or rain shall stay me from my appointed
rounds, or however the damned thing goes."

"That's a smart attitude, Preston. Come on--I'll walk you over to
Administration."

* * * * *

Savagely, Preston ripped away the hand that the other had put around his
shoulders. "I can get there myself. At least give me credit for that!"

"Okay," Dawes said, shrugging. "Well--good luck, Preston."

"Yeah. Thanks. Thanks real lots."

He pushed his way past the man in Space Grays and shouldered past a
couple of barflies as he left. He pushed open the door of the bar and
stood outside for a moment.

It was near midnight, and the sky over Nome Spaceport was bright with
stars. Preston's trained eye picked out Mars, Jupiter, Uranus. There
they were--waiting. But he would spend the rest of his days ferrying
letters on the Ganymede run.

He sucked in the cold night air of summertime Alaska and squared his
shoulders.

* * * * *

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