"I was saying," continued Ramey, "that our best bet seems to be another attempt to get the Bow of Rudra. We must give up our dream of an invasion in force. Select a group of our sturdiest fighters, join Vibhishana and somehow gain our way to Ravana's chamber. Once we have the Bow—"
"We are still powerless," finished Sugriva. "Hate me, O my friends, for ever thus disrupting your dreams. But the fact remains that we, no more than Ravana, have the fuel with which to charge the precious weapon!"
Lake O'Brien, who had been strangely silent for one usually so volatile, glanced at Ramey quizzically now.
"Touché, Winters," he acknowledged. "The Bow is no earthly use to us if it isn't working. And we have even less likelihood of fueling it within the deadline than has Ravana. Damn his rotten hide," he concluded almost as an afterthought.
It was, thought Ramey Winters with a sickening sense of fate preordained, like standing up against a fighter who outweighed you by fifty pounds. Whose skill and reach and strength were all greater than yours. Every time a plan presented itself, logic came rushing in to overthrow it.
He said, shakenly, "And what is this fuel, Sugriva? Have you none whatsoever at Chitrakuta?"
The blue lord shook his head regretfully.
"Not an ounce, child of earth. It is too rare. My brother Rudra, with all his scientific wisdom, succeeded in deriving only a tiny amount for his purposes from the mines at our disposal. Now all that has been used up.
"It is a metal. A most precious metal, ash-silver in hue, light as the down of a swan's breast, smooth to the touch—"
Ramey surrendered. "Okay," he said haggardly. "I'm licked. That's what Vibhishana told me, too. So I guess my idea wasn't so good, either. We'll have to think of some—"