"None, sir. I am cured of t'ang, but there is no known medical way to prove that to anyone's satisfaction but my own. I know the law and am willing to abide by it. I claim its protection in this matter." "Fair enough, Captain Thorne," agreed Martineau, reluctantly, seating himself and poking gingerly at the fortune on his desk. "You have that right." "You accept the shipment?" "It shall be sent on the _Warhorse_ next Thursday, by way of Luna. Here is your receipt and your insurance papers. Present them to the Starmail office next week and receive your arrival receipt. About the twentieth, I believe." "What is the charge?" Bannerman quietly intervened. "There is no charge. The Vadirrian is for the Universals, and as such travels light." Thorne bowed stiffly, as Martians do, and stepped back. "I thank you, gentlemen. I know the Vadirrian is in good hands." Bannerman heaved himself up. "Step into my office a moment, will you, Thorne? If the Captain will excuse us?" Martineau nodded, saluting sharply. There was no more talk of "bush-bums". The Superintendent of Patrol, however, was not impressed. Seated at his own desk, he pinned Thorne with an eagle glare. "I don't ask for information, Captain Thorne, but I must request you to show cause why you should not be removed from Vulhan City as a t'anger and--uh--general undesirable." "I am cured of the t'ang habit, sir. So far as medical authority here can go, they give me a clean bill of health. I have witnesses, pictures, papers." * * * * * Bannerman snorted. "If I take so much for granted, and, mark you, I have no right to assume that out of hundreds you alone have managed to cure yourself. Medics or no, I must still ask what means of subsistence you have. We cannot tolerate relief cases here on Mars, Captain," he added, sternly. A dull red flush stained Thorne's worn features. "I have never been on your rolls, sir." "Granted. But can you keep off them? Do you have a job?" "Who will hire me now?" "Have you money?" "All I possess lies on Captain Martineau's desk yonder, sir. When I found I had unwittingly carried off a scrap of the petrified oil in my torn boot, I felt I had no true right to it under the circumstances in which I made the discovery." "Highly commendable," rasped Bannerman, rubbing his chin in exasperation. "Didn't you think it would leave you as flat as you have been the last year or so, man? What shall you live on? Will you go back to the natives, shaming us all?" "They are good people, sir. I could do worse." "You could, by hang! And have, sir! You have no hope of relocating the main bulk of this treasure?" "None, sir. It was in the mirage country, you know, and I have nothing to search even plain and simple desert, let alone that weird district. Perhaps some day I may be able to push my claim and make up an expedition." "And until that time...."