Fearful Symmetry: A Terran Empire novel Read online

  Chapter II

  Hovan touched the light control, then rolled over on his mat and lookedat the human in the growing wake-light. Steve was still asleep, curledon his side, half in and half out of the blanket, and he lookedincredibly vulnerable. There were scars on the man's back, Hovannoted; studying them, he decided they had been deliberately inflicted,probably by some sort of lash. Perhaps that meant the Ranger wastougher than he looked, and had a better chance in the Ordeal than wasgenerally believed. Hovan hoped so, since he found himself beginningto like the frail-seeming human who would soon be his ruhar.

  He was glad, now, that he had never voiced his private doubts aboutKa'ruchaya Yarra's decision to offer adoption to an alien and enemy.He did wonder again why she had thought a human would be suitable, butshe had left him no choice if he found the man worthy; to disobey herwas unthinkable.

  Apparently either his scrutiny or the wake-light had become toointense. Steve was beginning to stir, his eyes opening as he rolledover.

  It was the light that had awakened Tarlac, to see Hovan smiling at him.He smiled back. Thin as his mat was, it was as comfortable as the bedin his apartment at the Imperial Palace in Antarctica; he'd slept well."Morning, Hovan."

  The Traiti was puzzled. "Yes, for this part of the crew."

  "It's a greeting," Tarlac explained as he rose. "It doesn't mean toomuch any more; it's just a habit."

  "I understand." Hovan was smiling again, also up now. So were therest of the room's occupants, busy taking uniforms and gear from theirlockers. Tarlac retrieved his own uniform from the cleaner in thebathing room and dressed, then returned to the sleeping room to put onhis gun-and-equipment belt.

  Rather to his surprise, he found the room empty except for Hovan, whoseuniform shirt was folded open to expose his Honor scars. That, theRanger already knew, wasn't standard. Gesturing, he asked, "What'sup?"

  Hovan motioned him to follow and led the way silently until they wereon their way to the meal hall. At last, he decided how to phrase whathe had to say. "After first-meal, I clan business have." He indicatedthe open shirt. "This shows that I with my clan status act, not withthis rank." He tapped the white tabs on his collar. "This youconcerns, Steve. Some clan must you adopt, and I Ch'kara offer. Itnot the biggest clan is, or richest, but never has it dishonored been.You will as one of us treated be, if you Ch'kara choose, and I will asyour Ordeal sponsor stand."

  Tarlac stopped, looking up at the serious gray face. He had the samefeeling of sudden unreality he'd had when Linda extended His Majesty'sinvitation to join the Rangers. Adoption was a necessary prelude tothe Ordeal, he knew that, but he hadn't expected it until they reachedHomeworld. Yet he had no doubt that Hovan's offer was serious, and thatit was as deeply significant to Hovan as it was to himself.

  Looking directly into the Traiti's clear green eyes, Tarlac said, "Ifit won't require me to violate my oath to the Empire, I'll join Ch'karagladly. And I'd be proud to have you as my sponsor."

  "The adoption you to the clan binds, not to the military. None wouldyou ask, your oath to break." Hovan touched the man's shoulder. "Butnow come. It not good is, first-meal to miss." They moved on towardthe meal hall.

  As before, Tarlac didn't recognize any of the plentiful food. Therewere different kinds of meat and two kinds of fruit, one pink and one abrilliant scarlet, all of it good. When they finished, Hovan guidedTarlac to the bridge.

  One of the deck officers noticed them as they entered, and calledArjen's and Exvani's attention to the human and the open-shirtedTraiti. Both Captains stood, bowing.

  Tarlac was astonished at the sudden apparent reversal of rank.Granted, the Imperial military had officers whose civil rank was farhigher than their military one--Life Duke/Marine Captain David Scanlon,for example--but in the Empire, it wasn't possible to go from onesystem to the other at will. Things had to be different here, if clanbusiness and clan status took priority over defense and on-dutymilitary rank. Watch and learn . . .

  Hovan returned the two officers' bows, speaking English for Steve'sbenefit. "I word from Ch'kara's Mother bear, Honored Ones."

  "Your Mother's words we hear, Honored One," Arjen replied formally.

  "Ka'ruchaya Yarra's words to me: That I this man should judge. If hein honor came, and I him worthy found, Ch'kara's shelter was I tooffer. He armed and freely came, as fighter, not captive, and I havehim observed. I say she will him as clan-son accept, and I may for herhis blood-oath take."

  There were a few exclamations of disbelief from those of the bridgecrew who understood enough English to know what had been said, but theywere quickly silenced by Arjen's glare.

  "Ch'kara's Ka'ruchaya generous is," the Fleet-Captain said. "But thisassignment secret was. How knew she?"

  "Our Speaker her informed. No breach there was."

  When Arjen nodded as though that explained everything, Tarlac had toresist an impulse to shake his head violently. It felt as if it werefull of cobwebs. Hovan needing his Clan Mother's permission to performan adoption wasn't too hard to accept; at least nominally, women ranfamilies in quite a few cultures. But a "Speaker" being able to giveout classified information was damn near incredible--and having itaccepted so matter-of-factly made it even worse. Still, he couldn'tobject; he was a guest here, and Hovan was going on. "He should aproper ceremony have, or as close as may under war conditions done be.Will you have any n'Cor'naya who free are, in the exercise hallassemble?"

  "Of course, Cor'naya. In half a tenth-day?"

  "Fine," Hovan said. "Afterwards, I must a message to Ch'kara'sclanhome on Norvis send, clan priority."

  "You will it have," Arjen replied.

  "My thanks."

  With that, Hovan and Tarlac left the bridge, going to the meal hall towait the hour or so that was "half a tenth-day." Once they weresettled with mugs of hot chovas, Tarlac said, "You must have one hellof a lot of clan status."

  "Enough," Hovan said with a smile. "I have six younglings shared, andI have an officer been for almost a year. That does status bring, nearwhat Ch'kara's oldest male enjoys, close to Ka'ruchaya Yarra and shewho for the Lords speaks, Daria."

  Well, Tarlac thought with amused chagrin, there went his last night'sspeculation about females being property. He must have been tirederthan he'd thought--he should never have gotten that idea after Hovanhad referred to a Clan Mother administering the death penalty! Oh,well. "If it's not prying, how old are you?"

  "You will soon of Ch'kara be; no prying is. I thirty-five Homeworldyears have, almost forty-six Imperial Standard. You?"

  "Thirty-five too, but Standard."

  Hovan made a quick calculation. "Twenty-seven, Homeworld. And youalready a Ranger are? That hard to believe is. How?"

  "It's not really a matter of age," Tarlac said. "They grab all of usyoung, on purpose. They got me when I applied for the Naval Academyand took that ungodly battery of tests. Those ran for a solid week,and by the time they were over I was beat--so tired it didn't evenregister when, late afternoon of the last day, someone knocked on thedoor of my room. But when the door opened anyway and I rolled over tosee who the intruder was, I damn near fainted. Linda Ellman wasstanding in the doorway grinning at me, and I thought for a while I wasdreaming. Rangers do have better things to do than show up incadet-candidates' rooms, after all. It just doesn't happen.

  "But she was there, and she invited me into the group. I'm not toosure what I said, because the next day I'd decided all over again thatit was a dream. It wasn't until later in the morning, when she showedup again as we were getting ready for the swearing-in ceremony, that Istarted believing. Until then, I'd had every intention of staying inthe Navy. When she asked if I'd reconsidered, though, I realized Icouldn't pass up the chance, and I said yes.

  "When I did, she smiled and said, 'We thought you would,' then pinned abadge on my cadet tunic and took me to the Palace to meet EmperorYasunon. We were together for most of the next two years, with hergiving me on-the-job trai
ning." Tarlac smiled, reminiscent. "That wasa good time. But I gather things were different for you?"

  "Different, yes," Hovan said. "My life for a fighter routine has been.I this life early chose, and at fourteen I was to fighter school sent.At eighteen I the final tests passed, then the Ordeal took and theground combat service joined. From there I rank made, and last yearwon I these." He indicated his collar tabs again.

  "Um. You all come up through the ranks, then? No direct commissions?"

  "That right is. And all officers must n'Cor'naya be."

  "So what's the average age for someone to make Team-Leader?"

  "Between sixty and sixty-five Homeworld years."

  Tarlac whistled admiringly. "And you're half that. Damn good! I cansee why that'd gain you status." He hesitated, then decided to ask;Hovan had said there was no prying involved. "What about the young youshared? They gave you status too,"--Hovan had mentioned them evenbefore his rank--"okay. But what're they like? How--"

  Hovan cut the man off with a gesture, noted the expression of distasteat his extended claws, and carefully didn't smile. "The younglings youshould for yourself see. They will us on Homeworld meet. Can youuntil then your curiosity restrain?"

  "If you want me to," Tarlac said. He'd had little experience withproud parents, but was quite familiar with people wanting to show off;it was one aspect of a Ranger's job, usually boring, occasionallypleasant.

  "I think you will not disappointed be." Hovan knew he was smiling. Itwould be good to introduce Steve to the clan, especially to Sharya andCasti. He was sure the man would find acceptance and, Lords willing,the closeness he had sacrificed for his Empire. The man could nottruly miss what he had never known, growing up with only his twoparents, but it was something he should have. Now, though, he had toexplain what Steve was to do at the ceremony.

  When they arrived at the exercise hall, half a tenth-day almost to thesecond after they'd left the bridge, the hall was crowded withopen-shirted officers and men from the entire combined Fleet, waitingsilent and expectant. Tarlac was aware of what this ceremony meant, andwas determined to carry out the role Hovan had explained to him in a waythat would do credit to his new family.

  As soon as they had taken their places in the open area in the centerof the floor, Hovan raised his arms and began a songlike chantingsimilar to the previous night's. This time, Tarlac knew that it was aprayer asking the Lords' blessing on his adoption. Unable to join in,knowing neither words nor music, the Ranger stood at parade rest, hishead bowed. As a relaxed agnostic, he was quite willing to honorothers' beliefs as far as he could.

  The adoption ceremony itself was simple, an exchange of blood andoaths. When Hovan had explained it, Tarlac had wondered briefly,surprised that it was so close a parallel to some of Terra'sceremonies. He'd finally decided it was almost inevitable; an exchangeof vital fluid was an obvious symbol of kinship, and the wrist was anequally obvious place to draw blood, on a humanoid.

  So, when Hovan extended a claw and dug into his left arm, Tarlac usedthe dagger he'd borrowed from his sponsor to follow suit. They tooktoken sips of each other's blood, and then Hovan held the cuts togetherwhile the Ranger gave his oath, including his own modification of it.

  "I pledge to Clan Ch'kara that I will bring no dishonor to its name,and will defend that name and the clan's property and people to thebest of my ability, so long as that involves no harm or dishonor to theTerran Empire I have also sworn to protect."

  The qualification drew an unspoken sense of approval from the gatheredn'Cor'naya, perhaps not surprisingly among these people. Hovanreplied, "For Mother Yarra and Clan Ch'kara, I your pledge accept.Ch'kara you claims, as kin in blood and honor. The clan you guards, asyou it defend."

  The brief ceremony over, Hovan released his new ruhar's wrist. Tarlacgrabbed it and applied pressure to stop the bleeding, noting thatHovan's wound was already closing, as he considered his new and uniqueposition. He was a Ranger of the Empire, yet at the same time he was amember of a Traiti--until now, an enemy--clan. He had carefullyqualified his oath, and he'd done everything he could for the Empirebefore boarding the Hermnaen. Still, the idea of owing allegiance toboth sides in a war was . . . disquieting. He had to resolve the warnow. He didn't expect to have to decide between the sides in battle;he was out of the war as an active agent. But he was going to bedamned active at peacemaking!

  In the meantime, most of the n'Cor'naya had closed their shirts,signifying a return to Fleet duty, and were quietly leaving theexercise hall. Only four remained, Arjen and three that Hovanintroduced as members of Ch'kara; they greeted Tarlac as well as theirscanty English and his non-existent Language would allow.

  It was proper now for them to show concern over their ruhar'sstill-bleeding wrist, and they did. Tarlac understood, without quiteknowing how, and appreciated it. Once the greetings were over, Hovan ledSteve out of the exercise hall and deeper into the ship. "Come, ruhar.You should medical help have."

  Tarlac didn't need any more than his nose, a few minutes later, to knowthey were nearing a medical facility. The smell of antiseptic had tobe universal, at least for warm-blooded oxygen breathers like Terransand Irschchans--and Traiti. The Ranger was willing to bet cloudcats'antiseptics would have smelled the same, if they'd had any.

  The cleanliness was as characteristic as the odor, and when a Traiti inpale blue came up to Tarlac and took his arm, he didn't resist. Thebleeding still hadn't stopped completely, and the medic turned to Hovanwith what sounded, to the Ranger's limited experience, like an angryquestion. Hovan's reply changed the medic's expression. He checkedthe wound, cleaned it, then held the edges together and sprayed it withsomething cool and gray. The Traiti version of synthiskin, probably,Tarlac thought.

  Afterwards the medic checked and cleaned Hovan's cut, but didn't botherwith any further treatment. It looked half-healed, whether or not itwas.

  When the medic was done with Hovan, Tarlac spoke to him. "It feelsbetter already. Thanks."

  "He your speech knows not," Hovan told Steve, then said something tothe medic in their liquid tongue. When he turned back to the Ranger,he was smiling. "He says you him too much honor give. He has neverbefore a human treated; that you well responded only fortunate was."

  "I meant what I said," Tarlac replied. "It may be a minor wound, but Iknow skill when I see it." He was sincere. The medic had been assuredand gentle, clearly a trauma expert, and Tarlac had to assume theeasing of pain in his arm could be credited to the synthiskin. Thatwas a technique the humans had so far not developed.

  "He you thanks," Hovan said after a further exchange. "But he says youshould not so deep have cut. The mixing of blood now only a symbolis."

  "I didn't go deep," Tarlac said. "Just enough to nick the vein. Youcan tell him I'll keep it in mind, though." He smiled at the medic,the only direct communication he could manage, while Hovan translated.

  When they left the medical center, Hovan looked thoughtfully at Steve.The man was a guest on this ship, and he was now of Ch'kara--but he wasstill human, and Hovan was well aware that there were those aboard theHermnaen who thought honor was no more binding toward humans that itwas toward vermin. Steve had the freedom of the ship, and while Hovanwas sure nobody would take any overt action, he was equally sure"accidents" could be easily arranged. With a human's delicate build,even a minor accident could prove fatal.

  "Steve, ruhar," he said at last, "I must you caution. Not allcrewmembers of this adoption approve, even though it was by the Lordsdecreed, and some may you ill wish. You may choose, but it would bestbe if you with me stay, or with my men."

  Tarlac was sure he detected real concern in the deep soft voice. Thistime yesterday, if they'd met in battle, Hovan would have killed himwithout hesitation, and vice versa. Now, he realized with surprise, hewas convinced the Traiti would protect him as swiftly from his ownpeople, if necessary.

  He wondered if joining Clan Ch'kara had made him closer "kin" to Hovanthan no
n-Ch'kara Traiti were. That, he was to learn, was exactly thecase, and was also the reason the military seldom allowed n'ruhar toserve closely together. Clan ties were so strong that not even thestrictest military discipline could overcome them.

  All the Ranger had to go on now, however, was his own judgement, andthat told him to trust Hovan. "Ruhar, I don't know enough about Traitiways to make an intelligent choice. I'll do whatever you recommend."

  Hovan stopped and turned toward the green-uniformed human. "Ruhar, youdo me honor. Stay, then, with me." And, gently, he touched one hand,claws fully extended, to the side of Steve's throat. His claws were toprotect, not to harm, his clanmate.

  Tarlac saw the gesture as it began and waited for it, unflinching. Hedidn't move, even at Hovan's slow smile; he sensed reassurance, notthreat. Why was he adapting so quickly--so easily!--to Traiti patterns?How could he adapt so easily? Especially since he was almost totallyignorant about them? Dammit, humans and Traiti had been at war foryears, and he was human in everything but the past day's experiences!

  Well, he was adapting; that was another fact he had to accept. Hereturned Hovan's smile and touched one of the deadly claws. "I'm inyour hands."

  Morning at Ch'kara's main clanhome on Norvis came in the middle ofHovan's sleep period. Preferring to disturb his own rest rather thanhis Clan Mother's, Hovan had the duty Communications operator place hiscall then. Contact was almost immediate on the clan-priority call, andKa'ruchaya Yarra must have been waiting; she was on the screen beforeshe could have been summoned. Hovan greeted her respectfully, surethat his expression gave away his news before he could speak it.

  It did. Yarra returned his greeting, then said, "We have a newruesten, Cor'naya?"

  "Yes, Ka'ruchaya. Esteban Tarlac, called Steve." Hovan gave her abrief yet complete account of everything that had happened since Stevehad come aboard, finishing, "He has much to learn, Ka'ruchaya, and hemay make mistakes, but he is true Ch'kara. He will not dishonor theclan."

  "We can expect no more," Yarra said, smiling. "You carried out yourtrust as well as I was sure you would, Hovan. You have my thanks."

  Hovan accepted the compliment with pleasure, then asked anxiously,"Have my n'ka'ruhar and our n'esten left yet?"

  Yarra nodded reassuringly. "Do not concern yourself, ruesten. Theyounglings you share, and those you share them with, will be leavingfor Homeworld tomorrow. I held the ship until I heard from you, togive them the news myself. They will still get to Homeworld before youdo."

  "I was not truly worried, Ka'ruchaya . . . but my thanks. It has beena long time."

  "I know. And I am sure this is your sleep time. I will not keep youfrom your mat any longer. Dream well, ruesten."

  "I will, Ka'ruchaya. Farewell."

  With that, the contact ended, and Hovan went to dreams of the comingreunion that were as pleasant as anyone could wish. Most of thenext week and a half saw Hovan and Tarlac together continuously, theRanger getting a crash course in all the basics of a Traiti clan, fromLanguage to customs and courtesies. The Ordeal was neither short norcontinuous, so he would be part of Traiti society for some time, bothaboard the Hermnaen and on Homeworld. The more he knew about hisadopted clan and culture, the better.

  Even without that consideration, Tarlac was delighted at theopportunity for such studies. An acute case of curiosity was anotherpart of being a Ranger, and the few fragments he'd picked up at firstonly increased his interest. He wondered for a while at their lack ofteaching tapes, which meant he had to memorize everything the hard way,but that was fairly minor. His only problem with it was that he didn'texpect to have everything perfect by the time they landed. Hovanagreed, but assured him nobody would expect perfection, only that helearn enough to avoid giving serious offense.

  The first lesson, reasonably enough, dealt with military customs, andTarlac found out that wearing his gun had meant respect to the Traiti,not a threat. They had classed Rangers with the military, asfighters--and for one fighter to voluntarily meet others unarmed was adeadly insult. The Traiti were aware that there was no way Tarlac couldhave known that custom, but even so, the fact that he had come to themarmed was seen as a good omen.

  Language took more time, but was essential since not many Traiti spokeImperial English at all, and even fewer spoke it as well as Arjen andHovan. Tarlac found Language a challenge. English had become universalon Terra and its colonies, even where other languages were spoken; he'dnever had to speak anything else, though he'd learned to read thecloudcats' tongue-talk.

  And what the Traiti called simply Language had little in common withEnglish. The most obvious difference was its tonality, much toTarlac's frustration and Hovan's amusement. While the Ranger enjoyedand could appreciate music, he'd never done any serious singing; ittook days for him to learn to make his voice do what he wanted it to.

  But they didn't spend all their time working. Hovan was proud of hisship, and spent much of their leisure showing Steve the Hermnaen andits crew. Even though the flagship was considerably smaller than aSovereign-class cruiser, there was a lot to show; it was still afull-scale battlewagon. Tarlac was particularly interested in the small,one-man harassment craft it carried, and since Hovan had flown one ofthem in combat several times, his interest was just as intense and farmore personal. It took only one close-up look, though, for Tarlac tounderstand why such tiny craft were so surprisingly effective.

  Barely twelve meters long, the ships humans had labelled "hornets" werenothing more than a beam weapon and its power pack, with a propulsorand basic life-support system wrapped around it and given some armorand ablative shielding. It couldn't stand up to a hit from even asecondary disruptor, so a single hornet posed only a minimal threat toany Imperial ship larger than a courier--but they were normallylaunched in groups, used to saturate their opponent's defenses, lettingthe main battlecraft use its heavier weaponry in an all-out attack.

  It was an effective tactic, one which had cost the Empire far too manylives and ships. The Empire didn't know it also cost Traiti lives.Imperial experts believed the little harassment craft werecomputer-controlled, because of their precise maneuvering and persistentattacks. It didn't really matter; the results were all that counted.Unless, of course, the Ranger added grimly to himself, you happened tobe one of the pilots.

  Tarlac also found out how the fighters maintained their individualcombat proficency at maximum. There was a constant series of one-on-onechallenge matches that were as much entertainment as training forthe crew. Every fighter on active duty, from Fleet-Captain Arjen tothe lowest-ranking commando, was expected to take part, and did so withconsiderable enthusiasm and usually-friendly rivalry. Standings werehotly contested, and were seldom related to the participant's rank orclan status--though Hovan was rated third in the Fleet.

  The matches awed Tarlac, despite what he knew of Traiti endurance andstrength. They might be fought with shortswords, or knives, or teethand claws, at the match judge's option, but rules were minimal and itwas perfectly acceptable for a fighter who lost a weapon to continuethe match unarmed, no holds barred, until a clear winner emerged. Thatseldom happened without one or both contestants being wounded, thoughthe judge would stop a match before anyone was maimed or killed.

  While he was a very interested spectator, Tarlac didn't participate ineither the betting or the matches, which meant that few of the Traiticonsidered him a real fighter. He was regarded, he thought, as theywould regard a youngling who called himself a fighter to impress hiselders: with amused tolerance.

  And that, Tarlac admitted to Hovan later, was very probably why heaccepted when, three days out of Homeworld, a Fire Control operatornamed Valkan challenged him. It was the only reason he could think offor his impulsive acceptance, that he resented being treated like achild. He certainly hadn't done it because he thought he would be ableto defeat his massive opponent.

  By the time the match in progress was over, word of the challenge andacceptance had spread throughout th
e ship. The grapevine, Tarlacreflected, must be the universe's most effective communications net forTraiti as well as humans. Almost all the off-duty crew gathered in theexercise hall to watch the uneven contest. Most were silent, though afew called encouragement to one combatant or the other, and there wasthe usual murmur of bets being placed as Tarlac and Valkan removedtheir shirts and weapons belts.

  Tarlac accepted the dagger Hovan offered, getting the feel of it whilehis sponsor and Valkan spoke to the match judge. There was no questionin his mind that what he held was intended as a weapon. Its slimdouble-edged blade was a quarter meter long, and the hilt, despitebeing a bit large for his hand, settled easily into the diagonal gripthat allowed maximum effectiveness. All in all, the well-balancedblade had a deadly, efficient beauty.

  When the brief discussion with the judge was over, Hovan gave Tarlachis ruling. "He as I hoped decided, Steve. This will a knife fightbe, since that more skill than strength requires. And for your safety,the judge has two conditions made. If you disarmed are, or if Valkan agood grip on you gets, he an automatic win earns. Otherwise you willboth tournament points score, and the first to one hundred reach,wins."

  The Ranger nodded. "That sounds reasonable. I'm ready." He'd noticedHovan's failure to mention any automatic win for him, and grinnedbriefly at the omission. He might not be likely to win, but he wasdetermined to give it a good try. He faced Valkan and dropped into aknife-fighter's crouch as Hovan stepped back into the audience and thematch judge took his place, giving the signal to begin.

  Human and Traiti circled cautiously, evaluating each other. Hovanwatched, hoping the judge's precautions would be adequate, though hedidn't suspect Valkan of any true hostility toward Steve--not afterseeing the K'horan fighter's reaction when Steve accepted challenge.Valkan had been disconcerted, had seemed to want to call off a jokethat had backfired, but he couldn't do so without loss of honor. Hovandid have some sympathy for him; he could imagine very clearly how hewould be feeling in Valkan's place. He'd want to win, but withoutdoing the human any real harm; it wouldn't be right to send anyone intothe Ordeal injured. And he'd be having qualms about fighting the manat all. Steve was an adult fighter, a legal opponent--but Valkan wouldhave to feel as if he were facing an underdeveloped youngling.

  Tarlac neither knew about nor shared the Traiti's misgivings. Hewatched Valkan's moves closely, trying to spot a weakness. He couldsee none, and decided that if Valkan did have an Achilles' heel, it waspsychological. The Traiti's bearing and moves were graceful--andconfident.

  The Ranger suppressed an urge to smile slightly at that. Of courseValkan was confident! He was taller, had a longer reach, and wasaccustomed to such matches. But if Tarlac could feed his opponent'sconfidence until it overwhelmed his caution . . . he'd only get oneopening, at that . . .

  He got the chance to begin putting his plan into effect almostimmediately. The Traiti made the first move, lunging for Tarlac'schest. The Ranger dodged, Valkan's blade cutting air less than acentimeter from his skin. His counterattack was a split second tooslow to give a disabling slash to Valkan's other arm.

  It went on like that for the better part of ten minutes: the humanescaping serious injury by what seemed pure luck, his attacks at mostnicking his opponent. He was being steadily outpointed, and seemed tobe tiring fast.

  Hovan watched Steve's losing battle with concern that rapidly becamedismay. If this was the Ranger's best, he would have little chance tosurvive his Ordeal. Granted, he was overmatched, but he shouldn't bemoving so clumsily, gasping for breath, so soon!

  And then Hovan saw Valkan decide to end it quickly. Steve wasobviously near the end of his strength, but he continued to fight evenwhen he had no chance of victory; that did him honor. Then theexhausted human stumbled to one knee with his head and shouldersslumped. Valkan moved in.

  His breath rasping audibly, Tarlac watched legs and feet approach.When they were about a meter away, he surged into a forward lunge underthe Traiti's blade, bringing his own weapon flashing up to rest withthe tip just under Valkan's ribs, angled to stab unopposed into hisheart.

  The exercise hall was silent, the unexpected move catching even thematch judge by surprise; it was a few immobile seconds before he coulddeclare Tarlac the winner.

  Breathing easily, since he no longer needed that deception, Tarlaclistened to a growing murmur he wasn't quite sure was approval. He wasreassured by Hovan's smile as he returned the dagger to his sponsor,then resumed his shirt and belt. He turned apprehensively to Valkan.How would this Traiti react? If he was one of those who opposed theadoption . . . He almost flinched when a clawed hand touched hisshoulder, and the other clasped his right wrist. But there was nohostility in the soft, lilting voice that addressed him, and Valkan wassmiling.

  "He says that you more dangerous are than you seem," Hovan translated."And he says that if you not Ch'kara were already, his Ka'ruchaya mighthave wished, you into K'horan invite."

  Hovan was impressed himself. He had expected Steve to lose, if onlyafter giving a creditable account of himself. That he had managed awin at all was barely believable; that it had happened so decisivelywould make this match well-remembered. And Hovan was less worriedabout Steve's chances in the Ordeal. Steve must truly be guided by theLords.

  Tarlac returned Valkan's wrist-clasp and replied in one of the Languagephrases he'd learned. "You do me honor," he said, and Valkan had:adoptions were unusual, perhaps five to eight in a year for anaverage-sized clan like the fifteen-thousand-member one he now belongedto.

  "But tell them all," Tarlac went on to Hovan in English, "I don't thinkI'd care to try it again. It's a stunt that worked once. I'm sureit'd never work a second time, and I'm not crazy enough to try it whenthey know what to expect."

  That, when Hovan translated, drew a roar of approval. These werefighters, stark realists all, who could understand and appreciate anhonest evaluation of chances. Tarlac's statement, after he'd justfinished a knife match unscathed and victorious, was taken as just suchan evaluation.

  Those who'd bet on him had very good reason to be appreciative; they'dgotten excellent odds, and some would gain clan status for their daringin backing such an underdog. The losers were even more impressed bythe human's victory. Even those spectators who still thought mosthumans incapable of honor were making an exception for Steve Tarlac.In a sense, after all, he couldn't really be called human any more.He'd been adopted by Clan Ch'kara and had proven himself in thematches, which was evidence enough that he was Traiti in spirit, if notin body.

  Once he understood it, Tarlac appreciated the sentiment, but he didn'tshare it. That evening, when he and Hovan were temporarily alone inthe sleep-room, he admitted as much. "Hovan, I'm doing the best I can,but I'm not a Traiti. I'm human, and after that fight, I don't know ifmy best is going to be good enough."

  Hovan studied his human ruhar for several minutes without sayinganything. He had mingled blood with this man, and though the exchangehad been more symbolic that substantial, he felt oddly close to him,closer than to any but the n'ka'ruhar he had shared young with.Steve's sudden self-doubt disturbed him, given what he'd learned aboutthe man. And an attitude of expected defeat was nothing to take into atrial as strenuous and demanding as the Ordeal. But what could he sayto help? There was no denying the danger Steve faced, and trying tominimize it would be doing the man a disservice.

  There was little he could say, and less he could do, to raise the man'sspirits. He would be lending Steve the same kind of emotional supporthe had received from his own Ordeal sponsor, whenever and wherevertradition allowed it. For now, that was terribly limited, yet he woulddo what he could. He moved to sit close to the human, not touching himin this out-clan place, and spoke softly. "Ruhar"--the intonationmeant "brother/friend"--"there no dishonor in fear, or in failure ofthe Ordeal, is. And I certain am that you will not fail. You Ch'karahave, whatever in this happens."

  Tarlac felt his tension ease momentarily at that assurance, borr
owingcomfort from Hovan's nearness. It wasn't fear for himself, as much asfear for the Empire and Traiti alike, that held him. Onlystubbornnness kept him from succumbing to the awful vision of a deadHomeworld, of Imperial genocide. It made him want to retreat tochildhood, to find solace in his sponsor's strength as he had oncefound it in his father's.

  He couldn't. He couldn't share what he knew, that if he died infailure the Traiti race would not long survive him.

  And he was certain, without reason, that he would die.