CHAPTER FIVE
For a moment the words swirled before Bart's still-watering eyes. Hewiped them, trying to steady himself. Had he so soon reached the end ofhis dangerous quest? Somehow he had expected it to lie in deep, darkconcealment.
Raynor One. The existence of Raynor _One_ presupposed a Raynor _Two_ andprobably a Raynor _Three_--for all he knew, Raynors Four, Five, Six, andSixty-six! The building looked solid and real. It had evidently beenthere a long time.
With his hand on the door, he hesitated. Was it, after all, the _right_Eight Colors? But it was a family saying; hardly the sort of thing you'dbe apt to hear outside. He pushed the door and went in.
The room was filled with brighter light than the Procyon sun outdoors,the edges of the furniture rimmed with neon in the Mentorian fashion. Aprim-looking girl sat behind a desk--or what should have been a desk,except that it looked more like a mirror, with little sparkles oflights, different colors, in regular rows along one edge. The mirror-topitself was blue-violet and gave her skin and her violet eyes a bluishtinge. She was smooth and lacquered and glittering and she raised hereyebrows at Bart as if he were some strange form of life she hadn't seenvery often.
"I'd--er--like to see Raynor One," he said.
Her dainty pointed fingernail, varnished blue, stabbed at points oflight. "On what business?" she asked, not caring.
"It's a personal matter."
"Then I suggest you see him at his home."
"It can't wait that long."
The girl studied the glassy surface and punched at some more of thelittle lights. "Name, please?"
"David Briscoe."
He had thought her perfect-painted face could not show any emotionexcept disdain, but it did. She looked at him in open, blankconsternation. She said into the vision-screen, "He calls himself DavidBriscoe. Yes, I know. Yes, sir, yes." She raised her face, and it wascontrolled again, but not bored. "Raynor One will see you. Through thatdoor, and down to the end of the hall."
At the end of the hallway was another door. He stepped through into asmall cubicle, and the door slid shut like a closing trap. He whirled inpanic, then subsided in foolish relief as the cubicle began to rise--itwas just an automatic elevator.
It rose higher and higher, stopping with an abrupt jerk, and slid openinto a lighted room and office. A man sat behind a desk, watching Bartstep from the elevator. The man was very tall and very thin, and thegray eyes, and the intensity of the lights, told Bart that he was aMentorian. _Raynor One?_
Under the steady, stern gray stare, Bart felt the slow, clutching suckof fear again. Was this man a slave of the Lhari, who would turn himover to them? Or someone he could trust? His own mother had been aMentorian.
"Who are you?" Raynor One's voice was harsh, and gave the impression ofbeing loud, though it was not.
"David Briscoe."
It was the wrong thing. The Mentorian's mouth was taut, forbidding. "Tryagain. I happen to know that David Briscoe is dead."
"I have a message for Raynor Three."
The cold gray stare never altered. "On what business?"
On a sudden inspiration, Bart said, "I'll tell you that if you can tellme what the Eighth Color is."
There was a glint in the grim eyes now, though the even, stern voice didnot soften. "I never knew myself. I didn't name it Eight Colors. Maybeit's the original owner you want."
On a sudden hope, Bart asked, "Was he, by any chance, named RupertSteele?"
Raynor One made a suspicious movement. "I can't imagine why you thinkso," he said guardedly. "Especially if you've just come in from Earth.It was never very widely known. He only changed the name to Eight Colorsa few weeks ago. And it's for sure that your ship didn't get anymessages while the Lhari were in warp-drive. You mention entirely toomany names, but I notice you aren't giving out any further information."
"I'm looking for a man called Rupert Steele."
"I thought you were looking for Raynor Three," said Raynor One, staringat the Mentorian cloak. "I can think of a lot of people who might wantto know how I react to certain names, and find out if I know the wrongpeople, if they are the wrong people. What makes you think I'd admit itif I did?"
Now, Bart thought, they had reached a deadlock. Somebody had to trustsomebody. This could go on all night--parry and riposte, question andevasive answer, each of them throwing back the other's questions in averbal fencing-match. Raynor One wasn't giving away any information.And, considering what was probably at stake, Bart didn't blame him much.
He flung the Mentorian cloak down on the table.
"This got me out of trouble--the hard way," he said. "I never wore onebefore and I never intend to again. I want to find Rupert Steele becausehe's my father!"
"Your father. And just how are you going to prove that exceptionallyinteresting statement?"
Without warning, Bart lost his temper.
"I don't care whether I prove it or not! _You_ try proving something fora change, why don't you? If you know Rupert Steele, I don't have toprove who I am--just take a good look at me! Or so Briscoe told me--aman who called himself Briscoe, anyway. He gave me papers to travelunder that name! I didn't ask for them, he shoved them into my hand._That_ Briscoe is dead." Bart struck his fist hard on the desk, bendingover Raynor One angrily.
"He sent me to find a man named Raynor Three. But the only one I reallycare about finding is my father. Now you know as much as I do, how aboutgiving _me_ some information for a change?"
He ran out of breath and stood glaring down at Raynor One, fistsclenched. Raynor One got up and said, quick, savage and quiet, "Didanyone see you come here?"
"Only the girl downstairs."
"How did you get through the Lhari? In that?" He moved his head at theMentorian cloak.
Bart explained briefly, and Raynor One shook his head.
"You were lucky," he said, "you could have been blinded. You must haveinherited flash-accommodation from the Mentorian side--Rupert Steeledidn't have it. I'll tell you this much," he added, sitting down again."In a manner of speaking, you're my boss. Eight Colors--it used to beAlpha Transshipping--is what they call a middleman outfit. Theinterplanet cargo lines transport from planet to planet within asystem--that's free competition--and the Lhari ships transport from starto star--that's a monopoly all over the galaxy. The middleman outfitsarrange for orderly and businesslike liaison between the two. RupertSteele bought into this company, a long time ago, but he left it for meto manage, until recently."
Raynor punched a button, said to the image of the glossy girl at thedesk, "Violet, get Three for me. You may have to send a message to the_Multiphase_."
He swung round to Bart again. "You want a lot of explanations? Well,you'll have to get 'em from somebody else. I don't know what this is allabout. I don't _want_ to know: I have to do business with the Lhari. Theless I know, the less I'm apt to say to the wrong people. But I promisedThree that if you turned up, or if anyone came and asked for the EighthColor, I'd send you to him. That's all."
He motioned Bart ungraciously to a seat, and shut his mouth firmly, asif he had already said too much. Bart sat. After a while he heard theelevator 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. Hewas as like Raynor One as Tweedledum to Tweedledee: tall, stern, asceticand grim. He wore the full uniform of a Mentorian on Lhari ships: thewhite smock of a medic, the metallic blue cloak, the low silverysandals.
He said, "What's doing, One? Violet--" and then he caught sight of Bart.His eyes narrowed and he drew a quick breath, his face twisting up intoapprehension and shock.
"It must be Steele's boy," he said, and immediately Bart saw thedifference between the--were they brothers? For Raynor One's face,controlled and stern, had not altered all during their interview, butRaynor Three's smile was wry and kindly at once, and his voice was lowand gentle. "He's the image of Rupert. Did he come in on his own name?How'd he manage it?"
"No. He had Davi
d Briscoe's papers."
"So the old man got through," said Raynor Three, with a low whistle."But that's not safe. Quick, give them to me, Bart."
"The Lhari have them."
Raynor One walked to the window and said in his deadpan voice, "It'suseless. 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 andMentorians. Bart felt sick.
"If they had the same efficiency with red tape that we humans have, he'dnever have made it this far."
Raynor Three actually smiled. "But you can count on them for that muchinefficiency," he said, and his eyes twinkled for a moment at Bart."That's how it was so easy to work the old double-shuffle trick on them.They had Steele's description but not his name, so Briscoe took Steele'spapers and managed to slip through. Once they landed on Earth, they hadthe Steele _names_, but by the time that cleared, you were outbound withanother set of papers. It may have confused them, because they knew_David_ Briscoe was dead--and there was just a chance you were aninnocent bystander who could raise a real row if they pulled you in. Didold Briscoe get away?"
"No," Bart said, harshly, "he's dead."
Raynor Three's mobile face held shocked sadness. "Two brave men," hesaid softly, "Edmund Briscoe the father, David Briscoe the son. Rememberthe name, Bart, because I won't remember it."
"Why not?"
Raynor Three gave him a gold-glinting, enigmatic glance. "I'm aMentorian, remember? I'm good at not remembering things. Just be glad Iremember Rupert Steele. If you'd been a few days later, I wouldn't haveremembered him, though I promised to wait for you."
Raynor One demanded, "Get him _out_ of here, Three!"
Raynor Three swung to Bart. "Put that on again." He indicated theMentorian cloak. "Pull the hood right up over your head. Now, if we meetanyone, say a polite good afternoon in Lhari--you _can_ speakLhari?--and leave the rest of the talking to me."
Bart felt like cringing as they came out into the street full of Lhari;but Raynor Three whispered, "Attack is the best defense," and went up toone of the Lhari. "What's going on, _rieko mori_?"
"A passenger on the ship got away without going through Decontam. He mayspread disease, so of course we have alerted all authorities," the Lharisaid.
As the Lhari strode past, Raynor Three grimaced. "Clever, that. Now thewhole planet will be hunting for any stranger, worrying themselves intofits about some unauthorized germ. We'd better get you to a safe place.My country house is a good way off, but I have a copter."
Bart demanded, as they climbed in, "Are you taking me to my father?"
"Wait till we get to my place," Raynor Three said, taking the controlsand putting the machine in the air. "Just lean back and enjoy the trip,huh?"
Bart relaxed against the cushions, but he still felt apprehensive. Wherewas his father? If he was a fugitive from the Lhari, he might by now beat the other end of the galaxy. But if his father couldn't travel onLhari ships, and if he had been here, the chances were that he was stillsomewhere in the Procyon system.
They flew for a long time; across low hills, patchwork agriculturaldistricts, towns, and then for a long time over water. The copter hadautomatic controls, but Raynor Three kept it on manual, and Bartwondered if the Mentorian just didn't want to talk.
It began to descend, at last, toward a small green hill, bright in thelast gold rays on sunset. A small domelike pink bubble rose out of thehill. Raynor Three set the copter neatly down on a platform that slidshut after them, unfastened their seat belts and gave Bart a hand toclimb out.
He ushered him into a living room of glass and chrome, softly lighted,but deserted and faintly dusty. Raynor pushed a switch; soft music cameon, and the carpets caressed his feet. He motioned Bart to a chair.
"You're safe here, for a while," Raynor Three said, "though how long,nobody knows. But so far, I've been above suspicion."'
Bart leaned back; the chair was very comfortable, but the comfort couldnot help him to relax.
"Where is my father?" he demanded.
Raynor Three stood looking down at him, his mobile face drawn andstrange. "I guess I can't put it off any longer," he said softly. Thenhe covered his face with his hands. From behind them hoarse words came,choked with emotion.
"Your father is dead, Bart. I--I killed him."
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