It's
happening," he said steadily.

The Supreme inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement, it seemed to
Tarlac, of more than his words. Then the claws dug in, made a swift
slash down the Ranger's chest and upper belly.

Tarlac screamed and fell to his knees, blood running over hands that
instinctively clutched at the terrible wounds.

He'd been hurt before, sometimes badly. He'd been hit by shrapnel,
burned, shot--everything that could happen to someone in combat, short
of death--but none of it had prepared him for this drug-aided agony
that left him unable to move, gasping for irregular breaths as blood
soaked the front of his trousers and began pooling on the altar dais.

His world narrowed to himself, to the pain in his upper body and the
need to remain conscious. Nothing else could be allowed to matter: not
the blood he couldn't hold back, its loss draining his strength; not
the bitter foam that choked him, obstructing his already-labored
breathing. He had to concentrate his full attention on staying away
from the darkness that offered to gather him into its eternal peace if
he should relax for even an instant.

Hovan stood watching Steve's motionless struggle to remain conscious.
He himself had been neither silent nor unmoving under the torment the
man he sponsored was now enduring, and he felt deep pride in his
clanmate. He'd seen nearly a hundred n'ruhar go through this, and
Steve was doing very well. Yet . . . something was wrong.

Ordeal poison did make blood flow more freely, yes, and let wounds
bleed more than was normal, yet even now, when its effects should be
starting to wear off-- Hovan felt a stab of dismay. Humans bled so
much more easily than Traiti did to begin with, and Steve had needed
medical help after the blood exchange--had Channath allowed enough for
human differences in calculating Steve's dosage?

He glanced at the two physicians, and wasn't reassured by their evident
concern. Not surprisingly, the human doctor looked angry as well as
worried--but Channath was worried too, which wasn't normal for her.
Hovan realized that she had allowed for human frailty . . . but not
even she could allow for a possible over-reaction, as unpredictable as
his earlier allergy to their liquor!

Tarlac tossed his head, muscles no longer locked by agony though he
still fought the pain assaulting his weakened system. He coughed,
spitting out a last mouthful of the bitter froth, and took a deep