Breakfast was canned French seafood rice. The rice was undercooked, and the seafood was flavorless, but Stark ate with gusto—not because he was hungry, but because he was actively storing energy in his body. He knew he had something to do.
After finishing a bagged loaf of bread and a can of main-course food, Stark wiped his mouth with his sleeve and said, "Do me a favor, Schiller. Call those people over. I'll make them a list, and they can go buy the things on it."
"There's nowhere to buy anything, Tony. There isn't a single store within twenty kilometers of here."
"Then steal it, rob it, or pry bricks off the military base walls. I don't care. I'll tell them weapons don't fall from the sky. Without a lathe, even God would have a hard time. If they want me to make weapons without giving me equipment, they should go ask God."
Schiller looked mildly surprised. Stark crossed his arms smugly and said, "Though I hate to admit it, you really are a good Doctor. I'll pay your consultation fee, but first, we need to figure out how to get out of here."
Schiller did not pick up on that thread, ruining Stark's plan to describe his grand scheme to him. But Stark truly intended to focus on more practical matters now, so he said, "I need to meet them. You'll act as our interpreter."
Schiller nodded without objecting. After breakfast, he put on his coat and told Stark, "I need to talk to them and make sure they have the patience to listen to all your messy demands. You'd better stay here, take your medicine, and get some sleep."
"Don't worry. I will."
After Schiller left, Stark added wood to the campfire and went over to pick through