He reached out convulsively and yanked a switch.
Martin leaped, knocking him to the floor. Rodney's gun skittered away silently, like a live thing, out of the range of the torches.
The radio receivers impersonally recorded the grating sounds of Rodney's sobs.
"Sorry," Martin said, without feeling. He turned quickly. "Wass?"
The slight, blond man stood unmoving. "I'm with you, Martin, but, as a last resort it might be better to be blown sky high than to die gradually—"
Martin was watching Rodney, struggling to get up. "I agree. As a last resort. We still have a little time."
Rodney's tall, spare figure looked bowed and tired in the torchlight, now that he was up again. "Martin, I—"
Martin turned his back. "Skip it, Rodney," he said gently.
"Water," Wass said thoughtfully. "There must be reservoirs under this city somewhere."
Rodney said, "How does water help us get out?"