"I promise." Dave shook his head, still not quite believing what he'd gotten himself into. He knelt beside his patient, spreading out more blankets and grateful that he'd been able to find so many. "If you'll roll over, then, I should check your back."
"Okay." It took effort—he was weak from the combination of pain, shock, and loss of blood—but he made it.
Dave cut away the rest of the Ranger's uniform shirt, then checked the water he'd put on the lamp. It was warm enough now, so he used it to clean the caked blood away from the whip-inflicted wounds. He didn't want to believe what he saw as he worked—you didn't use stingweed for any reason!—but the yellowish edges of the wounds were proof that couldn't be denied, and he used a swear-word he'd seen embarrass his mother once.
Tarlac wasn't sure whether he should get worried or laugh at the boy's virulent language, but on the whole it didn't sound promising. "What's wrong, Dave?"
"The blankers soaked the whip in stingweed sap," Dave told him, trying to control his anger. "It can't have taken full effect yet, or not even quidine could kill the pain—and it carries something like a cross between a fungus and a bacterium that nothing in a standard medikit will touch. How long till your rescue party arrives?"
Tarlac frowned; this sounded serious. "Is this Tuesday, or was I unconscious longer than I think?"
Dave checked his chrono, then nodded. "2243, Tuesday night."
"They should be landing in about two and a half days, then; Colonel Korda had orders to give me three days, then come looking for me."
"But we're not at the camp any more, and I don't dare use anything much more obvious than the fusion lamp, or the rebels will find us first." Dave brightened. "Unless they blew up the car I used, when they found out it was missing; then they'd think we were dead."
"True, but we can't count on that; it'd be best to assume they landed it, and are looking for us."