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loosened trousers.
    She glanced anxiously around the little
clearing. It was empty. Her eyes fell on an uneaten compressed food
wafer and a smooth, yellow-green fruit.
    “Narisa?” Tarik was awake.
    “Are you - how do you feel?” she asked in a
trembling voice.
    “Quite well. Why do you ask?”
    “You were sick. You had a terrible fever. I
thought you would die.”
    “I don’t remember.” He stretched, then rubbed
his left side. “My ribs ache a little. I do remember you wrapping
them, but that was back at the pod. Why are you undressed?” He was
gazing at her in open admiration, his dark eyes lingering over her
creamy shoulders and softly swelling breasts.
    Narisa, who had never felt shame at her own
nakedness before, began to blush. It started somewhere down in her
belly, and she could feel it sweeping upward in a crimson flood
infusing her face and her scalp. Under that surging tide of hot
blood she was powerless to move or speak or even to think clearly.
She could only let him look his fill.
    Tarik lifted his right hand and placed it
upon her left breast, cupping it gently, his thumb flicking across
the sensitive nipple. Narisa drew in her breath, still
immobilized.
    “How lovely,” Tarik murmured, pressing his
hand a little more firmly against her flesh.
    Narisa felt a sweet warmth curling inside
her. She wanted to remain there, sitting beside him, with his hand
on her breast, stroking it. She saw his left hand begin to move and
knew he was going to catch her head and pull her down to him and
kiss her. Her bare breasts would be crushed against his chest, his
mouth would be on hers. The thought frightened her, and with that
fear came release from the inertia that had held her in one spot
while he caressed her.
    With an inarticulate cry she leapt to her
feet, snatched up her crumpled undershirt from his abdomen, her
jacket from the base of a nearby tree, and fled the clearing.
Taking long, deep breaths to quiet her pounding heart, she made her
way through the forest to the pool she had found the day
before.
    It really had been the day before. She
remembered all of it now. Every detail of that day came rushing
back as she threw cold water onto her face and tried to scrub the
touch of Tarik’s hand off her skin. She was certain the juice from
the mysterious fruit had caused her memory loss. It had apparently
had the same effect on Tarik. Fortunately, the loss was only
temporary, and it seemed the fruit had cured his injuries as well
as his fever.
    Having finished her washing, she dressed
hastily, combing her hair with her fingers, tucking her damp
undershirt into her trousers with a determined tug, pulling on and
fastening her jacket with practiced efficiency. Back at the pod she
had pulled off the top clasp at the neckline of the jacket and used
it to fasten the wrapping about Tarik’s ribs, nevertheless she knew
she presented a professional appearance when at last she stepped
into the clearing.
    She found Tarik sitting indolently against a
tree trunk, investigating the contents of the food packet. His
jacket was still opened down the front, but she noticed that he had
pulled up and fastened his trousers, and he had obviously washed
his face, for his hair showed wet around the edges.
    “Commander Tarik, I must tell you what
happened yesterday,” Narisa announced, standing at rigid
attention.
    “Sit down and eat,” he invited, gesturing at
the golden moss beside him.
    “I prefer to stand while making a report,”
she stated stiffly.
    “If I frightened you before, Lieutenant, I
apologize,” he said gravely. “I do not usually ravish the officers
under my command.”
    “I quite understand, sir,” Narisa responded.
“You are still a sick man.”
    “Undoubtedly that explains it.” His face was
serious, but there was an odd twinkle in the purplish depths of his
eyes. “Well, then, Lieutenant, make your report so you can
eat.”
    Narisa watched him, disturbed. He was so
relaxed and comfortable, munching