Part 3

"I can't come back, Joy, though I thank you. I'm a t'ang drinker and, as such, I lose all rights."

"You're cured, man! You've proved that. You're alive! The berries and leaves you ate destroyed your craving. We can prove it in any court of law, any space commission. Drink a barrel of the stuff in their faces."

"Perhaps I'm cured. I think so now, but there may be a relapse. Anyhow, cured or not, there's a strict law on the books and it isn't going to be lifted to allow me to return to Earth or any of the Lines. Too many aren't cured."

Fraser scowled. "You are. What about the others? Can't they--?"

"Do I know what I ate? The proportions? What went with what and how much? I was dizzy as a loon. All I really remember clearly is eating t'ang berries. Deadly poison. Can a cure be mixed with ingredients like that?"

Fraser was not daunted. "Perhaps you can't force the law, Thorne. But you do know what cured you. Work out a cure. Get the botanists and biologists on it, man. Let them do the work, if it _is_ your clue. Flying isn't the only thing in life, Jeff."

"Do I look like a fountain, to start research on the course, Joy?" Thorne surveyed his rags in a spotted mirror on the wall of the freighter's little surgery. "I look like the subject matter."

"You can do anything with money, lad."

"And do I look like money, Joy?"

"Not at present, of course. But when we reach Vulhan City, you can look as you like. Ye're wealthy, lad. Wealthier than Donaldson o' the Line."

"Which of us has been drinking the t'ang, Joy?"

"This is no dream, pipe or any other kind, Jeff." The captain held up a small, broken sliver of irridescent golden amber, clamped in a leaden grip, which he had taken from the cabinet as Thorne jeered. "I think you'll find it worth about one hundred and seventy thousand, lad. One hundred and seventy thousand. Think it over. Ye had it caught in your clothes when we found ye."

* * * * *

Martineau, Captain of the Port at Vulhan City, snapped the inter-office switch in impatience. His voice cracked sharply. "I will not see Captain Thorne, Miss Gurn. You know that as well as I do! You hear?"

Miss Gurn's voice was tremulous, but determined. "I know, sir, but he insists on seeing you. It is--"

"Have Williams throw him out, Miss Gurn," snapped the Port Captain. "How in Karac's name did you let him in, anyway?"

"He says it is Government business, sir. He refuses to go. And Lieutenant Williams is not here."

"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?"

"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...."

"With your permission, sir, I should like to write a letter to accompany the Vadirrian. Then ... I shall go home."

"Home?"

"My ... beach home, sir. I have considerable property fronting on the Nergal Sea, you know. As far as I care to walk," he added with some bitterness.

Bannerman shrugged. "Public property, Thorne. There are pens and paper there. I'll see your letter off with the box."

"Thank you, sir."

But, pen in hand, Thorne sat staring into space, nibbing thoughtfully at the tip. It was not easy. Finally, he began to write, slowly, awkwardly forming the letters he had not shaped for two years and more. But, presently, warming to the unaccustomed task, they came more easily and the pen scratched briskly in the silent office. Bannerman buried himself in his paper work, ignoring the visitor at the other table.

_Dear Miss Thurland_,

_You will remember me, I think, even if only as a poor space-bum dragged by the heels from the Nergal Sea, on Mars, just outside Vulhan City. You were kind to give me money, twenty credits._

_You may remember I told you the money would be for t'ang. It wasn't, however, nor has it been spent at all. You showed me what I was, Miss Thurland, and I didn't like the picture._

_Notice of receipt will come to you, perhaps before this letter, that a parcel has been deposited in your name at the Foundation in New Yatt. It is the fortune I found in the desert. I know you would not accept such a gift from me, so please believe me I do not intend it as a gift, nor even as a payment for the credits you gave me. One cannot repay things like that, even with the parcel at the Foundation._

_It is pure Vadirrian oil, petrified, valued at more than one hundred and eighty thousand credits. I am sure you realize how valuable, far more than in mere credits, this find can be. It will give new life to hundreds of stricken people suffering the strange disease we transmit between the planets with this new commerce._

_You spoke of my ex-steward, Nancy Bertrand. We can do nothing for her now, buried on Io, but because you were her friend, I would ask you to set up the fund as a memorial to her, to train nurses and stewards for the space-runs and to insure that girls as fine as she are given the chance she made for herself to go out into the world and do work as important as hers. I know that is not too much to ask of you, Miss Thurland. Your own expenses for the transaction are included in the fund. Because I may not return to Earth, now or ever, I have taken the liberty of imposing this bequest on you, knowing that, as you loved Nancy, it will give you pleasure to insure her some fitting memorial._

_Any reply will reach me if addressed to Captain B. Bannerman, Superintendent of Patrol, Vulhan City, Mars. Again, let me thank you. My life is worth little to myself or others, but you gave me back my self-respect._

_I shall hope to see you again one day, should you visit beyond the moon._

_Sincerely,_

_Geofrey Thorne._

* * * * *

An hour or so later, Vulhan City only a dim glow of light in the evening sky behind him, Thorne was walking quietly along the beach.

There was someone waiting for him on the low headland beyond which lay his own particular cove where he had spent so much and so unworthily the time lying heavily on his hands.

The Martian, Hanu, his grizzled whiskers blowing about his wizened, elfish face stood alone, an armed man.

"I have returned, Hanu."

"It was not to return you left this cove," the Martian replied, sternly. His great round eyes were fixed on the other.

"My debt is paid, Hanu."

"Money will not repay. Can your gold buy back, your honor, or ours?"

"I did not repay in gold, friend, but in the golden oil your ancestors left us all--the Vadirrian. I bought opportunity and happiness for many others with its price. For myself, you see me as I am. I have nothing else. I return as I left, a derelict."

A slow, wise smile crept over the Martian's wrinkled monkey-face. He pulled at his whiskers. Then he linked arms with the ex-pilot. "Come, friend Thorne. You have paid the debt. Let us go down to the village and see what the women have laid for the evening meal. We shall welcome you...."