The ship  landed in a medley  of noises. There was  the far-off hiss of theatmosphere cutting  and sliding past the  metal of the ship.  There was thesteady drone  of the  conditioners fighting the  heat of friction,  and theslower rumble  of the  engines enforcing deceleration. There  was the humansound of men and  women gathering in the debarkation rooms and the grind ofthe hoists lifting baggage, mail, and freight to the long axis of the ship,from  which they  would  be later  moved along  to the  unloading platform.
Gaal  felt  the  slight  jar that  indicated  the  ship  no  longer had  anindependent  motion of  its  own. Ship's  gravity  had been  giving way  toplanetary  gravity  for hours.  Thousands  of passengers  had been  sittingpatiently  in  the  debarkation   rooms  which  swung  easily  on  yieldingforce-fields to  accommodate its  orientation to the  changing direction ofthe gravitational forces. Now  they were crawling down curving ramps to thelarge, yawning locks.
Gaal's  baggage was  minor.  He stood  at a  desk,  as it  was  quickly andexpertly taken  apart and  put together again.  His visa was  inspected andstamped. He himself paid no attention.
This was  Trantor! The air seemed a little thicker  here, the gravity a bitgreater, 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  theheights.  Gaal could  almost  imagine that  clouds could  form  beneath itsimmensity. He could see no opposite wall; just men and desks and convergingfloor till it faded out in haze.
The man at the  desk was speaking again. He sounded annoyed. He said, "Moveon, Dornick." He had to open the visa, look again, before he remembered thename.
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 nothingnessand reading, "TAXIS TO ALL POINTS."A figure  detached itself from anonymity  and stopped at the  desk, as Gaalleft. The  man at the desk looked up and  nodded briefly. The figure noddedin return and followed the young immigrant.
He was in time to hear Gaal's destination.
Gaal found himself hard against a railing.
The small  sign said, "Supervisor." The  man to whom the  sign referred didnot look up. He said, "Where to?"Gaal wasn't  sure, but even a  few seconds hesitation meant  men queuing inline behind him.
The Supervisor looked up, "Where to?"Gaal's funds were low,  but there was only this one night and then he wouldhave  a  job.  He  tried  to  sound  nonchalant, "A  good  hotel,  please."The   Supervisor   was  unimpressed,   "They're   all   good.  Name   one."Gaal said, desperately, "The nearest one, please."The  Supervisor touched  a button. A  thin line  of light formed  along thefloor,  twisting  among others  which  brightened and  dimmed in  differentcolors  and  shades. A  ticket  was  shoved into  Gaal's  hands. It  glowedfaintly.
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 you're pointedin the tight direction."Gaal looked  up and began walking. There  were hundreds creeping across thevast  floor,  following  their  individual trails,  sifting  and  strainingthemselves  through  intersection  points  to arrive  at  their  respectivedestinations.
His own trail ended.  A man in glaring blue and yellow uniform, shining andnew   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," andwatched him enter the blunt-nosed vehicle.
The  taxi  lifted straight  up.  Gaal  stared out  the curved,  transparentwindow,  marvelling  at  the  sensation  of airflight  within  an  enclosedstructure and clutching instinctively at the back of the driver's seat. Thevastness contracted and the  people became ants in random distribution. Thescene contracted further and began to slide backward.
There was a wall ahead. It began high in the air and extended upward out ofsight. It  was riddled with holes  that were the mouths  of tunnels. Gaal'staxi moved  toward one  then plunged into  it. For a  moment, Gaal wonderedidly how his driver could pick out one among so many.
There  was now  only  blackness, with  nothing but  the past-flashing  of acolored signal  light to relieve the  gloom. The air was  full of a rushingsound.
Gaal leaned  forward against deceleration  then and the taxi  popped out ofthe tunnel and descended to ground-level once more.
"The Luxor Hotel," said  the driver, unnecessarily. He helped Gaal with hisbaggage, accepted  a tenth-credit tip with a  businesslike air, picked up awaiting passenger, and was rising again.
In all  this, from the moment of debarkation, there  had been no glimpse ofsky.