"Besides that," he went on, "if I don't make it, someone's going to have to get a message to Emperor Davis. You, preferably, or the Supreme or First Speaker, if you think they'd be better. I'll leave a set of instructions, and a message to His Majesty, explaining what I've found out. As I said, since you're of Terran origin, you're automatically Imperial citizens; at worst, you'd be treated as lost colonists. That'll change things, I hope enough to end the war as a misunderstanding." He grimaced. "A bad misunderstanding. It won't be easy, but it should be possible to end it without you surrendering, and you should be able to keep the worlds you still have."

Hovan nodded again, somberly. "Should it become necessary, Steve, I will do as you wish. When I have completed my duties as a sponsor, I will carry your message."

Tarlac hadn't realized until that moment, when he relaxed, how tense he had been. "Let's get back so I can finish the Ordeal, then."

Yarra was waiting for them, standing as before at the head of the clanhome stairs. Tarlac climbed to meet her, Hovan at his right. He'd been gone less than a tenth-year, so she wasn't there to extend the traveler's greeting, and she didn't. Instead she bowed to him, formally. "Your courage and success in returning unaided bring much honor to the clan, ruesten. Let our thanks for that welcome you home."

Her gesture and words were formal, but her tone held warmth and true pleasure. Tarlac returned the bow, answering with equal formality and just as much warmth. "It is good to be home, Ka'ruchaya. Any honor I bring the clan is no more than repayment for the honor I was given in being adopted."

That response clearly pleased both Yarra and Hovan. They were on Ch'kara property now, so in-clan; neither had any hesitation in embracing Steve, even before going inside. And Tarlac returned the gesture just as eagerly, able to use his full strength as they dared not.

He took a deep breath as soon as he stepped inside the clanhome, making no effort to hold back a glad smile. "G.o.ds, is it good to be home! I swear, even the air smells better here!"

No one answered him immediately, for he was in Daria's arms then, surrounded by others waiting their turns at him with very little patience. "It always seems that way, ruhar," Daria finally said, handing him bodily to Channath.

That was how everyone welcomed him back, pa.s.sing him from one to another. It wasn't at all dignified; it was totally unsuitable treatment for any Imperial officer, much less a Ranger; word of it would have caused scandalized talk; and Tarlac reveled unashamed in every glorious second of his family's greeting.

It didn't end until he'd been seated in a small dining room with a thick dornya sandwich--he was amused at how well the word fit into Language--and a mug of hot chovas. He ate, savoring the taste and the matter-of-fact thoughtfulness that had provided the meal.

Conversation, as usual, surrounded but didn't include him while he was eating. When he was finished, though, questions bombarded him to bring out every detail of his first day's wilderness experience as if for a skilled debriefing team.

Two hours later, Hovan called a halt. "Enough! He still has half a mug of chovas we have given him no chance to drink even cold, and he is becoming hoa.r.s.e."

He paused, looking around with an expression Tarlac had never seen on his face, almost a defiant challenge. "And you have given him no chance to tell you what must be told. He was granted Kranath's Vision last night, and has made his Decision about the information it showed him. Only one part remains in his Ordeal."

His words brought a moment's silence, then a babble of astonishment and doubt that sounded more like a human kindergarten than a group of adult Traiti.

Doubt? Of a Cor'naya's word? Tarlac shook his head, not ready to believe that. Was it the speed of his Ordeal, then, which surprised him too? Or was it that a human had been given Kranath's Vision? No matter which it was, he didn't like anyone doubting Hovan.

He stood and raised his arms in the stance that called for attention, and while he couldn't use the extended claws that made this stance demand it, he didn't have to. His Vision had changed things. These people were his family, yes--but they were also citizens of the Empire, and he was a Ranger; he used his authority without having to think about it.

"Look, as far as I'm concerned, this whole thing is d.a.m.n near unbelievable. Maybe it's asking too much for you to believe I've had what Hovan calls Kranath's Vision, or that I've made an Ordeal's Decision so soon. But if you have to think someone's lying, don't think it of Hovan. He's only telling you what I told him."

Hovan turned to him, at last understanding some part of a Ranger's formidability. "Ruhar, you need not--"

"Yes, I do," Tarlac interrupted. "I'm still a Ranger, until the Emperor relieves me of duty. We've got our own standards, and they include taking responsibility for whatever we do--or say."

He returned his attention to his n'ruhar and waited.

After seconds that seemed to last forever, Yarra glanced around at her n'ruesten and said, "Es'ruesten, I do not doubt your honor, or Cor'naya Hovan's. None of us do. We believe you saw Kranath's Vision, and that you have made your Decision, which Hovan judges correct. What concerns us now is your endurance."

"Endurance?" Tarlac frowned, then understood with a sinking feeling.

"Oh. The Scarring. I won't have the recovery time Hovan planned for me, then." The Scarring, by tradition, took place early the second day after the last of the other Ordeal segments--which was almost never wilderness survival.

Having spent most of the last several years in the controlled environment of his ship, Tarlac was no longer used to any exposure to the elements. Even though his wilderness trek had been a fairly mild test, and he was in good shape for someone who'd spent eight days living off the land, he was not ready for the most physically demanding part of the Ordeal.

"No, ruesten, it will not be easy." Yarra's evident concern gave Tarlac the impression of a worried frown, an expression few Traiti could manage physically. "It never is, even when the candidate is rested and at his full strength, which you are not." She looked past Steve. "Speaker, do you know why his Ordeal is being compressed so?"

Darya looked thoughtful, then shook her head. "I do not know, Ka'ruchaya. I could try to guess."

"Guess, then."

"It could be that his Ordeal is scaled as much as possible to human tolerances, and humans handle change more readily than we do. Also, Steve himself has mentioned often enough that he has no desire to waste time or lives." She turned to the Ranger. "I do not ask you to speak of your Decision, since Hovan says you cannot yet do so in honor. But I may ask, as Speaker: does it require speed of you for another reason?"

Tarlac took time to think out his answer. "You might say it does, indirectly. I have to tell you all something I found out from the Vision, and what it means. It'll be easier for you to hear it from a Cor'naya, Hovan says. Humans would believe a Ranger, but you don't have that kind of trust in me yet."

"I cannot argue, ruesten," Yarra said calmly. "I do trust you, but truly not as I trust one who has earned Honor scars."

Tarlac traded glances with Hovan, remembering the precaution he'd taken against failure. It might work, it might not. He had to hold onto the First Speaker's promise from the Lords that his survival of the Ordeal would bring an honorable peace, and hope the death he still saw as inevitable wouldn't bring disaster.

Hovan felt certain of Steve's survival, but had made his promise because it was necessary to his ruhar's state of mind. Part of a sponsor's responsibility was easing any stress outside of the Ordeal itself, and Steve already carried two contradictory convictions: his need to survive, to complete his mission, and his certainty that he would not.

There was nothing Hovan could do about the man's certainty of death, but he could see to it that Steve was allowed to rest. "It is early, I know, Ka'ruchaya, and everyone is curious--"

"As curious as we are about any candidate's experiences," Yarra agreed.

"Still, I am sure further questions can wait until tomorrow."

Tarlac gave her a grateful smile. "Thanks, Ka'ruchaya. I am pretty tired, and I've been looking forward to a sleeping mat. I could use a long, hot shower, too."

The shower helped considerably, relaxing his muscles and allowing emotional tension to ease in the sheer luxury of being really clean.

And his n'ruhar's presence allowed other tension to ease; he was asleep seconds after he covered himself with his light blanket.

Sleep was dreamless, his unaware mind and body absorbing the clan's support, and when he woke he felt as refreshed as though he'd slept for a week. It was still early, the wake-light not yet on, and from the others' breathing, it appeared he was the only one who'd waked without it. He was content to bask in their warmth and unwilling to disturb their rest until, all too soon, the light did come on and it was time to rise, time to go through the morning routine.

When he'd showered again--it was still a pleasure--Tarlac went with Hovan to first-meal, trying not to think too much about the future.

He'd eat dornya meat scrambled into eggs again tomorrow, but afterwards his destination would be the gathering hall for his Scarring, not the Ka'ruchaya's office for news intercepts.

This morning, though, he could take refuge in normalcy, looking forward even to reading nine days' worth of reports--a prospect that as a rule held no appeal for him at all.

Accompanying Yarra and Hovan to her office, he found, not at all to his surprise, that it was spotless. Tarlac wondered again how she managed to run a clan without her office showing it; the only trace of paperwork was the stack of printouts on her desk, and they were his.

He glanced at her for permission, which she granted with a nod, and he picked up the stack and took it to his usual chair.

Stretching out his legs, Tarlac began reading. The first six reports were routine, if not pleasant, combat and casualty reports that held no surprises. It was the seventh day's leadoff item, inevitable though he'd known it to be, that gave him a feeling of sick shock. Imperial forces had clearly reached the Traiti core worlds, because for the first time the report mentioned dead females and children.

His new people had run out of places to evacuate to. Except to say that some females had not fought, and that they and the very youngest children were being held aboard the flagship of the Third Fleet--Ranger Jasmine w.a.n.g's Emperor Yasunon--the report didn't go into detail. It didn't have to. Kranath's memories supplied Tarlac with more than enough gruesome detail of what happened when a clan was fighting its last.

The Yasunon was currently en route to Terra, and Tarlac knew why. He'd have done the same thing himself--get such valuable prisoners to the safest and most secure spot in the Empire, namely to the Palace complex in Antarctica, guarded by defense satellites and the elite Palace Guard of Imperial Marines. From what Daria had said, they would be all right . . . at least until the younglings no longer needed care from the adult females, when those would feel free to die, to find that release from the dishonor of captivity.

The next day's report had bad news for Tarlac personally, and for the Imperial he still was. He read the brief paragraph several times, practically memorizing it. He'd known Jim by reputation since he'd been old enough to watch the news, and personally for fifteen years.

This hurt.

"Ranger James Medart is reported in critical condition today aboard the hospital ship Compa.s.sion, after being attacked by a wounded Traiti he was attempting to aid. Ranger Medart is currently on full life support, and Chief Medical Officer Kirov's prognosis is guarded."

"Oh, h.e.l.l, Jim!" Tarlac exploded at last, angrily. "You knew better than that! The Empire can't afford to lose both of us!"

Hovan and Yarra had been talking quietly while he read; they looked up, startled, at his outburst. He returned their looks, then went through the motions of examining the rest of the printout.

His pretended absorption in a doc.u.ment that their own news showed held only the one item of interest couldn't mislead his Clan Mother and his sponsor.