"You drugged the air-cycle," said Jordan. "You shut off the refrigerators and took off in the tender. You stood by while the _Cinnabar_ went to hell, with every man aboard her. Then you went back and picked up the Urulium--" "No!" screamed Akars. "No! I swear I didn't--" Jordan's hard fingers closed over his windpipe, crushed in his throat like a steel clamp tightened about it. He could feel his eyes bulging from their sockets, his body turning cold and dwindling away from him. He slumped suddenly, as though unconscious. A moment longer Jordan held him in that terrible grip, then flung him away. Akars hit the wall, collapsed into a huddled heap, gasping and retching as breath passed his bruised throat. He took his time, gathering strength, sure that Jordan would not attack him while he was down. Desperation lent him courage. Concerned, there was nothing to do but fight it out. He wouldn't let the navigator get another throat hold. Pretending to be weaker than he was, Akars lurched to his feet. He had a plan now, and warily circled Jordan before closing in. Then he plunged forward, ducked a swift uppercut, took a solid body blow that left him gasping--but reached the wall behind Jordan which was his objective. A rack of oxygen tanks for use with space suits was fastened there. Akar's hands tore one free--a slender, blunt-ended cylinder, massive enough to be a dangerous club. As Jordan closed in Akars brought it down on the navigator's left arm, which fell limp. With a bellow of triumph Akars struck for the head. Jordan, still drug-hazy and crippled in one arm, took the blow on a temple. It stopped him like a shot; he crumpled to one knee and fell. Breath rattling in his swollen throat, Akars stared into the hated face and wondered whether he should finish the job with a few more blows. Caution whispered consent, but still he hesitated. This was Box Jordan. _Box Jordan!_ Why kill him like this? He wanted Jordan to know what was coming--to know it as long as possible. It struck him then that killing Jordan wasn't as simple as it seemed. Found aboard the tender, Jordan's body would convict him. Flung into space, this far from the _Cinnabar_ disaster, it would provoke awkward questions--unanswerable questions--when discovered. Here was an unexpected flaw in a scheme that had looked foolproof! Cursing, Akars pulled the chart book toward him. * * * * * He had tied Jordan's feet and fastened his hands behind him, lashed to a wall railing. In a supply closet he had found a paralysis gun, which he now wore in a side holster. For these and other reasons he was as confident, when Jordan showed signs of returning life, as he had been at first. Grinning, he watched the navigator stir and weakly sit up. "Coming out of it, are you? Listen to me, Jordan. I've got the Urulium aboard. Want to come in on this with me?" Jordan rubbed his temple tenderly. "I suppose there isn't much choice--"