"You are a representative member of your race?" I asked formally. "Oh, yus. Much." "And you reside on Asteroid Four Thousand Seven Hundred and Twenty-Two, the permanent dwelling of your race?" "Oh, yus. Home." "And although your home presents certain technical difficulties for interplanetary vehicles on the spacerun to the greater planets, you maintain it should be preserved because of your contribution to the culture of the Galactic Community?" I asked. "Oh, yus." "Does he understand a word you're saying, Mr. Jones?" asked the bald Commissioner. "Oh, yus. Not much," said my client cheerfully. "Hurrmph," I said, and coughed. "Perhaps I may assist," suggested the thin Commissioner, with a nasty look at me. "What exactly does your race do?" "Breed bugs, I'm sure. Am head bacteriophysicist name of Lood. Am good scientist." "And what exactly do you do with these bugs you raise?" "Most everything." * * * * * "Your Honors," I interrupted. "At this point I propose a few simple demonstrations of what Mr. Lood and his people can do." "May I inquire if either of my learned brethren know any way in which we can charge Mr. Jones with rebuilding costs, if necessary?" asked the bald Commissioner. "Your Honors, I assure you...." "Proceed at your peril, Mr. Jones." I walked over to the exhibit table and pointed to a row of jars. "Exhibits A through G, Your Honors. Samples of food and beverages produced by my clients without raw materials and from the expert culture of bacteria." I held up a jar full of mauve fungus. It was the most attractive example. "I would hardly call feeding on funguses a sign of a responsible humanoid race, Mr. Jones." "Perhaps Your Honor will recall the part played by bacteria in making milk, cheese, wine, beer, bread." The Commissioners looked at each other and nodded reluctantly. So I passed the jars up to them, secure in the knowledge they had been tested by the Alien Foods Bureau. I watched the Commissioners unscrew the lids and taste the contents somewhat hesitantly. "Not bad," confessed the fat Commissioner eventually. "Quite palatable." "Of course we already have honey and similar foodstuffs, Mr. Jones." "Naturally, Your Honor. But Mr. Lood's race can survive without extraplanetary aid. Provided they have sunshine and water, they can breed their spores and bacteria with no other resources." "You mean," said the thin Commissioner with a dark leer, "that almost any sunny planet would do for them?" Somewhere along the line my point seemed to have been swept away, so I added hurriedly: "I offer this evidence purely to show the high degree of civilization of my clients' culture, as cause why they should not be deprived of their native land." "Oh, yus," my client agreed.