to be awfully careful, then. They were holding you hostage, weren't they?"

"Yes—to get His Majesty to give Lord Robert a Sector" Tarlac chuckled. "The last I heard, anyway; by now, his Lordship may have decided he wants to be Sovereign."

"He won't be," Dave said positively. "No one who'd take a Ranger prisoner could possibly be qualified as Sovereign—even if Prince Forrest hadn't been elected Successor."

"True, but that doesn't keep some people from trying." Tarlac shifted, bit back a groan. "I think the quidine's wearing off, Dave. Do you have anything stronger?"

"No—and I wouldn't give it to you if I did." Dave braced himself against the objection he anticipated from the Ranger. "Quidine's almost too much of a risk itself, for someone who's been hit with stingweed."

Tarlac sighed. "You know more about it than I do; I won't ask again."

"Yes, sir." Dave echoed his patient's sigh. Tarlac's acquiescence helped—but this was not going to be fun!

And the next couple of hours were hard, for both of them. As the quidine wore off and the stingweed poison grew stronger, Dave wished his patient would pass out—for both their sakes. Eventually, Tarlac did; Dave made sure he was covered snugly, then turned down the lamp and arranged the remaining blankets into a nestlike bed for himself.

He didn't really think he could rest, with all the excitement and problems going on, so he decided he might as well make what plans he could. They had two days before they could expect rescue, and the Ranger thought the rebels would know they'd escaped, rather than being blown up. That meant he should try to make their cave defensible—he snorted at the implausibility of one boy with a disruptor holding off well-armed rebels, but he'd have to do his best—plus play doctor and nurse to a man who had about as much chance of living through his wounds and poisoning as the two of them did of holding off the rebels.

He opened his eyes to more light in the cave than the lamp had been giving off. Scrambling to his feet, he grabbed the disruptor and moved cautiously toward the entrance—then dropped it to his side as he realized the light was morning sun, not rebel field-illuminants. Good, that would give them a break!

He took advantage of the safety to relieve himself, then he went back into the cave to check on his patient. Tarlac didn't seem to have moved, which Dave thought was probably just as well; at least that way he wouldn't irritate his injuries. But he swallowed hard when he pulled the blanket away from Tarlac's back, then had to run outside before he threw up all over their refuge. He'd read about stingweed poisoning in his first aid and survival courses, even seen holos in his father's medical texts—but they hadn't prepared him for the sight and smell of it in someone's living flesh.

He wiped his mouth when he finished, the bitter taste in his mouth an echo of his bitter thoughts as he re-entered the cave. He'd have to do better than this, if he wanted to keep the two of them alive! He went to the spring for water, put some on the lamp to heat, then braced himself and knelt beside his patient. Tarlac's wounds were oozing thick greenish-yellow fluid that would have to be cleaned off, as often as Dave could force himself to endure the sight and rotten-cabbage stench. At least the medikit had surgical gloves, he thought as he put a pair on, so he wouldn't have to touch the stuff or risk getting the poison into his own system through a cut or hangnail.

Tarlac woke to a smell so bad it made him gag, and eyes that felt glued shut, so he couldn't see whatever seemed to be scrubbing his chest with a metal brush dipped in acid. He started to protest, trying to sit up, but the only result was a wave of dizziness and nausea. When he gave up on that and tried to rub his eyes, the scrubbing stopped and hands grabbed his wrists.

"Don't—you'll just make it worse." Dave was unpleasantly surprised at how easy it was to restrain his patient. "Your eyes are all crusted over—I'll need to soak them to soften the crusts." He put a warm, wet cloth over the Ranger's eyes, then went on. "I'll finish cleaning you up while those soften. I did your back while you were asleep."

The scrubbing started again, and Tarlac let out a yell.

Dave stopped. "I'm being as careful and gentle as I can, sir. I don't want to hurt you, but I do have to get you clean." He frowned. "It won't make you better, though. All it'll do is keep you from getting worse as fast—but there's nothing else I can do."

Tarlac sighed, managing not to groan. "Your best is all I can expect, Dave. I'll try to be quiet about it."

"Yes, sir." Dave went back to work, grateful that the injuries, bad as they were, were limited to the Ranger's upper body. If Tarlac had been beaten all over with the poisoned whip, he probably wouldn't have survived the night. This way, he had a chance of lasting until he could get real medical help. Not much of a chance, Dave thought grimly as he began cleaning his patient's eyes, but a chance. "There," he said at last. "You should be able to open them now."

Tarlac did manage, though it took most of his strength. His vision was blurred at first, but blinking soon cleared it enough for him to see the strain in his rescuer's face. Well, he probably wasn't looking too good himself, he thought—and that stink! "What's the smell?"

Dave grimaced, pulling a clean blanket up over Tarlac's shoulders. "Stingweed poison, sort of. You don't want to see what it looks like." He shrugged. "It does have one advantage, though. It'll heep animals away, so that's one thing we won't have to worry about."

"I can certainly understand that," Tarlac said dryly. "I'd certainly keep my distance from a prospective dinner that smelled this bad."

Dave managed a slight smile. "So would I, actually. Especially since it's probably the only thing that'll keep away any owner of a cave this nice." He hesitated, then decided he might as well go on; they were in no position to worry about luxuries like privacy. "The medikit instructions say the poison may not let you go to the bathroom—but you should try, if it feels like you have to."

"I don't." Tarlac thanked the impulse that had led him to go on a low-residue diet over the last week, though he was less grateful for the rebels' refusal to give him a drink of water.

"It says you should try to drink, at least, and eat if you can—do you want to try sitting up?"

"Yeah." Tarlac made the effort, groaning, but he needed Dave's help, and was gasping by the time he was propped semi-erect. He was too weak and dizzy to hold the cup Dave offered him, and had trouble forcing a couple of swallows down a throat that felt raw and swollen. He winced at the pain, but made himself drink more. Whether his kidneys had quit functioning or not, he knew he'd lost blood and was feverish; he couldn't afford to let himself get dehydrated, too.

Food was out of the question, though, he discovered when Dave tried to feed him some stew made out of survival rations. It wasn't bad stew, and he knew he'd need whatever strength it could give him, but he simply couldn't get it down. He shook his head, immediately wishing he hadn't when the dizziness got worse. "Dave—what can I expect?"

Dave put the stew down. He didn't want to answer, but a person had a right to know the truth. "I've never seen a case before, so I can only tell you what the book says." He took a deep breath. "Massive stingweed poisoning—and you've been given as bad a case as I've ever heard of—starts off by making you sick and feverish."

"That fits the way I feel," Tarlac said dryly. "Go on."

"The fever'll get worse," Dave said reluctantly. "Bad enough to make you delirious. They you'll go into a coma, and if you don't get first-class medical attention, you'll die."

"I've heard better news," Tarlac admitted. "Just what can you do about it?"

"Not much, I'm afraid," Dave said. "I don't dare give you any drugs, even ones