arlac's mind that he was a
guest. He still had his gun and was, it seemed, to be allowed to roam
freely. He turned to his escort. "I'm at your disposal, Team-Leader.
What do we do now?"

"It past my normal duty-time is, and I hungry am," was the reply. "I
food need, and sleep. If you something else prefer, one of my men some
English speaks; he can as temporary escort for you act."

Tarlac's internal clock said it was mid-afternoon, but this was as good
a time as any to start changing his diurnal rhythms. "That's not
necessary, Team-Leader."

"Then come," Hovan said, and Traiti and human left the bridge.

Hovan's long strides didn't give Tarlac much time to study art on the
way to the dining area, but he saw more than he had earlier, since he
was no longer surrounded by bodies. The new data didn't change his
initial impression, but he had already started to adapt to the Madonna
pictures that'd disturbed him. That was no real surprise; spacers in
general were more adaptable than ground-pounders--they had to be--and
Rangers excelled at that, as at almost everything. Given the need and
a little time, he could adapt to any humanly-conceivable circumstances
. . . though of course some things took longer than others.

So far, Tarlac was finding nothing too difficult in the Traiti pattern.
He suspected that he might, when he got deeper into their culture.
This business of adoption, for instance--why should he have to join a
clan to take their Ordeal?

And why wait to find out, or anyway to learn whether he could find out?
Hovan was supposed to be his teacher in such matters. As they passed
pictures and corridor intersections and doors labeled in the angular
Traiti script, Tarlac spoke. "The Fleet-Captain says I'll have to be a
member of one of your clans to take the Ordeal. Can you tell me why?"

"Because parts of the Ordeal in-clan matters are, not with out-clan or
clanless discussed. I can no more of that say."

"Okay. I suppose I'll find out when the time comes." That seemed to
describe a lot of today's experiences, Tarlac thought, then he decided
not to worry about it. It was easier to cope with situations as they
arose, in a case like this.

They arrived at a meal hall, and the smell was enough to make Tarlac
hungry. It operated cafeteria-style; Tarlac, unfamiliar with any of
the food, copied Hovan's choices, and ended up with more than he could
possibly eat. The portions, from salad to stew and a