Sweat ran into Mike Logan's eyes. One copper nipple slipped into its socket. Space develops a sixth sense and he felt the urgent nearness of the asteroid maze. One hand reached for the auxiliary switch as the other fought to mate nipple and post. Abruptly the nipple mated and his fist veered to strike the ignition button. An explosive stab of power drove them forward. "You can stop crying, rat. We're safe." Logan looked in the mirror. His hands shook and he reached for a cigarette despite regulations. Snyder played with the bunk blankets; the mimic described little motions with its eight-fingered paws. He turned wearily back to the controls, re-setting the course. The chronometer showed forty-three more hours. Mental and physical endurance is limited and Logan's had been drained before returning to Jupiter. The sapping in the transient prison had found him in need of a bed, cool sheets, and a week of sleep. He hadn't completely cracked, only been sick with strain and shock. This _last chance_ was too much. He had reached the emotional saturation point. * * * * * Something soft slid over his nose, caught and jerked him backward. The bucket's headrest hit his spine and he struck the deck rolling and cursing himself. Snyder's laugh boomed as he dropped the improvised blanket-rope and caught Logan's throat in his huge hands. The Patrolman's eyes bulged as he was dragged to the edge of the bunk. "I can feel the blood in your neck," Snyder gloated. "You're not clever, Logan. You're not strong. Your brother could fight." The giant was master all the way. Mike could feel his face swell, lights dancing, as the sausage fingers tightened. Somewhere a foot found purchase. He lashed out with the other. The toe cut the edge of a small eye, momentarily relaxing the hold and he squirmed free. Chains crunched as Snyder lunged after him and was jerked back. He pulled himself to his feet, blaster in hand. [Illustration: _He lashed out with his foot, somehow fought free._] "Shoot," Snyder commanded him. "I tried to escape." Instinct tightened Logan's finger on the trigger. Then he leaned against the hull and swore to the end of his strength while the giant laughed with crying eyes. The mimic imitated him with cracking little screeches. At eighteen hours sunward he fed his prisoner. A stern locker opened into a compact kitchen and produced Earth meat and beans. He handed a plate and a dull spoon to Snyder, took one himself and sat on a stool. He wasn't hungry. "You don't understand me, do you?" Snyder said wistfully. "Shut up." "Why don't you make me?" he demanded. "Why don't you kill me?" He brightened. "Do you know how I killed your brother?" The blood drained from Lt. Logan's face.