Part 5 (1/2)

”There's something I don't understand. Granted, I'm here as Fleet-Captain Arjen's guest, and I've agreed to take the Ordeal. But I'm still your enemy. If one of you had come to us, 'persuaded' the way I was, at the very least you'd have been disarmed and guarded, instead of being given the freedom of the s.h.i.+p. For all you know, I could be planning some kind of sabotage.”

Hovan smiled. ”That you such a possibility raise, shows you would not it do.”

”That's not always a safe a.s.sumption to make,” Tarlac said. ”In this case it is, yes, and I'd like to think it always was--but I've already told you most humans don't have a sense of honor like yours. A lot of people would bring up that sort of objection just to lull suspicion.”

”So much we have from prisoners learned,” Hovan agreed. ”But we have also learned, from the tiny ferocious ones who themselves Sandemans call, that Rangers only devious are when there no other choice is. And you no reason for deception have.”

”More precisely, we'll be misleading when it's in the Empire's interest--which isn't often. And even then, we keep it to the absolute minimum; people have to know that when one of us makes a definite statement, it's binding.” Interesting, Tarlac thought, that the beings humans thought of as merciless killers considered the Sandemans ferocious. On the other hand, there was no way he'd care to face a battleprepped Sandeman warrior himself, in anything less than s.h.i.+elded power armor . . . ”Not to mention which, it's both easier and safer to be direct, especially with warriors. Like them, for instance.”

”They much like us are,” Hovan said, smiling again. ”If you do peace bring, I think we and they will good friends become.”

Tarlac had a sudden mental picture of a Traiti trading war stories and combat techniques with one of the small dark-skinned blonds--and it seemed more an inevitable picture than an odd one. ”I wouldn't be a bit surprised if you did,” he agreed. ”But you still haven't told me why I'm being so well treated.”

”That simple is. You to us armed came, and you have honor shown; we could no less honor show.”

There was no way Tarlac could reply to that. He had already begun to believe that he could trust these people's honor where he'd be reluctant to trust a human's obedience to law. Hovan's calm statement only added to that conviction.

Another Traiti indicated that he had a question. Hovan listened, gestured sharply, and spoke, then turned to the Ranger. ”This more personal is than the other questions. He asks if you have children fathered.”

”I don't mind; no, I haven't.” Of course, Tarlac thought. With that s.e.x ratio, parenthood could easily be a sensitive subject for males.

”I'm not married, and even if I were, I don't think I'd . . . Well, anyway, having children when I'm on Terra so little wouldn't be fair to them. Being a Ranger's child wouldn't make up for having a father--or mother--who's gone all the time. That's partly why none of us has a family.”

There was a soft murmur, this time sounding sympathetic, and the next question was on an entirely different subject. ”The furred four-footers with two tongues--what purpose serve they?”

”Cloudcats? You must have captured some, yeah.” Ondrian hadn't been involved in any of the fighting, but cloudcats roamed all through the Empire. ”They don't serve a purpose. Part of their bargain for certain human rights on their planet, Ondrian, was their right to travel on Imperial Navy s.h.i.+ps any time. I suppose you could call them observers.”

”They intelligent are?”

Tarlac could hear astonishment even in the original questioner's voice.

”Of course. Didn't anyone tell you?” Then he realized they probably hadn't asked. The first Ondrian colonists had thought the cloudcats unintelligent predators; why shouldn't the Traiti have a.s.sumed the same thing, or maybe decided they were pets? ”Yes, they're intelligent.

They can't talk; they use their tongues for gestural communication, and to handle things. They're outstanding artists, too.” If some of his speculations were correct, that might mean more to the Traiti than to many humans.

Hovan translated, then turned to the human. ”We some as captives took and caged. We hurt them not, yet have them as animals treated. We must that change, or dishonor suffer. Can we with them communicate?”

”Most English understand--” Tarlac broke off. ”Oh, h.e.l.l, I'm starting to adapt to your speech patterns. I'm not trying to make fun of you.

If I've offended, I'm sorry.”

”There no offense is,” Hovan said calmly. ”Go on.”

”Okay. Most of them understand English, and can indicate yes and no.

That's about all you can expect unless one of your human or Irschchan prisoners is familiar with tongue-talk.” Tarlac grinned. ”We made that mistake too. We lost some time by it, but it wasn't a disaster.

They may even have picked up some of your language by now. They're fast learners.”

After a few quick words from Hovan, one of his men rose, dressed, and left. Tarlac gathered he was going to tell someone with more authority about the cloudcats immediately, and Hovan confirmed it.

There wasn't much talk after that, the serious questions seeming to have run out, and in the shuffle that followed of Traiti settling into their bedrolls for the night, Tarlac spent a moment considering his surprise at their action. The Traiti hadn't waited a night or even an hour to correct something which surely was not an urgent mistreatment.

The cloudcats were comfortable, Hovan said, even if they were confined; the human prisoners were almost certainly confined somehow, too.

Merely treating intelligent beings as nonsapient was a cause for dishonor, it seemed, which spoke well of Traiti honor. True, the dishonor might be in underestimating a possible enemy--but that didn't quite seem to fit, somehow.