Part 20 (2/2)
”It could be that his Ordeal is scaled as much as possible to human tolerances, and humans handle change more readily than we do. Also, Steve himself has mentioned often enough that he has no desire to waste time or lives.” She turned to the Ranger. ”I do not ask you to speak of your Decision, since Hovan says you cannot yet do so in honor. But I may ask, as Speaker: does it require speed of you for another reason?”
Tarlac took time to think out his answer. ”You might say it does, indirectly. I have to tell you all something I found out from the Vision, and what it means. It'll be easier for you to hear it from a Cor'naya, Hovan says. Humans would believe a Ranger, but you don't have that kind of trust in me yet.”
”I cannot argue, ruesten,” Yarra said calmly. ”I do trust you, but truly not as I trust one who has earned Honor scars.”
Tarlac traded glances with Hovan, remembering the precaution he'd taken against failure. It might work, it might not. He had to hold onto the First Speaker's promise from the Lords that his survival of the Ordeal would bring an honorable peace, and hope the death he still saw as inevitable wouldn't bring disaster.
Hovan felt certain of Steve's survival, but had made his promise because it was necessary to his ruhar's state of mind. Part of a sponsor's responsibility was easing any stress outside of the Ordeal itself, and Steve already carried two contradictory convictions: his need to survive, to complete his mission, and his certainty that he would not.
There was nothing Hovan could do about the man's certainty of death, but he could see to it that Steve was allowed to rest. ”It is early, I know, Ka'ruchaya, and everyone is curious--”
”As curious as we are about any candidate's experiences,” Yarra agreed.
”Still, I am sure further questions can wait until tomorrow.”
Tarlac gave her a grateful smile. ”Thanks, Ka'ruchaya. I am pretty tired, and I've been looking forward to a sleeping mat. I could use a long, hot shower, too.”
The shower helped considerably, relaxing his muscles and allowing emotional tension to ease in the sheer luxury of being really clean.
And his n'ruhar's presence allowed other tension to ease; he was asleep seconds after he covered himself with his light blanket.
Sleep was dreamless, his unaware mind and body absorbing the clan's support, and when he woke he felt as refreshed as though he'd slept for a week. It was still early, the wake-light not yet on, and from the others' breathing, it appeared he was the only one who'd waked without it. He was content to bask in their warmth and unwilling to disturb their rest until, all too soon, the light did come on and it was time to rise, time to go through the morning routine.
When he'd showered again--it was still a pleasure--Tarlac went with Hovan to first-meal, trying not to think too much about the future.
He'd eat dornya meat scrambled into eggs again tomorrow, but afterwards his destination would be the gathering hall for his Scarring, not the Ka'ruchaya's office for news intercepts.
This morning, though, he could take refuge in normalcy, looking forward even to reading nine days' worth of reports--a prospect that as a rule held no appeal for him at all.
Accompanying Yarra and Hovan to her office, he found, not at all to his surprise, that it was spotless. Tarlac wondered again how she managed to run a clan without her office showing it; the only trace of paperwork was the stack of printouts on her desk, and they were his.
He glanced at her for permission, which she granted with a nod, and he picked up the stack and took it to his usual chair.
Stretching out his legs, Tarlac began reading. The first six reports were routine, if not pleasant, combat and casualty reports that held no surprises. It was the seventh day's leadoff item, inevitable though he'd known it to be, that gave him a feeling of sick shock. Imperial forces had clearly reached the Traiti core worlds, because for the first time the report mentioned dead females and children.
His new people had run out of places to evacuate to. Except to say that some females had not fought, and that they and the very youngest children were being held aboard the flags.h.i.+p of the Third Fleet--Ranger Jasmine w.a.n.g's Emperor Yasunon--the report didn't go into detail. It didn't have to. Kranath's memories supplied Tarlac with more than enough gruesome detail of what happened when a clan was fighting its last.
The Yasunon was currently en route to Terra, and Tarlac knew why. He'd have done the same thing himself--get such valuable prisoners to the safest and most secure spot in the Empire, namely to the Palace complex in Antarctica, guarded by defense satellites and the elite Palace Guard of Imperial Marines. From what Daria had said, they would be all right . . . at least until the younglings no longer needed care from the adult females, when those would feel free to die, to find that release from the dishonor of captivity.
The next day's report had bad news for Tarlac personally, and for the Imperial he still was. He read the brief paragraph several times, practically memorizing it. He'd known Jim by reputation since he'd been old enough to watch the news, and personally for fifteen years.
This hurt.
”Ranger James Medart is reported in critical condition today aboard the hospital s.h.i.+p Compa.s.sion, after being attacked by a wounded Traiti he was attempting to aid. Ranger Medart is currently on full life support, and Chief Medical Officer Kirov's prognosis is guarded.”
”Oh, h.e.l.l, Jim!” Tarlac exploded at last, angrily. ”You knew better than that! The Empire can't afford to lose both of us!”
Hovan and Yarra had been talking quietly while he read; they looked up, startled, at his outburst. He returned their looks, then went through the motions of examining the rest of the printout.
His pretended absorption in a doc.u.ment that their own news showed held only the one item of interest couldn't mislead his Clan Mother and his sponsor.
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