Fearful Symmetry Part 18

"Why?"

The tongues twitched in amus.e.m.e.nt. "Our well-known curiosity. Humans fascinate me--and I have traveled with you before, Ranger Esteban Tarlac. Do you not recognize me?"

Tarlac looked more closely at his visitor, and nodded. "Longclaw, isn't it? You were reported dead, shortly after that trip. I'm glad it wasn't true. But why not show yourself before?"

"What you were doing was clear; to interfere would not be proper. I came out only to greet you and wish you well."

"I appreciate it. After last night, I can use a little normality. Uh, the Traiti know now that you're intelligent. I told them."

"Unfortunate." Longclaw gestured a laugh. "I have rather enjoyed frightening those who came here thinking me a wild animal or worse. I believe I have a reputation as a ghost derybach."

Tarlac chuckled. "Sorry I spoiled your fun. Maybe I'll see you again later, but right now I have to get moving."

"Go with your G.o.ds, Ranger." With that, Longclaw rose and was gone, a flash of white vanis.h.i.+ng into the trees.

Tarlac rose more slowly, buried his coals, and went through his morning routine. Longclaw's visit had brought him back fully to the present, and he was anxious to get back to the clanhome and finish the Ordeal.

About two hours' walk later the woods began thinning out, and the stream started veering west. That was a good sign, and Tarlac had to resist a temptation to run; walking would be faster than running himself to collapse and having to recover. He had a momentary sensation of disorientation: In Kranath's time, this had all been wooded, but when the capital had been established atop G.o.dhome, much of the surrounding area had been turned into parks and farmland.

G.o.dhome. His thoughts turned back to the psionic computer which had been beneath him for the last ten kilometers. A computer in the shape of a cube, d.a.m.n near forty klicks on a side. He could no longer comprehend it as he had been able to do in his Vision, but he could still appreciate it, marveling at both the computer and the beings who had created it.

Despite everything they'd done and all the powers they had, those who went before weren't G.o.ds in any spiritual sense. Like their successors, the Circle of Lords, they were something Tarlac found more understandable: beings who weren't supernatural, but who had achieved their full potential. That, as far as the Ranger was concerned, was several orders of magnitude more acceptable than some immaterial, spiritual essence that demanded wors.h.i.+p and obedience on pain of eternal torment.

Those who went before had demanded nothing, not even belief in their existence, and neither did the Lords. They accepted the reverence they were given, not because they wanted it, but because it was still necessary to those who gave it.

Kranath had thought of himself as a parent. Tarlac's experience led him to see the Lord more as a sort of super-powered Ranger. Parents, Rangers, Lords . . . ideally, all served the same function of guardian, using their various powers to help. Oh, sure, a Ranger could execute rebels and create n.o.bility, instead of spanking a kid or giving him a puppy, and the Lords operated on an even larger scale--but it was the same principle. And wasn't a kid with a puppy yet another example of that principle?

The realization of something so basic it had never occurred to him before, as he walked in the warmth of Homeworld's sun, seemed fitting to him. He'd been Kranath, he'd been G.o.dhome; now he was Steve Tarlac again. Only Steve Tarlac, he thought with a silent laugh, but he'd found at least part of the answer he needed to bring peace if he survived. He knew he'd been shown only as much of Kranath's story as he could understand and use--but he had the key, and that knowledge was enough to make this last bit of his hike a pleasant stroll, untroubled for the moment by the urgent need to end his two peoples' war. He would do it when the time was right.

Perhaps five kilometers out of the capital, Tarlac came to a road and turned onto it gladly. As on Terra or Irschcha, it was simply a lane cleared to a low ground cover, all that was necessary for null-grav or air-cus.h.i.+on vehicles, and it doubled as a pedestrian walkway. The traffic pa.s.sing three meters overhead provided occasional shade, and he got waves and smiles from some of the drivers and pa.s.sengers, which he returned even though he couldn't extend claws in emphasis as they did.

It wasn't long before one of Ch'kara's cream-and-green cars, also headed for town, dropped to hover at shoulder level beside him. The driver, whose name he couldn't remember, opened a window and stuck his head out. "Steve, ruhar!"

"Yeah, I made it!"

"I will call ahead. Cor'naya Hovan said to expect you."

Tarlac hadn't known the vehicles were equipped with comsets, but it wasn't too surprising. "Thanks, ruhar."

"My honor," the other replied, turning his attention to the control panel.

Less than half a kilometer later, a dozen more Ch'kara cars had come to escort him, holding at shoulder height like the first and moving at his walking speed. He hadn't expected that, and couldn't think why not.

Of course his family would come to meet him, to join him for his successful return home. He had to make it to the clanhome under his own power, but there was no reason he couldn't have company for the easy last stretch.

Hovan jumped from one of the cars ahead of him and waited for Tarlac to reach him. Tarlac stopped when he did, to let his sponsor inspect him.

Steve looked remarkably good, Hovan decided, for someone who had just spent most of a tenday in the wilderness. He'd lost no more than a kilo or two, and though there were some small red spots on his skin, he had no apparent injuries. Low rawhide boots protected his feet, and he carried two pouches and an efficient-looking, if crude, spear. "A pleasant walk, ruhar?"

"Not bad at all," Tarlac replied. "In fact, it was a lot easier than I expected, after everything you said." They were out-clan; Tarlac knew better that to indulge the impulse that seemed so natural now, to hug his sponsor. There would be time for that, and for other things, when they reached home. Impatient, he started walking again.

Hovan fell in beside him. "That seems only fair," he said, his tone amused. "You did have considerable difficulty with the first part of the Ordeal, the one which brings most candidates nothing but joy."

"I wouldn't go quite that far about this excursion," Tarlac said.

"Those bugs were murder."

"Bugs?" Hovan asked curiously.

"Insects," the Ranger said with emphasis, thinking that he'd have liked to be able to use claws on this subject. "Whatever you call those two-centimeter subst.i.tutes for mosquitoes. I think I'd almost rather have faced a derybach--they only come at you one at a time, and if one ate me for dinner I wouldn't be around to mind it afterward." He paused, a.s.sessing Hovan's reaction to the half-teasing complaint. Hovan was looking puzzled. "Those d.a.m.n bugs ate on me for six days straight!

And their bites itch worse than rapid-heal. You could've warned me, you know."

"Warn you of insect bites?" Hovan shook his head. "Insect bites are no danger. What warning should I have given?"

"Ummm. I guess none, really. You probably wouldn't even notice them, and I didn't have any repellent. But some Ter-- . . . uh, humans--can be killed by bug bites. Allergic reactions or diseases they carry, usually."

The Traiti was instantly serious. "Have you noticed any symptoms?"

Tarlac chuckled. "Just the itching. Nothing to worry about."

Hovan walked silently for a couple of minutes, more convinced than ever that Steve would be successful in the rest of the Ordeal. He wondered why his human ruhar had started to say "Terran" and switched in mid-word to "human." Steve spoke informally, but he was careful of his words; why was he making such a distinction now?

Tarlac had caught Hovan's look of surprise at the word change, and had a shrewd idea of his sponsor's thoughts. Well, he knew why he'd made the switch; what he didn't know was whether he should pa.s.s that knowledge along to the Traiti. What he'd learned in his Vision, and the fact that it had been in a Vision--since he now knew firsthand, so to speak, how rare any intervention was--made it clear that the Traiti hadn't told him of their Terran origin because none of them knew about it.

It wasn't absolutely necessary to tell them, though it would simplify things. The fact of their Terran origin would be sufficient for the Emperor, as it was for the Ranger; His Majesty could grant them by Imperial Edict the citizens.h.i.+p that was already theirs by right of birth, which would save them the shock of knowledge that had come close to paralyzing Kranath and himself both. What might it do to ordinary people, Traiti and human? Tarlac asked himself. Traiti reactions might easily be as serious as the prisoner psychosis. He just didn't know enough, even yet, about Traiti psychology, to be able to feel any certainty. And he was certain enough of human psychology to know that most wouldn't want to believe it. They might accept it, conditioned by centuries of trust in Rangers, but that wouldn't end the war in itself.

It could even make it worse.

Still . . . while humans, as might be expected, wanted a Traiti unconditional surrender, few would feel justified in condoning--or taking part in--the genocide such a surrender's impossibility would mean. If humans could be brought to understand the Traiti well enough to know that it was impossible . . . Tarlac wanted to curse at his frustration, but couldn't think of anything fitting.

Well, he was reasonably certain Hovan could handle the truth, and he trusted his sponsor. For all practical purposes, with everyone else in vehicles, the two of them were alone. Even so, he hesitated before saying, "Hovan?"

"Yes, ruhar? Something disturbs you?"

The fighter's calm was soothing. "Not quite. Say it confuses me.

Cor'naya, I was granted a Vision last night, and I don't know whether I should make it public or not, even to you."

Hovan managed not to show his shock. The Ordeal was supposed to be one test at a time, and that was difficult enough--yet Steve had been given his Vision, and apparently his Decision as well, while he was trying to cope with simple survival. Three parts at once was more than anyone should be asked to endure, even by the Lords!

When he spoke, his voice was under tight control. "If you hesitate to reveal it to your sponsor, you probably should not. You are trying to become Cor'naya, however; you must decide what honor demands of you."

"Oh, h.e.l.l." Tarlac didn't know what to think. He couldn't seem to feel any real emotion, only a sort of resigned fatigue. "Last night I was Kranath, when he was forced to G.o.dhome. And for a little bit I was G.o.dhome itself. I'm not sure what to do about what I learned then." He looked up at his sponsor.

Hovan ached with the man's need of support. "I cannot help you in this," he said gently. "You know I would if it were possible, but this is the part of the Ordeal I could not even mention to you. There is always a Decision to test honor."

"Part of the Ordeal's having to decide whether or not to tell you something that may drive insane those of you it doesn't kill outright?

That's insane."

"It is far more than is asked of most," Hovan agreed indirectly. "I had to decide only between honor and my own life."

"You're here, so it must've been a setup."