By Marion Zimmer Bradley, Ralph Brillhart
As younger Bart Steele stood taking a look over the Lhari spaceport, he heard a gong sound, touching off an explosion of caution bells. He appeared up. A starship used to be arriving. Bart ran down the ramp, considering: "I wonder whether Dad will be aware of me after 5 years." He searched during the crowd, taking a look in useless for his father's tall determine. abruptly he noticed a fats little guy coming towards him together with his palms outstretched. "Hello, son," the fellow acknowledged loudly, greedy Bart's hands. "Well, boy, you have convinced grown. yet you are not too grown-up to provide your previous Dad a hug, are you?" Bart began to draw back and stammer that the fellow had made a mistake, however the guy pulled him approximately into his fingers. "Bart, hearken to me," the stranger whispered. "Call me Dad, strong and loud, so one can stay. simply because, think me, your lifestyles is at risk -- correct now!"
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A Lhari, as short and fat as a Lhari could possibly be and still be a Lhari, came or rather waddled out of the captain's office. He saw Bartol and called, "Are you the new First Class? " Rugel had a huge cleft darkish scar across his lip, and there were two bands on his cloak. He was completely bald, and he puffed when he walked. "Vorongil asked me to show you around. You'll share quarters with Ringg —no sense shifting another man. " "I don't have much," Bart said. Rugel's seamed lip widened. "That's the way—travel light when you're on the drift," he confirmed.
It had evidently been there 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'd be 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. A prim-looking girl sat behind a desk—or what should have been a desk, except that it looked more like a mirror, with little sparkles of lights, different colors, in regular rows along one edge.
There will be a delay of about thirty minutes. " The room was comfortable, furnished with chairs and a vision-screen with some colorful story moving on it, small bright figures in capes, curious beasts racing across an unusual veldt; but Bart paced the floor restlessly. There were two doors in the room. Through one of them, he had been admitted; he could see, through the glass door, the silhouette of the Mentorian outside. The other door was opaque, and marked in large letters: DANGER HUMANS MUST NOT PASS WITHOUT SPECIAL LENSES TYPE X.