A Syssokan looking down at him hissed in astonishment. Others, who had been watching another group about twenty feet away, turned to stare down at Taranto. He was hauled to his feet by the first pair that thought of it. One, a minor officer by his red uniform, sputtered a question at the Terran, forgetting in his evident excitement that he was speaking Syssokan. Taranto wiped his face with his shirtsleeve. He was beginning to feel a trifle cooler as his perspiration evaporated in the dry air, but his surroundings seemed feverishly unreal. He could not quite understand what Meyers was shouting now, but even in the hoarse voice could be detected a note of pleading. Taranto thought it must be something about water. The Syssokan before him gathered his wits and repeated his question in Terran. "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. "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."