"Steve. A name that much of strength bears, from the sound." Steve of Clan Ch'kara. Yes, Hovan thought, it did sound fitting, and it was another good sign that the man allowed him that liberty. There was no denying a Ranger's status among humans. It might take the Ordeal to find out whether an individual Ranger was worthy of honor from the Traiti, but prisoners had made it more than clear that Rangers were direct representatives of the Terran Sovereign. They went anywhere they were needed, to tackle crises nobody else was capable of handling. Sometimes, it was said, the mere threat of a Ranger's intervention made actual intervention unnecessary. And it was they, when the need arose, who selected the Sovereigns--so far, always another Ranger. There was more, stories that made Rangers seem like Lords. Hovan didn't believe those, for Steve had used a spacesuit to transfer to the Hermnaen; he hadn't breathed vacuum. But even so, to name-call such a one must be as great a privilege as the task Yarra had given him. "Do many you so call?" "Hmm? Oh. No, not many." Tarlac seldom thought about it, and was surprised at the brevity of the list. "The captain of my cruiser, the Emperor, other Rangers, my mother . . . that's about it." He frowned briefly. "It'd be nice to have more, but the job doesn't allow it. A Ranger's as much a symbol as a person. It's mostly a damn good life . . . but sometimes it gets lonely. I think I'm almost looking forward to being adopted, odd as that may seem at my age." Then he shrugged. "Sorry, Hovan. I didn't mean to go crying on your shoulder. Don't know why I did." Hovan rose, motioning Steve to follow. He had never heard of "crying on your shoulder," but could guess from context what the man meant, and thought it best not to go into something so personal, at least while Steve was out-clan. "Come. I will you our sleep-room show, while it still early is." Tarlac went along, surprised at his self-revelation. He'd seldom mentioned the occasional loneliness before, even to the other Rangers, who shared it. It didn't fit the image. He grinned sardonically for a second. Image. Hah. Thanks to the image, not even newsies pushed a Ranger too hard, and nobody else pushed at all. Nobody with any brains, at least. Hovan interrupted his brooding. "What can you of the Empire and Rangers say? I wish not to intrude or offend, but I curious am." Tarlac gave that a moment's thought, and found the answer an easy one. "Quite a bit, as a matter of fact. I'll tell you anything you want to know, except classified military information. Your High Command must know as well as I do how this war's gone up to now." "Telling us even that would little difference make," Hovan said quietly. "You know not how close you to victory are. In less than another year, there will no more Traiti be."