The Colors of Space

Her voice was compassionate. Bart felt his throat tighten, and had the

awful feeling that he was going to cry. He reached with his good hand

for hers, seeking the comfort of a human touch, but she flinched

instinctively away.

He was a monster to this pretty girl....

"It looks so real," she said helplessly. "Yes, now I can see, you have

tiny moons at the base of the nail, and the Lhari don't." Her face

worked. "It's--it's horrifying! How could you--"

There was a noise in the corridor. Meta gasped and ran to unlock the

door, stood back as the medic and the Second Officer came in, staggering

under Ringg's weight. Carefully, they put him into a bunk. The medic

straightened, shaking his crest.

"Did you get that wrist taken care of, Bartol?"

Meta stepped between Bart and the officer, reaching for a roll of

bandage. "I'm working on it now, rieko mori," she said. "It only wants

strapping up." But her fingers trembled as she wound the gauze, pulling

each fold tight.

"How's--Ringg?"

"Needs quiet," grunted the medic, "and a few sutures. Lucky you got him

under cover when you did."

Ringg said weakly from his bunk, "Bartol saved my life. I can think of

plenty who'd have run for cover, instead of staying out in that stuff

long enough to drag me inside. Thanks, shipmate."

Meta's hand, with a swift hard pressure, lingered on Bart's shoulder as

she cut the bandage and fastened the end. "I don't think that will

bother you much now," she whispered, fleetingly. "I didn't dare say it

was broken or they'd insist on X-rays. If it hurts I'll get you

something later for the pain. If you keep it strapped up tight--"

"It will do," Bart said aloud. The tight bandage made it feel a little

better, but he felt sick and dizzy, and when the medic turned and saw

him, the officer said brusquely "Watch off for you, Bartol. I'll fix the

sign-out sheet, but you go to your cabin and get yourself at least four

hours of sleep. That's an order."

Bart stumbled out of the cabin with relief. Safe in his own quarters, he

flung himself down on his bunk, shaking all over. He'd come safely

through one more nightmare, one more terror--for the moment! Had he put

Meta in danger, too? Was there no end to this ceaseless fear? Not only

for himself, but for others, the innocent bystanders who stumbled into

plots they did not understand?