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If it was peace, the Traiti would be exposed to Imperial culture, and he'd help them make the best synthesis they could of it and their own. That simplified things again, to whether or not he should tell them of their origin. And it brought up what had to be the real consideration. Did he have the right was it honorable to deny the Traiti knowledge of their heritage? Whatever the consequences?
"A story of the end times, ruhar, when all hinges on one man, for good or ill." "Me. I've known that since before I landed on Homeworld. So what? It looks like whatever I do, Traiti die." Tarlac was being rude and knew it, but he didn't particularly care. He was too caught up in an awful private vision of Ch'kara gone mad. Hovan spoke quietly, picking his words with care. "Yes.
Laying here in swim trunks, it was hard to believe he'd been damn near torn in half not much more than two months ago. But he had been, trying to help one of the then-enemy, a gray-skinned Traiti. Oh, well. The war was over, thanks to Steve Tarlac, and the Traiti were Imperial citizens, while he was supposed to be concentrating on recovering his strength. He stood, called to the lander.
The remains of those who'd run into Traiti suicide commandos were even more eloquent. But these adolescent females offering glasses to the five from the Hermnaen weren't fighters. They were no taller than Tarlac, and he had adapted enough, thanks to the shipboard artwork, to think of them as attractive young ladies.
The gray skin, despite its dense toughness, was soft and supple around his hands. This was a little too much closeness. "Uh, I think the Traiti and Empire have a lot to offer each other. For instance, you " "Steve, es'ruhar . . ." Daria interrupted again, smiling gently as she ran the backs of her claws up and down his forearm. Tarlac shivered, not from cold, and a gulp of hot chovas didn't help.
He stood, shaking his head and smiling, no longer disturbed by his own state of undress or by the equally bare Traiti now moving about the room. They seemed more impressive this way than when clothed, unlike most humans himself, Tarlac admitted wryly, included. He felt pale in contrast with their rich, even coloring.
Medart returned the gesture. "Likewise, Captain Chavvorth. I'm pleased to see that humans and Traiti share the Empire even in a universe so distant from mine." "As am I though I sense that until recently we were at war in yours, and you were nearly killed by one of our fighters." "Right."
Captain Willis reported what Fleet-Captain Arjen told you. Steve, can you end this damn war?" "I can't, sir, no. What I can do is arrange things so you and the Traiti rulers, their Supreme and First Speaker, can try to end it." "Good enough. After those people we massacred on Khemsun, I'll take anything I can get." Davis looked bitter, angry.
"Telling us even that would little difference make," Hovan said quietly. "You know not how close you to victory are. In less than another year, there will no more Traiti be." The Ranger stopped where he was, deeply shocked. "Hovan, what are you saying? The Empire isn't out to commit genocide! We don't kill non-combatants on purpose!" "No such thing as noncombatants is.
He'd had all the isolation and deference his Imperial rank demanded for fifteen years, and he thought he'd prefer to spend the next few millennia with the easy warmth he sensed from Arjen, from Ch'kara and in fact from all the Traiti.
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