Brace sank still further into the cushions, the pressure holding him firm. Breathing was more of an effort. Barrows rested his head on the cushion of the acceleration chair and closed his eyes. The pilot watched down his nose at the dials before him, his leaden hands resting on the soft arms of his chair. Already, the small ports in front showed the purple blackness of the fringe of space and then the purple deepened to a solid charcoal black. Brace wondered how the girl was taking the acceleration. This was no kid-glove passenger liner, yet three G's wasn't so bad. He hoped she'd stayed in the bunk. Thinking was hard. The pressure seemed to drag thoughts from his mind. He didn't want to think about the girl and he tried to shake his mind free. There were millions of women in the system, billions! So she disappeared! She wouldn't be the first. So she'd end up in a brothel on a pleasure asteroid! What difference did it make? She'd eat well! Or maybe it would be the pleasure palace of some earth man or Martian. It was a soft life. And it was _life_. But it made him angry that he should care. At least, Gartland had given him a way out. The voice of Barrows intruded on his thoughts. "We're in clear space now. Let's get rolling!" "Wait!" Brace barked. He hated himself for speaking. Any space man worth the name could take six or seven G's, but he thought of the girl. She looked fragile, and not too well fed. Suppose she died? So what? So he wouldn't have to think about Gartland or her ever again. Chuck her in the waste port! Again, he saw her pirouetting through space, cast off by the scum of the universe and received by the lord of the universe, the great, flaming orb. "Cut the acceleration!" Brace snarled. "Make it one and a half G's!" The springs of his chair whispered their release as the acceleration eased. Brace unsnapped the safety belt and heaved himself out of the chair and to a hand hold. The deck was straight up and down. "Adjust for floor gravity!" Brace ordered. Obediently, the pilot cut the stern jets and for an instant, they were in free fall. Then the under jets cut in and Brace was pressed to the deck. Prostrate, he watched the stars wheel before the front port, slow down in their movement, and stop. "One G.," Brace said, rising. He stood upright, straightened his cap, and walked to the port. * * * * * Brace walked slowly down the companionway, his eyes fixed straight ahead. "Chuck her out!" he muttered. "Chuck her out!" It was a clean, swift, merciful death. There was nothing clinging about it, none of the sickness that he felt when he thought of putting her into Gartland's hands.