"What doess thiss mean?" he demanded, glaring angrily at Taranto with his huge, black eyes.
The Terran tried to answer, but could not get the words out. He gestured weakly at a waterskin secured to the harness of one of the soldiers. After a brief moment of hesitation, the officer waved permission. The soldier detached the container and handed it suspiciously to Taranto. Fearing the effect of too much liquid in one jolt, the latter forced himself to take only a few small swallows. He wished he could afford to stick his whole head inside the skin and soak up the water like a blotter.
"You are dead!" declared the officer impatiently.
The tiny greenish-gray scales of his facial skin actually seemed ruffled. Taranto dizzily sought for some likely apology to excuse his being alive. He decided that there might be a slim chance of getting away with a whopper.
"If it is officially declared, then of course I am dead!" he croaked. "What d'ya expect. Look how weak I am!"
The Syssokan swiveled their narrow, pointed skulls about at each other.
"I'm in the last minutes," said Taranto sadly.
"What lasst minutess?" asked the officer.
"It's the way Terrans pass on," asserted the spacer. "Didn't you ever see a Terran die?"
The officer silently avoided admitting so much, running a hand reflectively over his thick waist, but his hesitation provided an opening.