“Yes, Daneel. Which of those stars is Solaria’s sun?”

Daneel did not look upward. He said, “None of them, Madam Gladia. At this time of year, Solaria’s sun will not rise until 03:20.”

“Oh?” Gladia felt dashed. Somehow she had assumed that any star in which she happened to be interested would be visible at any time it occurred to her to look. Of course, they did rise and set at different times. She knew that much. “I’ve been staring at nothing, then.”

“The stars, I gather from human reactions,” said Daneel, as though in an attempt to console, “are beautiful whether any particular one of them is visible or not.”

“I dare say,” said Gladia discontentedly and adjusted the lounge to an upright position with a snap. She stood up. “However, it was Solaria’s sun I wanted to see—but not so much that I intend to sit here till 03:20.”

“Even were you to do so,” said Daneel, “you would need magnilenses.”

“Magnilenses?”

“It is not quite visible to the unaided eye, Madam Gladia.”

“Worse and worse!” She brushed at her slacks. “I should have consulted you first, Daneel.”

Anyone who had known Gladia twenty decades before, when she had first arrived in Aurora, would have found a change. Unlike Daneel, she was merely human. She was 155 centimeters tall, almost 10 centimeters below the ideal height for a Spacer woman. She had carefully kept her slim figure and there was no sign of weakness or stiffness about her body. Still, there was a bit of gray in her hair, fine wrinkles near her eyes, and a touch of graininess about her skin. She might well live another ten or twelve decades, but there was no denying that she was already no longer young. That didn’t bother her.

She said, “Can you identify all the stars, Daneel?”

“I know those visible to the unaided eye, Madam Gladia.”

“And when they rise and set on any day of the year?”