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Tarlac found himself suddenly wishing he had mentioned it that night, had given in to his urge to seek comfort. "I . . . I've been a Ranger for fifteen years, Hovan. Almost half my life. I just . . . I couldn't " Hovan shook him with controlled ease, just enough to silence him. "You of Ch'kara now are, Steve, and in-clan. Yourself be, not another's image. That not a weakness is." "What?
Dane clanked on to join them, carrying in plated fingers their most important weapon to awake public opinion an improvised cage in which was housed one of the pests from the cargo hold the proof of their plague-free state which they intended Hovan to present, via the telecast, to the whole system. Dane reached the shaft of the riser to find the platform gone.
On the other hand, there was no way he'd care to face a battleprepped Sandeman warrior himself, in anything less than shielded power armor . . . "Not to mention which, it's both easier and safer to be direct, especially with warriors. Like them, for instance." "They much like us are," Hovan said, smiling again. "If you do peace bring, I think we and they will good friends become."
Hovan exchanged glances with his Ka'ruchaya, but the Speaker stood motionless, her expression one of exaltation until the radiance vanished and Steve sat up, his wounds healed, swinging his legs over the altar's edge and standing up. Then Daria bowed, hands formally crossed over her chest, and Hovan and the rest of the clan followed suit.
As soon as they had taken their places in the open area in the center of the floor, Hovan raised his arms and began a songlike chanting similar to the previous night's. This time, Tarlac knew that it was a prayer asking the Lords' blessing on his adoption. Unable to join in, knowing neither words nor music, the Ranger stood at parade rest, his head bowed.
A large table held a container of water with cloths beside it, and the Ranger's uniform was hanging up. Hovan stripped the body and began to wash it, working as gently as if the man could still feel. Then he dressed Steve Tarlac in the forest green of his Imperial rank, leaving the shirt open to show the man's wounds. Finished, he inspected the body carefully. Yes, everything was proper.
I guess I'll just have to hope it's not as bad as I'm afraid it will be." "I do not like such a risk either," Hovan said. "But since you have made your Decision, I may advise you, if you wish." "I wish," Tarlac said grimly. "If you judge it possible, I would advise silence a little longer.
"Being small does give me some advantages I can go for two or three days without eating and without getting really hungry." That drew some exclamations of disbelief. A Traiti who fasted for even a single day would feel severe hunger pains, and three days would leave one seriously weakened. "An advantage that may balance his lack of claws and his thin skin," Hovan pointed out.
News from Terraport was broadcast on every channel every hour of the day and night and not a single viewer could miss their appeal. But first there was Hovan to be consulted. Would he be willing to back them with his professional knowledge and assurance? Or would their high-handed method of recruiting his services operate against them now? They decided to let Rip ask such questions of the Medic.
He wiped his knife semi-clean on his shorts, scraped dirt and rind off the roots, and ate. They might not be his favorite food, but they were good enough, and filling. After a handful of Limburger berries, he sat comfortably near the crackling fire, his thoughts wandering as he watched the dancing flames. Hovan. His sponsor.
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