The Colors of Space

It had to be Raynor Three; there was no one else he could have been. He

was as like Raynor One as Tweedledum to Tweedledee: tall, stern, ascetic

and grim. He wore the full uniform of a Mentorian on Lhari ships: the

white smock of a medic, the metallic blue cloak, the low silvery

sandals.

He said, "What's doing, One? Violet--" and then he caught sight of Bart.

His eyes narrowed and he drew a quick breath, his face twisting up into

apprehension and shock.

"It must be Steele's boy," he said, and immediately Bart saw the

difference between the--were they brothers? For Raynor One's face,

controlled and stern, had not altered all during their interview, but

Raynor Three's smile was wry and kindly at once, and his voice was low

and gentle. "He's the image of Rupert. Did he come in on his own name?

How'd he manage it?"

"No. He had David Briscoe's papers."

"So the old man got through," said Raynor Three, with a low whistle.

"But that's not safe. Quick, give them to me, Bart."

"The Lhari have them."

Raynor One walked to the window and said in his deadpan voice, "It's

useless. But get the kid out of here before they come looking for me.

Look."

He pointed. Below them, the streets were alive with uniformed Lhari and

Mentorians. Bart felt sick.

"If they had the same efficiency with red tape that we humans have, he'd

never have made it this far."

Raynor Three actually smiled. "But you can count on them for that much

inefficiency," he said, and his eyes twinkled for a moment at Bart.

"That's how it was so easy to work the old double-shuffle trick on them.

They had Steele's description but not his name, so Briscoe took Steele's

papers and managed to slip through. Once they landed on Earth, they had

the Steele names, but by the time that cleared, you were outbound with

another set of papers. It may have confused them, because they knew

David Briscoe was dead--and there was just a chance you were an

innocent bystander who could raise a real row if they pulled you in. Did

old Briscoe get away?"

"No," Bart said, harshly, "he's dead."

Raynor Three's mobile face held shocked sadness. "Two brave men," he

said softly, "Edmund Briscoe the father, David Briscoe the son. Remember

the name, Bart, because I won't remember it."

"Why not?"

Raynor Three gave him a gold-glinting, enigmatic glance. "I'm a

Mentorian, remember? I'm good at not remembering things. Just be glad I

remember Rupert Steele. If you'd been a few days later, I wouldn't have

remembered him, though I promised to wait for you."