"You haven't any?" Fatso's voice rose shrilly.

Leeda reached to her waist and the small attached flask. "Just this. And Terry has—had—one just like it. Enough for a couple old-timers like us. Not near enough for everyone now. Particularly with you being new to Mars."

Jocco snatched the flask from Terry's waist.

"I'll take that, Jocco," Rick commanded. "And yours too," he gestured to Leeda.

She handed it over obediently.

"But, Rick," Fatso began.

"No arguments. Share and share alike. I'll dole it out. Now get the parts," he told Leeda. "You go with her, Fatso."

As soon as they were back, the men began to move off. For the first time Leeda lost control of herself. "For God's sake, aren't you going to at least bury him?"

Rick's face twisted with its wry grin as he walked back to her. "Give the Sand Vulture a break. He's got to eat."

"But ..." she began to protest.

Swiftly he was beside her, doing something to her fingers. The pain surged up her arm; brought her stomach up into her throat gaggingly.

Then he released her. Gave her a shove. "When I say move, that's what I mean. Get going."

The cold, dry Martian air sucked the moisture irresistibly through the skin and suits. As the day slid slowly by, the ever near horizon stayed practically featureless. The red sand bored like Callisto hornets into the skin.

Lips began to crack. Twice they stopped to sip the water. The second time, Rick looked at her. "How the devil do you know where we are?"

"Maybe I don't," she taunted.

"You'd better. We've no way of checking on you. But if you double-cross me, I'll strip your clothes off and leave you to the first Sand Vulture that comes along. Understand?"

"Don't worry," she answered, "I know the way. I've covered it often enough. There are many little landmarks if you know what to look for."

When evening came, Rick let each of them barely wet their lips. Then he said, "I need sleep and I can't trust anyone. So I'm going 

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