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Updated: June 20, 2025
"Oh, hell, I'm starting to adapt to your speech patterns. I'm not trying to make fun of you. If I've offended, I'm sorry." "There no offense is," Hovan said calmly. "Go on." "Okay. Most of them understand English, and can indicate yes and no. That's about all you can expect unless one of your human or Irschchan prisoners is familiar with tongue-talk." Tarlac grinned. "We made that mistake too.
So you can plan, Rick and I are in space now, as you suggested, outside Sol System. Only the ship's captain and navigator know our location. I've ordered the defense satellites not to fire on any Irschchan ships.
His body survives, but very little of Thark himself remains. He can go through the motions of life, that is all and he has effectively wiped himself from Irschchan memory. His name and story will survive, of course, but it will be without the mind-pattern in his blade to give it substance." "He can still serve as an example," Davis said.
"We have no one in the nobility except for myself," Thark continued, ignoring her attempted protest. "No Irschchan is a Ranger, none command major military ships or bases. Does that seem equitable to you?" "It does not seem inequitable, simply on the basis of numbers," Corina pointed out. "Humans occupy thousands of worlds, the Traiti hundreds, while we occupy only this one completely.
Medart did some serious thinking about the young Irschchan while he waited in the briefing room for Hobison. Like most Rangers, he'd learned to follow his occasional hunches, and one had hit him on the way up to the Chang. Corina Losinj was important, both to the Empire and on a very personal basis to a certain James Medart.
Something the Order is not sure what, but the most respected theory is both underminds acting as one apparently `decides' to relieve the stress by combining whatever memories can be used to accomplish that purpose." "But aren't human and Irschchan patterns too different for that to happen?" Medart objected. "That's what you seemed to think earlier, at least."
The newcomer was Ranger Medart; he propped himself on one corner of the desk, crossing his arms, and the two studied each other. Medart was good-looking for a human, Corina thought, though not really outstanding in any way but one: he moved with almost Irschchan grace, something unusual in a human male, especially considering this one's 180-cm height.
She'd seen pictures of him, of course; one Ranger or another was usually in the news. So his appearance was familiar: medium build, youthful-looking thanks to anti-agathics despite graying hair at the temples and an age about 75, if she remembered correctly when an Irschchan would be preparing for death.
When Corina nodded, he punched a number on the desk intercom. "Interrogation, Captain Daley." Corina couldn't see the screen, but it sounded like a human female. "Oh, hi, Pat. What can I do for you?" "You could run a mindprobe on the other Irschchan who was brought in. The one I'm interviewing claims the reason he was trying to kill her was that he's involved in a treason plot."
A Terran in Marine black service dress uniform sat behind a large metal desk, holding a blaster aimed casually in her direction. Her soul-blade lay beside his left hand. She suppressed the rage she dared not show at that sight. It had been bad enough earlier, when the Sanctioner had taken her blade, but at least he had been an Irschchan and understood its significance.
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