Fearful Symmetry: A Terran Empire novel, Page 3

  Chapter III

  The Hermnaen was alone when it neared Homeworld's defense perimeter.Arjen's fleet, under Acting Fleet-Captain Jannor, had returned to thecombat zone, and the extra ships had been ordered back to their regularduties.

  Tarlac and Hovan were seated at two of the control central supervisorconsoles, watching the repeater screen. The Ranger never grew tired ofwatching planetary approaches, even on a screen instead of through alander's windows. There was something awe-inspiring about watching aworld grow from a featureless point to a globe boasting continents andseas--though cloud cover obscured most details on Terra-type worlds.

  The Hermnaen descended slowly, gently, on null-grav, and the globe grewuntil it was beneath them, rather than ahead. Clouds like snow-softenedmountains showed rifts, then gave way to clear skies as theflagship let down toward a city-sized spaceport. The guide beambrought them to a precision landing near the central control building.

  Leave for combat crews was automatic any time a warship made friendlyplanetfall, and Homeworld was the only place where that meant everyonecould go to his own clanhome. That it was a branch home, in mostcases, didn't matter; being in-clan was what counted. Ship-CaptainExvani, as anxious as anyone to rejoin his family, had called ahead sothat every clan with a member aboard the Hermnaen could sendtransportation, and the ship emptied without delay.

  Less than ten minutes after landing, Hovan and Tarlac and the otherthree members of Ch'kara who'd been at the adoption were being greetedby the driver of a large cream-and-green null-grav car. She was thefirst Traiti female that Tarlac, and as far as he knew, any human, hadever seen.

  She was only slightly less massive than the males, yet she wasundeniably attractive by Traiti standards, as he knew from the art he'dstudied, and she had an air of lithe grace. Tarlac, though he knew itwas inappropriate, found she made him think of a Valkyrie. She was nofighter, couldn't possibly be if all he'd learned about the Traiti wascorrect, but she gave the impression of a warrior maiden.

  Seated between the driver and Hovan, Tarlac had a sudden feeling ofbelonging here; despite his misgivings, he liked it. He'd alreadydecided, since there was no way to ignore his apprehension, to refuseto let himself be distracted by his fear. He couldn't afford it.While he still knew almost nothing about the Ordeal he'd agreed totake, he had no doubt that it would call on every resource he had.

  In the meantime, he'd learned enough to know that his original ideaabout the status of females was not just mistaken but laughable. Yes,they were only a fourth of the Traiti population, cherished andprotected from any possible harm, and even a discussion of endangeringone unnecessarily bordered on obscenity. But they weren't considered,as he'd wrongly speculated, either inferior in any way, or as breedingstock or valuable property. Far from it. If anything, they had morestatus than any males except the n'Cor'naya, the Honored Ones who'dpassed the Ordeal. They were responsible for both religion and clanlife, things which were far more important to the Traiti than humanshad guessed.

  The clans, not warfare, were the center of Traiti culture. And yet,even with females running those two vital areas, it wasn't amatriarchy. Males ran commerce and, obviously, the military; in otherfields such as science or the arts, gender had no bearing. Thecombination made for a "government," if you felt generous about thedefinition, that couldn't possibly work for humans. Not even if it hadbeen imposed by a god, as Hovan assured Tarlac it had. There were tworulers, the male Supreme who was exactly that in secular affairs, andthe female First Speaker for the Circle of Lords, equally powerful inreligious matters.

  But those two acted only when something concerned the entire race.Everything else was handled on a clan level, from education todeep-space colonization. Despite Hovan's attempts to explain, Tarlacdidn't quite understand how some of what the Traiti had accomplishedcould be done on such a seemingly casual basis, and he could only supposethey would find the human bureaucracy equally puzzling.

  The two civilizations were most similar, ironically enough, in thestructure of their military forces. Even that was largely on thesurface; any military required a clear chain of command. Otherwise. . . the clans cooperated to produce both commercial ships andwarcraft, and in crewing them, with the crew members supported by theirindividual clans. Then, under the Supreme's command, the war fleetsdefended the race.

  Tarlac shrugged and turned his attention to his surroundings. Thespaceport, so much like its Imperial counterparts, was behind them andthey were approaching the capital city. Hovan had described it, soTarlac knew what to expect: large, relatively low buildings, none overthree stories high, set apart from each other in almost parklikesurroundings. In several of the larger buildings they passed, femalesstood at the central doors; they were the clan's sub-Mothers, thoughrarely--when this was the clan's main home--it might be the Ka'ruchayaherself waiting to formally welcome her clan-children.

  Tarlac enjoyed the drive and the scenery. It reminded him of a Terrancollege campus or an Irschchan town, though with a greater similarityto Terra since Homeworld's sky was blue, not green. The air smelledgood, clean and alive after the flatness of recycled ship's air, and hecould tell the Traiti liked it as much as he did.

  They passed a shopping area, where the buildings were more brightlycolored and closer together, yet still not crowded, and the Terran gothis first look at groups of Traiti civilians. Most were closed-shirtmales who hadn't earned Honor scars, but he saw some females, one withan infant, and a few n'Cor'naya. All wore loose-fitting, brightlycolored clothing, though there was no other uniformity of dress.Styles varied by clan and by individual taste, from what most Imperialswould consider barely decent to full-coverage robes.

  They did have one other thing in common. Much to Tarlac's amazement,all seemed genuinely cheerful. He turned to his sponsor. "Don't theyknow how the war's going?"

  "Of course." Hovan was surprised by the question. "Such things mustin honor known be. Why? Do yours not know?"

  "Sure they do," Tarlac replied. "But we're winning--we don't have anyreason to be depressed."

  "Sadness would no good do," Hovan said calmly. "What the Lords decree,is." He looked around. "This area familiar seems . . . we should theclanhome nearing be. I have only once to Homeworld been, though, so Icannot sure be."

  His memory was accurate; less than a minute later, the car came to ahalt in front of one of the branch clanhome buildings. It was ofaverage size, perhaps a quarter-kilometer on a side--plenty of room forthe five hundred or so who represented Ch'kara on Homeworld. It wouldbe good, Hovan thought, simply to be back in-clan, back in thecloseness and peace he valued so highly--and there was Ka'ruchayaYarra's promise. He looked at Steve, pleased to see the man'sexpression was calm and interested.

  Tarlac indicated the female standing motionless in front of the opendoor and asked quietly, "Ka'chaya Yvian?"

  "Yes, of--" Hovan broke off as he glanced upward, inhaling with a hissthrough surprise-thinned nostrils. "Yarra! She here came?"

  Tarlac recalled one of the fine points of custom he'd learned, that theClan Mother very rarely left the main clanhome, and then only if it wasimportant to the clan's survival or honor. That Yarra was here, now,could only be because of him, to show she regarded her alienes'ruesten, her new clan-child, as fully one of Ch'kara.

  It was something he hadn't expected; it was an honor, and it added tohis determination to succeed in the Ordeal, to bring credit to hisadopted clan. He climbed out of the car with the others and followedthem up the steps to accept her formal welcome. The Ranger, rankingalmost at the top in the Terran Empire, was the only one in the groupwithout Honor scars, so he ranked lowest here. When the others bowed,holding out dagger hilts so the Ka'ruchaya could touch those and thenher n'ruesten, Tarlac knelt as was proper for an unscarred male,drawing his blaster and extending its grip. He was pleased when shewelcomed him as she had them, touching the blaster's grip and then hisforehead.

  Still kneeling, he looked up. "Ka'ruchaya, Hovan
says you speakEnglish, so I want you to know firsthand that I had to qualify my oathto the clan. I don't want to be accepted under the wrong assumptions.I took my oath as a Ranger of the Empire first, and that obligationwill always be first for me."

  "Yes, I English speak," Yarra replied, "and I your reservationunderstand. I that expected, in one Hovan would worthy of adoptionfind. You must, of course, that first oath first honor." She smiled,and raised him to his feet. "I will to you later speak, ruesten. Nowcome. You n'ruhar have to meet, after you are to the Lordsintroduced."

  Tarlac holstered his blaster, following his Clan Mother and clanmatesinto the building. The entranceway was about ten meters square, withhalls to either side and double doors straight ahead leading to theclanhome's heart, the gathering hall. When the double doors slid open,Tarlac couldn't see much except Traiti. The hall was filled with them,leaving only one open lane down the center of the room. He knew whatthe hall looked like, from Hovan's descriptions: a hundred meters wideby a hundred and fifty deep, and unlike the rest of the clanhome,undecorated. Its only furnishing, except for special occasions, wasthe silvery two-tiered altar opposite the entrance. The clan's Speakerfor the Circle of Lords, Daria, waited there to introduce Tarlac to theTraiti gods.

  He smiled at that. He and Hovan had, inevitably, touched on religionin their discussions, and Hovan had found his agnosticism at firstbaffling, then amusing. It seemed the Traiti took their gods prettymuch for granted, absolutely certain of their reality but expectingnothing from them other than acceptance at death. Hovan had finallygiven up on that debate with the extended-claw gesture that was roughlyequivalent to a shrug, saying that Steve would learn.

  Well, there was always a chance that Hovan was right. Tarlac was wellaware the universe held a lot more things than he knew, but this wasone he had no intention of bothering about. If the gods wereinterested in him, they'd shown no signs of it, and he saw no reason tochange his stand on the matter unless they did.

  The procession including Tarlac, Hovan and Yarra was at the altar bythen, and this time the new clanmember was the only one who didn'tkneel. He bowed to the green-robed Speaker standing on the dais, then,at her gesture, ascended the three steps to stand facing her. Shegrasped his wrist, led him to the altar, and indicated that he shouldplace his hands on it, palms down.

  Tarlac cooperated willingly, but his attention was less on what he wasdoing or the chant Daria had begun than the statuettes on the altar'supper tier. There were eleven of them, images of the Traiti gods--three of whom were actually, by his definition, goddesses--asexquisitely crafted as a cloudcat-made tapestry. They were aboutthirty centimeters high, sculpted and colored with such artistry thatthey might have been miniature Traiti, perfect but unmoving.

  Then Daria's chant ended. Tarlac stepped back from the altar, crossedhands over his chest, and bowed. That ended the ceremony, and startedthe party.

  As Tarlac rejoined Hovan, he discovered there weren't as many Traiti inthe gathering hall as he'd thought. The lane of bodies which was allhe'd been able to see had concealed tables laden with food and drink,as well as other members of the clan.

  Several females and younglings came forward carrying drinks--andsomething the Ranger had known only intellectually suddenly became anemotional reality to him. This was a family, as close and loving asany human family, and he was a part of it. Until now, no living humancould testify to anything but Traiti enthusiasm and skill in battle.The remains of those who'd run into Traiti suicide commandos were evenmore eloquent. But these adolescent females offering glasses to thefive from the Hermnaen weren't fighters. They were no taller thanTarlac, and he had adapted enough, thanks to the shipboard artwork, tothink of them as attractive young ladies.

  The girl who approached him said something, smiling, took a sip fromone of the two glasses she held and handed it to him, then touched hisforehead. Hovan had told him about this; it was part of the adoption.It wasn't essential, but it was a good way to let him meet his newrelatives and vice versa--as well as being a good excuse for a party.Tarlac took a small drink, returned the touch, and traded glasses todrink again.

  Then Hovan tapped him on the shoulder, and after they traded drinks andtouches--just once, this time--he introduced the girls who had servedthe two of them, smiling widely. "Sharya and Casti my n'ka'esten are,from one birth."

  Tarlac greeted Casti as he had Sharya, impressed. Twin daughters! Nowonder Hovan wanted to play the proud parent, with multiple births inany given clan averaging about a century apart. "I see why you askedme to restrain my curiosity, ruhar. It was worth the wait."

  Others, three boys and five women, one carrying an infant, joined themas he was attempting a polite comment to the girls in what littleLanguage he knew. The first one Hovan introduced was Sandre, mother ofthe twins and the only open-shirted female Tarlac had seen. She hadHonor scars identical to Hovan's, which surprised Tarlac for a momentsince he knew she couldn't have taken the Ordeal. He decided--andlater learned he was correct--that they must be because she'd borne thetwins. He didn't know whether it was proper or not, but it shouldn'thurt to be polite; he gave her the respectful crossed-arm bow.

  It didn't. He heard approving comments, then she said one of the fewthings he understood: "You do me honor, ruhar," and traded drinks andtouches.

  Tarlac had no time to reply before he had to greet the rest of what hecould only think of as Hovan's immediate family. The last he met wasthe youngest, and when Tarlac reached to touch the baby girl, he foundout the truth of something he'd heard about babies.

  They liked to taste things.

  Tarlac yelped, more in surprise than pain, pulled his finger out of hergrasp, and ruefully inspected the small wounds. "Hey, youngster, Ithought there was only supposed to be one exchange of blood."

  She gurgled happily at him while her mother spoke.

  "She teething is," Hovan translated, then examined the bite himself."Want you medical help?"

  Tarlac shook his head, grinning. "I'm not that fragile--she juststartled me."

  "Good. She really too young is, here to be, but I wanted you all tomeet."

  "I'm glad you did," Tarlac said, as the mother and baby left for thenursery. "She's a pretty little one." He meant it. She was prettierthan a human at the same age, he found himself thinking. The infantTraiti seemed somehow more . . . finished, maybe because Traiti nevergrew noticeable hair, or maybe because he had adapted more thoroughlythan he knew. Whatever the reason, the fact was undeniable. So wasthe fact, he thought grimly, that if he died in the Ordeal she wouldvery probably die too, under Imperial weapons.

  "You only that say, because she the first you met have who smaller thanyou is," Hovan said, wondering at Steve's brief frown. This wassupposed to be a glad celebration--and it was all right; the man'sexpression was clearing.

  "Well, maybe a little," Tarlac conceded. "When a teenage kid's as tallas I am and masses at least twice as much, it's nice to see someonesmaller. And speaking of size--" He held up his drink, about thetenth or twelfth glass he'd traded. "This wine doesn't have much of akick, but even if I only take a sip every time I meet someone, it won'tbe long before I'm wiped out. You might stay fairly sober, but I won'tbe able to, even if I were used to drinking. I'll probably make anungodly fool of myself."

  Hovan grinned. "Probably, and it expected is. The wine mild isbecause you small are. If you Traiti were, we would something strongerdrinking be. No adoption party successful is, unless the new ruhar mustin bed poured be."

  Tarlac had to laugh. "By that standard, ruhar, this'll likely be themost successful adoption party in Traiti history! But let's not makeit a success too early, okay? I'm hungry."

  "Food good sounds," Hovan agreed. "And I will with you stay, in caseanything must translated be. Ka'ruchaya Yarra and I the only two are,who much English speak."

  Several more drink-trades later, Tarlac made it to one of thewell-stocked tables and built himself a thick sandwich. That processgot qu
ite a few interested comments, but by Traiti custom none wereaddressed to him until he'd finished eating. When he was done, theinterest in getting him drunk was replaced, at least temporarily, byinquiries about the new way of fixing something to eat. It was hardfor the Ranger to believe that people as enthusiastic about food as theTraiti hadn't either stumbled across something as simple as a sandwich,or purposely developed it, but their keen attention and the eagerexperimentation that followed made it clear they hadn't.

  Unfortunately for Tarlac's sobriety, that respite didn't last long.Within half an hour, his n'ruhar were again introducing themselves.Hovan wasn't needed often as a translator; with so many anxious to meettheir new relative, Tarlac had very limited opportunities forconversation.

  He soon lost any trace of doubt that he would live up to custom, too,whether he wanted to or not. By the time about a third of those in thegathering hall had introduced themselves, he had a distinct buzz on.He had also come to the firm, if rather woozy, conclusion that thesepeople, his new family, were the finest in the galaxy. Especially thebig gray-skinned guy beside him, the brother he'd never had. Before.

  He was never sure, later, how many more of Ch'kara he did meet. Thingswere getting blurry and disconnected, and never improved. He didremember singing, probably off-key, and later hanging onto Hovan's armfor support.

  Hovan felt a tug on his sleeve and looked down to see a silly grin onSteve's upturned face. The man mumbled something, so slurred Hovancouldn't make it out, then released Hovan's arm and closed unfocussedeyes to slump bonelessly to the floor, still smiling.

  Looking around at the n'ruhar who had seen Steve's collapse, Hovantranslated the Ranger's earlier prediction aloud into Language, thensmiled indulgently down at him. "And it seems he was right. He hashad a very successful party. Time to pour him, as I promised, intobed." He stooped, picked up the slightly-built man with no difficulty,and turned to Yarra. "I think he'd better sleep in the infirmarytonight, Ka'ruchaya."

  "I agree. And tell the nurse to let him sleep until he wakes byhimself. The Supreme has said he and the First Speaker will wait untilSteve is ready to see them."

  "They do him much honor."

  Tarlac woke up once during the night, and was vaguely aware of beinghelped to someplace where he vomited and afterwards collapsed. Then hewas carried back to bed, where dim light showed him a reassuringshark-toothed smile before a cool cloth covered his forehead and eyesand he went out again.

  The next time he woke it was to lights that were too bright. Hesqueezed his eyes shut and groaned, wishing he were still unconscious.

  There was a light touch on his arm, and a musical voice said somethinghe couldn't understand but thought was sympathetic. He didn't wantsympathy, he wanted to die. Well, maybe he just wanted anything thatwould end the misery. He recognized a hangover, though he'd never hadone this bad before; while it would end in time, he wouldn't enjoy thenext few hours.

  Then an arm under his head and shoulders raised him and a differentvoice, Hovan's, said, "Drink." There was a glass at his lips; heobeyed without thought.

  What he drank was almost too sour to swallow, but within a few minuteshe was feeling better. A little bit. "What time is it?"

  "Midday, twelve and a half hours by your timepiece."

  Tarlac groaned again, forcing his eyes open. "You do this to everybodyyou adopt?"

  "No, ruhar. You a bad reaction had, an allergy, Doctor Channath says.You should soon better feel."

  "Uhh. That'll teach me to drink Traiti liquor." Tarlac tried to situp, refusing Hovan's assistance, noticing only then that he'd beenundressed and was on a sleeping mat laid atop a platform instead of onthe floor. He made it upright, but the effort brought on a wave ofdizzy sickness, and standing up didn't work. His knees buckled,forcing Hovan to catch him and sit him back on the bed.

  "You should in bed remain," Hovan told him, concerned. "The medicinemore time than that needs."

  "I have to get to the 'fresher." Tarlac tried again to stand, somewhatmore successfully, and managed a couple of wobbly steps. Then Hovan'sarm went around his shoulders, steadying and turning him.

  "This way, ruhar. That door to the hallway leads."

  "Okay." Tarlac was gratefuy for the guidance, but appreciated Hovan'ssimple presence and his uncritical support even more.

  By the time Tarlac finished cleaning up, the dose of whatever-it-washad taken full effect and he felt considerably more able to take in hissurroundings. One of the first things he noticed was that Hovan was nolonger in uniform; instead, he wore civilian clothes, a silvery openshirt with bright blue trousers and quilted mid-calf boots. A chainfastened his knife to the sash that belted his trousers. He'd broughtsimilar clothing for the Ranger, in red and gold.

  Tarlac put it on, seeing immediately that his badge was already pinnedto the shirt. Wearing something other than a uniform felt strange--hehadn't worn anything else in public since the war started--but oneuniform certainly wouldn't last forever, and he still didn't know howlong the Ordeal would take. Or what it consisted of.

  The clothes fit well, though sleeves and trouser legs were a good tencentimeters too short by Terran standards. Apparently it was goodstyle in Ch'kara, though, since Hovan's fit the same way. Tarlac's gunwasn't there, probably in storage with his uniform; instead, he'd beengiven a knife very similar to the one he'd used in the challenge matchaboard the Hermnaen. "I gather you borrowed these from a youngling?"

  "Yes. And Sandre them tailored, you to fit. Now come. Food ready foryou is, then I must your education begin. Much there is you have tolearn, before you the Ordeal begin."

  "Such as?" Tarlac asked. Maybe he'd finally find out what he'd gottenhimself into.

  "Forestcraft, of course, and--" Hovan broke off. "By the Lords! Inever did you tell, even of the parts I now can. I must your pardonask."

  They were out of the infirmary, walking down a wide tapestry-hungcorridor. "You've got it, if you'll tell me whatever you can.Wilderness survival is part of it?"

  "Yes, and you know not this world's life. Then there the Vision is, ifyou one granted are, and you of the Scarring know."

  "Yeah, I hurt just thinking about that part. It's in that order?"

  "It may be, yes. The first it not my place to discuss is, and theScarring always last is. The other three parts may in any order be. Icannot you of one of them tell, because it would by foreknowledgeinfluenced be."

  Tarlac could understand that, though it didn't quiet his curiosity."At least I know more about it now than I did when I agreed to takeit."

  "The Fleet-Captain you nothing told?"

  "Oh, sure. He told me that according to the First Speaker, if I didtake it and live, I'd be able to bring an honorable peace for bothsides. That didn't leave me much choice."

  "The Lords this of you asked?" Hovan said, impressed. "I knew thatnot."

  "If that's what he meant, yes." Tarlac didn't believe in the Lords,but Hovan did; it wouldn't hurt to agree.

  Hovan smiled widely. "So you us life in honor bring. That good is."

  "If I live." Tarlac frowned. "Hovan . . . I don't think I will live.I haven't thought so since I boarded your ship, and since the fight,I've been certain of it. This Ordeal's going to kill me." He pausedand shrugged, wondering at his own calm. "Oh, that won't keep me fromtrying. Maybe just trying will be enough to do what the First Speakersaid, I don't know. Hell, I don't even know how I'm supposed to bringpeace if I do live!"

  "Since the Lords this asked," Hovan said calmly, "you should not somany doubts have. They nothing ask unless it possible is. And afteryou the fight won, I certain am that they intend not for you to fail."

  "I won the fight by a trick," Tarlac said bleakly. "I won't livethrough the Ordeal by a trick."

  Hovan stopped and took Steve by the shoulders. "Why did you not allthis say when it first you troubled? I your sponsor am."

  "I couldn't. It was something I had to come to terms with by myself.
"Tarlac found himself suddenly wishing he had mentioned it that night,had given in to his urge to seek comfort. "I . . . I've been a Rangerfor fifteen years, Hovan. Almost half my life. I just . . . Icouldn't--"

  Hovan shook him with controlled ease, just enough to silence him. "Youof Ch'kara now are, Steve, and in-clan. Yourself be, not another'simage. That not a weakness is."

  "What? I--"

  "To me listen, ruhar. Everyone help needs, sometimes. That does notweakness show, or shame bring." Hovan released Steve's shoulders, andput his arms around the man instead, giving Tarlac the feeling of beingheld by something with the weight and patient strength of an oak tree."Let me your troubles ease, as my sponsor mine eased."

  Feeling himself part of a family for the first time since adolescence,Steve Tarlac gave in, letting loneliness and detachment melt out of himin long-delayed tears. When he couldn't push the fear aside any longerand it took over, he shook in Hovan's embrace with terror of a failurethat would cost more than any mortal should be asked to bear.

  He couldn't avoid the risk, or the fear; all he could do was rage atthe sheer injustice of it. Part of him knew that wouldn't do any good,but he couldn't help himself. He clung to his sponsor for what feltlike an eternity, buffeted by the terror and impossible conflict.

  Hovan supported him, sharing what he could of the man's turbulence andoffering strength to help him accept the rest. The Lords never askedthe impossible--but they never asked anything easy, either, and thiswas only the first part of what Steve would have to endure. Still,Steve had already managed to endure loneliness a Traiti would havefound unbearable, and had concealed his terror until he was urged toaccept help; he would work his way through this.

  Gradually, the Ranger's emotional stability returned, and he knew thatwas due in no little part to Hovan's support. When the worst of hisinternal storm had passed, he felt purged--still certain he would die,but now accepting the fear instead of ignoring it so that it ateblindly at his confidence. He rested for a moment more, then looked upat his sponsor. "It's okay now."

  "You no longer alone are," Hovan said, releasing him. "As I you toldwhen you adopted were, all Ch'kara you supports. Come now; you shouldsomething eat."

  The brisk return to a favorite, and practical, Traiti subject broughtTarlac all the way back to his current surroundings. "Food?" Hethought of the earlier nausea, and shook his head. "I don't know aboutthat, just yet."

  "It best for you is, after the medicine you took. Then, if you readyare, the Supreme and First Speaker will you receive."

  "Okay, I'll give it a try. That's one meeting I'm really lookingforward to."

  On the way to the dining room, Tarlac had his first experience with thecasual nudity Hovan had told him was an option in-clan. Except forceremonies and parties, quite a few members did without clothes.

  Tarlac, warned, managed to feel only mildly embarrassed when a femalewearing nothing but a carrying pouch slung over one shoulder steppedout of a side corridor ahead of them. She saw them and smiled atTarlac, then hurried to embrace Hovan. He returned the hug beforeintroducing her to Steve as Channath, the clan's chief physician. "Shefor you last night cared, when you sick were, and this morning'smedicine prescribed."

  Tarlac gave her a rueful grin, trying not to stare. "Tell her thanks,would you?"

  "That not necessary is, but I will her tell." Hovan did so, andtranslated the reply. "She suggests, you little liquor drink from nowon. And if you bad reactions to anything else find, her tell at once."

  "Don't worry," Tarlac said emphatically, "I will!" Then he was in theair as Channath hugged him. Back on his feet, surprised but tooflattered to mind, he looked bemusedly after Channath's retreatingback. "What was that all about?"

  "I told you, there much touching is, in-clan." Hovan put an arm aroundthe man's shoulders. "The closeness good is, not so?"

  "Yes . . ." Tarlac said slowly. "Yes, it is. It's strange--Ishouldn't like it. A Ranger has to be self-sufficient, has to stayapart--has to be objective and impartial. I'm not, any longer."

  "What will that mean, when you to your Empire return?"

  Hovan had zeroed in on Tarlac's thought, though the Ranger didn'tbelieve what he described would ever have a chance to happen. "I'llhave to retake the psych tests, then it depends. Maybe I'll bedisqualified from anything that involves Ch'kara or the Traiti, maybeI'll have to resign. The decision will be up to His Majesty."

  "He would you demote?"

  "Only if he doesn't have a choice; the Empire needs Rangers. And evenif he does have to demote me, I won't be dishonored or anything.Something like this happened once before, about four hundred years ago,to a Ranger named Jeff Shining Arrow. He lost his detachment, too--gotmarried, had kids--so Empress Lindner made him a Duke. Emperor Daviswould probably commission me into the Fleet."

  "That no dishonor is, true. Do you think it will to you happen?"

  "Yes, if I've changed that much. It could be a lot worse, of course. . . but falling in love's no crime, it's just something the Empirecan't afford in a Ranger."

  "That the real reason is, then, why you no family have."

  "Yeah. I didn't mean to evade the question then, I just wasn't sure Icould explain it. I didn't know you very well."

  "I understand. You never anyone met, who more to you than the Empiremeant." Hovan shook his head. "That a thing of much sadness is."

  Tarlac didn't answer. They were at the dining room by then, and food,not conversation, was in order.

  Not long after their meal, the two were being escorted through thehalls of the single building atop a low hill called Godhome, located inthe center of the Traiti capital. Tarlac, not wanting his skepticismto be too obvious, had cautiously asked why the gods needed a materialhome.

  They didn't now, Hovan had told him, and they hadn't since the SupremeLord of the Circle, Kranath of St'nar, became the first of the newgods. The old gods, he explained, the ones the Traiti called "thosewho went before," had left Godhome as . . . something. Nobody exceptthe Speakers had any real idea about its purpose, and they were sayingnothing until the twelfth Lord completed the Circle. At any rate, ithad seemed appropriate to join the centers of spiritual and temporalpower.

  Their escort ushered them into the large open double office shared bythe Supreme and the First Speaker; both rulers were waiting for them.They greeted Hovan first, his due as a Cor'naya, and Tarlac used thatbrief time to study them. The Supreme, like all male Traiti leaders,had Honor scars, but didn't appear distinctive otherwise; he seemed tobe middle-aged. The First Speaker, on the other hand, looked young--wascertainly no older than Hovan, to outward appearance. But sheradiated an aura that awed Tarlac, of immense and serene wisdom thatseemed tremendously old, or perhaps ageless.

  When the two turned their attention to him, Tarlac didn't respond totheir greetings in the Traiti fashion Hovan had taught him. Instead hesaluted and introduced himself, as he had when he'd met the Emperor forthe first time. "Ranger Esteban Tarlac, of the Terran Empire. It's anhonor to meet you."

  Hovan translated that, and then the Supreme's reply. "I sorry am, thatmy invitation more a compulsion was."

  "From what Hovan's told me about the way the war's going for you, youdidn't have any more choice putting it that way than I did accepting.I just hope it does some good, for both sides. May I contact EmperorDavis, to tell him what I'm doing?"

  He knew from the Supreme's tone, even before Hovan translated thewords, that the answer was negative. "Fleet-Captain Arjen said, when Ihim interviewed, that your Ship-Captain would to the Emperor reportthat you the Ordeal taking are. That all that necessary is." Then hesmiled slightly and added, "But I no reason see, you cannot transcriptsof intercepted Imperial newscasts receive. I will orders give, thatthe daily summary to you delivered be."

  "Thank you." That was actually more than Tarlac had expected; he'donly asked because it couldn't hurt to try.

  "Ranger Esteban Tarlac," the First Speaker s
aid, her Englishpronunciation careful.

  Tarlac turned to her. "Yes, my Lady?"

  She went on in Language, with Hovan translating. "Your Ordeal will tohuman tolerances scaled be. As Fleet-Captain Arjen you told, we asknot certain death, and the Scarring at least would surely fatal be ifwe did not such allowance make. The Lords stern are, but fair, and youa good sponsor have. There danger is--it must there be--yet no morefor you than for any other."

  "That's good to hear." It didn't alter his certainty, but it did makeTarlac feel good to know the Traiti leaders were taking such care. "Iwas wondering, when the Fleet-Captain told me about it. Have you askedany other humans to try the Ordeal?"

  "We have no others asked," the Supreme replied through Hovan. "Anotherhas it tried, however. You the second human ruhar are; the first hisown mind under questioning destroyed, and was by his interrogator'sclan--N'chark--accepted, as clan-born. He the Ordeal tried and failed,without dishonor."

  "Will you his name--" Tarlac broke off, shaking his head. "Did itagain, Hovan. Sorry. Just ask him the man's name, will you?"

  "All that know, ruhar. Horst Marguerre, once a major in the ImperialMarines. One of those he commanded still a prisoner is."

  "I've heard of him." So Marguerre'd had the A-I conditioning, had he?Well, that wasn't too surprising; he'd been in Special Forces, most ofwhom did have it, and he'd been reported missing and presumed deadearly in the war. "How did he do?"

  "No worse than many." Hovan translated that part of the Supreme'sreply, hesitated and spoke to his ruler, then went on to Steve. "Hethe part failed that I may not to you describe, ruhar. I can only say,he no harm suffered, and seems to be in N'chark happy."

  That was better than anyone who used A-I conditioning had been told toexpect; Tarlac felt some satisfaction for him. "If he ever gets backto Terra, he can have his memories reimprinted, if he wants; all he'lllose is whatever happened between his last mindscan and the time heused the conditioning." He returned to present duties. "I'd like tosee the prisoners, if I may."

  After a brief discussion with both rulers, Hovan turned back to Steve."The Supreme your reason asks."

  Tarlac shrugged. "Partly curiosity, I admit, but I'm also the seniorImperial officer here, which makes me responsible for their welfare."

  "I will have you to them taken," the Supreme agreed, "since it yourduty is, but there no real need is. They well treated are, and as muchfreedom as possible have. Those who it wish, have even been privatequarters given."

  The Supreme's expression as he made that last statement would haveconvinced Tarlac, even if he hadn't already learned that a Cor'naya'sword was as binding as a Sandeman warrior's. Traiti didn't likeprivacy, and tolerated it only when necessary. Rather like him withnewsies, he thought with amusement. "If you say so, I don't see anyneed to check. I'll take your word."

  When Hovan translated, the Supreme smiled. "You do me honor."

  Tarlac understood that phrase without translation, and bowed slightly."May I ask a favor, Supreme?"

  "Ask."

  "Hovan told me you have record tapes of the first encounter between ourscout and your guardship. May I see them?"

  It wasn't the Supreme who answered. "You may them see," the FirstSpeaker told him through Hovan, "though for now they would almostnothing to you mean. It would best be if you a little time wait, untilyou Language know."

  "A little time?" Tarlac wasn't sure whether to smile or frown, and didneither. "All right, but at the rate I'm going, it'll be six monthsbefore I'll be able to understand them."

  The First Speaker's reply was gentle. "Do not on that wager. Youmight yourself surprise."

  There didn't seem any good way to answer that, so Tarlac simply nodded."Is there anything else?"

  "Not of business," she replied, "though you welcome are here to stay,if you wish to with us talk."

  "I'd like that very much," Tarlac said, "except that my sponsor tellsme I have a lot to learn, and any time I waste costs lives on bothsides. So if you'll excuse me, I'd rather get to work."

  "We all wish lives to save, Ranger, if it can with honor done be. Go,then, with your sponsor."

  At the Ch'kara clanhome, a youngling met them and took them to one ofthe smaller living rooms, with the information that Ka'ruchaya Yarrahad set it aside for them so ruchaya Steve could study undisturbed.

  Only it didn't quite work out that way. Tarlac did learn aconsiderable amount that afternoon, but it was as much about hisclanmates as it was about how to survive in Homeworld's wilderness. Itseemed that everyone in Ch'kara who knew anything at all about theoutdoors was anxious to pass the knowledge along to Steve. Tarlacsuspected they were motivated as much by curiosity about him as byanything else. If so, he didn't mind; he found himself savoring hisn'ruhar's presence and their frequent touches, and the "team teaching"seemed to be very effective.

  What he learned about Homeworld's vegetation and wildlife fascinatedhim--especially, under the circumstances, the practical details. Hefound out which plant parts were edible and which to avoid, and that hecould eat practically everything that moved. Unfortunately, quite afew of the moving things would consider him equally edible. Without aTraiti's natural armor, he'd have to depend on luck and brains to avoidthat fate.

  He couldn't help wishing he could turn a shipload of biologists looseon this planet. Irschcha and Ondrian were the homeworlds of the othertwo intelligent Imperial races, yet a Terran without specializedmedical preparation beforehand would die within a few days, trying tosurvive in either's wilderness. It wasn't so much nutritionaldeficiencies as protein incompatibility and allergic reactions. Withthe exception of the Traiti wine, that didn't apply on Homeworld, astwo weeks' experience proved, and Tarlac was extremely curious aboutthe reason. Well, if he ever got back to the Empire, he'd recommendthat such a study be made.

  For now, though, there was nothing he could do, and his first full dayhere had been busy; he was tired. He'd get a good night's sleep, thenstart fresh in the morning.