The Colors of Space

by Marion Zimmer Bradley

  CHAPTER THREE

  At the top of the ramp, a Lhari glanced briefly at his papers, motionedhim through. Bart passed through the airlock, and into a brightly litcorridor half full of passengers. The line was moving slowly, and forthe first time Bart had a chance to think.

  He had never seen violent death before. In this civilized world, youdidn't. He knew if he thought about Briscoe, he'd start bawling like ababy, so he swallowed hard a couple of times, set his chin, andconcentrated on the trip to Procyon Alpha. That meant this ship wasoutbound on the Aldebaran run--Proxima Centauri, Sirius, Pollux,Procyon, Capella and Aldebaran.

  The line of passengers was disappearing through a doorway. A woman aheadof Bart turned and said nervously, "We won't be put into cold-sleepright away, will we?"

  He reassured her, remembering his inbound trip five years ago. "No, no.The ship won't go into warp-drive until we're well past Pluto. It willbe several days, at least."

  Beyond the doorway the lights dwindled, and a Mentorian interpreter tookhis dark glasses, saying, "Kindly remove your belt, shoes and otheraccessories of leather or metal before stepping into the decontaminationchamber. They will be separately decontaminated and returned to you.Papers, please."

  With a small twinge of fright, Bart surrendered them. Would theMentorian ask why he was carrying two wallets? Inside the other one, hestill had his Academy ID card which identified him as Bart Steele, andif the Mentorian looked through them to check, and found out he wascarrying two sets of identity papers....

  But the Mentorian merely dumped all his pocket paraphernalia, withoutlooking at it, into a sack. "Just step through here."

  Holding up his trousers with both hands, Bart stepped inside theindicated cubicle. It was filled with faint bluish light. Bart felt astrong tingling and a faint electrical smell, and along his forearmsthere was a slight prickling where the small hairs were all standing onend. He knew that the invisible R-rays were killing all themicroorganisms in his body, so that no disease germ or stray funguswould be carried from planet to planet.

  The bluish light died. Outside, the Mentorian gave him back his shoesand belt, handed him the paper sack of his belongings, and a paper cupfull of greenish fluid.

  "Drink this."

  "What is it?"

  The medic said patiently, "Remember, the R-rays killed _all_ themicroorganisms in your body, including the good ones--the antibodiesthat protect you against disease, and the small yeasts and bacteria thatlive in your intestines and help in the digestion of your food. So wehave to replace those you need to stay healthy. See?"

  The green stuff tasted a little brackish, but Bart got it down allright. He didn't much like the idea of drinking a solution of "germs,"but he knew that was silly. There was a big difference between diseasegerms and helpful bacteria.

  Another Mentorian official, this one a young woman, gave him a key witha numbered tag, and a small booklet with WELCOME ABOARD printedon the cover.

  The tag was numbered 246-B, which made Bart raise his eyebrows. B classwas normally too expensive for Bart's father's modest purse. It wasn'tquite the luxury class A, reserved for planetary governors andambassadors, but it was plenty luxurious. Briscoe had certainly sent himtraveling in style!

  B Deck was a long corridor with oval doors; Bart found one numbered 246,and, not surprisingly, the key opened it. It was a pleasant littlecabin, measuring at least six feet by eight, and he would evidently haveit to himself. There was a comfortably big bunk, a light that could beturned on and off instead of the permanent glow-walls of the cheaperclass, a private shower and toilet, and a placard on the walls informinghim that passengers in B class had the freedom of the Observation Domeand the Recreation Lounge. There was even a row of buttons dispensingsynthetic foods, in case a passenger preferred privacy or didn't want towait for meals in the dining hall.

  A buzzer sounded and a Mentorian voice announced, "Five minutes to RoomCheck. Passengers will please remove all metal in their clothing, anddeposit in the lead drawers. Passengers will please recline in theirbunks and fasten the retaining straps before the steward arrives.Repeat, passengers will please...."

  Bart took off his belt, stuck it and his cuff links in the drawer andlay down. Then, in a sudden panic, he got up again. His papers as BartSteele were still in the sack. He got them out, and with a feeling as ifhe were crossing a bridge and burning it after him, tore up every scrapof paper that identified him as Bart Steele of Vega Four, graduate ofthe Space Academy of Earth. Now, for better or worse, he was--who _was_he? He hadn't even looked at the new papers Briscoe had given him!

  He glanced through them quickly. They were made out to David WarrenBriscoe, of Aldebaran Four. According to them, David Briscoe was twentyyears old, hair black, eyes hazel, height six foot one inch. Bartwondered, painfully, if Briscoe had a son and if David Briscoe knewwhere his father was. There was also a license, validated with four runson the Aldebaran Intrasatellite Cargo Company--planetary ships--with therank of Apprentice Astrogator; and a considerable sum of money.

  Bart put the papers in his pants pocket and the torn-up scraps of hisold ones into the trashbin before he realized that they looked exactlylike what they were--torn-up legal identity papers and a broken plasticcard. _Nobody_ destroyed identity papers for any good reason. What couldhe do?

  Then he remembered something from the Academy. Starships wereclosed-system cycles, no waste was discarded, but everything wascollected in big chemical tanks, broken down to separate elements,purified and built up again into new materials. He threw the paper intothe toilet, worked the plastic card back and forth, back and forth untilhe had wrenched it into inch-wide bits, and threw it after them.

  The cabin door opened and a Mentorian said irritably, "Please lie downand fasten your straps. I haven't all day."

  Hastily Bart flushed the toilet and went to the bunk. Now everythingthat could identify him as Bart Steele was on its way to the breakdowntanks. Before long, the complex hydrocarbons and cellulose would all beinnocent little molecules of carbon, oxygen, hydrogen; they might turnup in new combinations as sugar on the table!

  The Mentorian grumbled, "You young people think the rules mean everybodybut you," and strapped him far too tightly into the bunk. Bart feltresentful; just because Mentorians could work on Lhari ships, did theyhave to act as if they owned everybody?

  When the man had gone, Bart drew a deep breath. Was he really doing theright thing?

  If he'd refused to get out of the robotcab--

  If he'd driven Briscoe straight to the police--

  Then maybe Briscoe would still be alive. And now it was too late.

  A warning siren went off in the ship, rising to hysterical intensity.Bart thought, incredulously, _this is really happening_. It felt like anightmare. His father a fugitive from the Lhari. Briscoe dead. Hehimself traveling, with forged papers, to a star he'd never seen.

  He braced himself, knowing the siren was the last warning beforetakeoff. First there would be the hum of great turbines deep in theship, then the crushing surge of acceleration. He had made a dozen tripsinside the solar system, but no matter how often he did it, there wasthe strange excitement, the little pinpoint of fear, like an exotictaste, that was almost pleasant.

  The door opened and Bart grabbed a fistful of bed-ticking as two Lharicame into the room.

  One of them said, in their strange shrill speech, "This boy is the rightage."

  Bart froze.

  "You're seeing spies in every corner, Ransell," said the other, then inUniversal, "Could we trrouble you for your paperesses, sirr?"

  Bart, strapped down and helpless, moved his head toward the drawer,hoping his face did not betray his fear. He watched the two Lhari rifflethrough his papers with their odd pointed claws.

  "What isss your planet?"

  Bart bit his lip, hard--he had almost said, "Vega Four."

  "Aldebaran Four."

  The Lhari said in his own language, "We should have Margil in here. Heactually saw them."

  T
he other replied, "But I saw the machine that disintegrated. I stillsay there was enough protoplasm residue for two bodies."

  Bart fought to keep his face perfectly straight.

  "Did anyone come into your cabin?" The Lhari asked in Universal.

  "Only the steward. Why? Is something wrong?"

  "There iss some thought that a stowaway might be on boarrd. Of courrrsewe could not allow that, anyone not prrroperly prrotected would die inthe first shift into warp-drive."

  "Just the steward," Bart said again. "A Mentorian."

  The Lhari said, eying him keenly, "You are ill? Or discommoded?"

  Bart grasped at random for an excuse. "That--that stuff the medic mademe drink made me feel--sort of sick."

  "You may send for a medical officer after acceleration," said the Lhariexpressionlessly. "The summoning bell is at your left."

  They turned and went out and Bart gulped. Lhari, in person, checking thepassenger decks! Normally you never saw one on board; just Mentorians.The Lhari treated humans as if they were too dumb to bother about. Well,at least for once someone was acting as if humans were worthyantagonists. _We'll show them--someday!_

  But he felt very alone, and scared....

  A low hum rose, somewhere in the ship, and Bart grabbed ticking as hefelt the slow surge. Then a violent sense of pressure popped his eardrums, weight crowded down on him like an elephant sitting on his chest,and there was a horrible squashed sensation dragging his limbs out ofshape. It grew and grew. Bart lay still and sweated, trying to ease hisuncomfortable position, unable to move so much as a finger. The Lhariships hit 12 gravities in the first surge of acceleration. Bart felt asif he were spreading out, under the weight, into a puddle offlesh--_melted flesh like Briscoe's_--

  Bart writhed and bit his lip till he could taste blood, wishing he wereyoung enough to bawl out loud.

  Abruptly, it eased, and the blood started to flow again in his numbedlimbs. Bart loosened his straps, took a few deep breaths, wiped hisface--wringing wet, whether with sweat or tears he wasn't sure--and satup in his bunk. The loudspeaker announced, "Acceleration One iscompleted. Passengers on A and B Decks are invited to witness thepassing of the Satellites from the Observation Lounge in half an hour."

  Bart got up and washed his face, remembering that he had no luggage withhim, not so much as a toothbrush.

  At the back of his mind, packed up in a corner, was the continuing worryabout his father, the horror at Briscoe's ghastly death, the fear of theLhari; but he slammed the lid firmly on them all. For the moment he wassafe. They might be looking for Bart Steele by now, but they weren'tlooking for David Briscoe of Aldebaran. He might just as well relax andenjoy the trip. He went down to the Observation Lounge.

  It had been darkened, and one whole wall of the room was made of clearquartzite. Bart drew a deep breath as the vast panorama of space openedout before him.

  They were receding from the sun at some thousands of miles a minute.Swirling past the ship, gleaming in the reflected sunlight like ironfilings moving to the motion of a magnet, were the waves upon waves ofcosmic dust--tiny free electrons, ions, particles of gas; free of theheavier atmosphere, themselves invisible, they formed in their billionsinto bright clouds around the ship; pale, swirling veils of mist. Andthrough their dim shine, the brilliant flares of the fixed stars burnedclear and steady, so far away that even the hurling motion of the shipcould not change their positions.

  One by one he picked out the constellations. Aldebaran swung on thependant chain of Taurus like a giant ruby. Orion strode across the sky,a swirling nebula at his belt. Vega burned, cobalt blue, in the heart ofthe Lyre.

  Colors, colors! Inside the atmosphere of Earth's night, the stars hadbeen pale white sparks against black. Here, against the misty-paleswirls of cosmic dust, they burned with color heaped on color; thebloody burning crimson of Antares, the metallic gold of Capella, thesullen pulsing of Betelgeuse. They burned, each with its own inwardflame and light, like handfuls of burning jewels flung by some gianthand upon the swirling darkness. It was a sight Bart felt he could watchforever and still be hungry to see; the never-changing, ever-changingcolors of space.

  * * * * *

  Behind him in the darkness, after a long time, someone said softly,"Imagine being a Lhari and not being able to see anything out there butbright or brighter light."

  A bell rang melodiously in the ship and the passengers in the loungebegan to stir and move toward the door, to stretch limbs cramped likeBart's by tranced watching, to talk quickly of ordinary things.

  "I suppose that bell means dinner," said a vaguely familiar voice atBart's elbow. "Synthetics, I suppose, but at least we can all getacquainted."

  The light from the undarkened hall fell on their faces as they movedtoward the door. "Bart! Why, it can't be!"

  In utter dismay, Bart looked down into the face of Tommy Kendron.

  In the rush of danger, he had absolutely forgotten that Tommy Kendronwas on this ship--to make his alias useless; Tommy was looking at him insurprise and delight.

  "Why didn't you tell me, or did you and your father decide at the lastminute? Hey, it's great that we can go part way together, at least!"

  Bart knew he must cut this short very quickly. He stepped out into thefull corridor light so that Tommy could see his black hair.

  "I'm sorry, you're confusing me with someone else."

  "Bart, come off it--" Tommy's voice died out. "Sorry, I'd have sworn youwere a friend of mine."

  Bart wondered suddenly, had he done the wrong thing? He had a feeling hemight need a friend. Badly.

  Well, it was too late now. He stared Tommy in the eye and said, "I'venever seen you before in my life."

  Tommy looked deflated. He stepped back slightly, shaking his head."Never saw such a resemblance. Are you a Vegan?"

  "No," Bart lied flatly. "Aldebaran. David Briscoe."

  "Glad to know you, Dave." With undiscourageable friendliness, Tommystuck out a hand. "Say, that bell means dinner, why don't we go downtogether? I don't know a soul on the ship, and it looks likeluck--running into a fellow who could be my best friend's twin brother."

  Bart felt warmed and drawn, but sensibly he knew he could not keep upthe pretense. Sooner or later, he'd give himself away, use some habitualphrase or gesture Tommy would recognize.

  Should he take a chance--reveal himself to Tommy and ask him to keepquiet? No. This wasn't a game. One man was already dead. He didn't wantTommy to be next.

  There was only one way out. He said coldly, "thank you, but I have otherthings to attend to. I intend to be very busy all through the voyage."He spun on his heel and walked away before he could see Tommy's eager,friendly smile turn hurt and defensive.

  Back in his cabin, he gloomily dialed some synthetic jellies, thinkingwith annoyance of the anticipated good food of the dining room. He knewhe couldn't risk meeting Tommy again, and drearily resigned himself tostaying in his cabin. It looked like an awfully boring trip ahead.

  It was. It was a week before the Lhari ship went into warp-drive, andall that time Bart stayed in his cabin, not daring to go to theobservation Lounge or dining hall. He got tired of eating synthetics(oh, they were nourishing enough, but they were altogetheruninteresting) and tired of listening to the tapes the room steward gothim from the ship's library. By the time they had been in space a week,he was so bored with his own company that even the Mentorian medic was awelcome sight when he came in to prepare him for cold-sleep.

  Bart had had the best education on Earth, but he didn't know preciselyhow the Lhari warp-drive worked. He'd been told that only a few of theLhari understood it, just as the man who flew a copter didn't need tounderstand Newton's Three Laws of Motion in order to get himself backand forth to work.

  But he knew this much; when the ship generated the frequencies whichaccelerated it beyond the speed of light, in effect the ship went into asort of fourth dimension, and came out of it a good many light-yearsaway. As far as Bart knew, no human be
ing had ever survived warp-driveexcept in the suspended animation which they called cold-sleep. Whilethe medic was professionally reassuring him and strapping him in hisbunk, Bart wondered what humans would do with the Lhari star-drive ifthey had it. Well, he supposed they could use automation in their ships.

  The Mentorian paused, needle in hand. "Do you wish to be wakened for theweek we shall spend in each of the Proxima, Sirius and Pollux systems,sir? You can, of course, be given enough drug to keep you in cold-sleepuntil we reach the Procyon system."

  Bart wondered if the room steward had mentioned the passenger so boredwith the trip that he didn't even visit the Observation Lounge. He felttempted--he was getting awfully tired of staring at the walls. On theother hand, he wanted very much to see the other star-systems. When hepassed through them on the trip to Earth, he'd been too young to paymuch attention.

  Firmly he put the temptation aside. Better not to risk meeting otherpassengers, Tommy especially, if he decided he couldn't take theboredom.

  The needle went into his arm. He felt himself sinking into sleep, and,in sudden panic, realized that he was helpless. The ship would touchdown on three worlds, and on any of them the Lhari might have hisdescription, or his alias! He could be taken off, drugged andunconscious, and might never wake up! He tried to move, to protest, totell them he was changing his mind, but already he was unable to speak.There was a freezing moment of intense, painful cold. Then he wasfloating in what felt like waves of cosmic dust, swirling many-coloredbefore his eyes. And then there was nothing, no color, nothing at allexcept the nowhere night of sleep.