_"Are the offices of the FizbEarth Trading Company, Inc., on fire?"_ _"Not to my knowledge," he replied, opening his case. "Now I have here a very nice hairbrush--"_ _I wanted to give him every chance. "Have you come to tell me of any disaster relative to the FizbEarth Trading Company, to myself, or to anyone or anything else with whom or with which I am connected?"_ _"Why, no," he said. "I have come to sell you brushes. Now here is a little number I know you'll like. My company developed it with you folks specially in mind. It's--"_ _"Do you know, sir, that you have wantonly interrupted me in the midst of my meditations, which constitutes an established act of privacy violation?"_ _"Is that a fact? Now this little item is particularly designed for brushing the wings--"_ _At that point, I knocked him down and punched him into insensibility with my feet. Then I summoned the police. To my surprise, they arrested me instead of him._ _I am writing this letter from jail. I do not like to ask my employers to get me out because, even though I am innocent, you know how a thing like this can leave a smudge on the record._ _What shall I do?_ _Anxiously yours,_ _Fruzmus Bloxx_ * * * * * "What should he do?" Tarb asked, handing Stet the paper. "Or is the question academic by now? The letter's five days old." Stet sighed. "I'll find out whether the consulate has been notified. Native police usually do that, you know. Very thoughtful fellows. If this Bloxx hasn't been bailed out already, I'll see that he is." "But how will we answer his letter? Advise him to sue for false arrest?" Stet smiled. "But he has no grounds for false arrest. He is guilty of assault. The native was entirely within his rights in trying to sell him a brush. Now--" he put out a foot--"brace yourself. Privacy violation is not a crime on Terra. It is perfectly legal. In fact, it does not exist as such!" At that point, everything went maroon. When Tarb came to, she found herself lying upon Drosmig's desk. A skin-faced native woman was offering her water and clucking. "Are you all right, Tarb--Miss Morfatch?" Stet demanded anxiously. "Yes. I--I think so," she murmured, raising herself to a crouch. "Better ... have died," Drosmig groaned from his perch. "Fate worse ... death ... awaits you." Tarb tried to smile. "Sorry to have been so much trouble." She stuck out her tongue at both Stet and the native. The woman drew in her breath. "Miss Morfatch," Stet reminded Tarb, "sticking out the tongue is not an apology on Terra; it is an insult. Fortunately, Miss Snow happens to be perhaps the only Terran who would not be offended. She has become thoroughly acquainted with us and our odd little customs. She even--" he beamed at the Terran female--"has learned to speak our language."