Medart could feel her puzzlement changing to amusement, echoed it with some of his own when she sent, *And Thark believes humans are unTalented! Undeveloped and untrained, most certainly, but hardly unTalented. You have not bred for it, even as indirectly as we have, so the percentage of Talented humans is probably much lower than it is for Irschchans, but—*
*—we're hardly the total incompetents he thinks we are,* Medart finished.
"True. However, he does not know that and would not be convinced merely by being told, even if we knew his location and were able to communicate with him; his beliefs, once established, require overwhelming proof to be changed." Her ears twitched. "I have thought about contacting him telepathically, but even if he were to accept my mind-touch, which I am certain he would not, he no longer trusts me enough to believe my unsupported word."
"I'm afraid you're right," Medart agreed. "There's not going to be any easy way to end this Crusade of his. I'm just hoping the information you've already given us, and the help you're still going to give, will let us stop it without too much bloodshed."
"I hope so, as well," Corina said, her tone as serious as his. "Irschchan culture was quite chaotic and warlike at one time, but the Order was a civilizing influence, and the idea of unnecessary bloodshed has become quite unpleasant."
"Civilizing influence? I suppose so," Medart said with less than total agreement. "It did cut down on warfare, which is a major benefit—but I still say it caused stagnation, too. Your progress slowed from faster than ours to almost nothing after the Order took over, in the name of stability. Even slower than the Traiti, and for them gradual progress is the norm. It took you fifteen hundred years to go from a crude aircraft to just a system-capable spacecraft—it took Terra less than a hundred."
"That was fortunate for you," Corina said with a touch of pique. "Otherwise Terra would be an Irschchan subject world rather than the center of a growing Empire." Then her tone grew softer. "But I was raised an Imperial citizen, and I am glad of it. If the Academy accepts me, I will be able to travel, always finding out new things… meeting people of all races and species…"
Her voice trailed off, and Medart was struck by the sudden enthusiasm and warmth replacing her normal controlled formality. No, he mused, she'd never be happy in a society as static as Irschcha's, even as a member of its ruling elite.
She was quiet now, gazing wide-eyed into nowhere, and Medart decided to try his new ability. He sent a faint, wordlessly-questing thought at her, and was rewarded with a mental image she had of herself. She was clad in Imperial Navy service blue with an ensign's stripe, standing on the bridge of a ship. The vessel appeared to be much smaller than the Chang, and it was highly imaginative—didn't correspond to any actual class—but he got the feeling it might be a courier or perhaps a scout.
He withdrew, letting the picture fade from his mind. So that was her dream. She could achieve it easily with her ability, of course, and more… yet what a waste it would be. Anything short of the Rangers would be a waste as far as she was concerned, but he knew he couldn't force her into that decision. There were compensations, sure, but it was still a tough job, one that had to be taken on willingly. He could and would use all his powers of persuasion; he could not and would not use any form of coercion.