"Don't get me wrong," Marc said softly. "I'm not telling you what to do or what not to do. But that warehouse is the thing I'm here to protect. And if I were to agree to help you, the Navy would be after me, too. So I've got to say to hell with you." John Mantor rocked back on his heels, hooking his thumbs in his belt. A slow smile spread over his face. "Okay," he said. "I think I get what you mean. So I guess we got to work you over. And we'll do it where there aren't any outside witnesses." Marc grinned back at him. Lee was puzzled. It took her a moment to realize that the grins sealed a contract between the two men. Marc would cooperate if he were beaten up enough first to satisfy a later investigation--but not too severely for his own comfort! Lee found it difficult to hide her contempt. She stared at her hands, clenched in her lap, and waited for Mantor to leave. The looting and destruction were well under way an hour later when a couple of Mantor's men joined their chief, who stood with a somewhat bruised Marc Polder and an unharmed but furious Lee Treynor. Between them they carried a small, obviously heavy box. "You know what this stuff is, boss?" one of the men asked. "They got a hundred or a hundred-fifty boxes like this in there." He nodded at the Navy warehouse. They set the box down and Mantor flung back its lid. It was filled with small grey pellets. Mantor picked up a handful and stood fingering them. "Looks like rocket fuel," he said. "Only I've never seen any this color. And it's too heavy, also." He turned to the comptroller. "_You_ tell me what it is." Marc shrugged. "I don't know. It's a Navy secret." Mantor's eyes glinted. Without warning his fist flew out, sent the comptroller sprawling in the dust where he lay stunned. Lee's hands flew to her mouth barely in time to suppress a cry. After a few moments Marc rolled over slowly and pushed himself painfully to a sitting position. He looked up at Mantor who stood watching him coldly, his fist flexing. The comptroller licked his lips and looked around at the several men who stood watching, their faces impassive. "Okay," he said in a none-too-steady voice. "I'll tell you. You'd find out anyway from the files." "Cut the alibis and give," Mantor growled. "Keep your shirt on." Marc's voice indicated he was regaining control of himself. "It's H.D.T.--Hyper-Degenerate-Thorium--the stuff the destroyers use to get extra push." Mantor roared his glee. "Pack it aboard, boys--_all_ of it! And put it where it will be handy, just in case." This was it, Lee thought as she stood by, watching--the final bitter pill. Mantor had as much as told them he was working for Venus. And the H.D.T. was all Venus needed to be ready for war--a war that might well blast civilization from the Solar System. Strange that so much should depend upon one man; tragic that the one man was a weakling.