"In short," replied Steichner, dropping his pretenses for a moment and giving me a stare which would have curdled a bottle of cream, "no! You have been given every legal opportunity, Mr. Donovan. You have been here on Iris exactly five and one half Solar Constant days. If, within ten days after your arrival, you have not demonstrated your ability to produce a commercial commodity heretofore undeveloped on this planet, you will be asked to leave." I rose. "O.Q., Steichner," I told him grimly. "You hold the chips, now. But let me tell you this--if we _do_ find what we're looking for, and gain the right to remain on Iris, our _first move_ will be to call in the Space Patrol to protect our property. And you know what that means. It means the end of you and your gang ... the end of your use of Iris as a base for marauding expeditions. "You know that, Steichner. That's why you're--" Steichner's face mottled unhealthily. He said in a gray voice, "You are talking dangerously, Donovan. Be careful no 'accident' stops _your_ wagging tongue." "If anything happens to me," I promised him, "you'll receive a visit from the Space Patrol before you can stutter 'nebular hypothesis,' Steichner. That's been arranged." His lips were a white slit through which he gritted, "I quite understand, Donovan. But don't underestimate Otto Steichner. Even for _that_ eventuality I am prepared. Now--get out!" "Moreover--" I began. "I said--_get out_!" * * * * * "So," I concluded my story to the skipper and Lanse Biggs, "I scrammed across the bridge and over the lake and up to camp, here. And thus endeth my little attempt to buy more land. It just can't be done, boys and girls. That's a dead duck." The Old Man frowned. He said, "Yeah, there's no use squawkin' about it; Steichner holds the whip hand. The worst of it is, he'll probably be able to kick us off Iris without doin' a thing to bring in the Patrol. I mean, we'll get the gate strictly legal. Because we still ain't found no sign of pumice, and we're pretty deep now--Well, Lancelot?" Biggs had been thinking. You can always tell when he's thinking, because his feet shuttle from side to side like spectators' heads at a tennis-match. Now he said, "Across the _what_ and over the _what_, Sparks?" "Seriatim," I told him, "bridge and lake. So what's that got to do with the present situation? The problem before the board is--" "I was just wondering," commented Biggs, "how there should be a _lake_ on the planetoid Iris--and why? As we know, there are no natural bodies of water on this tiny orb. Therefore they must be artificial--" "All right," growled the skipper, "so they're phoney! Maybe Steichner's got a sense of beauty!" "Sure," I agreed. "What he likes best is a lovely dagger, attractively decorated with nice, fresh blood. Cap's right, Biggs. We're not here to marvel at the scenic wonders of Iris. We've got a job to do, and we're getting nowhere--fast!"