Tarlac glanced up at the apparently impassive commando beside him, then looked back at Arjen. He could hardly dislike the Team-Leader he'd barely met. "I don't object. I'd be honored." It wouldn't hurt to be polite, especially since it was beginning to look as if he were actually what Arjen had called him, a guest. For no reason he could name, he inclined his head and touched fingertips to his brow.
Hovan suppressed a gasp of astonishment and heard some around the bridge that weren't suppressed. How could a Terran know to accept hospitality in the proper way? Unless the Lords… No, such a thing was far too unimportant for the Lords to concern themselves with. Arjen's hands covered the Ranger's briefly in response to the gesture, and the moment was over.
It had to be a fortunate coincidence, not important but a demonstration of the Terran's willingness to take his part in Traiti life. Hovan thought about the adoption, and quickly decided that he shouldn't offer it so soon. Two things, significant as they might be, weren't enough to prove this human worthy of a clan as old and honored as Ch'kara. He needed more, especially if the Ranger was to join as a candidate for the Ordeal of Honor. Hovan had been given a solemn responsibility for the clan's choice; he had to be certain he was right when he made his decision. And he had the time for that; Homeworld was more than a tenday away.
"If you will then me excuse," Arjen said formally, "I still much to do have. I the freedom of the ship you give."
"Thank you." There was no more doubt in Tarlac's mind that he was a guest. He still had his gun and was, it seemed, to be allowed to roam freely. He turned to his escort. "I'm at your disposal, Team-Leader. What do we do now?"
"It past my normal duty-time is, and I hungry am," was the reply. "I food need, and sleep. If you something else prefer, one of my men some English speaks; he can as temporary escort for you act."
Tarlac's internal clock said it was mid-afternoon, but this was as good a time as any to start changing his diurnal rhythms. "That's not necessary, Team-Leader."
"Then come," Hovan said, and Traiti and human left the bridge.
Hovan's long strides didn't give Tarlac much time to study art on the way to the dining area, but he saw more than he had earlier, since he was no longer surrounded by bodies. The new data didn't change his initial impression, but he had already started to adapt to the Madonna pictures that'd disturbed him. That was no real surprise; spacers in general were more adaptable than ground-pounders—they had to be—and Rangers excelled at that, as at almost everything. Given the need and a little time, he could adapt to any humanly-conceivable circumstances . . . though of course some things took longer than others.
So far, Tarlac was finding nothing too difficult in the Traiti pattern. He suspected that he might, when he got deeper into their culture. This business of adoption, for instance—why should he have to join a clan to take their Ordeal?