Bart remembered Vorongil's silent, sad confession of the Lhari fears.
"No," he said gently. "No. There won't be any war unless we start one. The Lhari won't start any war. Believe me."
But inwardly, he sweated. What would the Lhari do?
They had to wait for representatives of the Lhari Council to make the journey from their home galaxy; meanwhile they kept Bart in protective custody. There was, of course, no question of sending him to a "prison planet"; public opinion would have crucified any government that suggested punishment for the man who had discovered a human world with deposits of Catalyst A. Bart could claim an "explorer's share," and Raynor One had lost no time in filing that claim on his behalf.
But he was lonely and anxious. They had confined him to a set of rooms high in the building overlooking the spaceport; from the balcony he could see the ships landing and departing. Life went on, ships came and went, and out there in the vast night of space, the suns and colors flamed and rolled, heedless of the little atoms that traveled and intrigued between them.
A night came when the buzzer sounded and he opened the door to Raynor One and Raynor Three.
"Better turn on your vision-screen, Bart. The Elder of the Lhari Council has arrived with their official decision, and he's going to announce it."
Bart waited, anxiously, pacing the room, while on the TV screen various dignitaries presented the Elder.
"We are the first race to travel the stars." A bald head, an ancient Lhari face seamed like glazed pottery, looked at Bart from the screen, and Bart remembered when he had stood before that face, sick with defeat. But now he need not pretend to hold his head erect.
"We have had a long and triumphant time as masters of the stars," the Lhari said. "But triumph and power will sicken and stagnate the race which holds them too long unchallenged. We reached this point once before. Then a Lhari captain, Rhazon of Nedrun, abandoned the safe ways of caution, and out of his blind leap in the blind dark came many good things. Trade with the human race. Our Mentorian allies. A system of mathematics to take the hazards from our star-travel.