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This time yesterday, if they'd met in battle, Hovan would have killed him without hesitation, and vice versa. Now, he realized with surprise, he was convinced the Traiti would protect him as swiftly from his own people, if necessary. He wondered if joining Clan Ch'kara had made him closer "kin" to Hovan than non-Ch'kara Traiti were.
He improvised a spit a straight limb that would make a good spear, shaped to a point and fire-hardened and put a haunch on to roast for lunch. Thanking whatever Traiti metallurgist had developed a knife alloy that held an edge under steady abuse, he set about making moccasins from the tough noxi skin, using his own foot as the pattern, gut for thread, and his knife as an awl.
"What time is it?" "Midday, twelve and a half hours by your timepiece." Tarlac groaned again, forcing his eyes open. "You do this to everybody you adopt?" "No, ruhar. You a bad reaction had, an allergy, Doctor Channath says. You should soon better feel." "Uhh. That'll teach me to drink Traiti liquor."
By his previous reasoning, though, if the Lords had trusted him with Kranath's Vision, which they had, there was a good chance he'd be around afterward to make the safest possible use of it for the Traiti race. If the Vision itself wasn't enough to accomplish that . . . "Hovan, I'd like to ask a favor of you, as my sponsor." The massive figure walking easily beside him nodded.
Arjen rose as the Ranger approached, inclining his head but not repeating the full formal salute. Then he gestured toward the large repeater screen, which showed Jean Willis, still wearing her grimmest face. Tarlac had a good idea of what she was thinking. The Traiti had the Ranger they wanted, for whatever their real purpose might be.
The grapevine, Tarlac reflected, must be the universe's most effective communications net for Traiti as well as humans. Almost all the off-duty crew gathered in the exercise hall to watch the uneven contest.
They also had skin like soft but armor-tough gray leather, an ovoid head with bulges at top and sides set more horizontally on the short neck than a human's, with small eyes, slit nostrils, lipless shark-toothed mouth, and no external ears but except for those and semi-retractile claws on their hands, the biologists insisted that Traiti were so much like humans it ought to indicate a common ancestor somewhere.
"I should not have broken cover to do so, but I had seen one warrior die that way when we were prisoners of the Traiti, and I could not let another go through such agony unaided." "That's what he told me, not long after I finished my agent's training. Do you need to get anything before we go?" "No.
As they passed pictures and corridor intersections and doors labeled in the angular Traiti script, Tarlac spoke. "The Fleet-Captain says I'll have to be a member of one of your clans to take the Ordeal. Can you tell me why?" "Because parts of the Ordeal in-clan matters are, not with out-clan or clanless discussed. I can no more of that say." "Okay. I suppose I'll find out when the time comes."
They'd been expecting a visitor, so there'd be quarters ready for him and since he usually worked in his living area rather than his office, that seemed a reasonable place to wait for His Majesty's call. "Shall we continue this discussion in my quarters, Captain?" "As you wish, sir." The two rose, and Medart followed the Traiti again, thinking.
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