Two hours later, Preston sat at the controls of a one-man patrol ship just as he had in the old days. Only the control panel was bare where the firing studs for the heavy guns was found in regular patrol ships. And in the cargo hold instead of crates of spare ammo there were three bulging sacks of mail destined for the colony on Ganymede. _Slight difference_, Preston thought, as he set up his blasting pattern. "Okay, Preston," came the voice from the tower. "You've got clearance." "Cheers," Preston said, and yanked the blast-lever. The ship jolted upward, and for a second he felt a little of the old thrill--until he remembered. He took the ship out in space, saw the blackness in the viewplate. The radio crackled. "Come in, Postal Ship. Come in, Postal Ship." "I'm in. What do you want?" "We're your convoy," a hard voice said. "Patrol Ship 08756, Lieutenant Mellors, above you. Down at three o'clock, Patrol Ship 10732, Lieutenant Gunderson. We'll take you through the Pirate Belt." Preston felt his face go hot with shame. Mellors! Gunderson! They would stick two of his old sidekicks on the job of guarding him. "Please acknowledge," Mellors said. [Illustration: "The iceworms were not expecting any mail--just the mailman."] Preston paused. Then: "Postal Ship 1872, Lieutenant Preston aboard. I acknowledge message." There was a stunned silence. "_Preston?_ Hal Preston?" "The one and only," Preston said. "What are you doing on a Postal ship?" Mellors asked. "Why don't you ask the Chief that? He's the one who yanked me out of the Patrol and put me here." "Can you beat that?" Gunderson asked incredulously. "Hal Preston, on a Postal ship." "Yeah. Incredible, isn't it?" Preston asked bitterly. "You can't believe your ears. Well, you better believe it, because here I am." "Must be some clerical error," Gunderson said. "Let's change the subject," Preston snapped. They were silent for a few moments, as the three ships--two armed, one loaded with mail for Ganymede--streaked outward away from Earth. Manipulating his controls with the ease of long experience, Preston guided the ship smoothly toward the gleaming bulk of far-off Jupiter. Even at this distance, he could see five or six bright pips surrounding the huge planet. There was Callisto, and--ah--there was Ganymede. He made computations, checked his controls, figured orbits. Anything to keep from having to talk to his two ex-Patrolmates or from having to think about the humiliating job he was on. Anything to-- * * * * * "_Pirates! Moving up at two o'clock!_" Preston came awake. He picked off the location of the pirate ships--there were two of them, coming up out of the asteroid belt. Small, deadly, compact, they orbited toward him. He pounded the instrument panel in impotent rage, looking for the guns that weren't there. "Don't worry, Pres," came Mellors' voice. "We'll take care of them for you."