Hovan studied his human ruhar for several minutes without saying anything. He had mingled blood with this man, and though the exchange had been more symbolic that substantial, he felt oddly close to him, closer than to any but the n'ka'ruhar he had shared young with. Steve's sudden self-doubt disturbed him, given what he'd learned about the man. And an attitude of expected defeat was nothing to take into a trial as strenuous and demanding as the Ordeal. But what could he say to help? There was no denying the danger Steve faced, and trying to minimize it would be doing the man a disservice. There was little he could say, and less he could do, to raise the man's spirits. He would be lending Steve the same kind of emotional support he had received from his own Ordeal sponsor, whenever and wherever tradition allowed it. For now, that was terribly limited, yet he would do what he could. He moved to sit close to the human, not touching him in this out-clan place, and spoke softly. "Ruhar"--the intonation meant "brother/friend"--"there no dishonor in fear, or in failure of the Ordeal, is. And I certain am that you will not fail. You Ch'kara have, whatever in this happens." Tarlac felt his tension ease momentarily at that assurance, borrowing comfort from Hovan's nearness. It wasn't fear for himself, as much as fear for the Empire and Traiti alike, that held him. Only stubbornnness kept him from succumbing to the awful vision of a dead Homeworld, of Imperial genocide. It made him want to retreat to childhood, to find solace in his sponsor's strength as he had once found it in his father's. He couldn't. He couldn't share what he knew, that if he died in failure the Traiti race would not long survive him. And he was certain, without reason, that he would die. Chapter III The Hermnaen was alone when it neared Homeworld's defense perimeter. Arjen's fleet, under Acting Fleet-Captain Jannor, had returned to the combat zone, and the extra ships had been ordered back to their regular duties. Tarlac and Hovan were seated at two of the control central supervisor consoles, watching the repeater screen. The Ranger never grew tired of watching planetary approaches, even on a screen instead of through a lander's windows. There was something awe-inspiring about watching a world grow from a featureless point to a globe boasting continents and seas--though cloud cover obscured most details on Terra-type worlds. The Hermnaen descended slowly, gently, on null-grav, and the globe grew until it was beneath them, rather than ahead. Clouds like snow-softened mountains showed rifts, then gave way to clear skies as the flagship let down toward a city-sized spaceport. The guide beam brought them to a precision landing near the central control building.