 How is Joe's asteroid fever cured?
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories May 1943. When Harvey staggered pontifically into the battered metalloy saloon—the only one on Planetoid 42—his tall, gangling partner was already stumbling out, mouthing something incoherent. The interplanetary con-men drank noisily, asked for more, until they had drunk eight glasses. Medical science is unanimous in proclaiming this magic medicine the sole panacea in the entire history of therapeutics." Our condenser broke down, and we've gone without water for five ghastly days." He came near starving and moved on to Titan. It's bitter as some kinds of sin before it's purified. "About seventy-five liters, if we go on half rations," he answered. The planetoid man worked the pump while the mayor intently watched the crude level-gauge, crying "Stop!" when it registered the proper amount. "Johnson, as I saw instantly, is the victim of a difficult environment, and must charge accordingly." "Just the same," Joe griped, "paying for water isn't something you can get used to in ten minutes." In the fragile forest, they soon came across a stream that sprang from the igneous soil and splashed into the small pond whose contents, according to the mayor, was theirs for the asking. It was on the sixth trip that Joe caught a glimpse of Jupiter-shine on a bright surface off to the left. "You don't need any more," said Harvey, dismayed. Johnson's eight-foot son, topped by a massive roof of sun-bleached hair and held up by a foundation that seemed immovable, had obviously been born and raised in low gravity. Harvey studied it worriedly, put his own hand somewhere on it, swallowed as it closed, then breathed again when his fingers were released in five units instead of a single compressed one. "I come down with it every year, and I ain't hankering to have it in an off-season. "You'll find everything you want in the back room," Johnson said frantically, "sulfopyridine, mustard plasters, rubs, inhalers, suction cups—" "Relics of the past," Harvey stated. "One medication is all modern man requires to combat the dread menace, asteroid fever." Instead of replying, Harvey hurried outside to the ungainly second-hand rocket ship in the center of the shabby spaceport.
 Nothing does - his sickness was a ruse.
 The La-anago Yergis cures him.  Nothing does - his sickness was a ruse.  The bitter water that Harvey switched in cures him.  The fresh water from the planet cures him.