Chapter Two

The wub survived the take-off, sound asleep in the hold of the ship. When they were out in space and everything was running smoothly, Captain Franco bade his men fetch the wub upstairs so that he might perceive what manner of beast it was. The wub grunted and wheezed, squeezing up the passageway. "Come on," Jones grated, pulling at the rope. The wub twisted, rubbing its skin off on the smooth chrome walls. It burst into the ante-room, tumbling down in a heap. The men leaped up. "Good Lord," French said. "What is it?" "Peterson says it's a wub," Jones said. "It belongs to him." He kicked at the wub. The wub stood up unsteadily, panting. "What's the matter with it?" French came over. "Is it going to be sick?" They watched. The wub rolled its eyes mournfully. It gazed around at the men. "I think it's thirsty," Peterson said. He went to get some water. French shook his head. "No wonder we had so much trouble taking off. I had to reset all my ballast calculations." Peterson came back with the water. The wub began to lap gratefully, splashing the men. Captain Franco appeared at the door. "Let's have a look at it." He advanced, squinting critically. "You got this for fifty cents?" "Yes, sir," Peterson said. "It eats almost anything. I fed it on grain and it liked that. And then potatoes, and mash, and scraps from the table, and milk. It seems to enjoy eating. After it eats it lies down and goes to sleep." "I see," Captain Franco said. "Now, as to its taste. That's the real question. I doubt if there's much point in fattening it up any more. It seems fat enough to me already. Where's the cook? I want him here. I want to find out—" The wub stopped lapping and looked up at the Captain. "Really, Captain," the wub said. "I suggest we talk of other matters." The room was silent. "What was that?" Franco said. "Just now." "The wub, sir," Peterson said. "It spoke." They all looked at the wub. "What did it say? What did it say?" "It suggested we talk about other things." Franco walked toward the wub. He went all around it, examining it from every side. Then he came back over and stood with the men. "I wonder if there's a native inside it," he said thoughtfully. "Maybe we should open it up and have a look." "Oh, goodness!" the wub cried. "Is that all you people can think of, killing and cutting?" Franco clenched his fists. "Come out of there! Whoever you are, come out!" Nothing stirred. The men stood together, their faces blank, staring at the wub. The wub swished its tail. It belched suddenly. "I beg your pardon," the wub said. "I don't think there's anyone in there," Jones said in a low voice. They all looked at each other. The cook came in. "You wanted me, Captain?" he said. "What's this thing?" "This is a wub," Franco said. "It's to be eaten. Will you measure it and figure out—" "I think we should have a talk," the wub said. "I'd like to discuss this with you, Captain, if I might. I can see that you and I do not agree on some basic issues." The Captain took a long time to answer. The wub waited good-naturedly, licking the water from its jowls. "Come into my office," the Captain said at last. He turned and walked out of the room. The wub rose and padded after him. The men watched it go out. They heard it climbing the stairs. "I wonder what the outcome will be," the cook said. "Well, I'll be in the kitchen. Let me know as soon as you hear." "Sure," Jones said. "Sure."