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Feeling himself part of a family for the first time since adolescence, Steve Tarlac gave in, letting loneliness and detachment melt out of him in long-delayed tears. When he couldn't push the fear aside any longer and it took over, he shook in Hovan's embrace with terror of a failure that would cost more than any mortal should be asked to bear.
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.
And if you refuse these men medical attention which they need I shall cite the case all the way to my Board!" Dane drew a deep breath. That was taking off on their orbit! Not being one of the Queen's crew, in fact having good reason to be angry over his treatment at their hands, Hovan's present attitude would or should carry weight.
"Whatever you call those two-centimeter substitutes for mosquitoes. I think I'd almost rather have faced a derybach they only come at you one at a time, and if one ate me for dinner I wouldn't be around to mind it afterward." He paused, assessing Hovan's reaction to the half-teasing complaint. Hovan was looking puzzled. "Those damn bugs ate on me for six days straight!
And the conversation at the mike was relayed across the field, a fact of which they were not at once aware. "There are sick men in there " Hovan's voice boomed out. "I demand the right to return to duty " "If and when they surrender they shall all be accorded necessary aid," that was the officer. But he made no impression on the Medic from the frontier.
The plain, forest-green uniform revealed when the man's spacesuit was off was functional, Hovan noticed with approval, its only decoration the platinum star-in-circle badge on the man's left breast, the symbol of his rank. Best, though, was the fact that Tarlac was armed, showing he regarded them as true fighters. That eased Hovan's mind.
And what the Traiti called simply Language had little in common with English. The most obvious difference was its tonality, much to Tarlac's frustration and Hovan's amusement. While the Ranger enjoyed and could appreciate music, he'd never done any serious singing; it took days for him to learn to make his voice do what he wanted it to. But they didn't spend all their time working.
Tarlac was gratefuy for the guidance, but appreciated Hovan's simple presence and his uncritical support even more. By the time Tarlac finished cleaning up, the dose of whatever-it-was had taken full effect and he felt considerably more able to take in his surroundings.
Tarlac felt his tension ease momentarily at that assurance, borrowing comfort from Hovan's nearness. It wasn't fear for himself, as much as fear for the Empire and Traiti alike, that held him. Only stubbornnness kept him from succumbing to the awful vision of a dead Homeworld, of Imperial genocide.
He had the same feeling of sudden unreality he'd had when Linda extended His Majesty's invitation to join the Rangers. Adoption was a necessary prelude to the Ordeal, he knew that, but he hadn't expected it until they reached Homeworld. Yet he had no doubt that Hovan's offer was serious, and that it was as deeply significant to Hovan as it was to himself.
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