The national governments of Earth had organized themselves hurriedly into the Terrestrial Union. Shaky at first, it had gained stability and power with the years. The first thing the Union Government had wanted to do was send an ambassador to the Galactic Government. The Galactic Resident had politely explained that their concept of government was different from ours, that ambassadors had no place in that concept, and, anyway, there was no capital to send one to. However, if Earth wanted to send an observer of some kind.... Earth did. Fine. A statement of passenger fares was forthcoming; naturally, there were no regular passenger ships stopping at Earth and there would not be in the foreseeable future, but doubtless arrangements could be made to charter a vessel. It would be expensive, but.... If a New Guinea savage wants to take passage aboard a Qantas airliner, what is the fare in cowrie shells? As far as McLeod knew, his book was the first thing ever produced on Earth that the Galactics were even remotely interested in. He had a higher opinion of the ethics of the Galactics than Jackson did, but a thousandth of a per cent seemed like pretty small royalties. And he couldn't for the life of him see why his book would interest a Galactic. Clem had explained that it gave Galactics a chance to see what they looked like through the eyes of an Earthman, but that seemed rather weak to McLeod. Nevertheless, he knew he would take Clem's offer. * * * * * Eight months later, a shipload of Galactic tourists arrived. For a while, it looked as though Earth's credit problem might be solved. Tourism has always been a fine method for getting money from other countries--especially if one's own country is properly picturesque. Tourists always had money, didn't they? And they spend it freely, didn't they? No. Not in this case. Earth had nothing to sell to the tourists. Ever hear of _baluts_? The Melanesians of the South Pacific consider it a very fine delicacy. You take a fertilized duck egg and you bury it in the warm earth. Six months later, when it is nice and overripe, you dig it up again, knock the top off the shell the way you would a soft-boiled egg, and eat it. Then you pick the pinfeathers out of your teeth. _Baluts._ Now you know how the greatest delicacies of Earth's restaurants affected the Galactics. Earth was just a little _too_ picturesque. The tourists enjoyed the sights, but they ate aboard their ship, which was evidently somewhat like a Caribbean cruise ship. And they bought nothing. They just looked. And laughed. And of course they all wanted to meet Professor John Hamish McLeod. When the news leaked out and was thoroughly understood by Earth's population, there was an immediate reaction. Editorial in _Pravda_: