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panhandling. I’m looking for a job.”
    “Then try elsewhere. Suppose you stop wasting my time, bud. You’re as Earthborn as I am.”
    “I’ve never been within a dozen parsecs of Earth,” he said smoothly. “I happen to be a representative of the only Earthlike race that exists anywhere in the Galaxy but on Earth itself. Wazzenazz XIII is a small and little-known planet in the Crab Nebula. Through an evolutionary fluke, my race is identical with yours. Now, don’t you want me in your circus?”
    “No. And it’s not a circus. It’s—”
    “A scientific institute. I stand corrected.”
    There was something glib and appealing about this preposterous phony. I guess I recognized a kindred spirit or I would have tossed him out on his ear without another word. Instead I played along. “If you’re from such a distant place, how come you speak English so well?”
    “I’m not speaking. I’m a telepath—not the kind that reads minds, just the kind that projects. I communicate in symbols that you translate back to colloquial speech.”
    “Very clever, Mr. Gorb.” I grinned at him and shook my head. “You spin a good yarn—but for my money, you’re really Sam Jones or Phil Smith from Earth, stranded here and out of cash. You want a free trip back to Earth. No deal. The demand for beings from Wazzenazz XIII is pretty low these days. Zero, in fact. Good-bye, Mr. Gorb.”
    He pointed a finger squarely at me and said, “You’re making a big mistake. I’m just what your outfit needs. A representative of a hitherto utterly unknown race identical to humanity in every respect! Look here, examine my teeth. Absolutely like human teeth! And—”
    I pulled away from his yawning mouth. “Good-bye, Mr. Gorb,” I repeated.
    “All I ask is a contract, Corrigan. It isn’t much. I’ll be a big attraction. I’ll—”
    “Good-bye, Mr. Gorb!”
    He glowered at me reproachfully for a moment, stood up, and sauntered to the door. “I thought you were a man of acumen, Corrigan. Well, think it over. Maybe you’ll regret your hastiness. I’ll be back to give you another chance.”
    He slammed the door and I let my grim expression relax into a smile. This was the best con switch yet—an Earthman posing as an alien to get a job!
    But I wasn’t buying it, even if I could appreciate his cleverness intellectually. There’s no such place as Wazzenazz XIII and there’s only one human race in the Galaxy—on Earth. I was going to need some real good reason before I gave a down-and-out grifter a free ticket home.
    I didn’t know it then, but before the day was out, I would have that reason. And, with it, plenty of trouble on my hands.
    The first harbinger of woe turned up after lunch in the person of a Kallerian. The Kallerian was the sixth applicant that afternoon. I had turned away three more ursinoids, hired a vegetable from Miazan, and said no to a scaly pseudo-armadillo from one of the Delta Worlds. Hardly had the ’dillo scuttled dejectedly out of my office when the Kallerian came striding in, not even waiting for Stebbins to admit him officially.
    He was big even for his kind—in the neighborhood of nine feet high, and getting on toward a ton. He planted himself firmly on his three stocky feet, extended his massive arms in a Kallerian greeting gesture, and growled, “I am Vallo Heraal, Freeman of Kaller IV. You will sign me immediately to a contract!”
    “Sit down, Freeman Heraal. I like to make my own decisions, thanks.”
    “You will grant me a contract!”
    “Will you please sit down?”
    He said sulkily, “I will remain standing.”
    “As you prefer.” My desk has a few concealed features which are sometimes useful in dealing with belligerent or disappointed life forms. My fingers roamed to the mesh-gun trigger, just in case of trouble.
    The Kallerian stood motionless before me. They’re hairy creatures, and this one had a coarse, thick mat of blue fur completely covering his body. Two fierce eyes glimmered