The question didn’t sound at all rhetorical, and I could feel him looking at me again. But I stared ahead at the rocks and said nothing.

It had been dark for a while by the time we traded vehicles and got to the freeway. Jared waited a few careful minutes with the inconspicuous sedan’s lights off. I counted ten cars passing by. Then there was a long darkness between the headlights, and Jared pulled onto the road.

The trip to Phoenix was very short, though Jared kept the speed scrupulously below the limit. Time was speeding up, as if the Earth were spinning faster.

We settled into the steady-moving traffic, flowing with it along the highway that circled the flat, sprawling city. I saw the hospital from the road. We followed another car up the exit ramp, moving evenly, without hurry.

Jared turned into the main parking lot.

“Where now?” he asked, tense.

“See if this road continues around the back. The tanks will be by a loading area.”

Jared drove slowly. There were many souls here, going in and out of the facility, some of them in scrubs. Healers. No one paid us any particular attention.

The road hugged the sidewalk, then curved around the north side of the building complex.

“Look. Shipping trucks. Head that way.”

We passed between a wing of low buildings and a parking garage. Several trucks, delivering medical supplies no doubt, were backed into receiving ports. I scanned the crates on the dock, all labeled.

“Keep going… though we might want to grab some of those on the way back. See—Heal… Cool… Still? I wonder what that one is.”

I liked that these supplies were labeled and left unguarded. My family wouldn’t go without the things they needed when I was gone. When I was gone; it seemed that phrase was tacked on to all of my thoughts now.

We rounded the back of another building. Jared drove a little faster and kept his eyes forward—there were people here, four of them, unloading a truck onto a dock. It was the exactness of their movements that caught my attention. They didn’t handle the smallish boxes roughly; quite the contrary, they placed them with infinite care onto the waist-high lip of concrete.

I didn’t really need the label for confirmation, but just then, one of the unloaders turned his box so the black letters faced me directly.

“This is the place we want. They’re unloading occupied tanks right now. The empty ones won’t be far… Ah! There, on the other side. That shed is half full of them. I’ll bet the closed sheds are all the way full.”

Jared kept driving at the same careful speed, turning the corner to the side of the building.

He snorted quietly.

“What?” I asked.

“Figures. See?”

He jerked his chin toward the sign on the building.

This was the maternity wing.