"Result: Planet covered with the liquid to an average depth of 30 fathoms. Contaminating element, being oxygen-breathing, could not possibly exist under such conditions."
"Fool!" barked Ryt. "Some of them probably floated to the surface on some of the buoyant vegetation. They may even have made rafts of the vegetation. Or a boat!"
"They are exceedingly persistent and adaptable, sir," Krembyl admitted. "And there were other times...." He broke off to fumble through the documented account. "Yes, here it is, all written down in correct form...."
"Damn the reports!" snapped the inspector. "Tell me what happened!"
"Well, sir," said Krembyl, scanning the pages carefully, "it was back in 9237. I noticed the malignancy and took proper measures. I took the planet from its orbit and into an area remote from the Sol unit. There, in the intense cold, the polar caps grew larger and larger until they finally extended over the land portions. Even the middle belt became frigid. Then I swung the planet back near Sol and let it soak in tropical heat. I subjected the planet to this treatment three—or was it four?—times before placing it back permanently in its orbit."
"Dolt!" said Ryt. "They probably hid away in deep crevices. Probably remained alive through the treatment by eating each other!" He looked at the unhappy Krembyl for a devastating minute. "You should have used fire. Burned them out!"
"But I did, sir!" Krembyl said, hurriedly. "I did!" He fumbled rapidly through the pages. "Here it is, right here! All written out!
"Nebula 42, 9235. Persistence of malignant contamination noted...."
He broke off abruptly as the inspector's body turned to brittle obsidion.
"H-m-mm.... A-hh.... Well, sir, finding them confined in an area of particularly lush vegetation, I burned them out, chased them with fire into arid regions, and swept the garden of plant growth completely away where they could not find it again."