For a strange length of time after that, there were only hazy patches of memory that impressed themselves on Jason. A sense of movement and large beasts around him. Walls, wood–smoke, the murmur of voices. None of it meant very much and he was too tired to care. It was easier and much better just to let go.
* * * * *
"About time," Rhes said. "A couple more days lying there like that and we would have buried you, even if you were still breathing."
Jason blinked at him, trying to focus the face that swam above him. He finally recognized Rhes, and wanted to answer him. But talking only brought on a spell of body–wracking coughing. Someone held a cup to his lips and sweet fluid trickled down his throat. He rested, then tried again.
"How long have I been here?" The voice was thin and sounded far away. Jason had trouble recognizing it for his own.
"Eight days. And why didn’t you listen when I talked to you?" Rhes said.
"You should have stayed near the ship when you crashed. Didn’t you remember what I said about coming down anywhere on this continent? No matter, too late to worry about that. Next time listen to what I say. Our people moved fast and reached the site of the wreck before dark. They found the broken trees and the spot where the ship had sunk, and at first thought whoever had been in it had drowned. Then one of the dogs found your trail, but lost it again in the swamps during the night. They had a fine time with the mud and the snow and didn’t have any luck at all in finding the spoor again. By the next afternoon they were ready to send for more help when they heard your firing. Just made it, from what I hear. Lucky one of them was a talker and could tell the wild dogs to clear out. Would have had to kill them all otherwise, and that’s not healthy."
"Thanks for saving my neck," Jason said. "That was closer than I like to come. What happened after? I was sure I was done for, I remember that much. Diagnosed all the symptoms of pneumonia. Guaranteed fatal in my condition without treatment. Looks like you were wrong when you said most of your remedies were useless—they seemed to work well on me."
His voice died off as Rhes shook his head in a slow no, lines of worry sharp–cut into his face. Jason looked around and saw Naxa and another man. They had the same deeply unhappy expressions as Rhes.
"What is it?" Jason asked, feeling the trouble. "If your remedies didn’t work—what did? Not my medikit. That was empty. I remember losing it or throwing it away."
"You were dying," Rhes said slowly. "We couldn’t cure you. Only a junkman medicine machine could do that. We got one from the driver of the food truck."
"But how?" Jason asked, dazed. "You told me the city forbids you medicine. He couldn’t give you his own medikit. Not unless he was—"
Rhes nodded and finished the sentence. "Dead. Of course he was dead. I killed him myself, with a great deal of pleasure."
This hit Jason hard. He sagged against the pillows and thought of all those who had died since he had come to Pyrrus. The men who had died to save him, died so he could live, died because of his ideas. It was a burden of guilt that he couldn’t bear to think about. Would it stop with Krannon—or would the city people try to avenge his death?
"Don’t you realize what that means!" he gasped out the words. "Krannon’s death will turn the city against you. There’ll be no more supplies. They’ll attack you when they can, kill your people—"
"Of course we know that!" Rhes leaned forward, his voice hoarse and intense. "It wasn’t an easy decision to come to. We have always had a trading agreement with the junkmen. The trading trucks were inviolate. This was our last and only link to the galaxy outside and eventual hope of contacting them."
