"When you feel able," the Mentorian said courteously, "the High Council
will see you."
Bart blinked. As if exploring a sore tooth with his tongue, his mind
sought for memories, but they all seemed clear, marshaled in line. The
details, clear and unblurred, of his voyage here. His humiliation and
resentment against the Lhari. They could have changed my thinking, my
attitudes. They could have made me admire or be loyal to the Lhari. They
didn't. I'm still me.
"I'm ready now." He got up, reeled and had to lean on the Mentorian; his
feet did not seem to touch the ground in quite the right way. After a
minute he could walk steadily, and followed the Mentorian along a
corridor. The Mentorian said into a small grille, "The Vegan Bartol,
alias Bart Steele," and after a moment a doorway opened.
Inside a room rose, high, domed, vaulted above his head, whitish
opalescent, washed with green. For a moment, while his eyes adjusted to
the light, he wondered how the Lhari saw it.
Beyond an expanse of black, glassy floor, he saw a low semicircular
table, behind which sat eight Lhari. All wore pale robes with high
collars that rose stiffly behind their domed heads; all were old, their
faces lined with many wrinkles, and seven of the eight were as bald as
the hull of the Swiftwing. Under their eyes he hesitated; then,
unexpectedly, pride stiffened his back.
They should have done a better job of brainwashing, if they expected him
to skulk in like a scared rabbit! He held his head high and moved across
the floor step by steady step, trying not to limp or display that he
felt tired or sore.
You're human! Act proud of it!
No one moved until he stood before the semicircle of ancients. Then the
youngest, the only one of the eight with some trace of feathery crest on
his high gray head, said "Captain Vorongil, you identify this person?"
"I do," Vorongil said, and Bart saw him seated before the high Council.
To Bart, the Lhari captain seemed a familiar, almost a friendly face.
"Well, Bart Steele, alias Bartol son of Berihun," said one old Lhari,
"what have you to say for yourself?"
Bart stood silent, not moving. What could he say that would not reveal
how desperately alone, how young and foolish and frightened he felt? All
his brave resolutions seemed to drain away before their old, gnomish
faces. Here he'd been thinking of himself as a brave spy, a gallant
fighter in humanity's cause and what not. Now he saw himself for what he
was; a reckless boy, meddling in affairs too big for him. He lowered his
eyes.