CHAPTER TWO
For a moment, pulled off balance in the fat stranger's hug, Bartremained perfectly still, while the man repeated in that loud, jovialvoice, "How you've grown!" He let him go, stepping away a pace or two,and whispered urgently, "Say something. And take that stupid look offyour face."
As he stepped back, Bart saw his eyes. In the chubby, good-natured redface, the stranger's eyes were half-mad with fear.
In a split second, Bart remembered the two Lhari and their talk of afugitive. In that moment, Bart Steele grew up.
He stepped toward the man and took him quickly by the shoulders.
"Dad, you sure surprised me," he said, trying to keep his voice fromshaking. "Been such a long time, I'd--half forgotten what you lookedlike. Have a good trip?"
"About like always." The fat man was breathing hard, but his voicesounded firm and cheerful. "Can't compare with a trip on the old_Asterion_ though." The _Asterion_ was the flagship of Vega Interplanet,Rupert Steele's own ship. "How's everything?"
Beads of sweat were standing out on the man's ruddy forehead, and hisgrip on Bart's wrist was so hard it hurt. Bart, grasping at random forsomething to say, gabbled, "Too bad you couldn't get to my graduation. Imade th-third in a class of four hundred--"
The Lhari had surrounded them and were closing in.
The fat man took a deep breath or two, said, "Just a minute, Son," andturned around. "You want something?"
The tallest of the Lhari--the old one, whom Bart had seen on theescalator--looked long and hard at him. When they spoke Universal, theirvoices were sibilant, but not nearly so inhuman.
"Could we trrrouble you to sssshow us your paperrrssss?"
"Certainly." Nonchalantly, the fat man dug them out and handed themover. Bart saw his father's name printed across the top.
The Lhari gestured to a Mentorian interpreter: "What colorrr isss thisssman's hairrr?"
The Mentorian said in the Lhari language, "His hair is _gray_." He usedthe Universal word; there were, of course, no words for colors in theLhari speech.
"The man we sssseek has hair of _red_," said the Lhari. "And he issstall, not fat."
"The boy is tall and with _red_ hair," the Mentorian volunteered, andthe old Lhari made a gesture of disdain.
"This boy is twenty years younger than the man whose description came tous. Why did they not give us a picture or at least a name?" He turned tothe other Lhari and said in their own shrill speech, "I suspected thisman because he was alone. And I had seen this boy on the upper mezzanineand spoken with him. We watched him, knowing sooner or later the fatherwould seek him. Ask him." He gestured and the Mentorian said, "Who isthis man, you?"
Bart gulped. For the first time he noted the energon-ray shockers at thebelts of the four Lhari. He'd heard about those. They could stun--orthey could kill, and quite horribly. He said, "This is my father. Youwant my cards, too?" He hauled out his identity papers. "My name's BartSteele."
The Lhari, with a gesture of disgust, handed them back. "Go, then,father and son," he said, not unkindly.
"Let's get going, Son," said the little bald man. His hand shook onBart's, and Bart thought, _If we're lucky, we can get out of the portbefore he faints dead away._ He said "I'll get a copter," and then,feeling sorry for the stranger, gave him his arm to lean on. He didn'tknow whether he was worried or scared. _Where was his father?_ Why didthis man have his dad's papers? Was his father hiding inside the Lhariship? He wanted to run, to burst away from the imposter, but the guy wasshaking so hard Bart couldn't just leave him standing there. If theLhari got him, he was a dead duck.
A copter swooped down, the pilot signaling. The little man saidhoarsely, "No. Robotcab."
Bart waved the copter away, getting a dirty look from the pilot, andpunched a button at the stand for one of the unmanned robotcabs. Itswung down, hovered motionless. Bart boosted the fat man in. Inside, theman collapsed on the seat, leaning back, puffing, his hand pressed hardto his chest.
"Punch a combo for Denver," he said hoarsely.
Bart obeyed, automatically. Then he turned on the man.
"It's your game, mister! Now tell me what's going on? _Where's myfather?_"
The man's eyes were half-shut. He said, gasping, "Don't ask me anyquestions for a minute." He thumbed a tablet into his mouth, andpresently his breathing quieted.
"We're safe--for the minute. Those Lhari would have cut us down."
"You, maybe. I haven't done anything. Look, you," Bart said in suddenrage, "you owe me some explanations. For all I know, you're a criminaland the Lhari have every right to chase you! Why have you got myfather's papers? Did you steal them to get away from the Lhari? _Where'smy father?_"
"It's your father they were looking for, you young fool," said the man,gasping hard. "Lucky they had only a description and not a name--butthey've probably got that by now, uncoded. We've only confused them fora little while. But if you hadn't played along, they'd have had youwatched, and when they get hold of the name Steele--they will, sooner orlater, the people in the Procyon system--"
_"Where is my father?"_
"I hope I don't know," the fat man said. "If he's still where I lefthim, he's dead. My name is Briscoe. Edmund Briscoe. Your father saved mylife years ago, never mind how. The less you know, the safer you'll befor a while. His major worry just now is about you. He was afraid, if hedidn't turn up here, you'd take the first ship back to Vega. So he gaveme his papers and sent me to warn you--"
Bart shook his head. "It all sounds phony as can be. How do I knowwhether to believe you or not?" His hand hovered over the robotcabcontrols. "We're going straight to the police. If you're okay, theywon't turn you over to the Lhari. If you're not--"
"You young fool," said the fat man, with feeble violence, "there's no_time_ for all that! Ask me questions--I can prove I know your father!"
"What was my mother's name?"
"Oh, God," Briscoe said, "I never saw her. I knew your father longbefore you were born. Until he told me, I never knew he'd married orhad a son. I'd never have known you, except that you're the livingimage--" He shook his head helplessly, and his breathing sounded hoarse.
"Bart, I'm a sick man, I'm going to die. I want to do what I came hereto do, because your father saved my life once when I was young andhealthy, and gave me twenty good years before I got old and fat andsick. Win or lose, I won't live to see you hunted down like a dog, likemy own son--"
"Don't talk like that," Bart said, a creepy feeling coming over him. "Ifyou're sick, let me take you to a doctor."
Briscoe did not even hear. "Wait, there is something else. Your fathersaid, 'Tell Bart I've gone looking for the Eighth Color. Bart will knowwhat I mean.'"
"That's crazy. I don't know--"
He broke off, for the memory had come, full-blown:
_He was very young: five, six, seven. His mother, tall and slender andvery fair, was bending over a blueprint, pointing with a delicate fingerat something, straightening, saying in her light musical voice:_
_"The fuel catalyst--it's a strange color, a color you never sawanywhere. Can you_ think _of a color that isn't red, orange, yellow,green, blue, violet, indigo or some combination of them? It isn't any ofthe colors of the spectrum at all. The fuel is a real eighth color."_
_And his father had used the phrase, almost adopted it. "When we knowwhat the eighth color is, we'll have the secret of the star-drive,too!"_
Briscoe saw his face change, nodded weakly. "I see it means something toyou. Now will you do as I tell you? Within a couple of hours, they'll becombing the planet for you, but by that time the ship I came in on willhave taken off again. They only stop a short time here, for mail,passengers--no cargo. They may get under way again before all messagesare cleared and decoded." He stopped and breathed hard. "The Earthauthorities might protect you, but you would never be able to board aLhari ship again--and that would mean staying on Earth for the rest ofyour life. You've got to get away before they start comparing notes.Here." His hand went into his pocket
s. "For your hair. It's a dye--aspray."
He pressed a button on the bulb in his hand; Bart gasped, feeling coldwetness on his head. His own hand came away stained black.
"Keep still." Briscoe said irritably. "You'll need it at the Procyon endof the run. Here." He stuck some papers into Bart's hand, then punchedsome buttons on the robotcab's control. It wheeled and swerved sorapidly that Bart fell against the fat man's shoulder.
"Are you crazy? What are you going to do?"
Briscoe looked straight into Bart's eyes. In his hoarse, sick voice, hesaid, "Bart, don't worry about me. It's all over for me, whateverhappens. Just remember this. What your father is doing is _worth_ doing,and if you start stalling, arguing, demanding explanations, you can foulup a hundred people--and kill about half of them."
He closed Bart's fingers roughly over the papers. The robotcab hoveredover the spaceport. "Now listen to me, very carefully. When I stop thecab, down below, jump out. Don't stop to say good-bye, or ask questions,or anything else. Just get out, walk straight through the passenger doorand straight up the ramp of the ship. Show them that ticket, and get on.Whatever happens, don't let anything stop you. Bart!" Briscoe shook hisshoulder. "Promise! Whatever happens, you'll _get on that ship_!"
Bart swallowed, feeling as if he'd been shoved into a sillycops-and-robbers game. But Briscoe's urgency had convinced him. "Wheream I going?"
"All I have is a name--Raynor Three," Briscoe said, "and the messageabout the Eighth Color. That's all I know." His mouth twisted again inthat painful gasp.
The cab swooped down. Bart found his voice. "But what then? Is Dadthere? Will I know--"
"I don't know any more than I've told you," Briscoe said. Abruptly therobotcab came to a halt, swaying a little. Briscoe jerked the door open,gave Bart a push, and Bart found himself stumbling out on the rampbeside the spaceport building. He caught his balance, looked around, andrealized that the robotcab was already climbing the sky again.
Immediately before him, neon letters spelled TO PASSENGER ENTRANCEONLY. Bart stumbled forward. The Lhari by the gate thrust out adisinterested claw. Bart held up what Briscoe had shoved into his hand,only now seeing that it was a thin wallet, a set of identity papers and astrip of pink tickets.
"Procyon Alpha. Corridor B, straight through." The Lhari gestured, andBart went through the narrow passageway, came out at the other end, andfound himself at the very base of a curving stair that led up and uptoward a door in the side of the huge Lhari ship. Bart hesitated. Inanother minute he'd be on his way to a strange sun and a strange world,on what might well be the wild-goose chase of all time.
Passengers were crowding the steps behind him. Someone shouted suddenly,"Look at that!" and someone else yelled, "Is that guy crazy?"
Bart looked up. A robotcab was swooping over the spaceport in wild,crazy circles, dipping down, suddenly making a dart like an enraged waspat a little nest of Lhari. They ducked and scattered; the robotcabswerved away, hovered, swooped back. This time it struck one of theLhari grazingly with landing gear and knocked him sprawling. Bart stoodwith his mouth open, as if paralyzed.
_Briscoe! What was he doing?_
The fallen Lhari lay without moving. The robotcab moved in again, as iffor the kill, buzzing viciously overhead.
Then a beam of light arced from one of the drawn energon-ray tubes. Therobotcab glowed briefly red, then seemed to sag, sink together; thenpuddled, a slag heap of molten metal, on the glassy floor of the port. Alittle moan of horror came from the crowd, and Bart felt a sudden,wrenching sickness. It had been like a game, a silly game of cops androbbers, and suddenly it was as serious as melted death lying there onthe spaceport. _Briscoe!_
Someone shoved him and said, "Come on, quit gawking, kid. They won'thold the ship all day just because some nut finds a new way to commitsuicide."
Bart, his legs numb, walked up the ramp. Briscoe had died to give himthis chance. Now it was up to him to make it worth having.
The Colors of Space Page 2
