The first sight of Trantors sun was that of a hard, white speck all but lost in a myriad such, and recognizable only because it was pointed out by the ships guide. The stars were thick here at the Galactic centre. But with each Jump, it shone more brightly, drowning out the rest, paling them and thinning them out.
An officer came through and said, View-room will be closed for the remainder of the trip. Prepare for landing.
Gaal had followed after, clutching at the sleeve of the white uniform with the Spaceship-and-Sun of the Empire on it.
He said, Would it be possible to let me stay? I would like to see Trantor.
The officer smiled and Gaal flushed a bit. It occurred to him that he spoke with a provincial accent.
The officer said, Well be landing on Trantor by morning.
I mean I want to see it from space.
Oh. Sorry, my boy. If this were a space-yacht we might manage it. But were spinning down, sunside. You wouldnt want to be blinded, burnt, and radiation-scarred all at the same time, would you?
Gaal started to walk away.
The officer called after him, Trantor would only be grey blur anyway, Kid. Why dont you take a space-tour once you hit Trantor. Theyre cheap.
Gaal looked back, Thank you very much.
It was childish to feel disappointed, but childishness comes almost as naturally to a man as to a child, and there was a lump in Gaals throat. He had never seen Trantor spread out in all its incredibility, as large as life, and he hadnt expected to have to wait longer.
2
Gaal felt the slight jar that indicated the ship no longer had an independent motion of its own. Ships gravity had been giving way to planetary gravity for hours. Thousands of passengers had been sitting patiently in the debarkation rooms which swung easily on yielding force-fields to accommodate its orientation to the changing direction of the gravitational forces. Now they were crawling down curving ramps to the large, yawning locks.
Gaals baggage was minor. He stood at a desk, as it was quickly and expertly taken apart and put together again. His visa was inspected and stamped. He himself paid no attention.
This was Trantor! The air seemed a little thicker here, the gravity a bit greater, than on his home planet of Synnax, but he would get used to that. He wondered if he would get used to immensity.
Debarkation Building was tremendous. The roof was almost lost in the heights. Gaal could almost imagine that clouds could form beneath its immensity. He could see no opposite wall; just men and desks and converging floor till it faded out in haze.
The man at the desk was speaking again. He sounded annoyed. He said, Move on, Dornick. He had to open the visa, look again, before he remembered the name. Gaal said, Where where
The man at the desk jerked a thumb, Taxis to the right and third left.
Gaal moved, seeing the glowing twists of air suspended high in nothingness and reading, TAXIS TO ALL POINTS.
A figure detached itself from anonymity and stopped at the desk, as Gaal left. The man at the desk looked up and nodded briefly. The figure nodded in return and followed the young immigrant.
He was in time to hear Gaals destination.
Gaal found himself hard against a railing.
The small sign said, Supervisor. The man to whom the sign referred did not look up. He said, Where to?
Gaal wasnt sure, but even a few seconds hesitation meant men queueing in line behind him.
The Supervisor looked up, Where to?
Gaals funds were low, but there was only this one night and then he would have a job. He tried to sound nonchalant, A good hotel, please.
The Supervisor was unimpressed, Theyre all good. Name one.
Gaal said, desperately, The nearest one, please.
The Supervisor touched a button. A thin line of light formed along the floor, twisting among others which brightened and dimmed in different colours and shades. A ticket was shoved into Gaals hands. It glowed faintly.
The Supervisor said, One point twelve.
Gaal fumbled for the coins. He said, Where do I go?
Follow the light. The ticket will keep glowing as long as youre pointed in the right direction.
Gaal looked up and began walking. There were hundreds creeping across the vast floor, following their
individual trails, sifting and straining themselves through intersection points to arrive at their respective destinations.
His own trail ended. A man in glaring blue-and-yellow uniform, shining and new in unstainable plasto-textile, reached for his two bags.
Direct line to the Luxor, he said.
The man who followed Gaal heard that. He also heard Gaal say, Fine, and watched him enter the blunt-nosed vehicle.
The taxi lifted straight up. Gaal stared out the curved, transparent window, marvelling at the sensation of air-flight within an enclosed structure and clutching instinctively at the back of the drivers seat. The vastness contracted and the people became ants in random distribution. The scene contracted further and began to slide backward.
There was a wall ahead. It began high in the air and extended upward out of sight. It was riddled with holes that were the mouths of tunnels. Gaals taxi moved toward one, then plunged into it. For a moment, Gaal wondered idly how his driver could pick out one among so many.