His breath rasping audibly, Tarlac watched legs and feet approach.

When they were about a meter away, he surged into a forward lunge under the Traiti's blade, bringing his own weapon flashing up to rest with the tip just under Valkan's ribs, angled to stab unopposed into his heart.

The exercise hall was silent, the unexpected move catching even the match judge by surprise; it was a few immobile seconds before he could declare Tarlac the winner.

Breathing easily, since he no longer needed that deception, Tarlac listened to a growing murmur he wasn't quite sure was approval. He was rea.s.sured by Hovan's smile as he returned the dagger to his sponsor, then resumed his shirt and belt. He turned apprehensively to Valkan.

How would this Traiti react? If he was one of those who opposed the adoption . . . He almost flinched when a clawed hand touched his shoulder, and the other clasped his right wrist. But there was no hostility in the soft, lilting voice that addressed him, and Valkan was smiling.

"He says that you more dangerous are than you seem," Hovan translated.

"And he says that if you not Ch'kara were already, his Ka'ruchaya might have wished, you into K'horan invite."

Hovan was impressed himself. He had expected Steve to lose, if only after giving a creditable account of himself. That he had managed a win at all was barely believable; that it had happened so decisively would make this match well-remembered. And Hovan was less worried about Steve's chances in the Ordeal. Steve must truly be guided by the Lords.

Tarlac returned Valkan's wrist-clasp and replied in one of the Language phrases he'd learned. "You do me honor," he said, and Valkan had: adoptions were unusual, perhaps five to eight in a year for an average-sized clan like the fifteen-thousand-member one he now belonged to.

"But tell them all," Tarlac went on to Hovan in English, "I don't think I'd care to try it again. It's a stunt that worked once. I'm sure it'd never work a second time, and I'm not crazy enough to try it when they know what to expect."

That, when Hovan translated, drew a roar of approval. These were fighters, stark realists all, who could understand and appreciate an honest evaluation of chances. Tarlac's statement, after he'd just finished a knife match unscathed and victorious, was taken as just such an evaluation.

Those who'd bet on him had very good reason to be appreciative; they'd gotten excellent odds, and some would gain clan status for their daring in backing such an underdog. The losers were even more impressed by the human's victory. Even those spectators who still thought most humans incapable of honor were making an exception for Steve Tarlac.

In a sense, after all, he couldn't really be called human any more.

He'd been adopted by Clan Ch'kara and had proven himself in the matches, which was evidence enough that he was Traiti in spirit, if not in body.

Once he understood it, Tarlac appreciated the sentiment, but he didn't share it. That evening, when he and Hovan were temporarily alone in the sleep-room, he admitted as much. "Hovan, I'm doing the best I can, but I'm not a Traiti. I'm human, and after that fight, I don't know if my best is going to be good enough."

Hovan studied his human ruhar for several minutes without saying anything. He had mingled blood with this man, and though the exchange had been more symbolic that substantial, he felt oddly close to him, closer than to any but the n'ka'ruhar he had shared young with.

Steve's sudden self-doubt disturbed him, given what he'd learned about the man. And an att.i.tude of expected defeat was nothing to take into a trial as strenuous and demanding as the Ordeal. But what could he say to help? There was no denying the danger Steve faced, and trying to minimize it would be doing the man a disservice.

There was little he could say, and less he could do, to raise the man's spirits. He would be lending Steve the same kind of emotional support he had received from his own Ordeal sponsor, whenever and wherever tradition allowed it. For now, that was terribly limited, yet he would do what he could. He moved to sit close to the human, not touching him in this out-clan place, and spoke softly. "Ruhar"--the intonation meant "brother/friend"--"there no dishonor in fear, or in failure of the Ordeal, is. And I certain am that you will not fail. You Ch'kara have, whatever in this happens."

Tarlac felt his tension ease momentarily at that a.s.surance, 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 succ.u.mbing to the awful vision of a dead Homeworld, of Imperial genocide. It made him want to retreat to childhood, to find solace in his sponsor's strength as he had once found it in his father's.

He couldn't. He couldn't share what he knew, that if he died in failure the Traiti race would not long survive him.

And he was certain, without reason, that he would die.

Chapter III

The Hermnaen was alone when it neared Homeworld's defense perimeter.

Arjen's fleet, under Acting Fleet-Captain Jannor, had returned to the combat zone, and the extra ships had been ordered back to their regular duties.

Tarlac and Hovan were seated at two of the control central supervisor consoles, watching the repeater screen. The Ranger never grew tired of watching planetary approaches, even on a screen instead of through a lander's windows. There was something awe-inspiring about watching a world grow from a featureless point to a globe boasting continents and seas--though cloud cover obscured most details on Terra-type worlds.

The Hermnaen descended slowly, gently, on null-grav, and the globe grew until it was beneath them, rather than ahead. Clouds like snow-softened mountains showed rifts, then gave way to clear skies as the flagship let down toward a city-sized s.p.a.ceport. The guide beam brought them to a precision landing near the central control building.

Leave for combat crews was automatic any time a warship made friendly planetfall, and Homeworld was the only place where that meant everyone could go to his own clanhome. That it was a branch home, in most cases, didn't matter; being in-clan was what counted. Ship-Captain Exvani, as anxious as anyone to rejoin his family, had called ahead so that every clan with a member aboard the Hermnaen could send transportation, and the ship emptied without delay.

Less than ten minutes after landing, Hovan and Tarlac and the other three members of Ch'kara who'd been at the adoption were being greeted by the driver of a large cream-and-green null-grav car. She was the first Traiti female that Tarlac, and as far as he knew, any human, had ever seen.

She was only slightly less ma.s.sive than the males, yet she was undeniably attractive by Traiti standards, as he knew from the art he'd studied, and she had an air of lithe grace. Tarlac, though he knew it was inappropriate, found she made him think of a Valkyrie. She was no fighter, couldn't possibly be if all he'd learned about the Traiti was correct, but she gave the impression of a warrior maiden.

Seated between the driver and Hovan, Tarlac had a sudden feeling of belonging here; despite his misgivings, he liked it. He'd already decided, since there was no way to ignore his apprehension, to refuse to let himself be distracted by his fear. He couldn't afford it.

While he still knew almost nothing about the Ordeal he'd agreed to take, he had no doubt that it would call on every resource he had.

In the meantime, he'd learned enough to know that his original idea about the status of females was not just mistaken but laughable. Yes, they were only a fourth of the Traiti population, cherished and protected from any possible harm, and even a discussion of endangering one unnecessarily bordered on obscenity. But they weren't considered, as he'd wrongly speculated, either inferior in any way, or as breeding stock or valuable property. Far from it. If anything, they had more status than any males except the n'Cor'naya, the Honored Ones who'd pa.s.sed the Ordeal. They were responsible for both religion and clan life, things which were far more important to the Traiti than humans had guessed.

The clans, not warfare, were the center of Traiti culture. And yet, even with females running those two vital areas, it wasn't a matriarchy. Males ran commerce and, obviously, the military; in other fields such as science or the arts, gender had no bearing. The combination made for a "government," if you felt generous about the definition, that couldn't possibly work for humans. Not even if it had been imposed by a G.o.d, as Hovan a.s.sured Tarlac it had. There were two rulers, the male Supreme who was exactly that in secular affairs, and the female First Speaker for the Circle of Lords, equally powerful in religious matters.

But those two acted only when something concerned the entire race.

Everything else was handled on a clan level, from education to deep-s.p.a.ce colonization. Despite Hovan's attempts to explain, Tarlac didn't quite understand how some of what the Traiti had accomplished could be done on such a seemingly casual basis, and he could only suppose they would find the human bureaucracy equally puzzling.

The two civilizations were most similar, ironically enough, in the structure of their military forces. Even that was largely on the surface; any military required a clear chain of command. Otherwise . . . the clans cooperated to produce both commercial ships and warcraft, and in crewing them, with the crew members supported by their individual clans. Then, under the Supreme's command, the war fleets defended the race.

Tarlac shrugged and turned his attention to his surroundings. The s.p.a.ceport, so much like its Imperial counterparts, was behind them and they were approaching the capital city. Hovan had described it, so Tarlac knew what to expect: large, relatively low buildings, none over three stories high, set apart from each other in almost parklike surroundings. In several of the larger buildings they pa.s.sed, females stood at the central doors; they were the clan's sub-Mothers, though rarely--when this was the clan's main home--it might be the Ka'ruchaya herself waiting to formally welcome her clan-children.

Tarlac enjoyed the drive and the scenery. It reminded him of a Terran college campus or an Irschchan town, though with a greater similarity to Terra since Homeworld's sky was blue, not green. The air smelled good, clean and alive after the flatness of recycled ship's air, and he could tell the Traiti liked it as much as he did.

They pa.s.sed a shopping area, where the buildings were more brightly colored and closer together, yet still not crowded, and the Terran got his first look at groups of Traiti civilians. Most were closed-shirt males who hadn't earned Honor scars, but he saw some females, one with an infant, and a few n'Cor'naya. All wore loose-fitting, brightly colored clothing, though there was no other uniformity of dress.

Styles varied by clan and by individual taste, from what most Imperials would consider barely decent to full-coverage robes.

They did have one other thing in common. Much to Tarlac's amazement, all seemed genuinely cheerful. He turned to his sponsor. "Don't they know how the war's going?"

"Of course." Hovan was surprised by the question. "Such things must in honor known be. Why? Do yours not know?"

"Sure they do," Tarlac replied. "But we're winning--we don't have any reason to be depressed."

"Sadness would no good do," Hovan said calmly. "What the Lords decree, is." He looked around. "This area familiar seems . . . we should the clanhome nearing be. I have only once to Homeworld been, though, so I cannot sure be."

His memory was accurate; less than a minute later, the car came to a halt in front of one of the branch clanhome buildings. It was of average size, perhaps a quarter-kilometer on a side--plenty of room for the five hundred or so who represented Ch'kara on Homeworld. It would be good, Hovan thought, simply to be back in-clan, back in the closeness and peace he valued so highly--and there was Ka'ruchaya Yarra's promise. He looked at Steve, pleased to see the man's expression was calm and interested.

Tarlac indicated the female standing motionless in front of the open door and asked quietly, "Ka'chaya Yvian?"

"Yes, of--" Hovan broke off as he glanced upward, inhaling with a hiss through surprise-thinned nostrils. "Yarra! She here came?"

Tarlac recalled one of the fine points of custom he'd learned, that the Clan Mother very rarely left the main clanhome, and then only if it was important to the clan's survival or honor. That Yarra was here, now, could only be because of him, to show she regarded her alien es'ruesten, her new clan-child, as fully one of Ch'kara.

It was something he hadn't expected; it was an honor, and it added to his determination to succeed in the Ordeal, to bring credit to his adopted clan. He climbed out of the car with the others and followed them up the steps to accept her formal welcome. The Ranger, ranking almost at the top in the Terran Empire, was the only one in the group without Honor scars, so he ranked lowest here. When the others bowed, holding out dagger hilts so the Ka'ruchaya could touch those and then her n'ruesten, Tarlac knelt as was proper for an unscarred male, drawing his blaster and extending its grip. He was pleased when she welcomed him as she had them, touching the blaster's grip and then his forehead.

Still kneeling, he looked up. "Ka'ruchaya, Hovan says you speak English, so I want you to know firsthand that I had to qualify my oath to the clan. I don't want to be accepted under the wrong a.s.sumptions.

I took my oath as a Ranger of the Empire first, and that obligation will always be first for me."

"Yes, I English speak," Yarra replied, "and I your reservation understand. I that expected, in one Hovan would worthy of adoption find. You must, of course, that first oath first honor." She smiled, and raised him to his feet. "I will to you later speak, ruesten. Now come. You n'ruhar have to meet, after you are to the Lords introduced."

Tarlac holstered his blaster, following his Clan Mother and clanmates into the building. The entranceway was about ten meters square, with halls to either side and double doors straight ahead leading to the clanhome's heart, the gathering hall. When the double doors slid open, Tarlac couldn't see much except Traiti. The hall was filled with them, leaving only one open lane down the center of the room. He knew what the hall looked like, from Hovan's descriptions: a hundred meters wide by a hundred and fifty deep, and unlike the rest of the clanhome, undecorated. Its only furnishing, except for special occasions, was the silvery two-tiered altar opposite the entrance. The clan's Speaker for the Circle of Lords, Daria, waited there to introduce Tarlac to the Traiti G.o.ds.

He smiled at that. He and Hovan had, inevitably, touched on religion in their discussions, and Hovan had found his agnosticism at first baffling, then amusing. It seemed the Traiti took their G.o.ds pretty much for granted, absolutely certain of their reality but expecting nothing from them other than acceptance at death. Hovan had finally given up on that debate with the extended-claw gesture that was roughly equivalent to a shrug, saying that Steve would learn.