United States or Sweden ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Hovan had zeroed in on Tarlac's thought, though the Ranger didn't believe what he described would ever have a chance to happen. "I'll have to retake the psych tests, then it depends. Maybe I'll be disqualified from anything that involves Ch'kara or the Traiti, maybe I'll have to resign. The decision will be up to His Majesty." "He would you demote?"
"Cor'naya Hovan, since Ranger Tarlac's mother is not present, you are his closest available kin. We must ask if you wish to make funeral arrangements yourself, or if you prefer Us to make them." "The Lords have already accepted him, Sire. He should have the human ceremony, whatever his rank deserves, and I do not know that." "Very well, We will see to it.
He'd have to do better than this, if he wanted to keep the two of them alive! He went to the spring for water, put some on the lamp to heat, then braced himself and knelt beside his patient. Tarlac's wounds were oozing thick greenish-yellow fluid that would have to be cleaned off, as often as Dave could force himself to endure the sight and rotten-cabbage stench.
His vision was blurred at first, but blinking soon cleared it enough for him to see the strain in his rescuer's face. Well, he probably wasn't looking too good himself, he thought and that stink! "What's the smell?" Dave grimaced, pulling a clean blanket up over Tarlac's shoulders. "Stingweed poison, sort of. You don't want to see what it looks like." He shrugged.
Then, in an outline that would be suitable for public release, he told of his seduction by Daria and her subsequent pregnancy. Davis stopped the recording. "Are you sure you want that on record, Steve? If you pass the psych retests " He broke off at the look on Tarlac's face. "You're that sure you'd fail, then." "No doubt about it, sir.
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.
Then he started pulling Tarlac's uniform shirt off, trying not to get sick as the wounds were exposed. When he had it about halfway off, the Ranger stirred. Tarlac woke slowly, aware at first only that he was laying on something hard and that he hurt all over. He shifted, trying to get comfortable, but a hand on his shoulder restrained him.
But exactly what is it about their personalities and thinking? What is so unusual about them that there are only ten Rangers, and none of those Irschchans?" "Nine, since Tarlac's assassination," Kainor reminded him. His ears went back in a slight frown. "Despite my investigations since the Crusade was decided on, I have not been able to discover the actual selection criteria.
But if Tarlac could feed his opponent's confidence until it overwhelmed his caution . . . he'd only get one opening, at that . . . He got the chance to begin putting his plan into effect almost immediately. The Traiti made the first move, lunging for Tarlac's chest. The Ranger dodged, Valkan's blade cutting air less than a centimeter from his skin.
It was hard for the Ranger to believe that people as enthusiastic about food as the Traiti hadn't either stumbled across something as simple as a sandwich, or purposely developed it, but their keen attention and the eager experimentation that followed made it clear they hadn't. Unfortunately for Tarlac's sobriety, that respite didn't last long.
Word Of The Day