The pilot's eyes closed and he breathed heavily.
"Possum!" said Dave, slapping the pilot across the face. There was no response, so he fumbled under the seat and found a water flask. He threw a small handful into the pilot's face. "There isn't much of this here," he said, "and I doubt that there's any water we can drink on this half-world. Wounded men get thirsty, don't they, chum?"
The pilot opened his eyes and groaned, "Water—"
"Talk!"
"I don't know anything."
"Then you're no good to me alive!" snapped Dave.
The pilot sat up a bit. Dave twisted the arm again. "Don't!" pleaded the pilot.
"Then talk!" snapped Dave again. "You got into this world the same as I did, but by choice. How do we get out again?"
"There's—no way out."
"Baloney."