It was an effective tactic, one which had cost the Empire far too many lives and ships. The Empire didn't know it also cost Traiti lives. Imperial experts believed the little harassment craft were computer-controlled, because of their precise maneuvering and persistent attacks. It didn't really matter; the results were all that counted. Unless, of course, the Ranger added grimly to himself, you happened to be one of the pilots.
Tarlac also found out how the fighters maintained their individual combat proficency at maximum. There was a constant series of one-on-one challenge matches that were as much entertainment as training for the crew. Every fighter on active duty, from Fleet-Captain Arjen to the lowest-ranking commando, was expected to take part, and did so with considerable enthusiasm and usually-friendly rivalry. Standings were hotly contested, and were seldom related to the participant's rank or clan status—though Hovan was rated third in the Fleet.
The matches awed Tarlac, despite what he knew of Traiti endurance and strength. They might be fought with shortswords, or knives, or teeth and claws, at the match judge's option, but rules were minimal and it was perfectly acceptable for a fighter who lost a weapon to continue the match unarmed, no holds barred, until a clear winner emerged. That seldom happened without one or both contestants being wounded, though the judge would stop a match before anyone was maimed or killed.
While he was a very interested spectator, Tarlac didn't participate in either the betting or the matches, which meant that few of the Traiti considered him a real fighter. He was regarded, he thought, as they would regard a youngling who called himself a fighter to impress his elders: with amused tolerance.
And that, Tarlac admitted to Hovan later, was very probably why he accepted when, three days out of Homeworld, a Fire Control operator named Valkan challenged him. It was the only reason he could think of for his impulsive acceptance, that he resented being treated like a child. He certainly hadn't done it because he thought he would be able to defeat his massive opponent.
By the time the match in progress was over, word of the challenge and acceptance had spread throughout the ship. The grapevine, Tarlac reflected, must be the universe's most effective communications net for Traiti as well as humans. Almost all the off-duty crew gathered in the exercise hall to watch the uneven contest. Most were silent, though a few called encouragement to one combatant or the other, and there was the usual murmur of bets being placed as Tarlac and Valkan removed their shirts and weapons belts.
Tarlac accepted the dagger Hovan offered, getting the feel of it while his sponsor and Valkan spoke to the match judge. There was no question in his mind that what he held was intended as a weapon. Its slim double-edged blade was a quarter meter long, and the hilt, despite being a bit large for his hand, settled easily into the diagonal grip that allowed maximum effectiveness. All in all, the well-balanced blade had a deadly, efficient beauty.
When the brief discussion with the judge was over, Hovan gave Tarlac his ruling. "He as I hoped decided, Steve. This will a knife fight be, since that more skill than strength requires. And for your safety, the judge has two conditions made. If you disarmed are, or if Valkan a good grip on you gets, he an automatic win earns. Otherwise you will both tournament points score, and the first to one hundred reach, wins."
The Ranger nodded. "That sounds reasonable. I'm ready." He'd noticed Hovan's failure to mention any automatic win for him, and grinned briefly at the omission. He might not be likely to win, but he was determined to give it a good try. He faced Valkan and dropped into a knife-fighter's crouch as Hovan stepped back into the audience and the match judge took his place, giving the signal to begin.
Human and Traiti circled cautiously, evaluating each other. Hovan watched, hoping the judge's precautions would be adequate, though he didn't suspect Valkan of any true hostility toward Steve—not after seeing the K'horan fighter's reaction when Steve accepted challenge. Valkan had been disconcerted, had seemed to want to call off a joke that had backfired, but he couldn't do so without loss of honor. Hovan did have some sympathy for him; he could imagine very clearly how he would be feeling in Valkan's place. He'd want to win, but without doing the human any real harm; it wouldn't be right to send anyone into the Ordeal injured. And he'd be having qualms about fighting the man at all. Steve was an adult fighter, a legal opponent—but Valkan would have to feel as if he were facing an underdeveloped youngling.