One of the robots could bring one in a minute.”

“No. It’s all right.” They stepped forward along a narrow paved path. He said, “Is this where you used to walk with Dr. Leebig?”

“Oh no. We walked way out among the fields, where you only see an occasional robot working and you can hear the animal sounds. You and I will stay near the house though, just in case.”

“In case what?”

“Well, in case you want to go in.”

“Or in case you get weary of seeing?”

“It doesn’t bother me,” she said recklessly.

There was the vague rustle of leaves above and an all-pervading yellowness and greenness. There were sharp, thin cries in the air about, plus a strident humming, and shadows, too.

He was especially aware of the shadows. One of them stuck out before him, in shape like a man, that moved as he did in horrible mimicry. Baley had heard of shadows, of course, and he knew what they were, but in the pervasive indirect lighting of the Cities he had never been specifically aware of one.

Behind him, he knew, was the Solarian sun. He took care not to look at it, but he knew it was there.

Space was large, space was lonely, yet he found it drawing him. His mind pictured himself striding the surface of a world with thousands of miles and light-years of room all about him.

Why should he find attraction in this thought of loneliness? He didn’t want loneliness. He wanted Earth and the warmth and companionship of the man-crammed Cities.

The picture failed him. He tried to conjure up New York in his mind, all the noise and fullness of it, and found he could remain conscious only of the quiet, air-moving chill of the surface of Solaria.

Without quite willing it Baley moved closer to Gladia until he was two feet away, then grew aware of her startled face.

“I beg your pardon,” he said at once, and drew off.

She gasped, “It’s all right. Won’t you walk this way? We have some flower beds you might like.”

The direction she indicated lay away from the sun. Baley followed silently.

Gladia said, “Later in the year, it will be wonderful. In the warm weather I can run down to the lake and swim, or just run across the fields, run as fast as I can until I’m just glad to fall down and lie still.”

She looked down at herself. “But this is no costume for it. With all this on, I’ve got to walk. Sedately, you know.”

“How would you prefer to dress?” asked Baley.

“Halter and shorts at the most,” she cried, lifting her arms as though feeling the freedom of that in her imagination. “Sometimes less. Sometimes just sandals so you can feel the air with every inch—Oh, I’m sorry. I’ve offended you.”

Baley said, “No. It’s all right. Was that your costume when you went walking with Dr. Leebig?”

“It varied. It depended on the weather. Sometimes I wore very little, but it was viewing, you know. You do understand, I hope.”