Extreme Difference by D. B. Reynolds-Moreton Page A

their needs. Nan did not look a happy man.
    ‘Why do you think ‘they’, if ‘they’ really exist, went to so much trouble to fool us? I don’t see any point in it. I think you’re jumping to conclusions.’ said a rattled Nan.
    Just then, the rest of the group began arriving for the midday meal, so any further discussion on the faked gas supply was suspended. Nan suggested that they continue later on after the evening meal, as they would be less likely to be disturbed then.
    Mop excelled herself with the food offering, although she would not divulge what the chewy bits were, except they were something she had recently discovered. The juice they were suspended in was thick and glutinous, and tended to stick to the teeth.  Sandy dreaded to think what it was she had used, and did not dare ask.
    Most of the afternoon was spent rummaging about in Ben’s store of bits and pieces, Sandy not saying exactly what it was he was looking for, merely getting an idea of what was available, should the need arise. Ben was sure it would.
    The growing boxes were taken out when the sun dipped below the highest peaks, the bowl of the crater taking on a more gentle glow instead of the white hot blast of light which constituted the main part of the day.
    The boxes had hardly been out for more than a few minutes when a loud bell sounded, and everyone rushed out to the main entrance.
    Karry and Kel were pointing their gas guns at a small group of cloak clad bald headed people who had crept up to the growing bins, and were intent on helping themselves.
    ‘Shoot the tallest one,’ Nan said quietly, ‘he’s most likely their leader, and that should throw them into disarray.’
    A loud bang shattered the otherwise stillness of the crater, and several more cloak clad figures suddenly sprang into view from their hiding place among the rocks at the base of the towering cliffs. Karry must have been lucky, or a good shot, for the tall target fell to the ground, clutching his leg.
    The fallen one made much of his damaged leg, while two of his henchmen tried to get him up onto his feet again. One of the bolder members of the raiding party took several steps forward, waving a long silver coloured rod at the defenders, and this prompted Nan to give the order to fire again.
    This shot hit the rod waver in the forehead, and he too fell to the ground, blood spurting out from the gash, and staining the sands a deep crimson as it soaked in.
    Both gas gun carriers took a step forward and pointed their guns at the remaining group of attackers, as if to fire again.
    Not realizing the guns were now inoperative, they took to their heels, dragging the last casualty rather carelessly by one leg, until they were well out of range.
    The group reassembled, shaking their fists at the triumphant defenders and yelling unintelligibly before marching off defiantly, trying to rescue some degree of dignity from their failed attempt to acquire what was not theirs.
    ‘Well done,’ said Nan, ‘that was good shooting and should teach them a lesson they won’t forget in a hurry.’
    Ben stepped forward to take the gas guns for reloading, and Sandy followed him down to his workshop, to see how it was done. One of the gas lamps had a piece of flexible tubing attached to the outlet of the lamp, and Ben thrust the tube into the end of the gun, after removing the bung. Unscrewing a small knob on the bulbous end of the weapon, he then turned on the gas and held a burning taper which he had lit from one of the lamps, over the hole.
    Nothing happened for a moment, and then a small flame appeared at the hole, burning brightly. Ben then turned off the gas, removed the tube, and inserted a rod with a leather like plunger on the end, into the gun barrel, pushing it in as far as it would go, and then the little flame went out. 
    The rod was withdrawn from the barrel end of the gun, the little knob screwed back in and small wad of some fluffy material pushed down the barrel. This was