Part 22 (1/2)
”Later, Steve.” Hovan smiled too, pus.h.i.+ng sweat-damp hair away from the man's face. ”Rest now, I said. It is over.”
”Yeah . . . guess so. Worth it, though . . . worth it all. 'M tired . . . so tired . . . gotta sleep . . .” Tarlac's eyes closed and he sighed, going utterly limp.
”Steve?”
There was no answer; Hovan had known there wouldn't be. He had seen too many people die to hold false hopes, and only concern for his ruhar's honor kept him from voicing his outrage to the Lords, his brief but bitter anger at the injustice of their letting Steve complete the Ordeal only to die in his arms.
The human doctor had no such qualms. He turned on Hovan, furious.
”Satisfied, you d.a.m.n Shark? In a hospital I could maybe still save him--not here! No human could survive that kind of pain, system shock, bleeding--not without help! He's dead, and you killed him!”
”Steve wished to bring peace,” Hovan interrupted, in English suddenly as fluent as his Language. He noticed it, briefly, but in his anger and sorrow it didn't seem to matter. ”The Ordeal was his only chance, and he took that chance knowing this was possible--thinking it was inevitable. Do not dishonor his memory--instead, represent his Empire at his leavetaking.”
”What the h.e.l.l-- You mean that, don't you?” Dr. Jason didn't want to believe it, but the Traiti's soft voice, the way he still cradled the Ranger's head, wouldn't allow disbelief. ”You're sorry he died!”
”I cared for him, yes,” Hovan said. ”His death is a thing of much sadness, yet he went to it in full honor, and in his clan. None can expect more from the Lords.” He stood, picking up Steve's slight body.
”Will you honor him with us?”
”I . . . yes. You're right. Someone from the Empire should be there.”
”Good.” Hovan turned and left the gathering hall, taking Steve's body to a small room nearby to carry out a sponsor's most distasteful duty-- of preparing the one he sponsored, when that one succ.u.mbed, for Presentation and Transformation. The preparations he had been so sure would not be needed had of course been made; the room held what was required. A large table held a container of water with cloths beside it, and the Ranger's uniform was hanging up.
Hovan stripped the body and began to wash it, working as gently as if the man could still feel. Then he dressed Steve Tarlac in the forest green of his Imperial rank, leaving the s.h.i.+rt open to show the man's wounds.
Finished, he inspected the body carefully. Yes, everything was proper.
The uniform was spotless, the badge and leather items polished to a high gloss, the gun fully charged. His ruhar would go before the Lords as a Cor'naya of Ch'kara should. He picked up the body again and returned to the foot of the altar dais.
The Supreme, the First Speaker, and Dr. Jason were no longer on the newly-cleaned dais. Transformation was a clan matter; they could observe, but not partic.i.p.ate. Instead, Ka'ruchaya Yarra and Speaker Daria were there. Hovan bowed his head to them, then looked up and spoke the ritual words. ”I bring Esteban Tarlac of Clan Ch'kara to the Circle of Lords. He has given honor to the clan.”
”We sorrow at his loss,” Yarra said, ”yet we glory in that honor.” She turned to the Speaker. ”As Ka'ruchaya of Ch'kara, I ask the Lords to receive this man, my ruesten.”
Daria inclined her head. ”The Lords welcome those who die in honor.
Who, Ka'ruchaya, do you choose to present him?”
”He who is closest to him, who shares his blood and bears him now.”
Hovan thanked her silently for that. While it was the Ka'ruchaya's choice, tradition suggested that the oldest male present perform that final service for the dead.
The Speaker and Ka'ruchaya drew back to allow him to pa.s.s with his burden. He climbed the steps and crossed the dais slowly, to lay his ruhar's body on the lower level of the altar. Then he made his farewells, touching Steve's wounded chest and his forehead. Finally he stepped back and made obeisance to the figures on the upper level, a formal bow.
A s.h.i.+mmering appeared around the body, hazing its outlines but not obscuring it, as Hovan moved to stand at the end of the altar near Steve's head. He would hold vigil there until, at this time the next day, the Lords would take the man to themselves in a flare of blue.
Chapter IX
Was he dead?
Since every definition Tarlac had ever heard referred to the physical body, and since his was undoubtedly a corpse, he supposed the answer would have to be yes.
But he didn't feel dead. He wasn't in that body any longer; he was a good two meters above it, held there by an immensely powerful, immensely benevolent presence. In the normal course of events, he somehow knew, he'd go elsewhere--to wherever his self found most comfortable or fitting--but for some reason he was supposed to remain here.