The Colors of Space

For the back wall of the cave was an exquisite fall of crystal! Minerals

glowed there, giant crystals, like jewels, crusted with strange

lichen-like growths and colors. There were pale blues and greens and,

shimmering among them, a strangely colored crystalline mineral that he

had never seen before. It was blue--No, Bart thought, that's just the

light, it's more like red--no, it can't be like both of them at once,

and it isn't really like either. In this light-Ringg moaned, and Bart, glancing round, saw that he was struggling to

sit up. He ran back to him, dropping to his knees at Ringg's side. "It's

all right, Ringg, lie still. We're under cover now."

"Wha' happened?" Ringg said blurrily. "Head hurts--all sparks--all the

pretty lights--can't see you!" He fumbled with loose, uncoordinated

fingers at his head and Bart grabbed at him before he poked a claw in

his eye. "Don't do that," Ringg complained, "can't see--"

He must have a bad concussion then. That's a nasty cut. Gently, he

restrained the Lhari boy's hands.

"Bartol, what happened?"

Bart explained. Ringg tried to move, but fell limply back.

"Weren't you hurt? I thought I heard you cry out."

"A cut or two, but nothing serious," Bart said. "I think the hail's

stopped. Lie still, I'd better go back to the ship and get help."

"Give me a hand and I can walk," Ringg said, but when he tried to sit

up, he flinched, and Bart said, "You'd better lie still." He knew that

head injuries should be kept very quiet; he was almost afraid to leave

Ringg for fear the Lhari boy would have another delirious fit and hurt

himself, but there was no help for it.

The hail had stopped, and the piled heaps were already melting, but it

was bitterly cold. Bart wrapped himself in the silvery cloak, glad of

its warmth, and struggled back across the slushy, ice-strewn meadow that

had been so pink and flowery in the sunshine. The Swiftwing, a

monstrous dark egg looming in the twilight, seemed like home. Bart felt

the heavenly warmth close around him with a sigh of pure relief, but the

Second Officer, coming up the hatchway, stopped in consternation: "You're covered with blood! The hailstorm--"

"I'm all right," Bart said, "but Ringg's been hurt. You'll need a

stretcher." Quickly, he explained. "I'll come with you and show you--"

"You'll do no such thing," the officer said. "You look as if you'd been

caught out in a meteor shower, feathertop! We can find the place. You go

and have those cuts attended to, and--what's wrong with your wrist?

Broken?"