"Government business?" Martineau glowered. "Then send him in. I'll deal with this t'anger myself." Snapping off the phone switch, he flipped another. The local Patrol Superintendent looked up at him in the screen. "Bannerman, could you step in a moment? I think Thorne's going to make trouble and I'm going to deal with him right here and now." "Of course, Martineau. I've been expecting him." The big, white-haired officer heaved himself up and picked up his glittering helmet. "Be right in." The screen faded as Thorne was ushered in by a wide-eyed Miss Gurn. Trim and stiffly neat in the scarlet tunic and blue-black trousers of the International, Thorne stood coolly at attention, thin and worn but clean-shaven, scrubbed, and pressed. Gold sparkled on his close-fitting helmet and on the butts of his twin Blandarcs. Under one scarlet arm he carried a small black box. "Well, Thorne," broke in Martineau as the other door opened to admit the bulk of the Patrol Superintendent. "Your business, please." Thorne flushed, but did not move. He could not afford to resent discourtesies he had become so bitterly accustomed to receiving these past two years. He laid the box on the Port Captain's desk. "This is to return to Earth at once, sir. It is extraordinarily valuable. I am requesting passage on the first battle rocket leaving Mars." The Patrolman intervened quietly. "You know you cannot return to Earth, Captain Thorne." "I know, sir. I request passage for this consignment only." "What is it ... t'ang?" Martineau asked, brutally, pushing roughly at the box. A grim smile touched Thorne's dry lips. "No, sir. It is a little over an ounce of--petrified Vadirrian oil!" Martineau leaped erect with a strangled cry, his face going crimson with anger. The Superintendent, having known what was in the box, made no sound but watched them with a grim smile. "If this is a joke, you bush-bum," choked the Port Captain, "I'll see personally you suffer for it, Thorne. The hard way. You dare come here and--" "It is not a joke, sir," broke in Bannerman, at last. "We have been notified of this strike. It is registered in our files and the specimen is entirely genuine. I recommend that Captain Thorne's request be fulfilled." His voice was crisp and clear. Martineau sagged, staring at the little box. "But--but there's a fortune there, sir. Thousand on thousands--where did this--this man locate such a treasure? The Martian government has been notified?" "All necessary steps have been taken, sir," Thorne smiled. "The declared value of this specimen is one hundred and eighty-two thousand credits. Proper amounts have been forwarded to the Vulhan General Hospital, with others to Loxthal City, Andobre, Vlax, and New Luna. This is directed to the Universal Laboratories at New Yatt, North America, vested in the name of Miss Helen Thurland." "You make no claim to accompanying it?"