"That's the way it goes," said Taranto. "First a blackout ... we sleep, that is. Then the last minutes, the sweat of death, and ... blooey!"
He raised the waterskin and sneaked a long swallow, risking it because he feared he might not be allowed another.
He was right. The officer snatched away the skin and thrust it into the long fingers of its indignant owner.
"If you are sso dead," he demanded, not illogically, "why do you drink up our water?"
"Sorry," apologized Taranto. "Where are we?"
"What difference iss it to you?"
"I ... uh ... don't want to make hard feelings or bad luck by dying in one of your burial grounds."
"It will not happen," said the officer grimly. "We have been ssent in another place to guard against that. Look back—you can see the city over that way."
Taranto turned. The outline of the city walls, with lights showing here and there on the watch towers, loomed up about five miles away. A small rise in the rolling ground of the desert hid the base of the walls and the greater part of the rough trail they had evidently followed. It would have been a fine spot for a spaceship to drop briefly to the surface.
"Do you wish to lie down here?" asked the officer politely. "We will wait until it iss over."