Montague Collins, the 51% owner of the Oxygen Corporation of America, looked uncomfortable. "I beg your pardon," he said. "I did not mean to be funny. I agree with the chair that defective equipment is a serious business, and my reference to the Martians' three hands was meant in earnest." "We understand. Go ahead, Mr. Collins." "I was merely stating that, contrary to articles in the public press, the Martians' efficiency level has been more than maintained at the Oxco plant. It's the human efficiency level that has declined." There was an excited buzzing. "I believe," he continued, mopping his face, "that this fact will be borne out by the experience of many other manufacturers. And I'd like to submit in evidence some replies to letters I have sent to executives all over America. You will see that they corroborate what I have told you. May I have the Chair's permission to read these replies as part of my testimony?" "It does not seem relevant at the moment, Mr. Collins, but they may be submitted for publication into the record. Please tell us about your own experience." "I'm afraid I do not have much to add. As a result of our troubles, we are increasing the number of Martian employees considerably." "Just how many is 'considerable,' Mr. Collins?" Montague Collins cleared his throat. "We now employ four Martians to every three humans." Not even the gavel could quiet the spectators this time. * * * * * Curly was about to demolish a ham-and-swiss on rye. But when the Martian moved across his line of vision, he paused and called out: "Hey, Chafnu!" The Martian stopped and swiveled his bulbous head around at the foreman. "Yes?" he said. "Want a bite of this?" He held up the sandwich. "No, your thanks," said Chafnu. "Go on, have a taste. It's good for you." "Do not think this," said Chafnu, trying to solve the old riddle of how to produce an engaging smile. He merely succeeded in looking like a surprised beetle. "Whatsamatter, Chafnu? Too good to eat with your foreman?" Curly flushed. The hirings-and-firings of the last two months had unnerved him, and the fact that he was handling his own job poorly only made the situation worse. "Have not required to food," said the Martian. "Best existence of silicone substances. Understanding do? However, your thanks, and very." He began to move on, but Curly was obviously in the mood for trouble. He got up from the bench and put his beefy hand around one of Chafnu's arms. "It's pain," said Chafnu mildly. "Improvement if released, your thanks." "You're a wise guy, Chafnu," said Curly. He knew that he was skirting a dangerous edge, but he was just too irritated to care. "You're a bug-eyed bastard. What do you say about that?" "I have comment inward," the Martian answered, trying to pull away from the foreman's grip.