The green stuff tasted a little brackish, but Bart got it down all

right. He didn't much like the idea of drinking a solution of "germs,"

but he knew that was silly. There was a big difference between disease

germs and helpful bacteria.

Another Mentorian official, this one a young woman, gave him a key with

a numbered tag, and a small booklet with WELCOME ABOARD printed

on the cover.

The tag was numbered 246-B, which made Bart raise his eyebrows. B class

was normally too expensive for Bart's father's modest purse. It wasn't

quite the luxury class A, reserved for planetary governors and

ambassadors, but it was plenty luxurious. Briscoe had certainly sent him

traveling in style!

B Deck was a long corridor with oval doors; Bart found one numbered 246,

and, not surprisingly, the key opened it. It was a pleasant little

cabin, measuring at least six feet by eight, and he would evidently have

it to himself. There was a comfortably big bunk, a light that could be

turned on and off instead of the permanent glow-walls of the cheaper

class, a private shower and toilet, and a placard on the walls informing

him that passengers in B class had the freedom of the Observation Dome

and the Recreation Lounge. There was even a row of buttons dispensing

synthetic foods, in case a passenger preferred privacy or didn't want to

wait for meals in the dining hall.

A buzzer sounded and a Mentorian voice announced, "Five minutes to Room

Check. Passengers will please remove all metal in their clothing, and

deposit in the lead drawers. Passengers will please recline in their

bunks and fasten the retaining straps before the steward arrives.

Repeat, passengers will please...."

Bart took off his belt, stuck it and his cuff links in the drawer and

lay down. Then, in a sudden panic, he got up again. His papers as Bart

Steele were still in the sack. He got them out, and with a feeling as if

he were crossing a bridge and burning it after him, tore up every scrap

of paper that identified him as Bart Steele of Vega Four, graduate of

the Space Academy of Earth. Now, for better or worse, he was--who was

he? He hadn't even looked at the new papers Briscoe had given him!

He glanced through them quickly. They were made out to David Warren

Briscoe, of Aldebaran Four. According to them, David Briscoe was twenty

years old, hair black, eyes hazel, height six foot one inch. Bart

wondered, painfully, if Briscoe had a son and if David Briscoe knew

where his father was. There was also a license, validated with four runs

on the Aldebaran Intrasatellite Cargo Company--planetary ships--with the

rank of Apprentice Astrogator; and a considerable sum of money.




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