Chapter Three

The wub eased itself down in the corner with a sigh. "You must forgive me," it said. "I'm afraid I'm addicted to various forms of relaxation. When one is as large as I—" The Captain nodded impatiently. He sat down at his desk and folded his hands. "All right," he said. "Let's get started. You're a wub? Is that correct?" The wub shrugged. "I suppose so. That's what they call us, the natives, I mean. We have our own term." "And you speak English? You've been in contact with Earthmen before?" "No." "Then how do you do it?" "Speak English? Am I speaking English? I'm not conscious of speaking anything in particular. I examined your mind—" "My mind?" "I studied the contents, especially the semantic warehouse, as I refer to it—" "I see," the Captain said. "Telepathy. Of course." "We are a very old race," the wub said. "Very old and very ponderous. It is difficult for us to move around. You can appreciate that anything so slow and heavy would be at the mercy of more agile forms of life. There was no use in our relying on physical defenses. How could we win? Too heavy to run, too soft to fight, too good-natured to hunt for game—" "How do you live?" "Plants. Vegetables. We can eat almost anything. We're very catholic. Tolerant, eclectic, catholic. We live and let live. That's how we've gotten along." The wub eyed the Captain. "And that's why I so violently objected to this business about having me boiled. I could see the image in your mind—most of me in the frozen food locker, some of me in the kettle, a bit for your pet cat—" "So you read minds?" the Captain said. "How interesting. Anything else? I mean, what else can you do along those lines?" "A few odds and ends," the wub said absently, staring around the room. "A nice apartment you have here, Captain. You keep it quite neat. I respect life-forms that are tidy. Some Martian birds are quite tidy. They throw things out of their nests and sweep them—" "Indeed." The Captain nodded. "But to get back to the problem—" "Quite so. You spoke of dining on me. The taste, I am told, is good. A little fatty, but tender. But how can any lasting contact be established between your people and mine if you resort to such barbaric attitudes? Eat me? Rather you should discuss questions with me, philosophy, the arts—" The Captain stood up. "Philosophy. It might interest you to know that we will be hard put to find something to eat for the next month. An unfortunate spoilage—" "I know." The wub nodded. "But wouldn't it be more in accord with your principles of democracy if we all drew straws, or something along that line? After all, democracy is to protect the minority from just such infringements. Now, if each of us casts one vote—" The Captain walked to the door. "Nuts to you," he said. He opened the door. He opened his mouth. He stood frozen, his mouth wide, his eyes staring, his fingers still on the knob. The wub watched him. Presently it padded out of the room, edging past the Captain. It went down the hall, deep in meditation.