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Chon.”
    The sound was so sudden and unexpected that
Narisa stumbled backward a pace or two. The bird waited. Narisa
moved forward again and, kneeling beside Tarik, picked up the
fruit.
    “I wonder what it is?” she murmured, turning
the smooth yellow-green globe over in her hands. It was perfectly
round, with no markings at all except the stem, and it fit easily
into her palm. “How do you eat it? Is it safe?”
    It contained juice. That knowledge lay as
solidly in her mind as had the earlier belief that the bird would
not hurt her. Juice. Tarik needed liquid. The high fever was
burning off the fluids in his body, Narisa knew that much. She had
tried bringing him water cupped in a large leaf, but he had refused
to take it. Perhaps he would drink the juice contained in this
fruit. Might it harm him? Did she dare feed him an untested
food?
    She barely hesitated. Tarik was going to die
soon anyway. She might as well ignore Service regulations and take
the risk.
    She found the knife in the tool kit and
carefully cut a hole in the fruit. The smooth skin was thick, and
she had to press the knife hard. When she finally got through to
the liquid center of the fruit, some of the juice spurted out onto
her hands. She brought a finger to her lips. It tasted tangy,
refreshing, unlike anything she had ever encountered before. Just
the few drops that had touched her tongue made her feel happier,
more hopeful.
    She sat beside Tarik, lifted his head onto
her knee, and when he opened his mouth to groan, she poured a
little of the juice into him. He choked at first, but then he
swallowed it, and she gave him some more. Nothing happened.
    “How will I know how much to give him?”
Narisa asked the bird, who stood quietly watching her. Tarik opened
his mouth as if asking for more, and she poured the rest of the
juice into his mouth. The fruit was empty. Narisa set it on the
ground and cradled Tarik’s head in her arms, hoping she had not
killed him. She smoothed his hair and laid her cheek against the
top of his head, wondering what would happen next.
    She had disobeyed Service regulations
repeatedly, drinking untested water, treating a sick man when she
had no medical knowledge, and now feeding him some mysterious fruit
juice. She could be court-martialed and imprisoned for the things
she had done in the last two days, yet the breaking of so many of
the rules to which she had held so firmly for ten years was now
unimportant. The Service to which she was dedicated, the Capital
and the Assembly, Belta and the Cetans, were all part of a distant
past that scarcely mattered at all in this strange new place. She
still had sense enough to recognize what was happening to her.
    “The fruit,” she whispered to the watching
bird. “It’s the juice, isn’t it? I only tasted a drop or two, and
I’m so relaxed and sleepy I can’t stay awake any longer. What will
it do to Tarik? He drank most of it. I’ve killed him. He was my
responsibility, and I’ve killed him.”

Chapter Three
     
     
    Narisa wakened to find herself huddled
against Tarik. It must be morning. The sun was still low, and a few
shafts of pale orange sunlight filtered through the trees. Beyond
her feet she could see wisps of mist drifting up from the stream.
She stretched, feeling Tarik’s comfortable warmth next to her, and
turned over, pressing her back against his side. She sighed
contentedly, feeling remarkably well for a woman who had trekked
across a burning desert only a day ago.
    No, not a day ago. She sat up. She had done
this before, wakened in just this spot, and Tarik had been burning
with fever, and she had tried to help him, and then had given him
something … and killed him.
    She looked down at the man beside her. He lay
sleeping peacefully, his straight dark hair tousled, his pale
features untouched by any feverish flush. He looked completely
healthy. His uniform jacket was open and her regulation undershirt
was draped across his abdomen just above his