"So you're alive?"
It was Box Jordan's voice, Akars realized as he awoke to painful consciousness. Parts of him seemed to be on fire. He was wearing a space suit, as Jordan was, and they were no longer in the ship, but on the asteroid.
"Hard time getting you into a suit when the ship's air went," remarked the navigator, his voice loud in Akars' earphones. "Of course I knew what was coming and had only to close my face plate, just as you told me. But I wanted to save you particularly. They need good, tough murderers like you at the mines. Some last as long as five years, I hear."
Akars tried to sit up, discovered that he was bound—and that Jordan had the paralysis gun now.
"I found the Urulium," continued the navigator. "The Cinnabar's widows and orphans will get their share, after all."
"What happened?" asked Akars thickly. "That explosion—"
"Only a feeble imitation of the Cinnabar's. Don't forget that her fuel exploded spontaneously—with a thousand times the force. In our case the fuel was inert, because our refrigeration didn't fail. It burnt, once ignited, but without an explosion—just as I expected. What I didn't tell you, Akars, was that the collision you had near the wrecked Cinnabar knocked a hole in one fuel tank. I was lying almost against it—almost froze, too—and for hours I could hear fuel leaking out through the rip. Not much—just enough to catch fire when that spark hit us, and to carry back and ignite the whole tank."
Akars groaned. "That spark—that damn spark!"
Jordan was staring into space. He rose and looked long, then sat down again.
"We're rescued, Akars. Naturally the salvage ships kept a lookout for the missing life ship and saw the flare-up here. They'll arrive soon."