"One in four."
Oh. Dear. God.
The Imperial ship had been a threat to Traiti women and children. It had ignored a challenge, and the seeming invaders had shown a complete disregard for even their own females' safety. With that gender ratio, protection of females and young had to be the prime Traiti racial imperative. The crew of that Imperial scout might or might not have violated first-contact procedure—he'd find out when he saw the tape Hovan had mentioned—but it was certain they'd triggered an instinct-level reaction.
They had come to the sleeproom by the time the Ranger reached that point in his thoughts. The compartment was wider than it was deep, with lockers along the bulkheads to either side of the entry door. There were two other doors on the left, and the right wall held what looked like oversized square pigeon-holes—but it was the mural on the long wall opposite the entrance that captured Tarlac's attention.
It was a mountain scene, one that might have been of a remote spot on Terra except for details of the foreground forest. And it was beautiful. Tarlac found himself relaxing, and smiled.
"You our Homeworld like?"
"It's … like my home, the way it was when I was a boy. We had a house near a lake like that. It could only be reached by grav-hopper. We didn't have much company, but I didn't miss it; I had the lake, the woods, the animals…" For the first time since he'd left for the Academy, Tarlac felt a twinge of homesickness. He wondered why, briefly, before dismissing it. It had to be the mural; Linda had said that art could evoke emotion even between cultures.
"You alone grew up? No kin had?" Hovan sounded faintly shocked.
"My parents, of course, and family get-togethers every couple of years. We weren't really close; the family was too big for that. Uncle Martin and Aunt Gisele alone had ten kids." Tarlac shook his head, grinning. "What a mob!"
"Kids?"