Bart got up and washed his face, remembering that he had no luggage with
him, not so much as a toothbrush.
At the back of his mind, packed up in a corner, was the continuing worry
about his father, the horror at Briscoe's ghastly death, the fear of the
Lhari; but he slammed the lid firmly on them all. For the moment he was
safe. They might be looking for Bart Steele by now, but they weren't
looking for David Briscoe of Aldebaran. He might just as well relax and
enjoy the trip. He went down to the Observation Lounge.
It had been darkened, and one whole wall of the room was made of clear
quartzite. Bart drew a deep breath as the vast panorama of space opened
out before him.
They were receding from the sun at some thousands of miles a minute.
Swirling past the ship, gleaming in the reflected sunlight like iron
filings moving to the motion of a magnet, were the waves upon waves of
cosmic dust--tiny free electrons, ions, particles of gas; free of the
heavier atmosphere, themselves invisible, they formed in their billions
into bright clouds around the ship; pale, swirling veils of mist. And
through their dim shine, the brilliant flares of the fixed stars burned
clear and steady, so far away that even the hurling motion of the ship
could not change their positions.
One by one he picked out the constellations. Aldebaran swung on the
pendant chain of Taurus like a giant ruby. Orion strode across the sky,
a swirling nebula at his belt. Vega burned, cobalt blue, in the heart of
the Lyre.
Colors, colors! Inside the atmosphere of Earth's night, the stars had
been pale white sparks against black. Here, against the misty-pale
swirls of cosmic dust, they burned with color heaped on color; the
bloody burning crimson of Antares, the metallic gold of Capella, the
sullen pulsing of Betelgeuse. They burned, each with its own inward
flame and light, like handfuls of burning jewels flung by some giant
hand upon the swirling darkness. It was a sight Bart felt he could watch
forever and still be hungry to see; the never-changing, ever-changing
colors of space.
* * * * * Behind him in the darkness, after a long time, someone said softly,
"Imagine being a Lhari and not being able to see anything out there but
bright or brighter light."
A bell rang melodiously in the ship and the passengers in the lounge
began to stir and move toward the door, to stretch limbs cramped like
Bart's by tranced watching, to talk quickly of ordinary things.
"I suppose that bell means dinner," said a vaguely familiar voice at
Bart's elbow. "Synthetics, I suppose, but at least we can all get
acquainted."