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Updated: May 13, 2025
"Only four who aren't fit to travel," Tarlac said thoughtfully. "No real problem, then; I can give them support, though it won't be obvious. Take them along, in the Hermnaen's sickbay." "If you can do that, sir, why can't you heal them?" "I could, but I'm not going to. You heard what I said about keeping things as normal as possible.
"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.
If these people were singers, he thought, they'd be good. Singing didn't seem to fit in with what the Empire knew of the Traiti as ruthless, bloodthirsty killers, and language was hardly a reliable indicator of such things, of course but still, it seemed incongruous. Tarlac hadn't thought about it much, but he supposed he would have expected their language to be as sharp as their teeth and claws.
He took advantage of the safety to relieve himself, then he went back into the cave to check on his patient. Tarlac didn't seem to have moved, which Dave thought was probably just as well; at least that way he wouldn't irritate his injuries. But he swallowed hard when he pulled the blanket away from Tarlac's back, then had to run outside before he threw up all over their refuge.
"I won the fight by a trick," Tarlac said bleakly. "I won't live through the Ordeal by a trick." Hovan stopped and took Steve by the shoulders. "Why did you not all this say when it first you troubled? I your sponsor am." "I couldn't. It was something I had to come to terms with by myself."
He checked the gun almost automatically, not too surprised to find it was the disruptor he'd used in the cave, fully charged, then he re-holstered it. "Good," Tarlac said with a quiet chuckle. "You'll do fine, Dave." He settled the starstone-gemmed coronet on the newest Imperial noble's head. "Though from now on, you know, it's 'Your Grace'." "I'm really a Life Duke?" Dave asked.
The Emperor hit the "Stop" button with his clenched fist when it was over, cursing in a language Tarlac had never heard but which sounded remarkably well suited for that purpose. Davis spun the tape back and watched the first contact again. When it ended the second time, he looked haunted. "All right, Steve. Finish your report."
"I'll give them the information they need to choose intelligently, but I won't tell them what to do." Tarlac sensed approval, and this time knew where it came from; he smiled. "Thanks." "None necessary, Ruhar," Sepol said. "We are merely pleased that you grasp the necessities, even before your full maturity. Go on."
They could easily become a trade item, a gourmet delicacy, if he managed to achieve a peace. Back at his camp, Tarlac dug a shallow hole for the salvis roots off-center of his cleared fire area, and covered them with a thin layer of dirt. He wished he could bake them coated with mud instead, but he had nothing to carry water in.
At least the medikit had surgical gloves, he thought as he put a pair on, so he wouldn't have to touch the stuff or risk getting the poison into his own system through a cut or hangnail. Tarlac woke to a smell so bad it made him gag, and eyes that felt glued shut, so he couldn't see whatever seemed to be scrubbing his chest with a metal brush dipped in acid.
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