Vorongil said gravely, without humor, "The question does not arise. You
do not know the coordinates of this world, and have no way of finding
them. Within those limitations, you are an honored guest here, and if it
would give you any pleasure, you are welcome to see as much of Council
Planet as time permits."
It seemed, through Vorongil's kindness, that the old Lhari sensed his
bitter defeat. Nothing was to be gained by sulking in his cabin, a
prisoner. He had an opportunity which no human, except the Mentorians,
had ever had; which perhaps no human would ever have again. He might as
well take advantage of it.
Ringg and Meta both seemed startled at his new appearance, but Meta
instantly held out her hands, clasping his quickly and warmly. "Bart! I
wondered what your real face looked like. But I think I'd have known you
anyhow."
Ringg surveyed him wonderingly, shaking his head. "Say something," he
implored, "so I'll know you're Bartol."
Bart held out his arm, less gray by the day as the drug wore out of his
system. The thin line of the scar was still on it. He raised his
forefinger lightly to the fine line on Ringg's cheek. "I couldn't return
that now. So let's not get into any more fights."
Ringg laughed and gave him a rough, affectionate shove. "You're Bartol,
all right!"
Even his sense of defeat vanished in wonder as they came out into the
great spaceport. He saw, now, that the Lhari spaceports in human worlds
were built to create, for the spacemen so far from their native worlds,
some feeling of home. But everything here was so vast as to stagger the
imagination. There were miles and miles of the great ships, lying strewn
like pebbles on this monster beachhead into space, bearing the
strangeness of a million far-flung stars. He gaped like a child.
Above them, the burning brilliance of a star gave strange glow and color
to the crystal pylons. What color was the star? He turned to Meta,
irritated at his inability to be sure.
"Meta, what color is this sun? I've been all around the spectrum, and
it's not red, blue, green, orange, violet--" He broke off, realizing
what he had said and what he had seen. "An eighth color," he finished,
anticlimatically.
"You and your talk of colors," Ringg grumbled, "I wish I knew what you
Mentorians see! It's like trying to imagine seeing a smell or hearing
light!"
Meta laughed. "As far as I know, no one's named it. Sometimes we
Mentorians call it catalyst color. I think only Mentorians can see it
as separate color."