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"Tolk..."

"We’re in a war zone, Jos. Remember? Our protec-tive field might malfunction tomorrow, we could take incoming fire from the Separatists, and we could all cease to be, just like that. Or the spores could mutate and kill us. Or we could be hit by lightning. In short, this is a dangerous place. Prognosis dismal. Any future for us is purely theoretical."

Jos stared at her. Somehow he retained enough muscle control to close his gaping mouth.

Tolk said, "You know the Bruvian saying, ’Kuuta velomin’?"

He shook his head.

"’Seize the moment.’ It’s all we have. The past is gone, the future may never arrive. What exists is now. I’m not asking for marriage, Jos. I know that you can’t travel that path with me. But we could share what com-fort we might have together, here and now. Two people who care for each other. The future, if it comes, will at-tend to itself. As should we.

Where’s the harm in it?"

He shook his head again. "I’m-I wish I could do that. I’m just not wired that way. I need to commit to something this important."

"Am I that important to you, Jos?"

He looked at her, and she smiled again, a sad smile. "You needn’t say it aloud. Your expression tells me." She paused.

"All right, then. I’ll be your friend and your co-worker, because it seems that’s all we are allowed. More’s the pity." She reached out and touched his hand, and he felt an electric thrill run through his whole body.

She withdrew her hand. She wasn’t smiling now. "Oops, I’ve contaminated you. Sorry. You’ll have to wash your hands again. I’ll see you in the OT."

When she was gone, he found that he was shaking.

He hated this. The war, the deaths, his culture, and in that moment, he was very glad Tolk had left and could not see the despair that he knew must be showing on his face.

He had to get out.

Not for long, and not far, but he could not face the OT right now, especially with Tolk in it. He’d sooner face an entire platoon of droidekas armed only with a trochar than see that look in her eyes again, at least to-day. He wouldn’t be able to concentrate; likely as not he’d wind up replacing a kidney with a gallbladder or something equally bad.

He commed Zan.

"You owe me," the Zabrak said darkly as Jos watched him scrub up. "I just finished my own rotation two hours ago."

"Sleep’s overrated."

"I wouldn’t know."

"Just give me an hour or so," Jos said. "I’ve got to clear my head."

"So you’re going for a walk? Have you been outside lately? The air’s so thick you could swim to the cantina."

"One hour," Jos said. "I’ll be back."

He left the building and struck out across the com-pound, angling away from the marshes and toward the relatively drier bota fields. Zan hadn’t exaggerated - ten minutes of walking and his clothes were already sweat-soaked. He would have to decontaminate all over again.

He didn’t care.

He stepped through a small stand of broad-leaved trees, waving away the wingstingers and fire gnats swarming around him, and saw the bota fields. Twenty or so parallel rows of growth stretching into the misty distance. Bota grew low to the ground; actually, the ma-jority of the plant was underground, with only the fruit-ing bodies exposed. The rows were being tended by the usual assortment of droids; he didn’t see any organic handlers at the moment.

He made no attempt to pinch off a bit of the plant, knowing that the rows were protected by a low-level zap field. This innocuous growth was a precious com-modity-understandable, since its adaptogenic cells could serve a variety of purposes, everything from po-tent broad-based antibiotic to hallucinogen to nutrient, depending on the species. If it could be cultivated off-world, it would give the spice traders considerable cause to worry, because it could literally be all things to all people.

All things to all people. It suddenly seemed to Jos that he’d spent a goodly part of his life-entirely too much, perhaps-trying to be the same thing. As far back as he could remember, it had been assumed that he would be a doctor. It wasn’t a decision he regretted-he