He couldn't die, not if he was to bring peace. He had to live, to survive an Ordeal that sometimes killed beings as tenacious of life as the sharks they resembled. It helped, knowing that they wanted him to succeed—and why shouldn't they? It was their race's survival that was at stake, not humanity's.
If it was possible, he promised himself, he'd do it. He had a brief vision of himself at a Grand Audience afterward, approaching the Emperor accompanied by several shadowy Traiti. He was in full formal uniform, his dress cloak brushing the carpet—but his shirt was open, neatly arranged to show the four scars down his chest, and he let himself smile at the image. Wouldn't the newsies and protocol perfectionists be upset!
But that was enough of that; he really should try to rest. It had been a rough day, a strain on even a Ranger's ability to adapt. Stretched out in the dark, surrounded by the soft rhythms of breathing and the somehow reassuring smell of clean bodies, Tarlac felt his tension ease. Only then did he realize just how much the strain had fatigued him, and it wasn't long before his own breathing joined the comfortable pattern of his sleeping companions'.
Chapter II
Hovan touched the light control, then rolled over on his mat and looked at the human in the growing wake-light. Steve was still asleep, curled on his side, half in and half out of the blanket, and he looked incredibly vulnerable. There were scars on the man's back, Hovan noted; studying them, he decided they had been deliberately inflicted, probably by some sort of lash. Perhaps that meant the Ranger was tougher than he looked, and had a better chance in the Ordeal than was generally believed. Hovan hoped so, since he found himself beginning to like the frail-seeming human who would soon be his ruhar.
He was glad, now, that he had never voiced his private doubts about Ka'ruchaya Yarra's decision to offer adoption to an alien and enemy. He did wonder again why she had thought a human would be suitable, but she had left him no choice if he found the man worthy; to disobey her was unthinkable.
Apparently either his scrutiny or the wake-light had become too intense. Steve was beginning to stir, his eyes opening as he rolled over.
It was the light that had awakened Tarlac, to see Hovan smiling at him. He smiled back. Thin as his mat was, it was as comfortable as the bed in his apartment at the Imperial Palace in Antarctica; he'd slept well. "Morning, Hovan."
The Traiti was puzzled. "Yes, for this part of the crew."