At 40 million kilometers, the Sun was a chained hell. It boiled in black space, no longer the brilliant dot that the children of Earth took for granted and easily, unconsciously, avoided with their eyes. Across millions of miles it pulled. Compulsively, one felt a need to look, but the need was dangerous.

From the Bradbury, it had the apparent size of a nickel held a foot away from the eye. The specter was too bright to be endured undiminished. To “catch a glimpse” of this orb, as one sometimes did on Earth, would invite blindness. The Captain ordered the ship’s stasis screens polarized and the regular viewing ports sealed.

The Lyot window was unshuttered in the lounge, so that passengers could examine the Lifegiver without injury.

Jacob paused in front of the round window in a late night pilgrimage to the coffee machine, half awake from a fitful sleep in his tiny stateroom. For minutes he stared, blank faced, still only half conscious, until a lisping voice roused him.

“Dish ish the way your shun looksh from the Aphelion of the orbit of Mercury, Jacob.”

Culla sat at one of the card tables in the dimly lit lounge. Just behind the alien, above a row of vending machines, a wall clock read “04:30” in glowing numbers.

Jacob’s sleepy voice was thick in his throat. “Have … um, … are we that close already?”

Culla nodded. “Yesh.”

The alien’s lip grinders were tucked away. His big folded lips pursed and let out a whistle each time he tried to pronounce an English long “s.” In the dim light his eyes reflected a red glow from the viewing window.

“We have only two more days until we arrive,” the alien said. His arms were crossed on the table in front of him. The loose folds of his silver gown covered half of the surface.

Jacob, swaying slightly, turned to glance back at the port. The solar orb wavered before his eyes.

“Are you all right?” the Pring asked anxiously. He started to rise.

“No. No, please.” Jacob held up his hand. “I’m just groggy. Not ’nuff sleep. Need coffee.”

He shambled toward the vending machines, but halfway there he stopped, turned, and peered again at the image of the furnace-sun.

“It’s red!” he grunted in surprise.

“Shall I tell you why while you get your coffee?” Culla asked.

“Yes. Please.” Jacob turned back to the dark row of food and beverage dispensers, looking for a coffee spout.

“The Lyot window only allowsh in light in monochromatic form,” Culla said. “It ish made of many round platesh; some polarizersh and some light retardersh. They are rotated with reshpect to one another to finely tune which wavelength ish allowed through.

“Itsh a most delicate and ingenioush device, although quite obsholete by Galactic standarsh … like one of the ‘Shwiss’ watchesh some humansh shtill wear in an age of electronicsh. When your people become adept with the Library such … Rube Goldbersh? … will be archaic.”

Jacob bent forward to peer at the nearest machine, It looked like a coffee machine. There was a transparent panel door, and behind that a little platform with a metal grill drain at the bottom. Now, if he pushed the right button, a disposable cup should drop onto the platform and then, from some mechanical artery would pour a stream of the bitter black beverage he wanted.

As Culla’s voice droned on in his ears, Jacob made polite sounds. “Uh, huh … yes, I see.”