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The crew of that Imperial scout might or might not have violated first-contact procedure he'd find out when he saw the tape Hovan had mentioned but it was certain they'd triggered an instinct-level reaction. They had come to the sleeproom by the time the Ranger reached that point in his thoughts.
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 missed the sleeproom, the comfortable presence of his n'ruhar and the sounds of their quiet breathing as they slept. He smiled drowsily, thinking that he'd shared sleeprooms with a lot of Traiti, and he'd never heard one snore . . . As always outdoors, he slept lightly, waking from time to time to feed the fire until dawn finally roused him for the day.
Drying himself didn't take nearly long enough, but he forced himself to stop when he was done, and walked into the sleeproom. To his relief, no one was there, though another dozen mats unrolled on the floor were evidence there soon would be. Hovan joined him seconds later, still damp, and gave Tarlac a quick, searching glance. "Be easy, Steve," he said.
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