"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."