"You made it, Cor'naya," he said quietly, with pride. "You succeeded, as I was sure you would."
Tarlac forced unwilling eyes open, looking up into the familiar gray face he'd learned to respect, then to love. "I really made it?" he asked in a whisper.
"You really made it," Hovan assured him. "Rest easy now. As soon as Channath and Dr. Jason stop the bleeding, they will give you something for your pain. And when you recover, what a party the clan will have!"
"Clan party…" Tarlac managed a faint smile, his thoughts starting to drift. "Tha'd be nice…"
"Later, Steve." Hovan smiled too, pushing sweat-damp hair away from the man's face. "Rest now, I said. It is over."
"Yeah … guess so. Worth it, though … worth it all. 'M tired … so tired… gotta sleep…" Tarlac's eyes closed and he sighed, going utterly limp.
"Steve?"
There was no answer; Hovan had known there wouldn't be. He had seen too many people die to hold false hopes, and only concern for his ruhar's honor kept him from voicing his outrage to the Lords, his brief but bitter anger at the injustice of their letting Steve complete the Ordeal only to die in his arms.
The human doctor had no such qualms. He turned on Hovan, furious. "Satisfied, you damn Shark? In a hospital I could maybe still save him—not here! No human could survive that kind of pain, system shock, bleeding—not without help! He's dead, and you killed him!"
"Steve wished to bring peace," Hovan interrupted, in English suddenly as fluent as his Language. He noticed it, briefly, but in his anger and sorrow it didn't seem to matter. "The Ordeal was his only chance, and he took that chance knowing this was possible—thinking it was inevitable. Do not dishonor his memory—instead, represent his Empire at his leavetaking."