CHAPTER SEVEN
"All right, Bart, today we'll let you look at yourself," Raynor Threesaid.
Bart smiled under the muffling layers of bandage around his face. Hishands were bandaged, too, and he had not been permitted to look in amirror. But the transition had been surprisingly painless--or perhapshis sense of well-being had been due to Raynor Three slipping him somedrug.
He'd been given injections of a chemical that would change the color ofhis skin; there had been minor operations on his face, his hands, hisfeet.
"Let's see you get up and walk around."
Bart obeyed awkwardly, and Raynor frowned. "Hurt?"
"Not exactly, but I feel as if I were limping."
"That's to be expected. I changed the angle of the heel tendon and themuscle of the arch. You're using a different set of muscles when youwalk; until they harden up, you'll have some assorted Charley horses.Have any trouble hearing me?"
"No, though I'd hear better without all these bandages," Bart saidimpatiently.
"All in good time. Any trouble breathing?"
"No, except for the bandages."
"Fine. I changed the shape of your ears and nostrils, and it might haveaffected your hearing or your breathing. Now, listen, Bart: I'm going totake the bandages off your hands first. Sit down."
Bart sat across the table from him, obediently sticking out his hands.Raynor Three said, "Shut your eyes."
Bart did as he was told and felt Raynor Three's long fingers working atthe bandages.
"Move each finger as I touch it." Bart obeyed, and Raynor saidneutrally, "Good. Now, take a deep breath and then open your eyes."
Impatiently Bart flicked his lids open. In spite of the warning, hisbreath went out in a harsh, jolting gasp. His hands lay on the tablebefore him--but they were not his hands.
The narrow, long fingers were pearl-gray, tipped with whitish-pink clawsthat curved out over the tips. Nervously Bart moved one finger, and thelong claw flicked out like a cat's, retracted. He swallowed.
"Golly!" He felt strangely wobbly.
"A beautiful job, if I do say so. Be careful not to scratch yourself,and practice picking up small things."
Bart saw that the long grayish claws were trembling. "How did youmake--the claws?"
"Quite simple, really," Raynor beamed. "I injected protein compoundsinto the nail matrix, which speeded up nail growth terrifically, andthen, as they grew, shaped them. Joining on those tiny muscles for theretracting mechanism was the tricky part though."
Bart was moving his hands experimentally. Once over the shock, they feltquite normal. The claws didn't get in his way half so much as he'dexpected when he picked up a pen that lay beside him and, with the blunttip, made a few of the strange-looking dots and wedges that were theLhari alphabet.
"Practice writing this," said Raynor Three, and laid a plastic-encasedfolder down beside him. It was a set of ship's papers printed in Lhari.Bart read it through, seeing that it was made out to the equivalent ofAstrogator, First Class, Bartol.
"That's your name now, the name your father would have used. Memorizeit, get used to the sound of it, practice writing it. Don't worry toomuch about the rating; it's an elementary one, what we'd call Apprenticerating, and I have a training tape for you anyhow. My brother got holdof it, don't ask me how--and don't ask him!"
"When am I going to see my face?"
"When I think you're ready for the shock," Raynor said bluntly. "Italmost threw you when I showed you your hands."
He made Bart walk around some more briefly, slowly, he unwound thebandages; then turned and picked up a mirror at the bottom of hismedic's case, turning it right side up. "Here. But take it easy."
But when Bart looked in the mirror he felt no unexpected shock, only anunnerving revulsion.
His hair was bleached-white and fluffy, almost feathery to the touch.His skin was grayish-rose, and his eyelids had been altered just enoughto make his eyes look long, narrow and slanted. His nostrils were mereslits, and he moved his tongue over lips that felt oddly thin.
"I did as little to your teeth as I thought I could get away with-cappedthe front ones," Raynor Three told him. "So if you get a toothacheyou're out of luck--you won't dare go to a Lhari dentist. I could havedone more, but it would have made you look too freakish when we changedyou back to human again--if you live that long," he added grimly.
_I hadn't thought about that. And if Raynor is going to forget me, whowill do it?_ The cold knot of fear, never wholly absent, moved in himagain.
Watching his face, Raynor Three said gently, "It's a big network, Bart.I'm not telling you much, for your own safety. But when you get toAntares, they'll tell you all you need to know."
He lifted Bart's oddly clawed hands. "I warned you, remember--the changeisn't completely reversible. Your hands will always look--strange. Thefingers had to be lengthened, for instance. I wanted to make you as safeas possible among the Lhari. I think you'll pass anything but an X-ray.Just be careful not to break any bones."
He gave Bart a package. "This is the Lhari training tape. Listen to itas often as you can, then destroy it--_completely_--before you leavehere. The _Swiftwing_ is due in port three days from now, and they stayhere a week. I don't know how we'll manage it, but I'll guaranteethere'll be a vacancy of one Astrogator, First Class, on that ship." Herose. "And now I'm going back to town and erase the memory." He stopped,looking intently at Bart.
"So if you see me, stay away from me and don't speak, because I won'tknow you from any other Lhari. Understand? From here on, you're on yourown, Bart."
He held out his hand. "This is the rough part, Son." His face movedstrangely. "I'm part of this network between the stars, but I don't knowwhat I've done before, and I'll never know how it comes out. It's funnyto stand here and look at you and realize that I won't even rememberyou." The gold-glinted eyes blinked rapidly. "Goodbye, Bart. And--goodluck, Son."
Bart took his hand, deeply moved, with the strange sense that this wasanother death--a worse one than Briscoe's. He tried to speak andcouldn't.
"Well--" Raynor's mouth twisted into a wry grin. "Ouch! Careful withthose claws. The Lhari don't shake hands."
He turned abruptly and went out of the door and out of Bart's life,while Bart stood at the dome-window, feeling alone as he had never feltalone before.
* * * * *
He had to wait six days, and they felt like six eternities. He playedthe training tape over and over. With his Academy background, it wasn'tnearly so difficult as he'd feared. He read and reread the set of papersidentifying him as Astrogator, First Class, Bartol. Forged, he supposed.Or was there, somewhere, a real Bartol?
The last morning he slept uneasily late. He finished his last meal as ahuman, spent part of the day removing all traces of his presence fromRaynor's home, burned the training tape, and finally got into the silky,silvery tights and cloak that Raynor had provided. He could use hishands now as if they belonged to him; he even found the claws handy anduseful. He could write his signature, and copy out instructions from thetraining tape, without a moment's hesitation.
Toward dusk, a young Lhari slipped unobserved out of Raynor's house andhiked unnoticed to the edges of a small city nearby, where he mingledwith the crowd and hired a skycab from an unobservant human driver totake him to the spaceport city. The skycab driver was startled, but not,Bart judged, unusually so, to pick up a Lhari passenger.
"Been doing a little sight-seeing on our planet, hey?"
"That's right," Bart said in Universal, not trying to fake his idea ofthe Lhari accent. Raynor had told him that only a few of the Lhari hadthat characteristic sibilant "r" and "s" and warned him against tryingto imitate it. _Just speak naturally; there are dialects of Lhari, justas there are dialects of the different human languages, and they allsound different in Universal anyhow._ "Just looking around some."
The skycab driver frowned and looked down at his controls, and Bart feltcuriously snubbed. Then he remembered. He himsel
f had little to say tothe Lhari when they spoke to him.
_He was an alien, a monster. He couldn't expect to be treated like ahuman being any more._
When the skycab let him off before the spaceport, it felt strange to seehow the crowds edged away from him as he made a way through them. Hecaught a glimpse of himself in one of the mirror-ramps, a tall thinstrange form in a metallic cloak, head crested with feathery white, andfelt overwhelmingly homesick for his own familiar face.
He was beginning to feel hungry, and realized that he could not go intoan ordinary restaurant without attracting attention. There wererefreshment stands all over the spaceport, and he briefly consideredgetting a snack at one of these.
No, that was just putting it off. The time had to come when he must facehis fear and test his disguise among the Lhari themselves. Reviewing hisknowledge of the construction of spaceports, he remembered that one sidewas the terminal, where humans and visitors and passengers were freelyadmitted; the other side, for Lhari and their Mentorian employees only,contained--along with business offices of many sorts--a sort of arcadewith amusement centers, shops and restaurants catering to the personnelof the Lhari ships. With nine or ten ships docking every day, Raynor hadassured him that a strange Lhari face would be lost in the crowds veryeasily.
He went to one of the doors marked DANGER, LHARI LIGHTS BEYOND, andpassed through the glaring corridor of offices and storage-warehouses,finally coming out into a sort of wide mall. The lights were fierce, buthe could endure them without trouble now, though his head ached faintly.Raynor, testing his light tolerance, had assured him that he could endureanything the Lhari could, without permanent damage to his optic nerves,though he would have headaches until he got used to them.
There were small shops and what looked like bars, and a glass-frontedplace with a sign lettered largely, in black letters, a Lhari phrasemeaning roughly HOME AWAY FROM HOME: MEALS SERVED, SPACEMEN WELCOME,REASONABLE.
Behind him a voice said in Lhari, "Tell me, does that sign mean what itsays? Or is this one of those traps for separating the unwary spacemanfrom his hard-earned credits? How's the food?"
Bart carefully took hold of himself.
"I was just wondering that myself." He turned as he spoke, findinghimself face to face with a young Lhari in the unadorned cloak of aspaceman without official rank. He knew the Lhari was young because hiscrest was still white.
The young Lhari extended his claws in the closed-fist, hidden-clawgesture of Lhari greeting. "Shall we take a chance? Ringg son of Rahangreets you."
"Bartol son of Berihun."
"I don't remember seeing you in the port, Bartol."
"I've mostly worked on the Polaris run."
"Way off there?" Ringg son of Rahan sounded startled and impressed. "Youreally get around, don't you? Shall we sit here?"
They sat on triangular chairs at a three-cornered table. Bart waited forRingg to order, and ordered what he did. When it came, it was a sort ofegg-and-fish casserole which Bart found extremely tasty, and he dug intoit with pleasure. Allowing for the claws, Lhari table manners were notso much different from human--_and remember, their customs differ asmuch as ours do. If you do something differently, they'll just thinkyou're from another planet with a different culture._
"Have you been here long?"
"A day or so. I'm off the _Swiftwing_."
Bart decided to hazard his luck. "I was told there's a vacancy on the_Swiftwing_."
Ringg looked at him curiously. "There is," he said, "but I'd like toknow how you found it out. Captain Vorongil said that anyone who talkedabout it would be sent to Kleeto for three cycles. But what happened toyou? Miss your ship?"
"No, I've just been laying off--traveling, sight-seeing, bummingaround," Bart said. "But I'm tired of it, and now I'd like to sign outagain."
"Well, we could use another man. This is the long run we're making, outto Antares and then home, and if everybody has to work extra shifts,it's no fun. But if old Vorongil knows that there's been talk in theport about Klanerol jumping ship, or whatever happened to him, we'll allhave to walk wide of his temper."
Bart was beginning to relax a little; Ringg apparently accepted himwithout scrutiny. At this close range Ringg did not seem a monster, butjust a young fellow like himself, hearty, good-natured--in fact, notunlike Tommy.
Bart chased the thought away as soon as it sneaked into his brain--oneof those _things_, like _Tommy_? Then, rather grimly, he remindedhimself, _I'm one of those things_. He said irritably, "So how do Iaccount for asking your captain for the place?"
Ringg cocked his fluffy crest to one side. "I know," he said, "_I_ toldyou. I'll say you're an old friend of mine. You don't know whatVorongil's like when he gets mad. But what he doesn't know, he won'tshout about." He shoved back the triangular chair. "Who _did_ tell you,anyway?"
This was the first real hurdle, and Bart's brain raced desperately, butRingg was not listening for an answer. "I suppose somebody gossiped, orone of those fool Mentorians picked it up. Got your papers? Whatrating?"
"Astrogator first class."
"Klanerol was second, but you can't have everything, I suppose." Ringgled the way through the arcades, out across a guarded sector, passinghalf a dozen of the huge ships lying in their pits. Finally Ringgstopped and pointed. "This is the old hulk."
Bart had traveled only in Lhari passenger ships, which were new andfresh and sleek. This ship was enormous, ovoid like the egg of somespace-monster, the sides dented and discolored, thin films of chemicaldiscoloration lying over the glassy metallic hull.
Bart followed Ringg. This was real, it was happening. He was signing outfor his first interstellar cruise on one of the Lhari ships. Not aMentorian assistant, half-trusted, half-tolerated, but one of the crewthemselves. _If I'm lucky_, he reminded himself grimly.
There was Lhari, in the black-banded officer's cloak, at the doorway. Heglanced at Ringg's papers.
"Friend of mine," Ringg said, and Bart proffered his folder. The Lharigave it a casual glance, handed it back.
"Old Baldy on board?" Ringg asked.
"Where else?" The officer laughed. "You don't think _he'd_ relax withcargo not loaded, do you?"
They seemed casual and normal, and Bart's confidence was growing. Theyhad accepted him as one of themselves. But the great ordeal still laybefore him--an interview with the Lhari captain. And the idea had Bartsweating scared.
The corridors and decks seemed larger, wider, more spacious, butshabbier than on the clean, bright, commercial passenger decks Bart hadseen. Dark-lensed men were rolling bales of cargo along on wheeleddollies. The corridors seemed endless. More to hear the sound of his ownvoice, and reassure himself of his ability to speak and be understood,than because he cared, he asked Ringg, "What's your rating?"
"Well, according to the logbooks, I'm an Expert Class Two,Metals-Fatigue," said Ringg. "That sounds very technical andinteresting. But what it means is just that I go all over the ship inchby inch, and when I finish, start all over again at the other end. Mostof what I do is just boss around the maintenance crews and snarl at themabout spots of rust on the paint."
They got into a small round elevator and Ringg punched buttons; it beganto rise, slowly and creakily, toward the top. "This, for instance,"Ringg said. "I've been yelling for a new cable for six months." Heturned. "Take it easy, Bartol; don't let Vorongil scare you. He likes tohear the sound of his own voice, but we'd all walk out the lock withoutspacesuits for him."
The elevator slid to a stop. The sign in Lhari letters said _Level ofAdministration--Officers' Deck_. Ringg pushed at a door and said,"Captain Vorongil?"
"I thought you were on leave," said a Lhari voice, deeper and slowerthan most. "What are you doing, back here more than ten millisecondsbefore strap-in checks?"
Ringg stepped back for Bart to go inside. The small cabin, with anelliptical bunk slung from the ceiling and a triangular table, wasdwarfed by a tall, thin Lhari, in a cloak with four of the black bandsthat seemed to denote rank among them.
He had a deeply lined face with alacework of tiny wrinkles around the slanted eyes. His crest was not thehigh, fluffy white of a young Lhari, but broken short near the scalp,grayish pink showing through, the little feathery ends yellowed withage. He growled, "Come in then, don't stand there. I suppose Ringg'stold you what a tyrant I am? What do you want, feathertop?"
Bart remembered being told that this was the Lhari equivalent of "Kid"or "Youngster." He fumbled in the capacious folds of his cloak for hispapers. His voice sounded shrill, even to himself.
"Bartol son of Berihun in respectful greeting, _rieko mori_."("Honorable old-bald-one," the Lhari equivalent of "sir.") "Ringg toldme there is a vacancy among the Astrogators, and I want to sign out."
Unmistakably, Vorongil's snort was laughter.
"So you've been talking, Ringg?"
Ringg retorted, "Better that I tell one man than that you have to huntthe planet over--or run the long haul with the drive-room watches shortby one man."
"Well, well, you're right," Vorongil growled. He glared at Bart. "On thelast planet, one of our men disappeared. Jumped ship!" The creasesaround his eyes deepened, troubled. "Probably just gone on the drift,sight-seeing, but I wish he'd told me. As it is, I wonder if he's beenhurt, killed, kidnaped."
Ringg said, "Who'd dare? It would be reported."
Bart knew, with a cold chill, that the missing Klanerol had not simplygone "on the drift." No Lhari port would ever see Klanerol, Second ClassAstrogator, again.
"Bartol," mused the captain, riffling the forged papers. "Served on thePolaris run. Hm--you _are_ a good long way off your orbit, aren't you?Never been out that way myself. All right, I'll take you on. You can dosystem programming? Good. Rating in Second Galaxy mathematics?"
He nodded, hauled out a sheet of thin, wax-coated fabric and his clawsmade rapid imprints in the surface. He passed it to Bart, pointed. Barthesitated, and Vorongil said impatiently, "Standard agreement, no hiddenclauses. Put your mark on it, feathertop."
Bart realized it was something like a fingerprint they wanted. _You'llpass anything but X-rays._ He pressed the top of one claw into the wax.Vorongil nodded, shoved it on a shelf without looking at it.
"So much for that," said Ringg, laughing, as they came out. "The BaldOne was in a good temper. I'm going to the port and celebrate, not thatthis dim place is very festive. You?"
"I--I think I'll stay aboard."
"Well, if you change your mind, I'll be down there somewhere," Ringgsaid. "See you later, shipmate." He raised his closed fist in farewell,and went.
Bart stood in the corridor, feeling astounded and strange. He _belonged_here! He had a right to be on board the ship! He wasn't quite sure whatto do next.
A Lhari, as short and fat as a Lhari could possibly be and still be aLhari, came or rather waddled out of the captain's office. He saw Bartoland called, "Are you the new First Class? I'm Rugel, coordinator."
Rugel had a huge cleft darkish scar across his lip, and there were twobands on his cloak. He was completely bald, and he puffed when hewalked. "Vorongil asked me to show you around. You'll share quarterswith Ringg--no sense shifting another man. Come down and see the chartrooms--or do you want to leave your kit in your cabin first?"
"I don't have much," Bart said.
Rugel's seamed lip widened. "That's the way--travel light when you're onthe drift," he confirmed.
Rugel took him down to the drive rooms, and here for a moment, in wonderand awe, Bart almost forgot his disguise. The old Lhari led him to thehuge computer which filled one wall of the room, and Bart was smittenwith the universality of mathematics. Here was something he _knew_ hecould handle.
He could do this programming, easily enough. But as he stood before thebanks of complex, yet beautifully familiar levers, the sheer exquisitecomplexity of it overcame him. To compute the movements of thousands ofstars, all moving at different speeds in different directions in thevast swirling directionless chaos of the Universe--and yet to be surethat every separate movement would come out to within a quarter of amile! It was something that no finite brain--man or Lhari--could everaccomplish, yet their limited brains had built these computers that_could_ do it.
Rugel watched him, laughing softly. "Well, you'll have enough time downhere. I like to have youngsters who are still in the middle of a loveaffair with their work. Come along, and I'll show you your cabin."
Rugel left him in a cabin amidships; small and cramped, but tidy, two ofthe oval bunks slung at opposite ends, a small table between them, anddrawers filled with pamphlets and manuals and maps. Furtively, ashamedof himself, yet driven by necessity, Bart searched Ringg's belongings,wanting to get some idea of what possessions he ought to own. He lookedaround the shower and toilet facilities with extra care--this wassomething he _couldn't_ slip up on and be considered even halfwaynormal. He was afraid Ringg would come in, and see him staring curiouslyat something as ordinary, to a Lhari, as a cake of soap.
He decided to go down to the port again and look around the shops. Hewas not afraid of being unable to handle his work. What he feared wassomething subtler--that the small items of everyday living, something assimple as a nail file, would betray him.
On his way he looked into the Recreation Lounge, filled with comfortableseats, vision-screens, and what looked like simple pinball machines andmechanical games of skill. There were also stacks of tapereels andheadsets for listening, not unlike those humans used. Bart feltfascinated, and wanted to explore, but decided he could do that later.
Somehow he took the wrong turn coming out of the Recreation Lounge, andwent through a door where the sudden dimming of lights told him he wasin Mentorian quarters. The sudden darkness made him stumble, thrust outhis hands to keep from falling, and an unmistakably human voice said,"Ouch!"
"I'm sorry," Bart said in Universal, without thinking.
"I admit the lights are dim," said the voice tartly, and Bart foundhimself looking down, as his eyes adjusted to the new light level, at agirl.
She was small and slight, in a metallic blue cloak that swept out, likewings, around her thin shoulders; the hood framed a small, kittenlikeface. She was a Mentorian, and she was human, and Bart's eyes restedwith comfort on her face; she, on the other hand, was looking up withanxiety and uneasy distrust. _That's right--I'm a Lhari, a nonhumanfreak!_
"I seem to have missed my way."
"What are you looking for, sir? The medical quarters are through here."
"I'm looking for the elevator down to the crew exits."
"Through here," she said, reopening the door through which he had come,and shading her large, lovely, long-lashed eyes with a slender hand."You took the wrong turn. Are you new on board? I thought all ships werelaid out exactly alike."
"I've only worked on passenger ships."
"I believe they are somewhat different," said the girl in good Lhari."Well, that is your way, sir."
He felt as if he had been snubbed and dismissed.
"What is your name?"
She stiffened as if about to salute. "Meta of the house of Marnay Three,sir."
Bart realized he was doing something wholly out of character for aLhari--chatting casually with a Mentorian. With a wistful glance at thepretty girl, he said a stiff "Thank you" and went down the ramp she hadindicated. He felt horribly lonely. Being a freak wasn't going to bemuch fun.