The Colors of Space

"I guess we're almost down to L-point. Better check the panel and report

nulls, so medic can wake up the Mentorians."

* * * * * The Swiftwing moved on between the stars. Aldebaran loomed, then faded

in the viewports; another shift jumped them to a star whose human name

Bart did not know. Shift followed shift, spaceport followed spaceport,

sun followed sun; men lived on most of these worlds, and on each of them

a Lhari spaceport rose, alien and arrogant. And on each world men looked

at Lhari with resentful eyes, cursing the race who kept the stars for

their own.

Cargo amassed in the holds of the Swiftwing, from worlds beyond all

dreams of strangeness. Bart grew, not bored, but hardened to the

incredible. For days at a time, no word of human speech crossed his

mind.

The blackout at peak of each warp-shift persisted. Vorongil had given

him permission to report off duty, but since the blackouts did not

impair his efficiency, Bart had refused. Rugel told him that this was

the moment of equilibrium, the peak of the faster-than-light motion.

"Perhaps a true limiting speed beyond which nothing will ever go,"

Vorongil said, touching the charts with a varnished claw. Rugel's

scarred old mouth spread in a thin smile.

"Maybe there's no such thing as a limiting speed. Someday we'll reach

true simultaneity--enter warp, and come out just where we want to be, at

the same time. Just a split-second interval. That will be real

transmission."

Ringg scoffed, "And suppose you get even better--and come out of warp

before you go into it? What then, Honorable Bald One?"

Rugel chuckled, and did not answer. Bart turned away. It was not easy to

keep on hating the Lhari.

There came a day when he came on watch to see drawn, worried faces; and

when Ringg came into the drive room they threw their levers on

automatic and crowded around him, their crests bobbing in question and

dismay. Vorongil seemed to emit sparks as he barked at Ringg, "You found

it?"

"I found it. Inside the hull lining."

Vorongil swore, and Ringg held up a hand in protest. "I only locate

metals fatigue, sir--I don't make it!"

"No help for it then," Vorongil said. "We'll have to put down for

repairs. How much time do we have, Ringg?"

"I give it thirty hours," Ringg said briefly, and Vorongil gave a long

shrill whistle. "Bartol, what's the closest listed spaceport?"

Bart dived for handbooks, manuals, comparative tables of position, and

started programming information. The crew drifted toward him, and by the

time he finished feeding in the coded information, a row three-deep of

Lhari surrounded him, including all the officers. Vorongil was right at

his shoulder when Bart slipped on his earphones and started decoding the

punched strips that fed out the answers from the computer.