"I don't know," Medart admitted. "All I can do is try my best and hope. I know you from my universe, remember, and I achieved it once, even though the circumstances were drastically different."
"Dell, of Raynor," Ryan said, his voice changing as another chief spoke. "Why did none of this universe's Terrans make such an effort?"
"You didn't give them a chance. They know you the way we knew the Traiti—as ferocious, bloodthirsty killers. It took the Traiti asking one of my colleagues to take their Ordeal of Honor for him—and later the rest of us—to learn about them as they really are. I know that about you from home, so naturally I'm willing to take the same sort of chance to give you and this Empire the opportunity to become friends."
"Gareth, of Levva," was the next introduction. "I believe your acceptance of such a risk, and your willingness to endure such painful training, have earned that opportunity; win your duel, and Clan Levva will send a delegation to investigate the desirability of acknowledging the citizenship you say is ours by right."
Medart let his relief show. "That's all I ask, Clan-chief." Sandemans thought a lot more alike than their standard-human cousins; if one was willing to make such a concession, most others would too. And the few that wouldn't immediately would probably change their minds as soon as they saw the benefits of Imperial citizenship. Of course, that still left him with the problem of winning the duel …
If he had to fight a duel, Medart thought, at least he had a good day for it. The weather at Vader clanhome was clear and sunny, the temperature a comfortable twenty degrees as he stood waiting for his opponent in the outdoor practice arena. And he was in uniform; Ryan had brought one from his courier ship—even had it tailored for his weight loss—in case he needed it as his ceremonials.
He'd taken the drugs that would bring him as close as possible for a standard human to the Sandeman battleprepped state. He was keyed up, unnaturally alert, sensitive to every movement around him, and eager to get on with the duel. It was mildly amusing to see that the Sandemans gave him the same cautious respect he'd give a battleprepped warrior; maybe the drugs brought him closer to that state than he'd thought.
It seemed like hours before he heard, then saw, the boxy transport null-grav craft bringing his opponent. That, in his edgy condition, was more of a relief than the threat he'd expected to feel. The transport landed outside the arena, too far away for him to recognize the clan-arms, and he briefly regretted not asking who he was going to be fighting. Not that the information would have been much help, he thought; he'd prepared as much as he could, whoever it was.
The group of warriors escorting his opponent entered the arena through the gate at the far end from where Medart stood with a group from Vader, and stopped. "Now," Medart heard Ryan say.