The Naked Sun

Baley said, his eyes on his pipe, “I have not been told the reason for my being called to Washington, sir.”

“I know that,” said Mi

“Outside New York City?”

“Quite a distance.”

Baley raised his eyebrows and looked thoughtful. “How temporarily, sir?”

“I’m not sure.”

Baley was aware of the advantages and disadvantages of reassignment. As a transient in a City of which he was not a resident, be would probably live on a scale better than his official rating entitled him to. On the other hand, it would be very unlikely that Jessie and their son, Bentley, would be allowed to travel with him. They would be taken care of, to be sure, there in New York, but Baley was a domesticated creature and he did not enjoy the thought of separation.

Then, too, a reassignment meant a specific job of work, which was good, and a responsibility greater than that ordinarily expected of the individual detective, which could be uncomfortable. Baley had, not too many months earlier, survived the responsibility of the investigation of the murder of a Spacer just outside New York. He was not overjoyed at the prospect of another such detail, or anything approaching it.

He said, “Would you tell me where I’m going? The nature of the reassignment? What it’s all about?”

He was trying to weigh the Undersecretary’s “Quite a distance” and make little bets with himself as to his new base of operations. The “Quite a distance” had sounded emphatic and Baley thought:

Calcutta? Sydney?

Then he noticed that Mi

Baley thought: Jehoshaphat! He’s having trouble telling me. He doesn’t want to say.

Mi

For a moment Baley’s mind groped for an illusive identification:

Solaria, Asia; Solaria, Australia…

Then he rose from his seat and said tightly, “You mean, one of the Outer Worlds?”

Mi

Baley said, “But that’s impossible. They wouldn’t allow an Earthman on an Outer World.”

“Circumstances do alter cases, Plainclothesman Baley. There has been a murder on Solaria.”

Baley’s lips quirked into a sort of reflex smile. “That’s a little out of our jurisdiction, isn’t it?”

“They’ve requested help.”

“From us? From Earth?” Baley was torn between confusion and disbelief. For an Outer World to take any attitude other than contempt toward the despised mother planet or, at best, a patronizing social benevolence was unthinkable. To come for help?

“From Earth?” he repeated.

“Unusual,” admitted Mi

Baley sat down again. “Why me? I’m not a young man. I’m forty three. I’ve got a wife and child. I couldn’t leave Earth.”

“That’s not our choice, Plainclothesman. You were specifically asked for.”

“Plainclothesman Elijah Baley, C-6, of the New York City Police Force. They knew what they wanted. Surely you see why.”

Baley said stubbornly, “I’m not qualified.”

“They think you are. The way you handled the Spacer murder has apparently reached them.”

“They must have got it all mixed up. It must have seemed better than it was.”

Mi

It was happening too quickly for Baley. None of this could be so. He couldn’t leave Earth. Didn’t they see that?

He heard himself ask in a level voice that sounded u

Mi

“Then who does, sir? You don’t expect me to go there cold, do you?” And again a despairing i

“Nobody knows anything about it. Nobody on Earth. The Solarians didn’t tell us. That will be your job; to find out what is so important about the murder that they must have an Earthman to solve it. Or, rather, that will be part of your job.”

Baley was desperate enough to say, “What if I refuse?” He knew the answer, of course. He knew exactly what declassification would mean to himself and, more than that, to his family.

Mi

“For Solaria? The hell with them.”

“For us, Baley. For us.” Mi

Baley knew the situation and so did every man on Earth. The fifty Outer Worlds, with a far smaller population, in combination, than that of Earth alone, nevertheless maintained a military potential perhaps a hundred times greater. With their underpopulated worlds resting on a positronic robot economy, their energy production per human was thousands of times that of Earth. And it was the amount of energy a single human could produce that dictated military potential, standard of living, happiness, and all besides.

Mi

Baley began, “I can’t—”

But Mi

Baley watched the Undersecretary through somber eyes. “You mean I’m to spy for Earth.”

“No question of spying. You need do nothing they don’t ask you to do. Just keep your eyes and mind open. Observe! There will be specialists on Earth when you return to analyze and interpret your observations.”

Baley said, “I take it there’s a crisis, sir.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Sending an Earthman to an Outer World is risky. The Spacers hate us. With the best will in the world and even though I’m there on invitation, I could cause an interstellar incident. The Terrestrial Government could easily avoid sending me if they chose. They could say I was ill. The Spacers are pathologically afraid of disease. They wouldn’t want me for any reason if they thought I were ill.”

“Do you suggest,” said Mi

“No. If the government had no other motive for sending me, they would think of that or something better without my help. So it follows that it is the question of spying that is the real essential. And if that is so, there must be more to it than just a see-what-you-can see to justify the risk.”

Baley half expected an explosion and would have half welcomed one as a relief of pressure, but Mi

The Undersecretary leaned across his desk toward Baley. “Here is certain information which you will discuss with no one, not even with other government officials. Our sociologists have been coming to certain conclusions concerning the present Galactic situation. Fifty Outer Worlds, underpopulated, roboticized, powerful, with people that are healthy and long-lived. We ourselves, crowded, technologically underdeveloped, short-lived, under their domination. It is unstable.”