Chapter 2

For a moment, pulled off balance in the fat stranger’s hug, Bart remained perfectly still, while the man repeated in that loud, jovial voice, “How you’ve grown!” He let him go, stepping away a pace or two, and whispered urgently, “Say something. And take that stupid look off your face.”

As he stepped back, Bart saw his eyes. In the chubby, good-natured red face, the stranger’s eyes were half-mad with fear.

In a split second, Bart remembered the two Lhari and their talk of a fugitive. In that moment, Bart Steele grew up.

He stepped toward the man and took him quickly by the shoulders.

“Dad, you sure surprised me,” he said, trying to keep his voice from shaking. “Been such a long time, I’d--half forgotten what you looked like. Have a good trip?”

“About like always.” The fat man was breathing hard, but his voice sounded firm and cheerful. “Can’t compare with a trip on the old Asterion though.” The Asterion was the flagship of Vega Interplanet, Rupert Steele’s own ship. “How’s everything?”

Beads of sweat were standing out on the man’s ruddy forehead, and his grip on Bart’s wrist was so hard it hurt. Bart, grasping at random for something to say, gabbled, “Too bad you couldn’t get to my graduation. I made th-third in a class of four hundred--”

The Lhari had surrounded them and were closing in.

The fat man took a deep breath or two, said, “Just a minute, Son,” and turned around. “You want something?”

The tallest of the Lhari--the old one, whom Bart had seen on the escalator--looked long and hard at him. When they spoke Universal, their voices were sibilant, but not nearly so inhuman.

“Could we trrrouble you to sssshow us your paperrrssss?”

“Certainly.” Nonchalantly, the fat man dug them out and handed them over. Bart saw his father’s name printed across the top.

The Lhari gestured to a Mentorian interpreter: “What colorrr isss thisss man’s hairrr?”

The Mentorian said in the Lhari language, “His hair is gray.” He used the Universal word; there were, of course, no words for colors in the Lhari speech.

“The man we sssseek has hair of red,” said the Lhari. “And he isss tall, not fat.”

“The boy is tall and with red hair,” the Mentorian volunteered, and the old Lhari made a gesture of disdain.

“This boy is twenty years younger than the man whose description came to us. Why did they not give us a picture or at least a name?” He turned to the other Lhari and said in their own shrill speech, “I suspected this man because he was alone. And I had seen this boy on the upper mezzanine and spoken with him. We watched him, knowing sooner or later the father would seek him. Ask him.” He gestured and the Mentorian said, “Who is this man, you?”

Bart gulped. For the first time he noted the energon-ray shockers at the belts of the four Lhari. He’d heard about those. They could stun--or they could kill, and quite horribly. He said, “This is my father. You want my cards, too?” He hauled out his identity papers. “My name’s Bart Steele.”

The Lhari, with a gesture of disgust, handed them back. “Go, then, father and son,” he said, not unkindly.

“Let’s get going, Son,” said the little bald man. His hand shook on Bart’s, and Bart thought, If we’re lucky, we can get out of the port before he faints dead away. He said “I’ll get a copter,” and then, feeling sorry for the stranger, gave him his arm to lean on. He didn’t know whether he was worried or scared. Where was his father? Why did this man have his dad’s papers? Was his father hiding inside the Lhari ship? He wanted to run, to burst away from the imposter, but the guy was shaking so hard Bart couldn’t just leave him standing there. If the Lhari got him, he was a dead duck.

A copter swooped down, the pilot signaling. The little man said hoarsely, “No. Robotcab.”

Bart waved the copter away, getting a dirty look from the pilot, and punched a button at the stand for one of the unmanned robotcabs. It swung down, hovered motionless. Bart boosted the fat man in. Inside, the man collapsed on the seat, leaning back, puffing, his hand pressed hard to his chest.

“Punch a combo for Denver,” he said hoarsely.

Bart obeyed, automatically. Then he turned on the man.

“It’s your game, mister! Now tell me what’s going on? Where’s my father?“

The man’s eyes were half-shut. He said, gasping, “Don’t ask me any questions for a minute.” He thumbed a tablet into his mouth, and presently his breathing quieted.

“We’re safe--for the minute. Those Lhari would have cut us down.”

“You, maybe. I haven’t done anything. Look, you,” Bart said in sudden rage, “you owe me some explanations. For all I know, you’re a criminal and the Lhari have every right to chase you! Why have you got my father’s papers? Did you steal them to get away from the Lhari? Where’s my father?“

“It’s your father they were looking for, you young fool,” said the man, gasping hard. “Lucky they had only a description and not a name--but they’ve probably got that by now, uncoded. We’ve only confused them for a little while. But if you hadn’t played along, they’d have had you watched, and when they get hold of the name Steele--they will, sooner or later, the people in the Procyon system--”

“Where is my father?”

“I hope I don’t know,” the fat man said. “If he’s still where I left him, he’s dead. My name is Briscoe. Edmund Briscoe. Your father saved my life years ago, never mind how. The less you know, the safer you’ll be for a while. His major worry just now is about you. He was afraid, if he didn’t turn up here, you’d take the first ship back to Vega. So he gave me his papers and sent me to warn you--”

Bart shook his head. “It all sounds phony as can be. How do I know whether to believe you or not?” His hand hovered over the robotcab controls. “We’re going straight to the police. If you’re okay, they won’t turn you over to the Lhari. If you’re not--”

“You young fool,” said the fat man, with feeble violence, “there’s no time for all that! Ask me questions--I can prove I know your father!”

“What was my mother’s name?”

“Oh, God,” Briscoe said, “I never saw her. I knew your father long before you were born. Until he told me, I never knew he’d married or had a son. I’d never have known you, except that you’re the living image--” He shook his head helplessly, and his breathing sounded hoarse.