The low rainbow building of Eight Colors, near the spaceport of Procyon
Alpha, had not changed; and when Bart went in, as he had done a year
ago, it seemed that the same varnished girl was sitting before the same
glass desk, neon-edged and brittle, with the same chrome-tinged hair and
blue fingernails. She looked at Bart in his Lhari clothing, at Meta in
her Mentorian robe and cloak, at Ringg, and her unruffled dignity did
not turn a hair.
"May I help you?" she inquired, still not caring.
"I want to see Raynor One."
"On what business, please?"
"Tell him," said Bart, with immense satisfaction, "that his boss is
here--Bart Steele--and wants to see him right away."
It had a sort of disrupting effect. She seemed to go blurred at the
edges. After a minute, blinking carefully, she spoke into the
vision-screen, and reported, numbly, "Go on up, Mr. Steele."
He wasn't expecting a welcome. He said so as the elevator rose. "After
all, if I'd never come back, he'd doubtless have inherited the whole
Eight Colors line, unencumbered. I don't expect he'll be happy to see
me. But he's the only one I can turn to."
The elevator stopped, opened. They stepped out, and a man stepped
nervously toward them. For a moment, expecting Raynor One, Bart was
deceived; then as the man's face spread in a smile of welcome, he
stopped in incredulous delight.
"Raynor Three!"
In overflowing gladness, Bart hugged him. It was like a meeting with the
dead. He felt as if he had really come home. "But--but you remember me!"
he exclaimed, backing away, in amazement.
Slowly, the man nodded. His eyes were grave. "Yes. I decided it wasn't
worth it, Bart, to go on losing everything that meant anything to me.
Even if it meant I had to give up the stars, never travel again except
as a passenger, I couldn't go on being afraid to remember, never knowing
the consequences or responsibilities of what I'd done." His sad smile
was strangely beautiful. "The _Multiphase_ sailed without me. I've been
here, hoping against hope that someday I'd know the rest."
Associations clicked into place in Bart's mind. The _Multiphase_. So
Raynor Three was the Mentorian who had smuggled David Briscoe off the
ship, and whose memories, wrung out by the Lhari captain of that ship,
had touched off so many deaths. But he had paid for that--paid many
times over. And now must he pay for this, too?
Raynor One strode toward them. "So it's really you. I thought it might
be a trap, but Three wouldn't listen. Word came from Antares that
Montano had been arrested and his ship confiscated for illegal landing
on Lharillis. I thought you were probably dead."
"We sent a boy to do a man's job," Raynor Three said, "and he came back
a man. But tell me--" He looked curiously at Ringg and Meta.
Bart introduced them, adding, "I came for help, really. I'm facing
charges, and I'm afraid you are, too."
Raynor One said harshly, "A trap, after all, Three! He trapped you, and
he's led the Lhari to you!"
"No," Raynor Three said, "or he wouldn't be walking around free and
unguarded and with all his memories intact. Tell me about it, Bart." And
when Bart had given a quick narration of the Lhari judgment, he nodded,
slowly.
"That's all we ever wanted. Don't think you failed, Bart. The horrible
part was only the way they were trying to keep it secret."
Ringg interrupted, "Do not judge the Lhari by them, Raynor Three," and
Raynor Three said in good Lhari, "I don't, feathertop. Raynors have been
working with Lhari since the days of Rhazon of Nedrus. But I wanted an
open, official statement of Lhari policy--not secret murders by
fanatics. I had confidence in the Lhari as a people, but not in
individuals. What good did it do to know that the Lhari council in
another galaxy would have condemned the murders and manhunts, when they
were going on in this one, day after day?
"Don't you see, Bart?" he continued, "you didn't fail--not if we're
going to have the publicity of a test case, publicly heard. That means
the Lhari are prepared to admit, before our whole galaxy, that humans
_can_ survive warp-drive without cold-sleep. That's all David Briscoe
was trying to prove, or your father either--may they rest in peace. So,
whatever happens, we've won."
"If you two idealists will give me a minute for cold realities," Raynor
One said, "there's this. Among other things. Bart's not yet of legal
age. You may not know this, Bart, but your father appointed me your
legal guardian. When I turned you over to Three, I'm afraid, I assumed
legal responsibility for all the consequences. I ought to have kept you
under my own supervision."
Bart smiled at Raynor One's stern face. "I crossed two galaxies, and
faced the Lhari High Council, without you to hold my hand. I can face
the Trade Federation."
"Naturally I will be responsible for your defense," Raynor One said
stiffly.
"But I don't need a defense," Bart said, turning to Raynor Three and
meeting his eyes. "I'm going to tell the truth, and let it stand. Don't
worry, I'll make sure they don't hold you responsible for my actions."
"Another thing. Some lunatic from Capella arrived here and all but
accused me of having you murdered. Do you know a Tommy Kendron?"
"Do I _know_ him!" Bart interrupted with a joyful yell. "Tommy's _here_?
Quick--where do I get in touch with him?"
An hour later they were all gathered at Raynor Three's country house.
The talk went on far into the night. Tommy wanted to know everything,
and both Raynors wanted to know every detail of Bart's year among the
Lhari, while Meta and Ringg were both curious about how it had begun.
Bart tried to forget that the next day might bring trouble, even
imprisonment. The Lhari Council had told him to talk as much as he liked
about his voyage, and this might be his only chance. When he had
finished, Tommy leaned forward and gripped Bart's hand tightly.
"You make them sound like pretty decent people," he said, looking at
Ringg. "A year ago, if you'd told me I'd be here with a Lhari spaceman
and a bunch of Mentorians, I'd never have believed it."
"Nor I, that I would be as friend under a human roof," Ringg replied.
"But a friend to Bart is my friend also." He touched the faint
discolored scars on his brow, saying softly, "But for Bart, I would not
be here to greet anyone, man or Lhari, as friend."
"So," said Tommy triumphantly, "you haven't failed, even if you didn't
discover the secret of the Eighth Color--"
But a sudden, blinding light burst over Bart as Ringg moved his hand to
the scars. Once again he searched a cave beneath a green star, where
Ringg lay unconscious and bleeding, and played his Lhari light fearfully
over a waterfall of colored minerals. _And there was one whose color he
could not identify--red, blue, violet, green, none of these_--the color
of an unknown star in an unknown galaxy, the shimmer of a landing Lhari
ship, the color of an unknown element in an unknown fuel--
"The secret of the Eighth Color," he said, and stood up, his hands
literally shaking in excitement. "I'm an _idiot_! No, don't ask me any
questions! I could still be wrong. But even if I go to a prison planet,
the Eighth Color isn't a secret any more!"
When the others had gone back to the city, he sat with Raynor Three in
the room where the latter had told him of his father's death, where he
had first seen his terrifying Lhari face. They spoke little, but Raynor
Three finally asked, "Were you serious about not wanting a defense,
Bart?"
"I was. All I want is a chance to tell my own story in my own way. Where
everyone will hear me."
Raynor Three looked at him curiously. "There's something you're not
telling, Bart. Want to tell me?"
Bart hesitated, then held out his hand and clasped his kinsman's.
"Thanks--but no."
Raynor Three saw his hesitation and chuckled. "All right, son. Forget I
asked. You've grown up."
It was good to sleep in a soft human-type bed again, to eat breakfast
and shave and dress in ordinary human clothing again. But Bart folded
his Lhari tights and the cloak tenderly, with regret. They were the
memory of an experience no one else would ever have.
Raynor Three let him take the controls as they flew back to the
spaceport city; and a little before noon they entered the great crystal
pylon that was the headquarters of the Federation Trade Bureau on
Procyon Alpha. Men and Lhari were moving in the lobby; among them Bart
saw Vorongil, Meta at his side. He smiled at her, received a wan smile
in return.
Would Vorongil feel that Bart had deceived him, betrayed him, when he
heard Bart today?
In the hearing room, four white-crested Lhari sat across from four
dignified, well-dressed men, representatives of the Federation of
Intergalactic Trade. The space beyond was wholly filled with people,
crowded together, and carrying stereo cameras, intercom equipment, the
creepie-peepie of the on-the-spot space commentator.
"Mr. Steele, we had hoped to make this a quiet hearing, without undue
publicity. But we cannot deny the news media the privilege of covering
it, unless you wish to claim the right to privacy."
"No, indeed," Bart said clearly. "I want them all to hear what I'm going
to say."
Raynor One came up to the bench. "Bart, as your guardian, I advise
against it. Some people will call this a publicity stunt. It won't do
Eight Colors any good to admit that men have been spying on the Lhari--"
"I want press coverage," Bart repeated stubbornly, "and as many
star-systems on the relay as possible."
"All right. But I wash my hands of it," Raynor One said angrily.
Bart told his story simply: his meeting with the elder Briscoe, his
meeting with Raynor One--carefully not implicating Raynor One in the
plot--Raynor Three's work in altering his appearance to that of a Lhari,
and the major events of his cruise on the _Swiftwing_. When he came to
the account of the shift into warp-drive, he saw the faces of the press
reporters, and realized that for them this was the story of the year--or
century: _humans can endure star-drive!_ But he went on, not
soft-pedaling Montano's attempted murder, his own choice, the trip to
the Lhari world--
One of the board representatives interrupted testily, "What is the point
of this lengthy narrative? You can give the story to the newsmen without
our official sanction, if you want to make it a heroic epic, young
Steele. We have heard sufficient to prove your guilt, and that of
Raynor, in the violation of treaty--"
"Nevertheless, I want this official," Bart said. "I don't want to be
mobbed when they hear that I have the secret of the star-drive."
The effect was electric. The four Lhari sat up; their white crests
twitched. Vorongil stared, his gray eyes darkening with fear. One of the
Lhari leaned forward, shooting the question at him harshly.
"You did _not_ discover the coordinates of the Council Planet of Ke
Lhiro! You did not discover--"
"I did not," Bart said quietly. "I don't know them and I have no
intention of trying to find them. We don't need to go to the Lhari
Galaxy to find the mineral that generates the warp-frequencies, that
they call 'Catalyst A' and that the Mentorians call the 'Eighth Color.'
There is a green star called Meristem, and a spectroscopic analysis of
that star, I'm sure, will reveal what unknown elements it contains, and
perhaps locate other stars with that element. There must be others in
our galaxy, but the coordinates of the star Meristem are known to me."
Vorongil was staring at him, his mouth open. He leaped up and cried out,
shaking, "But they assured us that among your memories--there was
nothing of danger to us--"
Compassionately, gently, Bart said, "There wasn't--not that they knew
about, Vorongil. I didn't realize it myself. I might never have
remembered seeing a mineral that was of a color not found in the
spectrum. Certainly, a memory like that meant nothing to the Lhari
medics who emptied out my mind and turned over all my thoughts. You
Lhari can't see color at all.
"So no one but I saw the color of the mineral in the cave; you Lhari
yourselves don't _know_ that your fuel looks unlike anything else in the
universe. You never cared to find out how your world looked to your
Mentorians. So your medics never questioned my memories of an eighth
color. To you, it's just another shade of gray, but under a light strong
enough to blind any but Mentorian eyes, it takes on a special color--"
The conference broke up in disorder, the four Lhari clustering together
in a furious babble, then hastily leaving the room. Bart stood waiting,
feeling empty and cold. Vorongil's stare baffled him with unreadable
emotion.
"You fool, you unspeakable young idiot!" Raynor One groaned. "Why did
you blurt it out like that before every news media in the galaxy? Why,
we could have had a monopoly on the star-drive--Eight Colors and Vega
Interplanet!" As he saw the men of the press approaching with their
microphones, lights, cameras and TV equipment, he gripped Bart urgently
by the arm.
"We can still salvage something! Don't talk any more! Refer them to
me--say I'm your guardian and your business manager--you can still make
something of this--"
"That's just what I don't want to do," Bart replied, and broke away from
him to approach the newsmen.
"Yes, certainly, I'll answer all your questions, gentlemen."
Raynor One flung up his hands in despair, but over their shoulder he saw
the glowing face of Meta, and smiled. She, at least, would understand.
So would Raynor Three.
A page boy touched Bart on the arm. "Mr. Steele," he said, "you are to
appear immediately before the World Council!"
He was to be asked one question again and again in the days that
followed, but his real answer was to Meta and Raynor Three, looking
quietly past Raynor One and speaking to the news cameras that would
carry his words all over the galaxy to men and Lhari:
"Why didn't I keep it for myself? Because there are always men like
Montano, who in their mistaken pride will murder and steal for such
things. I want this knowledge to be open to all men, to be used for
their benefit. There has been too much secrecy already. I want all men
to have the stars."
He had to tell his story again and again to the hastily summoned
representatives of the Galactic Federation. At one point the delegate
from his home star of Vega actually rose and shouted to him, "This is
treason! You betrayed your home world--and the whole human race! Don't
you know the Lhari may fight a war over this?"
Bart remembered Vorongil's silent, sad confession of the Lhari fears.
"No," he said gently. "No. There won't be any war unless we start one.
The Lhari won't start any war. Believe me."
But inwardly, he sweated. What _would_ the Lhari do?
They had to wait for representatives of the Lhari Council to make the
journey from their home galaxy; meanwhile they kept Bart in protective
custody. There was, of course, no question of sending him to a "prison
planet"; public opinion would have crucified any government that
suggested punishment for the man who had discovered a human world with
deposits of Catalyst A. Bart could claim an "explorer's share," and
Raynor One had lost no time in filing that claim on his behalf.
But he was lonely and anxious. They had confined him to a set of rooms
high in the building overlooking the spaceport; from the balcony he
could see the ships landing and departing. Life went on, ships came and
went, and out there in the vast night of space, the suns and colors
flamed and rolled, heedless of the little atoms that traveled and
intrigued between them.
A night came when the buzzer sounded and he opened the door to Raynor
One and Raynor Three.
"Better turn on your vision-screen, Bart. The Elder of the Lhari Council
has arrived with their official decision, and he's going to announce
it."
Bart waited, anxiously, pacing the room, while on the TV screen various
dignitaries presented the Elder.
"We are the first race to travel the stars." A bald head, an ancient
Lhari face seamed like glazed pottery, looked at Bart from the screen,
and Bart remembered when he had stood before that face, sick with
defeat. But now he need not pretend to hold his head erect.
"We have had a long and triumphant time as masters of the stars," the
Lhari said. "But triumph and power will sicken and stagnate the race
which holds them too long unchallenged. We reached this point once
before. Then a Lhari captain, Rhazon of Nedrun, abandoned the safe ways
of caution, and out of his blind leap in the blind dark came many good
things. Trade with the human race. Our Mentorian allies. A system of
mathematics to take the hazards from our star-travel.
"Yet once again the Lhari had grown cautious and fearful. And a young
man named Bartol took a blind leap into unknown darkness, all alone--"
"Not alone," Bart said as if to himself, "it took two men called
Briscoe. And my father. And a couple of Raynors. And even a man called
Montano, because without that, I'd never have decided--"
"Like Rhazon of Nedrun, like all pioneers, this young man has been
cursed by his own people, the very ones who will one day benefit from
his daring. He has found his people a firm footing among the stars. It
is too late for the Lhari to regret that we did not sooner extend you
the hand of welcome there. You have climbed, unaided, to join us. For
good or ill, we must make room for you.
"But there is room for all. Competition is the lifeblood of trade, and
we face the future without fear, knowing that life still holds many
surprises for the living. I say to you: welcome to the stars."
Even while Bart stood speechless with the knowledge of success, the door
opened again, and Bart, turning, cried out in amazement.
"Tommy! Ringg! Meta!"
"Sure," Tommy exclaimed, "we've got to celebrate," but Bart stopped,
looking past them.
"Captain Vorongil!" he said, and went to greet the old Lhari. "I thought
you'd hate me, _rieko mori_." The term of respect fell naturally from
his lips.
"I did, for a time," Vorongil said quietly. "But I remembered the day we
stood on Lharillis, by the monument. And that you risked--perhaps your
life, certainly your eyesight--to save us from death. So when the Elder
asked for my estimate of your people, I gave it."
"I thought it sounded like you." Bart felt that his happiness was
complete.
"And now," Ringg cried, "let's celebrate! Meta, you haven't even told
him that he's free!"
But while the party got rolling, Bart wondered--free for what? And
after a little while he went out on the balcony and stood looking
down at the spaceport, where the _Swiftwing_ lay in shadow, huge,
beloved--renounced.
"What now, Bartol?" Vorongil's quiet voice asked from his elbow. "You're
famous--notorious. You're going to be rich, and a celebrity."
"I was wishing I could get away until the excitement dies down."
"Well," said Vorongil, "why don't you? The _Swiftwing_ ships out
tonight, Bartol--for Antares and beyond. It will be a couple of years
before your Eight Colors can be made over into an Interstellar line--and
as Raynor One has said to me several times, he'll have to handle all
those details, for you're not of age yet.
"I've been thinking. Now that we Lhari must share space with your
people, you'll need experienced men for your ships. Unless we all want
the disasters born of trial and error, we Lhari had better help you
train your men quickly and well. I want you to go back on the
_Swiftwing_ with me. Not an apprentice, but representative of Eight
Colors, to act as liaison between men and Lhari--at least until your own
affairs claim your attention."
Behind them on the balcony, Tommy appeared, making signals to Bart: "Say
yes! Say yes, Bart! _I_ did!"
Bart's eyes suddenly filled. Out of defeat he had won success beyond his
greatest hopes. But he did not feel all glad; he felt only a heavy
responsibility. Whether good or bad came of the gift he had snatched
from the stars, would rest in large measure on his own shoulders. He was
going back to space--to learn the responsibility that went with it.
"I accept," he said gravely.
"Oh, boy!" Tommy dragged Ringg into a sort of war dance of exuberant
celebration, pointing at the flaring glow of the spaceport gates. "Here,
by grace of the Lhari, stands the doorway to all the stars," he quoted.
"Well, maybe you were here first. But look out--we're coming!"
A doorway to the stars. Bart had crossed that doorway once, frightened
and alone. _Dad, if you could only know!_ The first interstellar ship of
Eight Colors was to bear the name _Rupert Steele_, but that was years in
the future.
Now, looking at the _Swiftwing_, at Ringg and Tommy, at Raynor Three and
Vorongil, who would all be his shipmates in the new world they were
building, he felt suddenly very lonely again.
"Come in, Bart. It's your party," Meta said softly, and he felt her hand
lying in his. He looked down at the pretty Mentorian girl. She would be
with him, too. And suddenly he knew he would never be lonely again.
His arm around Meta, his friends--man and Lhari--at his shoulder, he
went back to the celebration, to plan for the first intergalactic voyage
to the stars.