Part 11 (2/2)

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 our scout and your guards.h.i.+p. May I see them?”

It wasn't the Supreme who answered. ”You may them see,” the First Speaker told him through Hovan, ”though for now they would almost nothing to you mean. It would best be if you a little time wait, until you Language know.”

”A little time?” Tarlac wasn't sure whether to smile or frown, and did neither. ”All right, but at the rate I'm going, it'll be six months before I'll be able to understand them.”

The First Speaker's reply was gentle. ”Do not on that wager. You might 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 tells me I have a lot to learn, and any time I waste costs lives on both sides. 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 of the smaller living rooms, with the information that Ka'ruchaya Yarra had set it aside for them so ruchaya Steve could study undisturbed.

Only it didn't quite work out that way. Tarlac did learn a considerable amount that afternoon, but it was as much about his clanmates as it was about how to survive in Homeworld's wilderness. It seemed that everyone in Ch'kara who knew anything at all about the outdoors was anxious to pa.s.s the knowledge along to Steve. Tarlac suspected they were motivated as much by curiosity about him as by anything else. If so, he didn't mind; he found himself savoring his n'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 fascinated him--especially, under the circ.u.mstances, the practical details. He found out which plant parts were edible and which to avoid, and that he could eat practically everything that moved. Unfortunately, quite a few of the moving things would consider him equally edible. Without a Traiti's natural armor, he'd have to depend on luck and brains to avoid that fate.

He couldn't help wis.h.i.+ng he could turn a s.h.i.+pload of biologists loose on this planet. Irschcha and Ondrian were the homeworlds of the other two intelligent Imperial races, yet a Terran without specialized medical preparation beforehand would die within a few days, trying to survive in either's wilderness. It wasn't so much nutritional deficiencies as protein incompatibility and allergic reactions. With the exception of the Traiti wine, that didn't apply on Homeworld, as two weeks' experience proved, and Tarlac was extremely curious about the reason. Well, if he ever got back to the Empire, he'd recommend that such a study be made.

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

Chapter IV

When Tarlac woke, though, it wasn't morning and he wasn't on his sleeping mat. It felt like the middle of the night, and he was standing as he had stood once before at the altar in the clanhome's gathering hall, with his palms laid flat on the bare lower platform.

He didn't know why or how he came to be here looking up at the images of those who formed the Circle of Lords, but it seemed right to him that he stood so, at peace as his hands rested on the alien altar.

Or was it alien? He didn't want it to be, and it certainly didn't seem alien. He knew, now, what he had only felt during the drive to the clanhome. He belonged here, to the Traiti, as surely as he belonged to the Empire, and he had to bring the two together. It was a need he didn't question, any more than he questioned the approval he sensed from somewhere. Stepping back from the altar, he bowed formally.

Conscious of the chilly night air on his bare skin, he descended the steps, intending to return to the sleeproom he shared with Hovan and several other fighters.

There was someone at the far end of the gathering hall, approaching him. He recognized the green-robed figure as the Speaker, Daria, and wondered briefly if being here in his condition was considered disrespectful, or worse.

<script>