The fact that he could leave the hatch open safely gave him another idea. He was hungry for some food besides the dry emergency rations. Albrekt checked the chronometer. Within the next two hours, he was scheduled to run the other blast tape. He would have time. Heat gun in hand, he moved quietly to the hatch. The companionway was clear. From below came the murmur of voices. He moved cautiously a few steps down the metal ladder until he could see beneath the ceiling of the navigation deck. Migl was taking a shower on the other side of the room, while Carrel and Qoqol relaxed in contour chairs beside the dead-reckoning tracer. "What is Flanjo, Carrel?" asked the booming voice of Qoqol, the navigator. Qoqol was a Martian. His round body with its huge oxygen storage hump was not quite as big as a human body, but his thin arms and legs, each equipped with half a dozen double joints, were longer than a tall man's height. They were wrapped around him now, out of the way, and his big-eyed, big-eared head peered through them like an urchin's face through a tangle of vines. "The Flanjos are members of a fanatic sect who believe in human supremacy," answered Carrel soberly. "More than that, they believe in their own supremacy over other humans. They revolted against the Solar Council and have a hidden base our forces haven't been able to locate yet." "They are _loco_, Qoqol," said Migl from the shower. "Crazy. They'd make all you Martians slaves. Us too, probably." "Why they want this ship?" asked Qoqol. "For the ship itself, partly," said Carrel. "But our cargo's pretty strategic, too. It's mostly lithium, which they can use in nuclear weapons and power plants. They can use the plastics, tools and machinery we're carrying to improve conditions at their base. The general opinion I've heard is that their objective is to take over the Mars colonies. They need fusion weapons for that, but it's hard to get light elements on the outer moons, where their base is thought to be. Whatever they have already, 100 tons of lithium will help them immensely." "Immensely," assented Albrekt, stepping off the ladder to drift to the floor. He held the heat gun lightly in his hand. "I'm afraid I'm going to require all of you to go ahead of me down to the storage deck and remain there while I enjoy a good lunch." Silently they complied. The living quarters, where the food was, were one deck down, the storage deck below it. Albrekt ate his meal, keeping a watchful eye on the opening between the living quarters and the storage deck. Then he returned to the control room, locked the hatch and strapped himself down for blasting. He kept his promise to Carrel and broadcast a warning of the blast over the intercom system. At the appointed moment, he ran the blast tape through the automatic pilot.