They did, smiling when Tarlac had to use the Language term for his own status as he translated. Hovan smiled too, feeling a sense of fulfillment. Steve had done it! This was what he'd offered his life to achieve, expecting only a death he'd thought would be final. He had brought peace, peace the Traiti could accept with full honor—peace that meant life for Ch'kara, for Sandre and the twins, for Daria and the youngling she shared with Steve. Hovan knew there would be details to work out, still—details that might take years—but Steve had made that working out possible.
Then Tarlac turned to the Emperor. "Sir, I'd like to administer an oath now, with your permission. Team-Leader Hovan is a commando, an experienced officer who's come up through the ranks as all of their officers have, and in my opinion he would be an asset to the Empire. I've offered him a commission in the Marines."
"Permission granted," Davis said with a rare smile. "We would be most pleased to have one with the qualifications you told Us about yesterday in Our armed forces."
"Thank you, sir." Tarlac turned to Hovan and said quietly, "Let's do this right. You face the crowd."
Hovan did so, glancing over the brightly-dressed courtiers. His unease was stronger now, though no better defined, and he was still tense, alert for action. Something was definitely wrong here, something in the subtle readiness of a small group nearby—
Steve's voice broke into his thoughts. "Raise your right hand and repeat after me: 'I, Hovan of Clan Ch'kara, do solemnly swear …"
Hovan did as Steve told him. "I, Hovan of Clan Ch'kara, do solemnly swear … to protect and defend the Terran Empire … from all enemies, foreign and domestic … and to bear true faith and allegiance to the same. This I pledge before the Lords, by my own honor and Ch'kara's."
Tarlac lowered his hand and extended it. "Congratulations, First Lieutenant Hovan, and welcome to Imperial Service."
Hovan was reaching to take Steve's hand when his misgivings became reality. He spotted movement, a flash of light on gunmetal, and everything happened at once. Hovan was already reacting as he heard the bark of a slugthrower and saw the spurt of flame. His dagger flew for its target, a human screamed—
—and Steve was spun around and hurled to the floor by a heavy slug in the center of his back. Anticipation and combat-sharpened reflexes let Hovan get halfway to the assassin before the Palace Guards could act. By the time they'd surrounded the group, a snarling Hovan had the man who'd used the gun in custody, one claw-extended hand clamped on his neck and shoulder while he rammed the muzzle of his blaster against the base of the man's skull.
The human was shivering, fearful yet defiant. "Get your hands off me, you damn Shark! And get your knife out of my shoulder!"
"You'll be patched up," the Guard Major in charge said grimly. "Long enough to take a mindprobe, anyway." He reached under his blouse for a pair of handcuffs, put them on the prisoner, and turned to his squad. "Take this one to the medical unit, the rest straight to Security."
Hovan released the assassin with a shove. "What will be done with him? And why would he shoot Ranger Tarlac?"
"Did you see the button he was wearing?" the Major asked. At Hovan's nod, he went on. "He's a Humanity Firster. They're a bunch of fanatics and troublemakers, though we never thought anyone, even one of them, would be stupid enough to do something like this. He'll be mindprobed to learn his accomplices—and how he managed to smuggle even an old-style gun into the Palace. What he did's on record, on Security monitor tapes and probably the newscasters' gear as well. He'll be shot."
The Major paused, then smiled. "I never thought I'd say this to a Traiti, Lieutenant Hovan, but—well done. I could wish you were in my command."
"I thank you, Major. But for now I am the only one of Ch'kara, here, and I must hold my ruhar's death-watch." He remembered the wording Steve had said was correct for requests. "By your leave, sir?"
"All right, Lieutenant, go to him."
Hovan knelt beside the inert form, his only emotion curiosity. His mourning was done; Steve had died and joined the Lords days ago, and Hovan had known he couldn't remain limited to his body—but why choose to leave it this way, with the indignity of being attacked from behind?
Guards had surrounded Emperor Davis at the first sign of trouble, and he motioned them back so he could look down at the scene: Hovan kneeling over Tarlac's bloody form as medics moved in, the Supreme shielding the First Speaker with his body, the courtiers milling around in confusion. Yes, events were working out as Tarlac had predicted.
He seated himself again and called, "Cor'naya Hovan."
Hovan looked up. "Yes, Your Majesty?"
"Come here, please."
Hovan approached the Emperor and bowed. "Sire?"
Speaking too quietly for the newsies' mikes to pick up his words, Davis said, "Steve asked me to give you a message after he left. I'll have you brought to my working office when this Audience is over, and give it to you there." He raised his voice to its previous level. "Cor'naya Hovan, since Ranger Tarlac's mother is not present, you are his closest available kin. We must ask if you wish to make funeral arrangements yourself, or if you prefer Us to make them."
"The Lords have already accepted him, Sire. He should have the human ceremony, whatever his rank deserves, and I do not know that."
"Very well, We will see to it. If you wish to accompany him, the medics are ready to take him to the morgue. And, Lieutenant—you have Our thanks for the way you captured that assassin. Please inform the Supreme and First Speaker that they will be taken to guest apartments until you are free to translate for Us."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
It was almost a tenthday later—two hours, Hovan reminded himself, in human terms—when a young Marine in Palace Guard dress blues entered the morgue where Hovan was watching technicians prepare Steve's body. Their impersonality was unpleasant to him, and it was a relief to turn his attention to the NCO. Hoping he was reading the woman's insignia correctly, Hovan said, "Yes, Sergeant?"
"The Emperor would like to see you, sir. I'm to escort you to his office."
Hovan nodded, careful not to smile at the woman's expression. It would only make her obvious apprehension worse. But, once they were out of the morgue and seated in one of the small null-grav cars that served as interior transport, he did say, "I will not bite you, you know."
"I…" The Marine hesitated. "No, sir. My mind knows you won't, but my stomach's a lot less certain. And, sir—I've never even heard of a junior officer being granted a private audience!"
That was all until the shuttlecar pulled up before a door that was flanked by a pair of Palace Guards. As Hovan climbed out, the young Marine said, "Lieutenant Hovan, to see His Majesty." There was an air of tension from the Guards as Hovan approached the door, but neither of them said anything; one simply opened the door for him and closed it when he was inside.
Davis was waiting, now in a Ranger's plain forest green, seated at a functional steel desk. He spoke before Hovan could bow. "No formalities at this meeting, Hovan, though it probably won't happen again. I think that armchair can handle your mass; have a seat."
Hovan sat, carefully as the chair creaked, but it held. "You said Steve left a message for me, Your Majesty."
Davis leaned forward. "Yes. He told me quite a bit yesterday, while you were still on Homeworld. For one thing, he said that you were as important in bringing this peace about as he was, that if it hadn't been for your help, he'd never have made it through the Ordeal."
Hovan shook his head. "That is too much credit, Sire. I did no more than any sponsor should."
"That may be true, and I'll ask you to hold to that in public, but we both know Steve's right, too. You did a sponsor's duty, yes—for an alien, an enemy, and with a degree of sympathy no one could expect. You acted exactly like what he called you, his brother."
"I was, yes. And I am glad that he saw the peace he wanted so. But that he should die as he did…"
"I know what he's become," Davis said. "I guessed, and he confirmed it. He's not dead, as either of us understand death. And the assassination today was part of his plan. So was your capture of that Firster. He couldn't tell you in advance, since he wanted your reactions to be spontaneous, and he asked me to say he regrets not being able to tell you, and hopes you understand."
"I am not surprised," Hovan said, "though I do not truly understand. I would not have disgraced him."
"He didn't think you would, Hovan. But you're no actor, you don't hide what you feel. It was obvious to everyone that you didn't know what was going to happen, and that you were angry at the Firster." Davis leaned back, looking satisfied. "You knew Steve well enough to know how he hated waste."
"Yes, Sire."
"Well, this time he outdid himself. Humanity Firsters have been trouble for years, and they've been getting more active lately, so Steve decided to let them incriminate themselves, by stopping the security scanners for long enough to let that one through with his weapon. He said his future-sense was still unreliable, but he predicted what would happen today, in outline. And so far the events have had the effects he intended.
"After you left, the Throne Room turned into chaos. Shooting a Ranger in the back, especially here in the Palace, lost the Firsters any popular support they had. Your immediate defense of the Empire, and the way you took that man without killing him—people didn't expect that from a Traiti—have started gaining sympathy for you." Davis shook his head. "There've been some results already. The newsies are demanding interviews with any Traiti they can get hold of, especially you, the First Speaker, and the Supreme—in that order. I can have you protected from them, if you want."
"Steve did not like reporters," Hovan said, "and from what I have seen, I do not either. But that must be part of his plan, so I will meet with them."
"Good, because you're right. It is part of what he hoped for. Public relations can make people realize you're part of the Empire now, not enemies. The newsies are good for some things, no matter how aggravating they are at times."
"Steve brought peace, with all honor; that is the important thing. He has truly earned our title for him."
"He has a title beyond 'Lord'?"
"We call him 'Peacelord.'"
"Peacelord." Davis nodded. "A good epitaph for anyone. 'Esteban Tarlac, Ranger and Peacelord.'"