Part 2 (2/2)

The ones with naked infants or nursing children made him uncomfortable; on Terra and even in most of the older colonies, such things weren't shown in public.

Despite his unease, Tarlac studied the pictures as well as he could during the walk. Unlikely as it seemed, he might somehow return to the Empire, and if that happened, any information he could bring back would be valuable to the socio and anthro specialists. That included information on Traiti art. He didn't have a specialist's training himself, but Ranger Linda Ellman, who'd taught him to appreciate art, had given him some understanding of how revealing artistic conventions could be. He knew enough to wonder at the prevalence of Madonnas--and at the total lack of abstract, impressionist, and other non-representational art forms.

By the time he got that far, they were at the bridge. So many control consoles grouped around what had to be a control central couldn't be anything else. Yet even here, the surroundings were totally unwarlike--by Terran standards, Tarlac reminded himself. The sunny yellow color scheme was more noticeable now than it had been when he'd talked to them from the Lindner. It made the Traiti uniforms, both the s.h.i.+p crew's dark gray and the commandos' gray-green, seem even drabber by comparison.

Tarlac and Hovan were the only two to enter the bridge itself; the rest of the commandos, their guard duty done, left. Had it been an honor guard? Tarlac wondered. There had been nothing to indicate the contrary.

Arjen rose as the Ranger approached, inclining his head but not repeating the full formal salute. Then he gestured toward the large repeater screen, which showed Jean Willis, still wearing her grimmest face. Tarlac had a good idea of what she was thinking. The Traiti had the Ranger they wanted, for whatever their real purpose might be. It didn't make sense for them to keep their word, release a fully-operational enemy battle cruiser. But he couldn't have pa.s.sed up even so remote a chance . . .

Arjen turned, to face Willis' image directly. ”The condition met has been, s.h.i.+p-Captain. You free to go now are.”

Willis didn't look as if she believed it, but she gave orders to have Terra's coordinates fed into the helm. Then she searched the repeater screen, still wearing a troubled expression. ”Ranger--?”

Tarlac moved to stand beside Arjen, the beginnings of hope allowing him to smile. ”I'm all right, Captain. Your log'll show everything, including this, but I'll make it an order anyway. Return to Terra.”

That didn't seem to make Willis any happier, but she couldn't argue with a Ranger's direct order. ”Yes, sir.” She turned to Olorun.

”Execute transition.”

Arjen showed no reaction to the Lindner's departure before he gave Tarlac his full attention. ”To this s.h.i.+p welcome be, Ranger. You have Team-Leader Hovan met; he has said, he will you escort and teach. If you to him object, I will another a.s.sign.”

Tarlac glanced up at the apparently impa.s.sive commando beside him, then looked back at Arjen. He could hardly dislike the Team-Leader he'd barely met. ”I don't object. I'd be honored.” It wouldn't hurt to be polite, especially since it was beginning to look as if he were actually what Arjen had called him, a guest. For no reason he could name, he inclined his head and touched fingertips to his brow.

Hovan suppressed a gasp of astonishment and heard some around the bridge that weren't suppressed. How could a Terran know to accept hospitality in the proper way? Unless the Lords . . . No, such a thing was far too unimportant for the Lords to concern themselves with.

Arjen's hands covered the Ranger's briefly in response to the gesture, and the moment was over.

It had to be a fortunate coincidence, not important but a demonstration of the Terran's willingness to take his part in Traiti life. Hovan thought about the adoption, and quickly decided that he shouldn't offer it so soon. Two things, significant as they might be, weren't enough to prove this human worthy of a clan as old and honored as Ch'kara. He needed more, especially if the Ranger was to join as a candidate for the Ordeal of Honor. Hovan had been given a solemn responsibility for the clan's choice; he had to be certain he was right when he made his decision. And he had the time for that; Homeworld was more than a tenday away.

”If you will then me excuse,” Arjen said formally, ”I still much to do have. I the freedom of the s.h.i.+p you give.”

”Thank you.” There was no more doubt in Tarlac's mind that he was a guest. He still had his gun and was, it seemed, to be allowed to roam freely. He turned to his escort. ”I'm at your disposal, Team-Leader.

What do we do now?”

”It past my normal duty-time is, and I hungry am,” was the reply. ”I food need, and sleep. If you something else prefer, one of my men some English speaks; he can as temporary escort for you act.”

Tarlac's internal clock said it was mid-afternoon, but this was as good a time as any to start changing his diurnal rhythms. ”That's not necessary, Team-Leader.”

”Then come,” Hovan said, and Traiti and human left the bridge.

Hovan's long strides didn't give Tarlac much time to study art on the way to the dining area, but he saw more than he had earlier, since he was no longer surrounded by bodies. The new data didn't change his initial impression, but he had already started to adapt to the Madonna pictures that'd disturbed him. That was no real surprise; s.p.a.cers in general were more adaptable than ground-pounders--they had to be--and Rangers excelled at that, as at almost everything. Given the need and a little time, he could adapt to any humanly-conceivable circ.u.mstances . . . though of course some things took longer than others.

So far, Tarlac was finding nothing too difficult in the Traiti pattern.

He suspected that he might, when he got deeper into their culture.

This business of adoption, for instance--why should he have to join a clan to take their Ordeal?

And why wait to find out, or anyway to learn whether he could find out?

Hovan was supposed to be his teacher in such matters. As they pa.s.sed pictures and corridor intersections and doors labeled in the angular Traiti script, Tarlac spoke. ”The Fleet-Captain says I'll have to be a member of one of your clans to take the Ordeal. Can you tell me why?”

<script>