Part 7 (1/2)
antiseptics would have smelled the same, if they'd had any.
The cleanliness was as characteristic as the odor, and when a Traiti in pale blue came up to Tarlac and took his arm, he didn't resist. The bleeding still hadn't stopped completely, and the medic turned to Hovan with what sounded, to the Ranger's limited experience, like an angry question. Hovan's reply changed the medic's expression. He checked the wound, cleaned it, then held the edges together and sprayed it with something cool and gray. The Traiti version of synthiskin, probably, Tarlac thought.
Afterwards the medic checked and cleaned Hovan's cut, but didn't bother with any further treatment. It looked half-healed, whether or not it was.
When the medic was done with Hovan, Tarlac spoke to him. ”It feels better already. Thanks.”
”He your speech knows not,” Hovan told Steve, then said something to the 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 never before a human treated; that you well responded only fortunate was.”
”I meant what I said,” Tarlac replied. ”It may be a minor wound, but I know skill when I see it.” He was sincere. The medic had been a.s.sured and gentle, clearly a trauma expert, and Tarlac had to a.s.sume the easing of pain in his arm could be credited to the synthiskin. That was a technique the humans had so far not developed.
”He you thanks,” Hovan said after a further exchange. ”But he says you should not so deep have cut. The mixing of blood now only a symbol is.”
”I didn't go deep,” Tarlac said. ”Just enough to nick the vein. You can 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 s.h.i.+p, and he was now of Ch'kara--but he was still human, and Hovan was well aware that there were those aboard the Hermnaen who thought honor was no more binding toward humans that it was toward vermin. Steve had the freedom of the s.h.i.+p, and while Hovan was sure n.o.body 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 all crewmembers of this adoption approve, even though it was by the Lords decreed, and some may you ill wish. You may choose, but it would best be if you with me stay, or with my men.”
Tarlac was sure he detected real concern in the deep soft voice. This time yesterday, if they'd met in battle, Hovan would have killed him without hesitation, and vice versa. Now, he realized with surprise, he was convinced the Traiti would protect him as swiftly from his own people, if necessary.
He wondered if joining Clan Ch'kara had made him closer ”kin” to Hovan than non-Ch'kara Traiti were. That, he was to learn, was exactly the case, and was also the reason the military seldom allowed n'ruhar to serve closely together. Clan ties were so strong that not even the strictest military discipline could overcome them.
All the Ranger had to go on now, however, was his own judgement, and that told him to trust Hovan. ”Ruhar, I don't know enough about Traiti ways to make an intelligent choice. I'll do whatever you recommend.”
Hovan stopped and turned toward the green-uniformed human. ”Ruhar, you do 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 to protect, not to harm, his clanmate.
Tarlac saw the gesture as it began and waited for it, unflinching. He didn't move, even at Hovan's slow smile; he sensed rea.s.surance, not threat. Why was he adapting so quickly--so easily!--to Traiti patterns?
How could he adapt so easily? Especially since he was almost totally ignorant about them? Dammit, humans and Traiti had been at war for years, and he was human in everything but the past day's experiences!
Well, he was adapting; that was another fact he had to accept. He returned Hovan's smile and touched one of the deadly claws. ”I'm in your hands.”
Morning at Ch'kara's main clanhome on Norvis came in the middle of Hovan's sleep period. Preferring to disturb his own rest rather than his Clan Mother's, Hovan had the duty Communications operator place his call then. Contact was almost immediate on the clan-priority call, and Ka'ruchaya Yarra must have been waiting; she was on the screen before she could have been summoned. Hovan greeted her respectfully, sure that his expression gave away his news before he could speak it.
It did. Yarra returned his greeting, then said, ”We have a new ruesten, Cor'naya?”
”Yes, Ka'ruchaya. Esteban Tarlac, called Steve.” Hovan gave her a brief yet complete account of everything that had happened since Steve had come aboard, finis.h.i.+ng, ”He has much to learn, Ka'ruchaya, and he may make mistakes, but he is true Ch'kara. He will not dishonor the clan.”
”We can expect no more,” Yarra said, smiling. ”You carried out your trust 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 rea.s.suringly. ”Do not concern yourself, ruesten. The younglings you share, and those you share them with, will be leaving for Homeworld tomorrow. I held the s.h.i.+p until I heard from you, to give them the news myself. They will still get to Homeworld before you do.”
”I was not truly worried, Ka'ruchaya . . . but my thanks. It has been a long time.”
”I know. And I am sure this is your sleep time. I will not keep you from your mat any longer. Dream well, ruesten.”
”I will, Ka'ruchaya. Farewell.”