Bart hesitated, then held out his hand and clasped his kinsman's. "Thanks—but no."
Raynor Three saw his hesitation and chuckled. "All right, son. Forget I asked. You've grown up."
It was good to sleep in a soft human-type bed again, to eat breakfast and shave and dress in ordinary human clothing again. But Bart folded his Lhari tights and the cloak tenderly, with regret. They were the memory of an experience no one else would ever have.
Raynor Three let him take the controls as they flew back to the spaceport city; and a little before noon they entered the great crystal pylon that was the headquarters of the Federation Trade Bureau on Procyon Alpha. Men and Lhari were moving in the lobby; among them Bart saw Vorongil, Meta at his side. He smiled at her, received a wan smile in return.
Would Vorongil feel that Bart had deceived him, betrayed him, when he heard Bart today?
In the hearing room, four white-crested Lhari sat across from four dignified, well-dressed men, representatives of the Federation of Intergalactic Trade. The space beyond was wholly filled with people, crowded together, and carrying stereo cameras, intercom equipment, the creepie-peepie of the on-the-spot space commentator.
"Mr. Steele, we had hoped to make this a quiet hearing, without undue publicity. But we cannot deny the news media the privilege of covering it, unless you wish to claim the right to privacy."
"No, indeed," Bart said clearly. "I want them all to hear what I'm going to say."
Raynor One came up to the bench. "Bart, as your guardian, I advise against it. Some people will call this a publicity stunt. It won't do Eight Colors any good to admit that men have been spying on the Lhari—"
"I want press coverage," Bart repeated stubbornly, "and as many star-systems on the relay as possible."