She looked very small and very scared, and Bart wished he could comfort
her, but he knew she would shrink from him, repelled and horrified by
his Lhari skin, hair, claws.
Yet she reached for his hand, gripping it hard in her own dainty one.
"Bartol, be careful," she whispered, then stopped. "Bartol--that's a
Lhari name. What's your real one?"
"Bart. Bart Steele."
"Good luck, Bart." There were tears in her gray eyes.
With the blue cloak folded around his face, hands tucked in the slits at
the side, he felt almost like himself. And as the strange crimson
twilight folded down across the streets, laden with spicy smells and
little, fragrant gusts of wind, he almost savored the sense of being a
conspirator, of playing for high stakes in a network of intrigue between
the stars. He was off on an adventure, and meant to enjoy it.
The address he had been given was a lavish estate, not far from the
spaceport, across a little gleaming lake that shimmered red, indigo,
violet in the crimson sunset, surrounded by a low wall of what looked
like purple glass. Bart, moving slowly through the gate, felt that eyes
were watching him, and forced himself to walk with slow dignity.
Up the path. Up a low flight of black-marble stairs. A door swung open
and shut again, closing out the red sunset, letting him into a room that
seemed dim after the months of Lhari lights. There were three men in the
room, but his eyes were drawn instantly to one, standing against an
old-fashioned fireplace.
He was very tall and quite thin, and his hair was snow-white, though he
did not look old. Bart's first incongruous thought was, He'd make a
better Lhari than I would. His firm, commanding voice told Bart at once
that this was the man in charge. "You are Bartol?" He extended his hand.
Bart took it--and found himself gripped in a judo hold. The other two
men, leaping to place behind him, felt all over his body, not gently.
"No weapons, Montano."
"Look here--"
"Save it," Montano said. "If you're the right person, you'll understand.
If not, you won't have much time to resent it. A very simple test. What
color is that divan?"
"Green."
"And those curtains?"
"Darker green, with gold and red figures."
The men released him, and the white-haired man smiled.
"So you actually did it, Steele! I thought for sure the code message was
a fake." He stepped back and looked Bart over from head to foot,
whistling. "Raynor Three is a genius! Claws and everything! What a deuce
of a risk to take though!"