"Only the steward. Why? Is something wrong?"
"There iss some thought that a stowaway might be on boarrd. Of courrrse we could not allow that, anyone not prrroperly prrotected would die in the first shift into warp-drive."
"Just the steward," Bart said again. "A Mentorian."
The Lhari said, eying him keenly, "You are ill? Or discommoded?"
Bart grasped at random for an excuse. "That—that stuff the medic made me drink made me feel—sort of sick."
"You may send for a medical officer after acceleration," said the Lhari expressionlessly. "The summoning bell is at your left."
They turned and went out and Bart gulped. Lhari, in person, checking the passenger decks! Normally you never saw one on board; just Mentorians. The Lhari treated humans as if they were too dumb to bother about. Well, at least for once someone was acting as if humans were worthy antagonists. We'll show them—someday!
But he felt very alone, and scared....
A low hum rose, somewhere in the ship, and Bart grabbed ticking as he felt the slow surge. Then a violent sense of pressure popped his ear drums, weight crowded down on him like an elephant sitting on his chest, and there was a horrible squashed sensation dragging his limbs out of shape. It grew and grew. Bart lay still and sweated, trying to ease his uncomfortable position, unable to move so much as a finger. The Lhari ships hit 12 gravities in the first surge of acceleration. Bart felt as if he were spreading out, under the weight, into a puddle of flesh—melted flesh like Briscoe's—
Bart writhed and bit his lip till he could taste blood, wishing he were young enough to bawl out loud.