The low rainbow building of Eight Colors, near the spaceport of Procyon
Alpha, had not changed; and when Bart went in, as he had done a year
ago, it seemed that the same varnished girl was sitting before the same
glass desk, neon-edged and brittle, with the same chrome-tinged hair and
blue fingernails. She looked at Bart in his Lhari clothing, at Meta in
her Mentorian robe and cloak, at Ringg, and her unruffled dignity did
not turn a hair.

"May I help you?" she inquired, still not caring.

"I want to see Raynor One."

"On what business, please?"

"Tell him," said Bart, with immense satisfaction, "that his boss is
here--Bart Steele--and wants to see him right away."

It had a sort of disrupting effect. She seemed to go blurred at the
edges. After a minute, blinking carefully, she spoke into the
vision-screen, and reported, numbly, "Go on up, Mr. Steele."

He wasn't expecting a welcome. He said so as the elevator rose. "After
all, if I'd never come back, he'd doubtless have inherited the whole
Eight Colors line, unencumbered. I don't expect he'll be happy to see
me. But he's the only one I can turn to."

The elevator stopped, opened. They stepped out, and a man stepped
nervously toward them. For a moment, expecting Raynor One, Bart was
deceived; then as the man's face spread in a smile of welcome, he
stopped in incredulous delight.