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Updated: June 17, 2025
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.
Vorongil beckoned the Mentorian assistant. So apart were Lhari and Mentorian on these ships that Bart did not even know his name. He said, "Look up a star called Meristem for us." The Mentorian hurried away, came back after a moment with the information that it belonged to the Second Galaxy Federation, but was listed as unexplored. Vorongil scowled. "Well, we can claim necessity," he said.
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.
"The Mentorian way is one way, but I've had a taste of being one of the masters of space. It's more than most men ever have, maybe it's more than I deserve. But I can't settle for anything less. Not even if it means losing you." He shut his eyes and stood, head bowed. When he looked up again, he was alone with the stars beyond the viewport, and the lounge was empty.
After a while he heard the elevator again; the panel slid open and Raynor Three came into the room. It had to be Raynor Three; there was no one else he could have been. He was as like Raynor One as Tweedledum to Tweedledee: tall, stern, ascetic and grim. He wore the full uniform of a Mentorian on Lhari ships: the white smock of a medic, the metallic blue cloak, the low silvery sandals.
Remember the name, Bart, because I won't remember it." "Why not?" Raynor Three gave him a gold-glinting, enigmatic glance. "I'm a Mentorian, remember? I'm good at not remembering things. Just be glad I remember Rupert Steele. If you'd been a few days later, I wouldn't have remembered him, though I promised to wait for you." Raynor One demanded, "Get him out of here, Three!"
Bart felt fascinated, and wanted to explore, but decided he could do that later. Somehow he took the wrong turn coming out of the Recreation Lounge, and went through a door where the sudden dimming of lights told him he was in Mentorian quarters. The sudden darkness made him stumble, thrust out his hands to keep from falling, and an unmistakably human voice said, "Ouch!"
Bart took it, his heart suddenly pounding, and walked away through the groups of officers and crew eagerly debating how they would spend their port leave. He knew what it would be. It was on the letterhead of Eight Colors, and it contained no message. Only an address and a time. He slipped away unobserved to the Mentorian part of the ship to borrow a cloak from Meta.
"Easy!" said a soothing voice. A Mentorian not the same Mentorian bent over him. "We have just entered the gravitational field of Procyon planet Alpha, Mr. Briscoe. Touchdown in four hours." Bart mumbled an apology. "Think nothing of it. Quite a number of people who aren't used to the cold-sleep drug suffer from minor lapses of memory. How do you feel now?"
Beyond the doorway the lights dwindled, and a Mentorian interpreter took his dark glasses, saying, "Kindly remove your belt, shoes and other accessories of leather or metal before stepping into the decontamination chamber. They will be separately decontaminated and returned to you. Papers, please." With a small twinge of fright, Bart surrendered them.
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