or anything else. Just get out, walk straight through the passenger door
and straight up the ramp of the ship. Show them that ticket, and get on.
Whatever happens, don't let anything stop you. Bart!" Briscoe shook his
shoulder. "Promise! Whatever happens, you'll _get on that ship_!"

Bart swallowed, feeling as if he'd been shoved into a silly
cops-and-robbers game. But Briscoe's urgency had convinced him. "Where
am I going?"

"All I have is a name--Raynor Three," Briscoe said, "and the message
about the Eighth Color. That's all I know." His mouth twisted again in
that painful gasp.

The cab swooped down. Bart found his voice. "But what then? Is Dad
there? Will I know--"

"I don't know any more than I've told you," Briscoe said. Abruptly the
robotcab came to a halt, swaying a little. Briscoe jerked the door open,
gave Bart a push, and Bart found himself stumbling out on the ramp
beside the spaceport building. He caught his balance, looked around, and
realized that the robotcab was already climbing the sky again.

Immediately before him, neon letters spelled TO PASSENGER ENTRANCE
ONLY. Bart stumbled forward. The Lhari by the gate thrust out a
disinterested claw. Bart held up what Briscoe had shoved into his hand,
only now seeing that it was a thin wallet, a set of identity papers and a
strip of pink tickets.

"Procyon Alpha. Corridor B, straight through." The Lhari gestured, and
Bart went through the narrow passageway, came out at the other end, and
found himself at the very base of a curving stair that led up and up
toward a door in the side of the huge Lhari ship. Bart hesitated. In
another minute he'd be on his way to a strange sun and a strange world,
on what might well be the wild-goose chase of all time.

Passengers were crowding the steps behind him. Someone shouted suddenly,
"Look at that!" and someone else yelled, "Is that guy crazy?"

Bart looked up. A robotcab was swooping over the spaceport in wild,
crazy circles, dipping down, suddenly making a dart like an enraged wasp
at a little nest of Lhari. They ducked and scattered; the robotcab
swerved away, hovered, swooped back. This time it struck one of the
Lhari grazingly with landing gear and knocked him sprawling. Bart stood
with his mouth open, as if paralyzed.

_Briscoe! What was he doing?_

The fallen Lhari lay without moving. The robotcab moved in again, as if
for the kill, buzzing viciously overhead.

Then a beam of light arced from one of the