ubsiding only when the Ranger had collapsed onto his
sleeping mat. "That did it, Hovan," he finally managed to say.
"Nudity's okay, but not body hair--Whew!"

He stood, shaking his head and smiling, no longer disturbed by his own
state of undress or by the equally bare Traiti now moving about the
room. They seemed more impressive this way than when clothed, unlike
most humans--himself, Tarlac admitted wryly, included. He felt pale in
contrast with their rich, even coloring. And while he was in good
shape, he was nowhere near as muscular as the beings around him. They
made him feel out of place in a half-remembered way, almost like . . .
what? Yes, that was it. Like a kid.

Well, that didn't really matter. Rangers weren't picked for their
bodies. The primary criteria were mental: among other things were
intelligence, imagination, an adaptable but stable mind, a generalist's
variety of knowledge, intense loyalty to the Empire . . . and no close
personal ties.

Hovan returned the man's smile, pleased. From what he had heard of
human prisoners, he'd guessed that sidetracking Steve's train of
thought might help; it seemed to have worked. He waved a hand,
indicating the others in the room. "You have part of my team seen.
Now that you relaxed are, may I a favor ask?"

"Sure, go ahead."

"My men have humans fought and killed, but have never any truly met.
If you willing are, they would like to you examine, and then questions
ask. But you out-clan to all of us are; if you wish it not, none will
offended be."

"I don't see why I shouldn't do it, as long as it works both ways. I'd
like to examine a live Traiti as much as they'd like to examine a live
human."

"That reasonable is. I willing am, to your subject be." Hovan called
his men over, conveying Steve's assent, then stood relaxed. "I ready
am."

Tarlac had seen Traiti corpses, and read medical and autopsy reports,
so he was familiar with the sleek, almost hairless bodies. But there
was a tremendous difference between that rather abstract understanding
and the immediacy of a living, vital warrior towering over him. It was
only then that he realized Hovan was one of the scarred ones--his
embarrassment must have kept him from noticing earlier. Not sure
whether it might give offense, he reached hesitantly to touch the
scars. They were darker than the surrounding skin, but the texture was
only a little bit rougher. He was surprised at the supple soft