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difficult to tell exactly what they were really doing. Ah! Now a hairy subject pulled the big male to his feet and struck him several times in the face with the flat of a hand. For some reason that calmed the large male down and he demurely rejoined his companions. The hairy Dirtling stayed apart from the group, though, and they began addressing their comments to him.
    So you’re their Leader, observed Idow coldly. Then as one to another, I greet you, brother.
    Just then a hand of living granite descended weightily upon the blue alien's shoulder and Idow glanced up into the immobile face of his starship's Protector.
    “So much for your rule-by-strength contention,” Gasterphaz rumbled, his atonal voice sounding like rocks mating. “Obviously you were wrong.”
    “How can you say that?” Idow asked in surprise. “You saw the hairy male beat the big male into submission. Thus, they have rule by strength, as I surmised.”
    The stony giant blinked with a loud click-click . “That? Beat? Why, that was but a caress. More likely they are lovers.”
    Leader Idow smiled deep inside himself. Gasterphaz was a Choron, a huge, heavily muscled, rock plated species of fantastic strength. The Protector could easily rip the control room Security Door right off its hinges with his bare hands. His mountainous race constantly faced the problem of identifying anything short of a warobot armed with an X-ray laser as an actual attack. This aloof attitude really annoyed some of the more excitable races in the galaxy, and in fact, the Chorons were presently engaged in at least two wars of which they were blissfully unaware.
    “Trust me,” Idow reassured. “These Dirtlings are sufficiently primitive for our needs. I am sure that they will do fine in the forthcoming tests.”
    “Primitive garbage!” a high-pitched voice screeched in disagreement.
    The two beings turned to see Boztwank, the ship's Engineer gliding towards them, the invisible forcefield legs of his electronic pot noiseless on the ship's soft plastic floor.
    “Garbage!” the petulant mushroom repeated, his fronds quivering. “And useless to us! Those?” A translucent hand gestured at the figures on the viewscreen. “Why, they won't even pass the first test, much less all three!” Located on his stalk, the fungi's diminutive face contorted with frustration. “Let's leave this wretched place and find us a real planet, with some real people to test!”
    Better tasting dirt too, no doubt, added Idow privately. The analysis had shown it to be high in hydrocarbons, metallic salts and animal urine. While the later was a nice touch, it was not enough to satisfy Boztwank. But then, his fungus race lived in an almost perpetual state of seething annoyance at the universe in general. This emotional upheaval eventually culminating in a pyrotechnic display of fury that caused the enraged mushroom to literally explode, scattering spores for over a kilometer.
    Most likely, Boztwank's vociferous species would have long ago been eradicated by the galaxy at large just because of a near universal desire for peace and quiet, but for the fact that their pre-sentient young were considered a delicacy by almost every being that possessed the sense of taste, and by several who merely had a fine sense of propriety. It was only his superior ability as an Engineer that kept him from getting stuffed into the starship's reactor core for fuel.
    Then Idow frowned. The mushroom did have a point, though. On the whole, the Dirtlings appeared to be a pretty unimpressive lot. But as Leader, the blue being felt duty-bound to defend his decision to come here.
    “Nonsense,” he began in a friendly tone.
    “They still call their planet Dirt!” Boztwank raged. “How stinking primitive can you get?” The fungi's sprayers chose that moment to moisten his dome and stalk with a watery pink fluid.
    Idow took the opportunity to continue. “Every race calls its home planet Dirt in the beginning, Boztwank,” he