The Colors of Space

Vorongil said gravely, without humor, "The question does not arise. You

do not know the coordinates of this world, and have no way of finding

them. Within those limitations, you are an honored guest here, and if it

would give you any pleasure, you are welcome to see as much of Council

Planet as time permits."

It seemed, through Vorongil's kindness, that the old Lhari sensed his

bitter defeat. Nothing was to be gained by sulking in his cabin, a

prisoner. He had an opportunity which no human, except the Mentorians,

had ever had; which perhaps no human would ever have again. He might as

well take advantage of it.

Ringg and Meta both seemed startled at his new appearance, but Meta

instantly held out her hands, clasping his quickly and warmly. "Bart! I

wondered what your real face looked like. But I think I'd have known you

anyhow."

Ringg surveyed him wonderingly, shaking his head. "Say something," he

implored, "so I'll know you're Bartol."

Bart held out his arm, less gray by the day as the drug wore out of his

system. The thin line of the scar was still on it. He raised his

forefinger lightly to the fine line on Ringg's cheek. "I couldn't return

that now. So let's not get into any more fights."

Ringg laughed and gave him a rough, affectionate shove. "You're Bartol,

all right!"

Even his sense of defeat vanished in wonder as they came out into the

great spaceport. He saw, now, that the Lhari spaceports in human worlds

were built to create, for the spacemen so far from their native worlds,

some feeling of home. But everything here was so vast as to stagger the

imagination. There were miles and miles of the great ships, lying strewn

like pebbles on this monster beachhead into space, bearing the

strangeness of a million far-flung stars. He gaped like a child.

Above them, the burning brilliance of a star gave strange glow and color

to the crystal pylons. What color was the star? He turned to Meta,

irritated at his inability to be sure.

"Meta, what color is this sun? I've been all around the spectrum, and

it's not red, blue, green, orange, violet--" He broke off, realizing

what he had said and what he had seen. "An eighth color," he finished,

anticlimatically.

"You and your talk of colors," Ringg grumbled, "I wish I knew what you

Mentorians see! It's like trying to imagine seeing a smell or hearing

light!"

Meta laughed. "As far as I know, no one's named it. Sometimes we

Mentorians call it catalyst color. I think only Mentorians can see it

as separate color."