There was a brief silence.
"The only thing I can figure is that you've gone space happy," said Carrel at last. "Albrekt, you're no spaceman. You can't have known what you were doing when you switched on the jets."
Albrekt did not answer.
"Look," said Carrel, "it'll take several days to figure out what sort of orbit that blast threw us into, and I'm not sure we have enough fuel to correct it. You'd better let us in."
"We may as well understand each other," said Albrekt. "I'm no spaceman, but some very good spacemen figured out that blast tape—and the other one I'm going to use later. I'm a captain in the Flanjo military, and I've taken this ship and its cargo over, to deliver them to the Flanjo patrol. None of you will be hurt if you cause no trouble."
"So that's it!" snorted Carrel. "Damned pirate high-jacker! My advice to you, Albrekt, is to come out of there and let me put you under arrest, because if you don't we'll be coming in after you."
"Try it, and I'll burn you," retorted Albrekt.
After sleeping several times, Albrekt was ready to concede it was not going to be as cozy in the control room as he had thought at first. It offered basic comforts of home, but the showers were on the larger navigation deck below. Several months without a bath promised to be uncomfortable. All decks carried plenty of emergency rations in case they were sealed off by a meteor collision, but the rations were not too tasty, Albrekt's mouth was beginning to water at the thought of the frozen meals stored two decks below, available to the crew.
Most of Carrel's book tapes were too technical to interest him, but he spent much of his time listening to those which offered him information in simple terms. The pattern of meaning of all the dials, switches and buttons crowded into the control room became a little clearer to him.