"Ah, the medical report, eh? Glory be, Sparks, this is wonderful! I passed! Isn't that swell? And you passed ... and Todd ... and...." Then he stopped as abruptly as I had. A cloud swept across his forehead leaving his eyes darkened and sombre. In a whisper he said, "Lancelot--!" I said, "That's the end of the chapter, Skipper. For three years the _Saturn_ has been the finest ship in the fleet. We've done more tough jobs and had more fun than any bunch of spacemen who ever lifted gravs under the same emblem. But it ends now. When Lanse Biggs leaves this ship, nothing will be the same ever again." "His heart," faltered the Old Man. "Who would have believed there was anything wrong with his heart? I know he's skinny, and all that, but he always seemed healthy enough--" "Where is he now?" "What? Oh--outside. He's trying to make a purchase of some real estate, Sparks. It don't matter much just _where_ he buys, so long as he buys. The whole asteroid's honeycombed with pumice pockets, you see. All we got to do is buy up some land, start diggin', produce hard soap and earn the right to remain here. But--his heart! Sparks, I can't believe--" "Hush!" I warned him. "If those sounds aren't a herd of antelopes on rollerskates, I think that's him coming now." Cap Hanson crumpled the flimsy, jammed it deep into his pocket. "Not a word about this, Sparks! Not yet. We--we've got to break it gently!" * * * * * I nodded just as Biggs, grinning from ear to ear and back again, lurched into the turret. On his right arm he was carrying a queer looking little squeegee. At first I thought it was a teddy bear. Then it moved, and I realized I was in the presence of a native Irisian. He--or it--was a curious little squirrel-like creature with big, goggling eyes, a huge bushy tail and enormous whiskers. Biggs chirruped cheerfully, "Here's one of the local boys, folks! Sparks, you speak Irisian, don't you? Well--" He paused, glancing at each of us questioningly. "What's the matter? You two look as if you'd lost your best friend." Cap Hanson essayed a laugh. It sounded like an echo from a torture chamber. "Nothin' at all, son. We was just discussin' the difficulties of the problem ahead of us, that's all. So that's an Irisian, huh? And you can talk to it, Sparks?" He looked at me with new respect. I smiled. "If my Academy prof wasn't just fooling," I told him, "I can." And I turned to the little rodent, twisting my lips into a series of purring whistles which meant "Greetings!" "Phwee-twurdle-twurdle-pwwht!" replied the Irisian. Cap Hanson looked at the asterite disconsolately. "Needs oilin, don't he, Sparks?" "Not a bit. That's his native tongue. He said how do you do." "Yeah? Well, it didn't sound like it to me--" Biggs suggested, "Ask him, Sparks. Ask him where we can buy or lease some property on Iris."