"Naturally. I leave nothing to chance, gentlemen--nothing. Before your ship left Earth, I had been advised as to the trick by means of which you intended to gain a foothold on this asteroid. And care was taken that the property you were allowed to 'purchase'--at a handsome price, for which I thank you, gentlemen!--held no basaltic deposits. "Well, Captain--answer me! Have you, or have you not, unearthed any pumice deposits?" The answer came from a few rods away. Biggs had returned from his exploring trip. Now he took over, a fact for which the skipper was obviously grateful. "The answer, Governor Steichner, is--no. We have not!" "Ah! Then by what right, Lieutenant, did you summon the Patrol to Iris? You realize you were given but ten days to locate and develop a heretofore undeveloped industry upon Iris? And by your own admission, you have failed to find that for which you came--" * * * * * "True," admitted Biggs easily. "Quite true, Steichner. But though we have failed to find pumice, we have found something else. Another commodity never before exploited on Iris. We thereby earn the right to stay here for thirty-five years ... and to call in the Patrol to protect our rights...." Steichner's fingers worked convulsively. "_Another_ product, sir? Out of this bleak, worthless soil! Impossible!" And Biggs shook his head. "Incredible, sir. But not impossible. Because, you see, it exists. Unless my latest estimates are completely in error, our drill should strike, at any minute now, a pocket of that substance which was created when Iris was still a part of a mighty planet swinging in an orbit between Mars and Jupiter. A commodity of great value ... an essential fuel...." "What?" roared Steichner. "What are you talking about, you blithering idiot?" Biggs didn't answer him. He didn't have to. For at that moment there rose a sudden warning shout from where our workers tended the diamondhead drill. Voices raised in swift alarm, from the ground beneath our feet came a strange roaring, rushing, gushing sound. And even as the workmen fled, the superstructure of our drill shattered and flew high into the thin air of Iris--borne aloft on a pillar of thick black goo! [Illustration: There was an awful rushing sound and a column of black muck shot skyward.] And "_Oil!_" cried Lancelot Biggs triumphantly. "_Oil_, Steichner! That is the new industry which grants us the right to remain here!" * * * * * Well, it was a victory, all right--but for a minute I thought it was going to be a victory with flowers. For Otto Steichner's mouth turned livid with rage as he realized he had lost his tight grip on the planetoid Iris; his hand leaped to his belt, and for the space of a held breath I felt certain he would ray us all down in our tracks.