"I didn't know," he confessed. "As a matter of fact, I suspect that little oil-well will run itself dry in less than two days. You see, it can be but a tiny pocket, at most. The asteroid _is_ mostly composed of igneous rock formations. My guess is that it comprised the side of a volcanic mountain on the planet of which it was once, ages ago, a part. When the planet exploded, a minute portion of the mountain valley was torn away with this fragment. It was from this ancient peat bog the oil derived. "I began to guess there might be a vestige of oil when we dug up black slate. That is the invariable residue of submersion. Then, when we found the fossiliferous rocks, I knew we were on the right track. It--it was just luck." "Well, luck or not," said the space officer heartily, "you certainly grasped every advantage which came your way. We need spacemen like you, Biggs!" And--there it was again! For the first time in many hours, another reminder of the fate overhanging Biggs. Space needed men like Biggs ... but by virtue of a medical examination, he had been declared unfit for space travel! The Old Man's face clouded. He said slowly, "There's another delicate problem. If Lance can't stand space travel, what are we goin' to do? Take him home, or leave him here on Iris?" Biggs said resignedly, "You'd better call Earth and find out, Sparks." So I contacted H.Q. And when I had asked my question there was a moment of silence. Then the bug-pounder on the other end of the connection said, "Do with Biggs? What do you _want_ to do with him, Donovan? Why, bring him home, of course." I said, "But if his heart won't stand the trip--" "Heart? Heart? What's matter with Biggs' heart?" "Why, the medico reported--" "Oh, that!" pooh-poohed the Earth operator. "That was a mistake--didn't I tell you? The examiners got mixed up. It seems their orders were to examine _every_ single man aboard the _Saturn_, with no exceptions. And since there were _two_ Biggs on board--" Biggs, who had been listening to the message come in, jerked like a spitballed schoolmarm. "_Uncle Prenny!_" he yelled. "They got him mixed up with me. I'm the _First_ Mate and he's the _First_ Vice-president. They probably just entered the report that the 'First Officer' was unfit for space travel! Uncle Prenny's heart has been bad for thirty years!" I grunted contentedly and cut the connection. "Then all's well," I said, "that ends swell, huh?" The Old Man, too, grinned happily. "Right you are, Sparks. From now on our troubles are over. Peace and contentment from now on...." But with Biggs aboard the _Saturn_, that's a thousand-to-one shot. Any bets?