The Lhari said to the Mentorian, in the Lhari language, "Keep him for
questioning but don't tell him why." Bart felt a cold chill icing his
spine. This was it.
The Mentorian said briefly, "We wish to check on the proper antibody
component for Aldebaran natives. There will be a delay of about thirty
minutes. Will you kindly wait in this room here?"
The room was comfortable, furnished with chairs and a vision-screen with
some colorful story moving on it, small bright figures in capes, curious
beasts racing across an unusual veldt; but Bart paced the floor
restlessly. There were two doors in the room. Through one of them, he
had been admitted; he could see, through the glass door, the silhouette
of the Mentorian outside. The other door was opaque, and marked in large
letters: DANGER HUMANS MUST NOT PASS WITHOUT SPECIAL LENSES TYPE X.
ORDINARY SPACE LENSES WILL NOT SUFFICE DANGER! LHARI OPENING!
ADJUST X LENSES BEFORE OPENING!
Bart read the sign again. Well, that was no way out, for sure! He had
heard that the Lhari sun was almost 500 times as bright as Earth's. The
Mentorians alone, among humans, could endure Lhari lights--he supposed
the warning was for ordinary spaceport workers.
A sudden, rather desperate plan occurred to Bart. He didn't know how
much light he could tolerate--he'd never been on Mentor--but he had
inherited some of his mother's tolerance for light. And blindness would
be better than being burned down with an energon-gun! He went hesitantly
toward the door, and pushed it open.
His eyes exploded into pain; automatically his hands went up to shield
them. Light, light--he had never known such cruelly glowing light. Even
through the lids there was pain and red afterimages; but after a moment,
opening them a slit, he found that he could see, and made out other
doors, glass ramps, pale Lhari figures coming and going. But for the
moment he was alone in the long corridor beyond which he could see the
glass ramps.
Nearby, a door opened into a small office with glass walls; on a peg,
one of the silky metallic cloaks worn by Mentorians doing spaceport work
was hanging. On an impulse, Bart caught it up and flung it around his
shoulders.
It felt cool and soft, and the hood shielded his eyes a little. The ramp
leading down to what he hoped was street level was terribly steep and
there were no steps. Bart eased himself over the top of the ramp and let
go. He whooshed down the slick surface on the flat of his back, feeling
the metal of the cloak heat with the friction, and came to a breathless
jarring stop at the bottom. Whew, what a slide! Three stories, at least!
But there was a door, and outside the door, maybe, safety.