ness and
warmth of skin he knew to be tough as leather armor. Had he really
been expecting the human-dubbed "Sharks" to be literally cold-blooded?

That private fallacy laid to rest, he stepped back, wondering what to
expect. "Okay, your turn."

Hovan didn't have to translate that; his men got the idea and crowded
around the Ranger. He didn't take part himself because he'd learned
what he needed to know while the man was examining him. Just the
fingertips lightly touching his scars had been more than enough to
confirm his earlier impression. The man's every action, from coming
aboard armed to allowing his alien hosts to satisfy their curiosity,
showed the courage and self-assurance of one whose sense of honor was
so much a part of him that he felt no need to stand on ceremony. The
brief physical touch had even given him the feeling of belonging shared
by n'ruhar--what English inadequately referred to as clanmates.

Steve was worthy of Ch'kara; Hovan was convinced of that. And the
sense of belonging in Steve's touch made it almost certain he would
accept the offer. Hovan told himself ruefully that he shouldn't have
entertained even the small doubts he'd had of Ka'ruchaya Yarra's
wisdom. It had seemed impossible that an alien could truly be a ruhar,
and Steve was undoubtedly an alien, even though he wasn't frightened,
as so many humans seemed to be, by the sheer size of beings so alien to
them. Yet the clan-feeling was definitely there--how had Yarra
guessed?

Hovan dismissed that unseemly question. She was Ka'ruchaya of Ch'kara,
not he; such things were the concern of Clan Mothers and Speakers, not
of fighters. He obeyed in this as they would obey him in his field--
though he prayed the need would never arise for them to defend Ch'kara
as fighters.

But he could still feel wonderment at being empowered to perform the
adoption. Males shared in the creation of life, but it was females who
actually brought it forth into the clan, by birth or adoption. In the
case of adoption, the new ruhar should be brought into the gathering
hall, with as many of the clan as possible attending. Steve wouldn't
have that, or even a close approximation, until Homeworld; there
weren't enough of Ch'kara in the Fleet. But he would have the best
Hovan could manage, next wake-time.

Tarlac was still being examined by curious but carefully gentle
commandos. It wasn't embarrassing; his own laughter had cured that
problem, at