"Come here, please."
Hovan approached the Emperor and bowed. "Sire?"
Speaking too quietly for the newsies' mikes to pick up his words, Davis said, "Steve asked me to give you a message after he left. I'll have you brought to my working office when this Audience is over, and give it to you there." He raised his voice to its previous level. "Cor'naya Hovan, since Ranger Tarlac's mother is not present, you are his closest available kin. We must ask if you wish to make funeral arrangements yourself, or if you prefer Us to make them."
"The Lords have already accepted him, Sire. He should have the human ceremony, whatever his rank deserves, and I do not know that."
"Very well, We will see to it. If you wish to accompany him, the medics are ready to take him to the morgue. And, Lieutenant—you have Our thanks for the way you captured that assassin. Please inform the Supreme and First Speaker that they will be taken to guest apartments until you are free to translate for Us."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
It was almost a tenthday later—two hours, Hovan reminded himself, in human terms—when a young Marine in Palace Guard dress blues entered the morgue where Hovan was watching technicians prepare Steve's body. Their impersonality was unpleasant to him, and it was a relief to turn his attention to the NCO. Hoping he was reading the woman's insignia correctly, Hovan said, "Yes, Sergeant?"
"The Emperor would like to see you, sir. I'm to escort you to his office."
Hovan nodded, careful not to smile at the woman's expression. It would only make her obvious apprehension worse. But, once they were out of the morgue and seated in one of the small null-grav cars that served as interior transport, he did say, "I will not bite you, you know."
"I…" The Marine hesitated. "No, sir. My mind knows you won't, but my stomach's a lot less certain. And, sir—I've never even heard of a junior officer being granted a private audience!"