Cap Hanson looked at the asterite disconsolately.
"Needs oilin, don't he, Sparks?"
"Not a bit. That's his native tongue. He said how do you do."
"Yeah? Well, it didn't sound like it to me—"
Biggs suggested, "Ask him, Sparks. Ask him where we can buy or lease some property on Iris."
So I did. And the answer was encouraging. It seemed the little feller himself chwee-fweeple-twee—meaning he owned some property a few miles outside the capital city—and he'd be glad to sell us this patch of ground for chirp-furdle-foo—
I translated. Cap Hanson turned crimson with rage.
"Four thousand Earth credits! For a hunk of ground you could cover with a handkerchief? Ridiculous! We won't pay any such price—"
"It's no skin off our nose, Skipper," I reminded him. "The Corporation's paying for it."
Hanson nodded slowly.