Dave managed a slight smile. "So would I, actually. Especially since it's probably the only thing that'll keep away any owner of a cave this nice." He hesitated, then decided he might as well go on; they were in no position to worry about luxuries like privacy. "The medikit instructions say the poison may not let you go to the bathroom--but you should try, if it feels like you have to." "I don't." Tarlac thanked the impulse that had led him to go on a low-residue diet over the last week, though he was less grateful for the rebels' refusal to give him a drink of water. "It says you should try to drink, at least, and eat if you can--do you want to try sitting up?" "Yeah." Tarlac made the effort, groaning, but he needed Dave's help, and was gasping by the time he was propped semi-erect. He was too weak and dizzy to hold the cup Dave offered him, and had trouble forcing a couple of swallows down a throat that felt raw and swollen. He winced at the pain, but made himself drink more. Whether his kidneys had quit functioning or not, he knew he'd lost blood and was feverish; he couldn't afford to let himself get dehydrated, too. Food was out of the question, though, he discovered when Dave tried to feed him some stew made out of survival rations. It wasn't bad stew, and he knew he'd need whatever strength it could give him, but he simply couldn't get it down. He shook his head, immediately wishing he hadn't when the dizziness got worse. "Dave--what can I expect?" Dave put the stew down. He didn't want to answer, but a person had a right to know the truth. "I've never seen a case before, so I can only tell you what the book says." He took a deep breath. "Massive stingweed poisoning--and you've been given as bad a case as I've ever heard of--starts off by making you sick and feverish." "That fits the way I feel," Tarlac said dryly. "Go on." "The fever'll get worse," Dave said reluctantly. "Bad enough to make you delirious. They you'll go into a coma, and if you don't get first-class medical attention, you'll die." "I've heard better news," Tarlac admitted. "Just what can you do about it?" "Not much, I'm afraid," Dave said. "I don't dare give you any drugs, even ones as simple as a fungicide or antibiotic, because they're like painkillers--too unpredictable on stingweed cases. I don't have either the equipment or the skill to monitor you, or take corrective action if you should have a bad reaction, and I sure don't want to make things worse. I can keep the wounds clean and use cold water to help keep the fever down, and . . . well, I'll do anything else I can think of to slow the poison down. But it won't be a whole lot."