The fear bit into him like acid. As quickly, it vanished. The stern outline of the ship ahead was not that of a freighter. It was a small job. Private, in the LR class--probably an LR65. * * * * * An absurd thought flashed into his mind. It couldn't be. Stella Gamble could have put a line on him, but she would have had to wait until he went into full acceleration before she could have calculated his direction. But she would have blacked out trying to follow him. No girl and few men could have kept up with him. None could have gotten ahead of him into that position. He turned on the radio and set it at commercial communication. He waited impatiently until the warm-up tube went off. "Look astern and identify yourself," he said sharply. "Hello, Larry," a triumphantly impudent and very familiar voice purred from the loudspeaker. "My ship is the LR65, _Hell Bat_." "Miss Gamble--Stella!" Larry sputtered. "What are you doing--" "Never mind that now, spaceman," her voice came, business-like. "I've got his track coming in. Keep out of my way. That's all I ask. Give me time to do it my way. You can always destroy the freighter later--if I don't succeed." "Sure," Larry said bitterly. "I can always destroy a ship that has a girl in it I could like--" He bit his lip. Her laugh answered him. She was drawing away from him. Muttering a curse, he extended his _trackers_ from the shell, but even as he did, he realized the trick she had played on him. Her own exhaust trail would make it impossible for him to detect that other fainter trail. And there was something else. "Miss Gamble!" he spoke into the microphone sharply. "Stella! That robot could leave a space mine. Your ship is a private job. It doesn't have the equipment in it to get away from a mine." Her laugh was unbelieving, scornful. "And where could that robot get a space mine?" she taunted. "It could make one. It has the materials." * * * * * 2615 endured the acceleration with impatience. It would lift an arm and hold it still, feeling how much effort it took. All the time it kept its gleaming eyes of polished glass fixed intently on the hatch to the pilot compartment. Finally it slid out of the rack and climbed upward toward that closed hatch, sure that it would not open under such induced weight. It took a long time to climb the distance. When 2615 reached the closed hatch, it looked around for a place to hide and wait. There was none. All interior structure had been stripped away to make room for racks for the robot bodies. The robot examined the hatch closely. It became motionless, as though thinking things out. Abruptly, it twisted the wheel that pulled in the locking rods. Nothing now held the cover closed except the tremendous acceleration of the ship. It directed its gaze downward at its feet, searching for more solid support. With slow deliberation it set itself, then placed its metal hands against the cover.