Just before landing he would transfer the Urulium to his own duffle bag--a new one, of course, stocked with clothing taken from the tender's supplies. A welding torch would reduce the copper casket to a lump of reddish metal. He would dispose of a little Urulium illegally, outfit a one-man ship with the proceeds, and go on a prospecting cruise from which he could return with a legitimate store of the precious stuff. Disposed of to the Martians, who valued it as a healing agent, the four kilograms would bring a fortune. * * * * * He pushed the little ship to top speed, which was slow at best. Hour after hour he hurled its silvery nose toward the distant stars, on a course which his charts told him led to earth. Mars, smaller than his own world, was on the other side of the sun. It was on earth that automatic cameras would have snapped the explosion of the _Cinnabar_. Perhaps salvage ships were already on their way; in a few hours he might meet them. Glancing at the chronometer, he saw that it was safe to remove his mask. The last vestige of _kui-knor_ which might have entered the tender from the _Cinnabar_ would have decomposed by now. By this time it would also have decomposed in the blood of the drugged men had any remained alive to experience it. "Akars! Blast my orbit, what happened?" He whirled at the voice, all his fear surging up within him, choking him. In the doorway stood Box Jordan, his tall, lean figure swaying a little, keen eyes questioning. "Jordan! I--where d'you come from?" "Routine inspection forward. I was checking the fuel tanks, started to back out of the tank compartment when I froze up. Couldn't move a toe." The navigator's sharp eyes narrowed. "What happened?" "Happened?" Akars fought the panic in his voice, the fear of this man who was not afraid of him. "Nothing much--just that the _Cinnabar_ blew up." "Blew up! You mean we're the only survivors?" Akars shrugged. "I thought I was, until you popped up. Of course I looked around. There wasn't anybody else--" He stood up, stretching. "If you'll take over a while, I'll get the kinks out of me." For an instant Jordan hesitated. Akars watched him closely. He suspected, of course--knew that he had been drugged. Even when under the _kui-knor_, he must have felt the tender pull away from the _Cinnabar_, and that without any evidence of an explosion. In a moment he would add things up, reaching the only possible conclusion. Desperately Akars glanced about for a weapon. And Jordan, with a queer twisted smile, walked forward--not toward the pilot's seat, but toward Akars. Those big bony hands of his were working. His very silence was terrible. Akars flattened himself against a wall. Big as he was, he knew himself to be no match for the hard-muscled first navigator. Aroused as the latter now was, he would be doubly dangerous. Akars clawed the bare wall, breathing hard.