The Colors of Space

Bart lowered his eyes. He had no answer to that.

"No, you won't be killed. But that's all I can guarantee. My personal

feelings have nothing to do with it. You'll have to go to Council Planet

with us, and you'll have to be psych-checked there. That is Lhari

law--and by treaty with your Federation, it is human law, too. If you

know anything dangerous to us, we have a legal right to eliminate those

memories before you can be released."

Meta smiled at him, encouragingly, but Bart shivered. That was almost

worse than the thought of death.

And the fear grew more oppressive as the ship forged onward toward the

home world of the Lhari. And it did not lessen when, after they touched

down, he was taken from the ship under guard.

He had only a glimpse, through dark glasses, of the terrible brilliance

of the Lhari sun dazzling on crystal towers, before he was hustled into

a closed surface car. It whisked him away to a building he did not see

from the outside; he was taken up by private elevator to a suite of

rooms which might--for all he could tell--have been a suite in a luxury

hotel or a lunatic asylum. The walls were translucent, the furniture

oddly colored, and so carefully padded that even a homicidal or suicidal

person could not have hurt himself or anyone else on it or with it.

Food reached him often enough so that he never got hungry, but not often

enough to keep him from being bored between meals, or from brooding. Two

enormous Lhari came in to look at him every hour or so, but either they

were deaf and dumb, did not understand his dialect of Lhari, or were

under orders not to speak to him. It was the most frustrating time of

his entire voyage.

One day it ended. A Lhari and a Mentorian came for him and took him down

elevators and up stairs, and into a quiet, neutral room where four Lhari

were gathered. They sat him in a comfortable chair, and the Mentorian

interpreter said gently, with apology: "Bart Steele, I have been asked to say to you that you will not be

physically harmed in any way. This will be much simpler, and will have

much less injurious effect on your mind if you cooperate with us. At the

same time, I have been asked to remind you that resistance is absolutely

useless, and if you attempt it, you will only be treated with force

rather than with courtesy."

Bart sat facing them, shaking with humiliation. The thought of

resistance flashed through his mind. Maybe he should make them fight for

what they got! At least they'd see that all humans weren't like the

Mentorians, to sit quietly and let themselves be brainwashed without a

word of protest.