And why wait to find out, or anyway to learn whether he could find out? Hovan was supposed to be his teacher in such matters. As they passed pictures and corridor intersections and doors labeled in the angular Traiti script, Tarlac spoke. "The Fleet-Captain says I'll have to be a member of one of your clans to take the Ordeal. Can you tell me why?"
"Because parts of the Ordeal in-clan matters are, not with out-clan or clanless discussed. I can no more of that say."
"Okay. I suppose I'll find out when the time comes." That seemed to describe a lot of today's experiences, Tarlac thought, then he decided not to worry about it. It was easier to cope with situations as they arose, in a case like this.
They arrived at a meal hall, and the smell was enough to make Tarlac hungry. It operated cafeteria-style; Tarlac, unfamiliar with any of the food, copied Hovan's choices, and ended up with more than he could possibly eat. The portions, from salad to stew and a beverage that looked like milk, were sized to fuel a body mass more than three times his. Still, the food was good, if unfamiliar, and he surprised himself by finishing almost half.
He leaned back with a sigh of repletion, returning Hovan's quick smile as the other continued eating. There was little conversation to hear over the sound of eating utensils, knives and short-tined spoons that doubled as forks. Clearly, eating was serious business for these people. At least he didn't have to worry about the food; bio-studies had shown that Traiti and humans had the same basic nutritional requirements and limitations. No Traiti food should poison him.
Finally Hovan pushed back his tray, his meal finished. "Ranger Esteban Tarlac. We will much together be; object you if we not formal are? Out-clan it not usual is, names to use instead of titles, but I think it would fitting be."
Tarlac nodded; under the circumstances, it did seem appropriate. "I'm called Steve, then, Hovan. That's the short form of my given name."
"Steve. A name that much of strength bears, from the sound." Steve of Clan Ch'kara. Yes, Hovan thought, it did sound fitting, and it was another good sign that the man allowed him that liberty. There was no denying a Ranger's status among humans. It might take the Ordeal to find out whether an individual Ranger was worthy of honor from the Traiti, but prisoners had made it more than clear that Rangers were direct representatives of the Terran Sovereign. They went anywhere they were needed, to tackle crises nobody else was capable of handling. Sometimes, it was said, the mere threat of a Ranger's intervention made actual intervention unnecessary. And it was they, when the need arose, who selected the Sovereigns—so far, always another Ranger. There was more, stories that made Rangers seem like Lords. Hovan didn't believe those, for Steve had used a spacesuit to transfer to the Hermnaen; he hadn't breathed vacuum. But even so, to name-call such a one must be as great a privilege as the task Yarra had given him. "Do many you so call?"
"Hmm? Oh. No, not many." Tarlac seldom thought about it, and was surprised at the brevity of the list. "The captain of my cruiser, the Emperor, other Rangers, my mother … that's about it." He frowned briefly. "It'd be nice to have more, but the job doesn't allow it. A Ranger's as much a symbol as a person. It's mostly a damn good life … but sometimes it gets lonely. I think I'm almost looking forward to being adopted, odd as that may seem at my age." Then he shrugged. "Sorry, Hovan. I didn't mean to go crying on your shoulder. Don't know why I did."
Hovan rose, motioning Steve to follow. He had never heard of "crying on your shoulder," but could guess from context what the man meant, and thought it best not to go into something so personal, at least while Steve was out-clan. "Come. I will you our sleep-room show, while it still early is."