This time Francis Mulrooney felt no surprise when the kholokhanzir's herald led him into the guarded apartment, yet tension more than compensated for its absence. The aged Orion on the dais seemed not even to have moved in the thirty-two standard months since their last meeting, and his bright eyes watched the Terran ambassador's approach.

Mulrooney stopped and bowed, then straightened. Li-harnow'hirtalkin's nand rose. It held the formal parchment document, signed by the Prophet of Holy Terra and sealed with the sigil of his faith.

"I have received your message and your document, Ambassador," the Khan'a'khanaaeee said. "Your Admiral Aantaahnaav is to be commended upon his understanding of the Zheeerlikou'valkhannaieee and the demands of our code of honor." The Khan's ears twitched. "Perhaps he had also some small assistance from Kthaara'aantaah-naav," he added dryly, and Mulrooney felt an icicle of relief at his tone. Then Lihamow's ears straightened more seriously, and he sat fully erect.

"Neither the Zheeerlikou'valkhannaieee nor the Federation read the original events in Lorelei aright, Ambassador. Had we done so, much suffering on the part of your people might have been averted. Yet even after the truth was known, the Federation honored its responsibilities. This" - he twitched the parchment - "shall be placed among the state records of my people and of my clan to serve the Zheeerlikou'valkhannaieee forever as an example of a khimhok's fidelity. We have received shirnowkas-haik from the oath-breakers who slew our warriors, and in the name of the Zheeerlikou `valkhannaieee I now renounce all reparations. There has been khnarma. I am content, and I declare before Hiranow'khanark and my clan fathers that the Federation is khimhok za'fanak."

Despite decades of diplomatic experience, Mulrooney exhaled a tremendous sigh of relief and bent his head with profound gratitude.

"In the name of my people, I thank you, Hia'khan," he said softly.

"Your thanks are welcomed, but they are not necessary," the khan replied just as softly. "The Zheeerlikou'valkhannaieee themselves could not have more honorably acquitted themselves. There will be no more talk of cho-faki among my fangs. You are not Zheeerlikou'valkhannaieee, yet we learned to respect your warriors' courage as allies against the Rigelians; now their honor makes the differences between us seem as nothing. And that, Ambassador, is what truly matters to us all.'

Mulrooney bowed once more, touching his fist to his chest in silence, and the Khan rose with fragile, aged grace. The Terran's eyes widened as the Khan'a'kha-naaeee stepped down from his dais and performed an unthinkable act. He extended his hand and touched an alien ambassador.

"It is time to present this shirnowkashaik to my fangs," Liharnow said, leaning upon the human's arm for support, "and I would have you present when they receive it." He smiled a wry, fang-hidden smile as the Terran moved with exquisite care, supporting his weight as if it were the most important task in the Galaxy. "For today, you shall be Fraaancis'muuulroooneeee, a hirikrinzi of the Zheeerlikou'valkhannaieee, and not the Ambassador of the Terran Federation, for ambassadors are not required between warriors who have bled for one another's honor."

All the other farewells were over - but for one - and for now Antonov and Kthaara had the small lounge in Old Terra's Orbit Port Nineteen to themselves. They stood side by side, human and Orion silhouetted against the transparent bulkhead as they gazed at the breathtaking blue curve of the world they had left only hours before.

Kthaara had accompanied Antonov back to the home world that was, in part, now his. He had wanted to see it. and he had stoically endured the ceremonies in which humanity loaded him down with decorations and promoted him to captain, a rank he would now hold for life. And now he awaited the liner that would take him on the long voyage back to Valkha'zeeranda to become again a small claw of the Khan and resume the life he would never again see through quite the same eyes.

He finally broke the companionable silence. "Well," he said mischievously, "has the new Sky Marshal settled into his duties?"

Antonov snorted explosively. "They couldn't give me more rank," he rumbfed, "so they created a new rank. And they've decided they need a clearly defined military commander in chief. especially now that they won'thave Howard Anderson to tickle their tummies and wipe their butts for them! Of course," he smiled thinly, "they don't really believe they'll ever need the position - or the military - again. Every war is always the last war!" His smile grew even thinner. "Well, the politicians may think they've put me in a gilded dust bin, but until I finally take Pavel Sergeyevich's advice and retire to Novaya Ro-dina, those vlasti aren't going to forget I'm here! I'm going to use the position to make sure the Navy is ready when it's needed again - as it will be!" He sighed deeply. "There is much we can learn from the Orions, Kthaara. such as seeing the universe as it is."

"There is much the Zheeerkou'valkhannaieee can leam from your race, as well," Kthaara replied quietly. "And before you depart for Novaya Rodina - where I expect you will be terribly frustrated, since a young colony cannot afford a surplus of politicians for you to growl about! - I plan to hold you to your promise to visit Valk-ha'zeeranda and meet the other members of your clan." He grew serious. "You are right, of course. Dangers which we cannot foresee will threaten our two races in the future. But whatever happens, the Federation will always have a friendly voice in the councils of the Kha-n'a'Khanaaeee. Clan Zarthan is now linked to your people by bonds of blood, for we are vilkshatha." He gave a carnivore's smile in which Antonov could recognize sadness. "My ship departs soon, so let us say our farewells now. Vanya."

He had never heard anyone call Antonov that (in fact, the mind boggled at the thought), but he'd looked up the familiar form of Ivan and practiced until he could produce a sound very close to it. Now he waited expectantly. and saw an expression he'd never seen on his friend's muscular face. He even - incredibly - saw one droplet of that saline solution Human eyes produced for any number of oddly contradictory reasons.

"You know," Antonov said finally, "no one has called me that since Lydochka." He couldn't continue.

"You never speak of your wife. Why is that?"

Antonov tried to explain, yet could not. In the decades since Lydia Alekseyevna Antonova had died with her infant daughter in a freak, senseless traffic accident, her widower had gradually become the elemental force, without a personal life, the Navy now knew as Ivan the Terrible. but there were some pains even Ivan the Terrible could not endure explaining - even to himself.

Now he gave one of the broad grins only those who knew him well were ever allowed to see. "Never mind.

Farewell, Kthaara," he said, and took the Orion in a bear hug that would have squeezed the wind from a weaker being.

"Well, isn't this cozy!"

Howard Anderson's powered wheelchair hummed into the lounge. The right corner of his mouth drooped, and his right hand was a useless claw in his lap, but the old blue eyes were bright, and if his speech was slurred it was no less pungent than of yore.

"My ship leaves soon, and I only just gave my nursemaid the slip. And unlike some people - " he gestured at the remains of the bar " - I'm about to dry up and blow away! So for God's sake pour before the doctors catch up with me, Ivan! Two bourbons - right, Kthaara?"

"Actually, Admiral Aandersaahn, I believe I will have vodka." Anderson's eyebrows rose, but worse was yet to come. Kthaara tossed off his drink with what sounded awfully like an attempt at a Russian toast, then addressed Antonov. "Oh, yes, Ivaan Nikolaaayevicch, that reminds me. Thank you for the translations - and I hope you can manage to send more." He turned to Anderson. "Although I admit to some trouble with the names - a problem, I understand, not entirely unknown even among Humans - I find I have acquired a taste for Russian literature. Indeed," he continued with the enthusiasm of the neophyte, "I regard it as a unique ornament of your race'scultural heritage. Do you not agree, Admiral Aandersaahn?"

Anderson turned, horrified, to face Antonov's beaming countenance.

"You Red bastard!" he gasped. "You've corrupted him!"

Old Terra receded in Anderson's cabin view port, and the left side of his mouth twitched in a tiny smile as he contemplated the chaos he was leaving behind on that world. Just over a year of Sakanami Hideoshi's presidency remained, and if he was very lucky he might DC able to fix a traffic fine before leaving office; he certainly wasn't joing to achieve any more than that. Anderson was a ittle sorry for him, but only a little. The man had done a workman-like job of actually fighting the war, but if he'd done his duty properly, there never would have been a war. If he was as astute a politician as Anderson thought, he knew that only his resignation might let him end on a note of dignity.

Nothing, on the other hand, was going to save Pericles Waldeck from history - or his fellows. He was guilty of two crimes too terrible for political pardon: he'd lied to the Assembly and provoked a war. and he'd been caught at it. That was a source of unalloyed satisfaction to Howard Anderson. The LibProgs would recover - probably by denouncing Waldeck and Sakanami more vociferously than anyone else - and the Corporate Worlds' political power would continue to grow, but he'd taken them down a peg. He'd slowed them, and the planet of Christophon would require decades to regain the prestige it had lost.

Yet the fates of politicos, however satisfying, were as nothing beside his pride in the Terran Federation and its Navy. With all its warts - and God knew they were legion - -humanity had risen to its responsibilities once more. He wouldn't be here to see its next great challenge, but as long as there were Ivan Antonovs, Angus MacRorys, Caitrin MacDougalls, Andy Mallorys, Hannah Avrams, and, yes, Hamid O'Rourkes, the human race would be in good hands.

And for now, he had one last task to perform.

He looked down at the document folder in his lap, and his left hand stroked the embossed starships and planet and moon of the Terran Federation Navy on its cover. He had promised Chien-lu he would visit Hang-chow, and so he would - to deliver personally to Chien-lu's son the official verdict of the Court of Inquiry on the Battle of Lorelei.