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Updated: May 15, 2025
"Bartol that's a Lhari name. What's your real one?" "Bart. Bart Steele." "Good luck, Bart." There were tears in her gray eyes. With the blue cloak folded around his face, hands tucked in the slits at the side, he felt almost like himself.
Nameless stars where he and his Lhari shipmates had worked and played. And stars he had never seen and would never see, all the endless worlds beyond worlds and stars beyond stars.... He took a last, longing look at the colors of space, then turned his back on them, deliberately giving them up. He could not pay the price the Mentorians paid. "No, Meta," he said huskily.
Quick, give them to me, Bart." "The Lhari have them." Raynor One walked to the window and said in his deadpan voice, "It's useless. But get the kid out of here before they come looking for me. Look." He pointed. Below them, the streets were alive with uniformed Lhari and Mentorians. Bart felt sick.
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.
You do not know the coordinates of this world, and have no way of finding them. Within those limitations, you are an honored guest here, and if it would give you any pleasure, you are welcome to see as much of Council Planet as time permits." It seemed, through Vorongil's kindness, that the old Lhari sensed his bitter defeat. Nothing was to be gained by sulking in his cabin, a prisoner.
Bart glanced at his human hands. Vorongil shrugged. "We've carried Mentorians as full-ranking Astrogators. There don't happen to be any on the Swiftwing. But there's no law about it." Bart looked the old Lhari in the eye. "I won't accept Mentorian terms, Vorongil." "I wouldn't ask it.
Meta smiled at him, encouragingly, but Bart shivered. That was almost worse than the thought of death. And the fear grew more oppressive as the ship forged onward toward the home world of the Lhari. And it did not lessen when, after they touched down, he was taken from the ship under guard.
Montano's face was perfectly calm. "No. We won't even try." He handed Bart a small strip of pale-yellow plastic. "Keep this out of sight of the Mentorians," he said. "The Lhari won't be able to see the color, of course. But when it turns orange, take cover." "What is it?" "Radiation-exposure film. It's exactly as sensitive to radiation as you are.
They're proud of saying no human foot has ever touched Lharillis." When he got back to the Lhari spaceport, Ringg hailed him. "Where have you been? I hunted the whole port for you! I wouldn't join the party till you came. What's a pal for?" Bart brushed by him without speaking, disregarding Ringg's surprised stare, and went up the ramp.
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?
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