Marion Zimmer Bradley Super Pack

by Marion Zimmer Bradley

  “Do you really think that human—” the first Lhari spoke the word as if it were a filthy insult—“will have the temerity to come in by this ship?”

  “No reasonable being can tell what humans will do,” said the second Lhari. “But then, no reasonable being can tell what our own Port Authorities will do either! If the message had only reached us sooner, it would have been easier. Now I suppose it will have to clear through a dozen officials and a dozen different kinds of formalities.”

  The younger Lhari sounded angry. “And we have only a description—no name, nothing! How do they expect us to do anything under those conditions? What I can’t understand is how it ever happened, or how the man managed to get away. What worries me is the possibility that he may have communicated with others we don’t know about. Those bungling fools who let the first man get away can’t even be sure—”

  “Do not speak of it here,” said the old Lhari sharply. “There are Mentorians in the crowd who might understand us.” He turned and looked straight at Bart, and Bart felt as if the slanted strange eyes were looking right through to his bones. The Lhari said, in Universal, “Who are you, boy? What iss your businesssses here?”

  Bart replied in the same language, politely, “My father’s coming in on this ship. I’m looking for the information desk.”

  “Up there,” said the old Lhari, pointing with a clawed hand, and lost interest in Bart. He said to his companion, in their own language, “Always, I regret these episodes. I have no malice against humans. I suppose even this Vegan that we are seeking has young, and a mate, who will regret his loss.”

  “Then he should not have pried into Lhari matters,” said the younger Lhari fiercely. “If they’d killed him right away—”

  The soaring staircase swooped up to the top level; the two Lhari stepped off and mingled swiftly with the crowd, being lost to sight. Bart whistled in dismay as he got off and turned toward the information desk. A Vegan! Some poor guy from his own planet was in trouble with the Lhari. He felt a cold, crawling chill down his insides. The Lhari had spoken regretfully, but the way they’d speak of a fly they couldn’t manage to swat fast enough. Sooner or later you had to get down to it, they just weren’t human!

  Here on Earth, nothing much could happen, of course. They wouldn’t let the Lhari hurt anyone—then Bart remembered his course in Universal Law. The Lhari spaceport in every system, by treaty, was Lhari territory. Once you walked beneath the lightning-flash sign, the authority of the planet ceased to function; you might as well be on that unbelievably remote world in another galaxy that was the Lhari home planet—that world no human had ever seen. On a Lhari spaceport, or on a Lhari ship, you were under the jurisdiction of Lhari law.

  Tommy stepped off a moving stair and joined him. “The ship’s on time—it reported past Luna City a few minutes ago. I’m thirsty—how about a drink?”

  There was a refreshment stand on this level; they debated briefly between orange juice and a drink with a Lhari name that meant simply cold sweet, and finally decided to try it. The name proved descriptive; it was very cold, very sweet and indescribably delicious.

  “Does this come from the Lhari world, I wonder?”

  “I imagine it’s synthetic,” Bart said.

  “I suppose it won’t hurt us?”

  Bart laughed. “They wouldn’t serve it to us if it would. No, men and Lhari are alike in a lot of ways. They breathe the same air. Eat about the same food.” Their bodies were adjusted to about the same gravity. They had the same body chemistry—in fact, you couldn’t tell Lhari blood from human, even under a microscope. And in the terrible Orion Spaceport wreck sixty years ago, doctors had found that blood plasma from humans could be used for wounded Lhari, and vice versa, though it wasn’t safe to transfuse whole blood. But then, even among humans there were five blood types.

  And yet, for all their likeness, they were different.

  Bart sipped the cold Lhari drink, seeing himself in the mirror behind the refreshment stand; a tall teen-ager, looking older than his seventeen years. He was lithe and well muscled from five years of sports and acrobatics at the Space Academy, he had curling red hair and gray eyes, and he was almost as tall as a Lhari.

  Will Dad know me? I was just a little kid when he left me here, and now I’m grown-up.

  Tommy grinned at him in the mirror. “What are you going to do, now we’ve finished our so-called education?”

  “What do you think? Go back to Vega with Dad, by Lhari ship, and help him run Vega Interplanet. Why else would I bother with all that astrogation and math?”

  “You’re the lucky one, with your father owning a dozen ships! He must be almost as rich as the Lhari.”

  Bart shook his head. “It’s not that easy. Space travel inside a system these days is small stuff; all the real travel and shipping goes to the Lhari ships.”

  It was a sore point with everyone. Thousands of years ago, men had spread out from Earth—first to the planets, then to the nearer stars, crawling in ships that could travel no faster than the speed of light. They had even believed that was an absolute limit—that nothing in the universe could exceed the speed of light. It took years to go from Earth to the nearest star.

  But they’d done it. From the nearer stars, they had sent out colonizing ships all through the galaxy. Some vanished and were never heard from again, but some made it, and in a few centuries man had spread all over hundreds of star-systems.

  And then man met the people of the Lhari.

  It was a big universe, with measureless millions of stars, and plenty of room for more than two intelligent civilizations. It wasn’t surprising that the Lhari, who had only been traveling space for a couple of thousand years themselves, had never come across humans before. But they had been delighted to meet another intelligent race—and it was extremely profitable.

  Because men were still held, mostly, to the planets of their own star-systems. Ships traveling between the stars by light-drive were rare and ruinously expensive. But the Lhari had the warp-drive, and almost overnight the whole picture changed. By warp-drive, hundreds of times faster than light at peak, the years-long trip between Vega and Earth, for instance, was reduced to about three months, at a price anyone could pay. Mankind could trade and travel all over their galaxy, but they did it on Lhari ships. The Lhari had an absolute, unbreakable monopoly on star travel.

  “That’s what hurts,” Tommy said. “It wouldn’t do us any good to have the star-drive. Humans can’t stand faster-than-light travel, except in cold-sleep.”

  Bart nodded. The Lhari ships traveled at normal speeds, like the regular planetary ships, inside each star-system. Then, at the borders of the vast gulf of emptiness between stars, they went into warp-drive; but first, every human on board was given the cold-sleep treatment that placed them in suspended animation, allowing their bodies to endure the warp-drive.

  He finished his drink. The increasing bustle in the crowds below them told him that time must be getting short. A tall, impressive-looking Lhari strode through the crowd, followed at a respectful distance by two Mentorians, tall, redheaded humans wearing metallic cloaks like those of the Lhari. Tommy nudged Bart, his face bitter.

  “Look at those lousy Mentorians! How can they do it? Fawning upon the Lhari that way, yet they’re as human as we are! Slaves of the Lhari!”

  Bart felt the involuntary surge of anger, instantly controlled. “It’s not that way at all. My mother was a Mentorian, remember. She made five cruises on a Lhari ship before she married my father.”

  Tommy sighed. “I guess I’m just jealous—to think the Mentorians can sign on the Lhari ship as crew, while you and I will never pilot a ship between the stars. What did she do?”

  “She was a mathematician. Before the Lhari met up with men, they used a system of mathematics as clumsy as the old Roman numerals. You have to admire them, when you realize that they learned stellar navigation with their old system, though most ships use human math now. And of course, you know their
eyes aren’t like ours. Among other things, they’re color-blind. They see everything in shades of black or white or gray.

  “So they found out that humans aboard their ships were useful. You remember how humans, in the early days in space, used certain birds, who were more sensitive to impure air than they were. When the birds keeled over, they could tell it was time for humans to start looking over the air systems! The Lhari use Mentorians to identify colors for them. And, since Mentor was the first planet of humans that the Lhari had contact with, they’ve always been closer to them.”

  Tommy looked after the two Mentorians enviously. “The fact is, I’d ship out with the Lhari myself if I could. Wouldn’t you?”

  Bart’s mouth twisted in a wry smile. “No,” he said. “I could—I’m half Mentorian, I can even speak Lhari.”

  “Why don’t you? I would.”

  “Oh, no, you wouldn’t,” Bart said softly. “Not even very many Mentorians will. You see, the Lhari don’t trust humans too much. In the early days, men were always planting spies on Lhari ships, to try and steal the secret of warp-drive. They never managed it, but nowadays the Lhari give all the Mentorians what amounts to a brainwashing—deep hypnosis, before and after every voyage, so that they can neither look for anything that might threaten the Lhari monopoly of space, nor reveal it—even under a truth drug—if they find it out.

  “You have to be pretty fanatical about space travel to go through that. Oh, my mother could tell us a lot of things about her cruises with the Lhari. The Lhari can’t tell a diamond from a ruby, except by spectrographic analysis, for instance. And she—”

  A high gong note sounded somewhere, touching off an explosion of warning bells and buzzers all over the enormous building. Bart looked up.

  “The ship must be coming in to land.”

  “I’d better check into the passenger side,” Tommy said. He stuck out his hand. “Well, Bart, I guess this is where we say good-bye.”

  They shook hands, their eyes meeting for a moment in honest grief. In some indefinable way, this parting marked the end of their boyhood.

  “Good luck, Tom. I’m going to miss you.”

  They wrung each other’s hands again, hard. Then Tommy picked up his luggage and started down a sloping ramp toward an enclosure marked TO PASSENGER ENTRANCE.

  Warning bells rang again. The glare intensified until the glow in the sky was unendurable, but Bart looked anyhow, making out the strange shape of the Lhari ship from the stars.

  It was huge and strange, glowing with colors Bart had never seen before. It settled down slowly, softly: enormous, silent, vibrating, glowing; then swiftly faded to white-hot, gleaming blue, dulling down through the visible spectrum to red. At last it was just gleaming glassy Lhari-metal color again. High up in the ship’s side a yawning gap slid open, extruding stairsteps, and men and Lhari began to descend.

  Bart ran down a ramp and surged out on the field with the crowd. His eyes, alert for his father’s tall figure, noted with surprise that the ship’s stairs were guarded by four cloaked Lhari, each with a Mentorian interpreter. They were stopping each person who got off the starship, asking for identity papers. Bart realized he was seeing another segment of the same drama he had overheard discussed, and wished he knew what it was all about.

  The crowd was thinning now. Robotcabs were swerving in, hovering above the ground to pick up passengers, then veering away. The gap in the starship’s side was closing, and still Bart had not seen the tall, slim, flame-haired figure of his father. The port on the other side of the ship, he knew, was for loading passengers. Bart moved carefully through the thinning crowd, almost to the foot of the stairs. One of the Lhari checking papers stopped and fixed him with an inscrutable gray stare, but finally turned away again.

  Bart began really to worry. Captain Steele would never miss his ship! But he saw only one disembarking passenger who had not yet been surrounded by a group of welcoming relatives, or summoned a robotcab and gone. The man was wearing Vegan clothes, but he wasn’t Bart’s father. He was a fat little man, with ruddy cheeks and a fringe of curling gray hair all around his bald dome. Maybe he’d know if there was another Vegan on the ship.

  Then Bart realized that the little fat man was staring straight at him. He returned the man’s smile, rather hesitantly; then blinked, for the fat man was coming straight toward him.

  “Hello, Son,” the fat man said loudly. Then, as two of the Lhari started toward him, the strange man did an incredible thing. He reached out his two hands and grabbed Bart.

  “Well, boy, you’ve sure grown,” he said, in a loud, cheerful voice, “but you’re not too grown-up to give your old Dad a good hug, are you?” He pulled Bart roughly into his arms. Bart started to pull away and stammer that the fat man had made a mistake, but the pudgy hand gripped his wrist with unexpected strength.

  “Bart, listen to me,” the stranger whispered, in a harsh fast voice. “Go along with this or we’re both dead. See those two Lhari watching us? Call me Dad, good and loud, if you want to live. Because, believe me, your life’s in danger—right now!”

  Chapter Two

  For a moment, pulled off balance in the fat stranger’s hug, Bart remained perfectly still, while the man repeated in that loud, jovial voice, “How you’ve grown!” He let him go, stepping away a pace or two, and whispered urgently, “Say something. And take that stupid look off your face.”

  As he stepped back, Bart saw his eyes. In the chubby, good-natured red face, the stranger’s eyes were half-mad with fear.

  In a split second, Bart remembered the two Lhari and their talk of a fugitive. 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 from shaking. “Been such a long time, I’d—half forgotten what you looked like. Have a good trip?”

  “About like always.” The fat man was breathing hard, but his voice sounded 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 his grip on Bart’s wrist was so hard it hurt. Bart, grasping at random for something to say, gabbled, “Too bad you couldn’t get to my graduation. I made 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,” and turned around. “You want something?”

  The tallest of the Lhari—the old one, whom Bart had seen on the escalator—looked long and hard at him. When they spoke Universal, their voices 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 them over. Bart saw his father’s name printed across the top.

  The Lhari gestured to a Mentorian interpreter: “What colorrr isss thisss man’s hairrr?”

  The Mentorian said in the Lhari language, “His hair is gray.” He used the Universal word; there were, of course, no words for colors in the Lhari speech.

  “The man we sssseek has hair of red,” said the Lhari. “And he isss tall, not fat.”

  “The boy is tall and with red hair,” the Mentorian volunteered, and the old Lhari made a gesture of disdain.

  “This boy is twenty years younger than the man whose description came to us. Why did they not give us a picture or at least a name?” He turned to the other Lhari and said in their own shrill speech, “I suspected this man because he was alone. And I had seen this boy on the upper mezzanine and spoken with him. We watched him, knowing sooner or later the father would seek him. Ask him.” He gestured and the Mentorian said, “Who is this man, you?”

  Bart gulped. For the first time he noted the energon-ray shockers at the belts of the four Lhari. He’d heard about those. They co
uld stun—or they could kill, and quite horribly. He said, “This is my father. You want my cards, too?” He hauled out his identity papers. “My name’s Bart Steele.”

  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 on Bart’s, and Bart thought, If we’re lucky, we can get out of the port before 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’t know whether he was worried or scared. Where was his father? Why did this man have his dad’s papers? Was his father hiding inside the Lhari ship? He wanted to run, to burst away from the imposter, but the guy was shaking so hard Bart couldn’t just leave him standing there. If the Lhari got him, he was a dead duck.

  A copter swooped down, the pilot signaling. The little man said hoarsely, “No. Robotcab.”

  Bart waved the copter away, getting a dirty look from the pilot, and punched a button at the stand for one of the unmanned robotcabs. It swung down, hovered motionless. Bart boosted the fat man in. Inside, the man collapsed on the seat, leaning back, puffing, his hand pressed hard to 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 my father?”

  The man’s eyes were half-shut. He said, gasping, “Don’t ask me any questions for a minute.” He thumbed a tablet into his mouth, and presently 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 sudden rage, “you owe me some explanations. For all I know, you’re a criminal and the Lhari have every right to chase you! Why have you got my father’s papers? Did you steal them to get away from the Lhari? Where’s my father?”