“An army of men,” Tray said grimly.
“Think of it as an investment,” Kathy said. “Novaville can be your new home. You can stay here, or travel and use it as a haven to come back to in lean days. Blasters, fuel, ammo will be yours for the rest of our lives.”
“That much at least we can guarantee,” Lisa said. “The ward can’t match that. In words, yes, but not in deeds.”
Settling back into his chair, Ryan seriously considered the proposition. He knew everybody was watching him and kept his face strictly neutral, but to himself Ryan admitted that he didn’t like the whole deal. Only a fool willingly undertook a desperate battle.
However, he had spent a lifetime in the Death-lands with the Trader bartering for supplies. cutting deals with looters, and making treaties with warring farmers. Ryan had once faced down armed cold-hearts with an empty blaster, and killed the man who tried the same on him. Many were the jackals who thrived, not by force of arms, but with lies and deceit. Ryan knew by the fact that he was still alive, that while he might not always be able to detect a lie, he was positive he would know when somebody was telling him the plain unvarnished truth. The companions couldn’t leave without Leviathan, and they would never get it except by assisting to overthrow the rulers of the ville. That gave him only one option. Like it or not.
“Done.” Ryan held out a hand, Lisa took it and they shook. Her grip was firm, but slightly damp with sweat. It wasn’t hot in the cave. Nervous sweat? Suddenly, he had the vague feeling there was something important she wasn’t telling him, something she was holding in reserve. He would have his people ready for treachery. More so than usual.
“Liberty, equality, fraternity,” Doc said.
“Now we’re going to need some information,” Ryan stated, resting both hands on the table. “Maps of the yule showing every known attack point with the gas, and everywhere you have dug tunnels. We need to know how many sec men we’re facing, what weapons they have and what kind you have.”
The others murmured among themselves.
“This is a lot,” Lisa demurred. “If this information falls into the hands of the heirs, we’ll be destroyed.”
“You ask a lot,” Krysty reminded. “We aren’t fools, or suicides to charge blindly into battle.”
“And leave me the vial,” Mildred said.
“No. You’ll get it just before your attack,” Lisa countered.
“I’m a physician, a healer,” Mildred explained to their puzzled expressions. “I might be able to analyze the formula and duplicate it. Make enough for everybody.”
Conflicting emotions played across the brunette’s face.
“No,” she decided. “The risk for betrayal is too great. You get the antidote when we say so, not before.”
Mildred shrugged in acceptance.
“The ville sec men have blasters,” Krysty said, holstering her weapon. “Without Leviathan, we re going to need an equalizer. Something unexpected. Can’t conduct a revolution with sticks and rocks.”
“Sure can,” Jak drawled, pulling up a chair. “Lose.”
“Our loquacious teenaged friend is correct,” Doc said, leaning on his cane. “Without proper weaponry our efforts are for naught.”
“We need a key,” Ryan said thoughtfully. “J.B., what can you do with this dynamite?”
The Armorer inspected the top stick in the wooden box. The waxed tube was glistening with silver dewdrops. He replaced it with extreme care. “This is really old. It’s sweaty nitro. Dangerous stuff. I can probably stabilize it into plastique. Should yield a couple of pounds of C-4.”
“Not enough,” Ryan stated, cracking his knuckles. “Any more in stock?”
“That’s all we have,” Lisa said. “And two men died stealing that much.”
“Well, I can make lots of black powder,” J.B. told them, scratching under his hat, “if you folks can get me some sulfur. The charcoal we can make from slow-roasting wood, and saltpeter we dig up out of latrines.”
“I know the technique for turning black powder into gunpowder,” Mildred said. “It isn’t plastique, but it explodes better than black powder.”
“Couple of hundredweight of that and we’re in business,” Ryan announced.
“Nails for shrapnel,” Jak said.