Fearful Symmetry Part 11

Tarlac didn't answer. They were at the dining room by then, and food, not conversation, was in order.

Not long after their meal, the two were being escorted through the halls of the single building atop a low hill called G.o.dhome, located in the center of the Traiti capital. Tarlac, not wanting his skepticism to be too obvious, had cautiously asked why the G.o.ds needed a material home.

They didn't now, Hovan had told him, and they hadn't since the Supreme Lord of the Circle, Kranath of St'nar, became the first of the new G.o.ds. The old G.o.ds, he explained, the ones the Traiti called "those who went before," had left G.o.dhome as . . . something. n.o.body except the Speakers had any real idea about its purpose, and they were saying nothing until the twelfth Lord completed the Circle. At any rate, it had seemed appropriate to join the centers of spiritual and temporal power.

Their escort ushered them into the large open double office shared by the Supreme and the First Speaker; both rulers were waiting for them.

They greeted Hovan first, his due as a Cor'naya, and Tarlac used that brief time to study them. The Supreme, like all male Traiti leaders, had Honor scars, but didn't appear distinctive otherwise; he seemed to be middle-aged. The First Speaker, on the other hand, looked young--was certainly no older than Hovan, to outward appearance. But she radiated an aura that awed Tarlac, of immense and serene wisdom that seemed tremendously old, or perhaps ageless.

When the two turned their attention to him, Tarlac didn't respond to their greetings in the Traiti fas.h.i.+on Hovan had taught him. Instead he saluted and introduced himself, as he had when he'd met the Emperor for the first time. "Ranger Esteban Tarlac, of the Terran Empire. It's an honor to meet you."

Hovan translated that, and then the Supreme's reply. "I sorry am, that my invitation more a compulsion was."

"From what Hovan's told me about the way the war's going for you, you didn't have any more choice putting it that way than I did accepting.

I just hope it does some good, for both sides. May I contact Emperor Davis, to tell him what I'm doing?"

He knew from the Supreme's tone, even before Hovan translated the words, that the answer was negative. "Fleet-Captain Arjen said, when I him interviewed, that your s.h.i.+p-Captain would to the Emperor report that you the Ordeal taking are. That all that necessary is." Then he smiled slightly and added, "But I no reason see, you cannot transcripts of intercepted Imperial newscasts receive. I will orders give, that the daily summary to you delivered be."

"Thank you." That was actually more than Tarlac had expected; he'd only asked because it couldn't hurt to try.

"Ranger Esteban Tarlac," the First Speaker said, her English p.r.o.nunciation careful.

Tarlac turned to her. "Yes, my Lady?"

She went on in Language, with Hovan translating. "Your Ordeal will to human tolerances scaled be. As Fleet-Captain Arjen you told, we ask not certain death, and the Scarring at least would surely fatal be if we did not such allowance make. The Lords stern are, but fair, and you a good sponsor have. There danger is--it must there be--yet no more for you than for any other."

"That's good to hear." It didn't alter his certainty, but it did make Tarlac feel good to know the Traiti leaders were taking such care. "I was wondering, when the Fleet-Captain told me about it. Have you asked any other humans to try the Ordeal?"

"We have no others asked," the Supreme replied through Hovan. "Another has it tried, however. You the second human ruhar are; the first his own mind under questioning destroyed, and was by his interrogator's clan--N'chark--accepted, as clan-born. He the Ordeal tried and failed, without dishonor."

"Will you his name--" Tarlac broke off, shaking his head. "Did it again, Hovan. Sorry. Just ask him the man's name, will you?"

"All that know, ruhar. Horst Marguerre, once a major in the Imperial Marines. One of those he commanded still a prisoner is."

"I've heard of him." So Marguerre'd had the A-I conditioning, had he?

Well, that wasn't too surprising; he'd been in Special Forces, most of whom did have it, and he'd been reported missing and presumed dead early in the war. "How did he do?"

"No worse than many." Hovan translated that part of the Supreme's reply, hesitated and spoke to his ruler, then went on to Steve. "He the part failed that I may not to you describe, ruhar. I can only say, he no harm suffered, and seems to be in N'chark happy."

That was better than anyone who used A-I conditioning had been told to expect; Tarlac felt some satisfaction for him. "If he ever gets back to Terra, he can have his memories reimprinted, if he wants; all he'll lose is whatever happened between his last mindscan and the time he used the conditioning." He returned to present duties. "I'd like to see the prisoners, if I may."

After a brief discussion with both rulers, Hovan turned back to Steve.

"The Supreme your reason asks."

Tarlac shrugged. "Partly curiosity, I admit, but I'm also the senior Imperial officer here, which makes me responsible for their welfare."

"I will have you to them taken," the Supreme agreed, "since it your duty is, but there no real need is. They well treated are, and as much freedom as possible have. Those who it wish, have even been private quarters given."

The Supreme's expression as he made that last statement would have convinced Tarlac, even if he hadn't already learned that a Cor'naya's word was as binding as a Sandeman warrior's. Traiti didn't like privacy, and tolerated it only when necessary. Rather like him with newsies, he thought with amus.e.m.e.nt. "If you say so, I don't see any need to check. I'll take your word."

When Hovan translated, the Supreme smiled. "You do me honor."

Tarlac understood that phrase without translation, and bowed slightly.

"May I ask a favor, Supreme?"

"Ask."

"Hovan told me you have record tapes of the first encounter between our scout and your guards.h.i.+p. May I see them?"

It wasn't the Supreme who answered. "You may them see," the First Speaker told him through Hovan, "though for now they would almost nothing to you mean. It would best be if you a little time wait, until you Language know."

"A little time?" Tarlac wasn't sure whether to smile or frown, and did neither. "All right, but at the rate I'm going, it'll be six months before I'll be able to understand them."

The First Speaker's reply was gentle. "Do not on that wager. You might yourself surprise."

There didn't seem any good way to answer that, so Tarlac simply nodded.

"Is there anything else?"

"Not of business," she replied, "though you welcome are here to stay, if you wish to with us talk."

"I'd like that very much," Tarlac said, "except that my sponsor tells me I have a lot to learn, and any time I waste costs lives on both sides. So if you'll excuse me, I'd rather get to work."

"We all wish lives to save, Ranger, if it can with honor done be. Go, then, with your sponsor."

At the Ch'kara clanhome, a youngling met them and took them to one of the smaller living rooms, with the information that Ka'ruchaya Yarra had set it aside for them so ruchaya Steve could study undisturbed.

Only it didn't quite work out that way. Tarlac did learn a considerable amount that afternoon, but it was as much about his clanmates as it was about how to survive in Homeworld's wilderness. It seemed that everyone in Ch'kara who knew anything at all about the outdoors was anxious to pa.s.s the knowledge along to Steve. Tarlac suspected they were motivated as much by curiosity about him as by anything else. If so, he didn't mind; he found himself savoring his n'ruhar's presence and their frequent touches, and the "team teaching"

seemed to be very effective.

What he learned about Homeworld's vegetation and wildlife fascinated him--especially, under the circ.u.mstances, the practical details. He found out which plant parts were edible and which to avoid, and that he could eat practically everything that moved. Unfortunately, quite a few of the moving things would consider him equally edible. Without a Traiti's natural armor, he'd have to depend on luck and brains to avoid that fate.

He couldn't help wis.h.i.+ng he could turn a s.h.i.+pload of biologists loose on this planet. Irschcha and Ondrian were the homeworlds of the other two intelligent Imperial races, yet a Terran without specialized medical preparation beforehand would die within a few days, trying to survive in either's wilderness. It wasn't so much nutritional deficiencies as protein incompatibility and allergic reactions. With the exception of the Traiti wine, that didn't apply on Homeworld, as two weeks' experience proved, and Tarlac was extremely curious about the reason. Well, if he ever got back to the Empire, he'd recommend that such a study be made.

For now, though, there was nothing he could do, and his first full day here had been busy; he was tired. He'd get a good night's sleep, then start fresh in the morning.

Chapter IV

When Tarlac woke, though, it wasn't morning and he wasn't on his sleeping mat. It felt like the middle of the night, and he was standing as he had stood once before at the altar in the clanhome's gathering hall, with his palms laid flat on the bare lower platform.

He didn't know why or how he came to be here looking up at the images of those who formed the Circle of Lords, but it seemed right to him that he stood so, at peace as his hands rested on the alien altar.

Or was it alien? He didn't want it to be, and it certainly didn't seem alien. He knew, now, what he had only felt during the drive to the clanhome. He belonged here, to the Traiti, as surely as he belonged to the Empire, and he had to bring the two together. It was a need he didn't question, any more than he questioned the approval he sensed from somewhere. Stepping back from the altar, he bowed formally.

Conscious of the chilly night air on his bare skin, he descended the steps, intending to return to the sleeproom he shared with Hovan and several other fighters.

There was someone at the far end of the gathering hall, approaching him. He recognized the green-robed figure as the Speaker, Daria, and wondered briefly if being here in his condition was considered disrespectful, or worse.