The acceleration dropped immediately to 1-G which gave several people an internal stomach-wrangle similar to that not enjoyed by the stopping of a high-speed elevator. And there, a half mile from the _Martian Queen_, ran another ship. It was black and chromium and deadly looking because of a triple-turret of heavy rifles that led the _Martian Queen_ by exactly enough to make a perfect hit. Marksman Jeffries knew it, and so did everybody who looked. Signal Officer Jones nudged Jeffries. "There he is," he said bitterly. "No myth, anyway," grunted Jeffries. "Nope." "How'd he come up?" Jones growled in his throat. "I'll never know," he said sadly. "One moment, the area was clean. Next moment, the celestial globe displayed a large ship, the detectors went crazy, and here he was!" "Here he _is_, you mean," came a heavy reply, and everybody turned to see the menacing figure standing in the room, heavy automatics in either hand. "I thank you for lining up, ladies and gentlemen. It makes things so much easier. As you see, I've your captain under one of these. I'll not bother shooting the first one that makes an offside move. My first shot will kill the captain. My second will kill the first officer. I'll have whatever valuables are handy, and then I'll have that shipment of radiosodium." "You'll ..." started Captain Phillips. "I'll kill you if you don't," gritted the pirate. And that was that. Black Morgan knew what he was about, and he did it neatly and quickly. The valuables went into a sack and then they were all herded into a cargo hold and locked in. Gravity went off completely, leaving them floundering in the room. The heavy shipment of radiosodium went out with only inertia to offer resistance. An hour later, they forced the door of the cargo hold and the ship took up operations again. But Black Morgan was no longer in sight. The detector recorder indicated a receding target that must have been the leaving pirate craft, but that was all. Despite all arguments, Black Morgan had come up, pirated the craft at two-thousand, three hundred miles per second, under 3-Gs' deceleration from turnover, one hour and twelve minutes previous. Yes, it was impossible and everybody knew that matching such constants in space could not be done, but Black Morgan had done it. There was no merriment for the rest of the trip. * * * * * Back on Terra again, Lieutenant Jeffries found that he was in disgrace. His landing was followed almost immediately by an official order, and with sheer discouragement, Jeffries went to see Captain Edwards. "That was a fine display," snapped his superior. "But--" "Look, Jeffries. You were sent forth to do a job. Anything you wanted we'd furnish. But you went out with a brass band and a challenge, and you were taken up and beaten. Not only that, but we lost a small fortune in radiosodium." "I'd hoped to--"