"Wait till we get to my place," Raynor Three said, taking the controls
and putting the machine in the air. "Just lean back and enjoy the trip,
huh?"
Bart relaxed against the cushions, but he still felt apprehensive. Where
was his father? If he was a fugitive from the Lhari, he might by now be
at the other end of the galaxy. But if his father couldn't travel on
Lhari ships, and if he had been here, the chances were that he was still
somewhere in the Procyon system.
They flew for a long time; across low hills, patchwork agricultural
districts, towns, and then for a long time over water. The copter had
automatic controls, but Raynor Three kept it on manual, and Bart
wondered if the Mentorian just didn't want to talk.
It began to descend, at last, toward a small green hill, bright in the
last gold rays on sunset. A small domelike pink bubble rose out of the
hill. Raynor Three set the copter neatly down on a platform that slid
shut after them, unfastened their seat belts and gave Bart a hand to
climb out.
He ushered him into a living room of glass and chrome, softly lighted,
but deserted and faintly dusty. Raynor pushed a switch; soft music came
on, and the carpets caressed his feet. He motioned Bart to a chair.
"You're safe here, for a while," Raynor Three said, "though how long,
nobody knows. But so far, I've been above suspicion."'
Bart leaned back; the chair was very comfortable, but the comfort could
not help him to relax.
"Where is my father?" he demanded.
Raynor Three stood looking down at him, his mobile face drawn and
strange. "I guess I can't put it off any longer," he said softly. Then
he covered his face with his hands. From behind them hoarse words came,
choked with emotion.
"Your father is dead, Bart. I--I killed him."