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.