"Yes, sir." Dr. Jason began ticking off objections on his fingers. "We've had marriages, so we've had pregnancies; one's near term, and transition might put her into premature labor. Then there are a couple of new ones, wounded, still on life support, and one the Sharks tortured for information. There are maybe half a dozen others with minor injuries or illness, nothing serious."
He shook his head. "Once the Sharks figure they've gotten all they can from someone, we get medical care the equal of anything the Empire could provide—especially the women." His admiration, however grudging, was obvious. "They're as good at trauma as I've ever seen, and a lot better at gynecology and obstetrics. My wife says she wants a Traiti doctor if she ever gets pregnant. Damned if I know why they're so good."
Tarlac seized that chance to find out how an ordinary Imperial citizen would react to the Traiti sexual imbalance. "I guess you've never seen a Traiti clan instead of their military, have you? Until now?"
"Sir?" Jason looked puzzled, then shook his head. "No, sir, I haven't. Why?"
"How many women would you say Ch'kara has? It's typical."
"I didn't see many, sir, maybe a quarter of the ones here. Guess not even Shark women like seeing someone get hurt."
"He was the Ordeal taking," Yarra said in English. "All who could here be, him to honor, were. You the right percentage saw."
Dr. Jason understood the implications at once. "Jesus H. Christ! They've got to be good with women, then—and childcare, too. But what about my patients?"
"Only four who aren't fit to travel," Tarlac said thoughtfully. "No real problem, then; I can give them support, though it won't be obvious. Take them along, in the Hermnaen's sickbay."
"If you can do that, sir, why can't you heal them?"