Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: May 17, 2025
"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.
"My ship, now." Nevan stood. "Come along." Nevan scowled down at the unconscious businesser. He'd restricted his open questioning to Owajima's plans and next location his homeworld, not surprisingly but he'd done some questioning covertly as well, making comments about Owajima and reading the answers from his subject's face and body language.
They will us on Homeworld meet. Can you until then your curiosity restrain?" "If you want me to," Tarlac said. He'd had little experience with proud parents, but was quite familiar with people wanting to show off; it was one aspect of a Ranger's job, usually boring, occasionally pleasant. "I think you will not disappointed be." Hovan knew he was smiling.
And behind the view wall of Alexander's apartment Kardon's brilliant yellow sun sank slowly toward the horizon, filling the sky with flaming colors of red and gold, rimmed by the blues and purples of approaching night. The sunset was gaudy and blatant, Kennon thought with mild distaste, unlike the restful day-end displays of his homeworld.
The Lords welcomed me to my heritage; let me welcome you to yours." He paused again, extending his arms as if to embrace them all, and, as Kranath had shown it to him, showed them their true homeworld. He explained their origins and their rescue from Terra. "So," he finished, "you are our relatives, by ancestry as Terran as I am.
You all come up through the ranks, then? No direct commissions?" "That right is. And all officers must n'Cor'naya be." "So what's the average age for someone to make Team-Leader?" "Between sixty and sixty-five Homeworld years." Tarlac whistled admiringly. "And you're half that. Damn good! I can see why that'd gain you status."
He was regarded, he thought, as they would regard a youngling who called himself a fighter to impress his elders: with amused tolerance. And that, Tarlac admitted to Hovan later, was very probably why he accepted when, three days out of Homeworld, a Fire Control operator named Valkan challenged him.
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.
It wasn't so much nutritional deficiencies as protein incompatibility and allergic reactions. With the exception of the Traiti wine, that didn't apply on Homeworld, as two weeks' experience proved, and Tarlac was extremely curious about the reason. Well, if he ever got back to the Empire, he'd recommend that such a study be made.
He traced the honor-scars on his upper body through the cloth of his shirt, wishing he were elsewhere and free of the orders that seemed so dishonorable then he told himself sternly to get on with it. His mission was to deliver one of the Terran Empire's elite, one of the green-uniformed Rangers, safely to the Supreme and First Speaker on Homeworld.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking