"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—"