"Well, I won't be able to avoid open intervention with the Traiti; I'll have to tell all of them what I saw in Kranath's Vision. I don't like showing off like that, but at least they're accustomed to Lords manifesting from time to time." "I did not like it either," Kranath agreed, "when I had to intervene so to end the clan wars. We all do what must be done, though." He put an arm around the man. "If you are ready, Brother, we should begin." Brother, not ruhar. Tarlac smiled at that human touch. "Yeah. Let's not waste time." Then he remembered. "Hey, what about Jim? The Empire can't afford to lose two Rangers at once--now less than ever." "No," Kranath agreed. "He is still in critical condition, but Ranger Medart will recover fully." "Thank God!" Tarlac exclaimed reflexively. Then he realized what he'd said, and what he was; he laughed at the irony. "Thanks, Kranath. All right, I guess I'm ready. Go ahead." With that, he felt the Supreme Lord's immense power enter his mind and begin work. What he'd experienced in the Vision was only a shadow of this reality, but it had prepared him as nothing had prepared Kranath. Despite what he could only think of as having his innermost mind forcibly stretched, then stuffed to near-capacity before being stretched again into what felt like hyperdimensions, he was in absolutely no pain. Instead, he felt . . . Exaltation. He'd been made into what a number of humans and Traiti would be in time. That he could know such glory while others were still so restricted was something that was, with his new knowledge, as inevitable as it was regrettable. Yet, since it was inevitable, his regret was of necessity dispassionate. Others would achieve this state, and he would greet them with joy. In the millennia before then, he had a job to do, helping to guide this galaxy's intelligences as those who went before had intended. He felt an amusement like Kranath's, but this time it was his own. Humans had established the Empire and thought themselves and their vitality supreme; but the Traiti supplied the gods, the subtle guidance. And, he now realized, the Irschchans provided--or rather, would provide--ritual to bring those together. The cloudcats, the only race to remember the Others who went before as a vital part of their history, were the observers and reporters. None of them yet knew their parts of the whole, or could be allowed to know until they reached maturity. For them it would be a natural process. He was the last to be forced to his full potential, to complete the Circle of Lords. He could see now how he'd been quite literally molded, as Kranath had said, from the moment of his conception--and he'd had a mostly-pleasant life. Since he could understand and appreciate the necessity, he could feel no resentment at the manipulation. It was as inevitable, historically, as the Traiti war itself.