The Baserite turned even grimmer of face. "I am taking no chances. This plan must work. My brother just died down there in their reeking vat—"
Mike was astounded. "You mean you had a key? You could send the whole cell block to his rescue? But you let him die?"
Ice glazed over the pain in the Baserite's eyes. "There is much more at stake here than one life. A nation. The time was not right. I had hoped my brother would be spared a few minutes longer but it was not to be."
Mike marveled anew. Truly—these Baserites were men of iron will. "When?" Mike asked grimly.
"Soon." Mertaan took a small, strange-looking weapon from his pocket. It resembled a pistol enough to be identified as such. "I wish I could offer you arms, but smuggling them in was very risky. What few we have are in the hands of picked warriors."
Sweat was standing out on Mike's brow. "Never mind the guns. I just hope it's soon. The next one to go into that vat is a girl who—"
The Baserite's eyes filled with quick sympathy. "One of you, my friend?"
"One of us."
"I can only hope the ships come first."
Mike licked his dry lips. "But if they don't—you say you have some guns—the keys." He was looking at the Baserite with fixed calculation, his thoughts transparent.