Pulling Oruk's huge body after him, Ron stepped quickly into the interior of the ship and stood a moment, listening. Not a sound came from Tarnuff, far forward in the control room. Ron dragged Oruk's body to the central airlock, and gave it a decent burial in space. Not until then did he divest himself of the cumbersome space-suit. He examined the atom pistol and saw there were still five or six charges in the firing chamber. Then he moved forward, opened the control room door silently and stood just within the threshold. Tarnuff was hunched over the calculation table, his back to the door. Once or twice he reached out and moved a directional-finder infinitesimally to agree with the chart. Ron watched silently, a grim smile on his lips. Not until Tarnuff straightened up from his task did Ron speak: "For the second time, Tarnuff--hello." The Martian whirled around in the seat, saw Ron with the pistol levelled. "You!" he exclaimed, starting to spring up but sinking down again. "So--you broke out, eh? That clumsy fool, Oruk, wait'll I get my hands on him." His face darkened. Ron laughed aloud. "You'll have a hard time doing that. Your strong-arm pal is a thousand miles behind us in space by this time. Yes," he answered the other's questioning eyes, "I blasted a hole through him." He gestured to the Martian's belt. "I'll take that pistol now; I asked for it a little while ago, you remember. First stand up, then toss it to me--careful!" Tarnuff obeyed, sullenly. Ron caught the pistol and jammed it in his belt. "And now my electro-gun, please. That's right. Thanks. You've got your course charted?" "Yes." "For where?" "Callisto." "Good enough for the time being. Now lock those controls and sit down at the table again. We'll get down to business." "I haven't any business with you, Earthman." "Oh, yes you have, but you don't know it yet. Sit down!" Ron shoved the pistol at him meaningly. Tarnuff complied, appearing more puzzled than he was sullen. But he did not remain puzzled long, as Ron drew out a folded paper and handed it to him. "I'm Ron Jordan. The name may mean something to you when you've read that. You will then sign it, if you wish to ever leave this ship alive." Ron watched him closely as he read, and he saw comprehension slowly dawn in the Martian's eyes. Tarnuff finished the brief, but concise story of the asteroid incident as related by Carl Jordan. Then he looked up with an almost contemptuous smile on his lips. "Ah, yes, I remember now. Your brother, I presume. I had heard on the telecast that he was sentenced for smuggling Silicytes. Most unfortunate." "Unfortunate for you, right now. Sign!" Tarnuff calmly ignored the menacing pistol and said: "But this statement implicates me most seriously, Ron Jordan. I do not like that." "Sign," Ron said through clenched teeth, "or I blast you here and now." Tarnuff shook his head. "That's one thing I know you won't do. Not without my signature. You need it too badly."