One man's meat
is another man's poison—
if it's treated properly
"Now take pollution—" began Professor Timble, raising his voice over the rumble of the club car's wheels on the trackwork at Mollusc Junction.
"You take pollution," said Mrs. Jonas, a bit sourly. The last hand had been a perfect disaster. Old Dr. Wimple usually played superb bridge with a couple of Manhattans, but Ricky, the club-car attendant, must have mixed them stronger than usual.
"No, no, I mean figuratively," said Professor Timble. "Not that way either," he added hastily, with a glance at old Dr. Wimple. The doctor, who was looking a bit glassy-eyed, ignored him. "I mean all this excitement about DDT and so on, all this political issue-making—"
"Issue-making?" said Mrs. Jonas. "Political? With the California brown pelican practically extinct already, and human milk—you know—" she made a gesture, at once explicit and ladylike, "with more parts per million or whatever than the WPA people allow—"
"You mean FDA," said Professor Timble. "Food and Drug Administration. That's what I was talking about. They set the limits far too low, really. People aren't affected by DDT at those levels; it's all a headline hunt. The stuff's no more poisonous than aspirin. And when you consider how many lives have been saved from malaria, and that typhus epidemic in Naples during the war—"
"Jus'—I mean, just means there'll be more people t' starve, next time there's a crop failure," said old Dr. Wimple.
"But with DDT, the insect damage—"
"An' wha' happens next time there's a drought?" asked the doctor. "DDT and medicine, they're the banes of—of humanity, lately." He beckoned to the attendant. "Ricky? Here."
"Now look," said Professor Timble. "Have you ever seen a case of anybody dying because of DDT? Or heard of one, even? This parts-per-million stuff—"
"What about these crop dusters you hear about, coming down with convulsions and things," interrupted Mrs. Jonas. She gathered the cards, folded her hands on top of them. "And those grape-pickers—or am I thinking of the lettuce people? Anyway—"
Old Dr. Wimple blinked at the cup of coffee Ricky had brought for a moment, then sighed, "I suppose you're right." He drank, took a deep breath, and drank again. He turned to Professor Timble's partner and said, "You're always taking the unpopular side in an argument, Jim. Why don't you say something?"
Jim looked up from the score pad and grinned. "In the first place, biology isn't my field."
"That never stopped you before, when you wanted to argue."
"True, true." Jim scribbled a last sum and pocketed the pad. "In the second place, though, both sides of the argument seem pretty well represented already. Both wrong, unfortunately, but well represented."
"Wrong?" snapped Mrs. Jonas. "What's your theory, then?"
"It isn't theory that's wanted here, but data and experience. Of course, you can still draw the wrong conclusions from right data, like Columbus being so convinced that the world was only eight thousand miles in circumference when—"
"Now, now, young man," said Mrs. Jonas, "don't wriggle out of it. You said we're both wrong. Prove it."
"Well, I've but a couple of data, but they do make for a pretty strange story—"
"Go 'head. My bridge isn' too good today," said Dr. Wimple. He took another slurp of coffee, then burped gently.
Jim grinned again. "It happened a little over a year ago, when my company had a government contract to make some mods on a big radio navigation transmitter down in the South Pacific. Now, you got to remember that the South Pacific goes all the way down to the Antarctic, and this island was so small a heavy wake would have sunk it. I never did find out whether the U.S. actually owns the island, or just rents it from the French or Norse or somebody. It's too small for most maps, even. Also, being too small for a proper landing strip and out of 'copter range of anything big, the place is really isolated."
"And you had oil slicks washing up on the beach?" asked Mrs. Jonas, as she tucked the cards back into her cardcase.
Jim shook his head. "Like Thor— you know who I mean—or is it Cousteau?—writing about mid-ocean oil? We didn't see anything like that; too far south, I suppose. We did talk about pollution, though, when we weren't trying to get the transmitter to work—me, the other tech rep, and the dozen Coast Guard guys that made up the whole population of the island. One of 'em was a biologist, and he and Ralph—" Jim paused, remembering the clean, chill whip of the wind, salted by thousands of miles of blue water; remembering the sound of breakers on the half-submerged rocks that shielded the little isle, the sound of wind whistling over the concrete building and whining through the lattice of the transmitting antenna. He frowned, remembering the easy grin of Ralph, the biggest of the Coastguardsmen, as he argued with Ted one morning as they stood in front of the island's one building.
"It was about DDT that they were arguing, that very morning," Jim said slowly. "Ted had been studying biology before he signed up for a hitch in the Guard, and he was trying to convince Ralph…"
"I hear what you're sayin' O.K., Ted," Ralph interrupted at last, "but I been handlin' the stuff all my life, practically swimmin' in it. The County Agent always says, pour the DDT on heavy; and Pop and me, we sure did. And with sprayin' and dustin' and all, I must of got me soaked about as well as the crops, and it never hurt me any. What I really wish'd be for me to get enough in me to kill mosquitoes and things when they take a nip. That would—"
"Never work," said Ted, shaking his head. "Didn't you listen t' what I been telling you, Ralph? Besides, even if that much DDT didn't screw up your metabolism, the stuf'll get stored in your fat, not your bloodstream. So by the time—"
"Well, it was a good idea, even if it wouldn't work. Not much place to store the stuff in me, as little fat as I'm carryin', just muscle." He patted the solid bulge of biceps swelling his uniform sleeve, then grinned complacently.
"How 'bout between the ears?" asked another man who stood in the doorway of the concrete building, a few feet away.
"Now look," said Ralph, "who went and found that bad cap in the driver stage of the transmitter yesterday? And who got the generator started the day before, when you'd been workin' on it for—"
"O.K, O.K., you win," said the man in the doorway, throwing up his hands. "Hey, you and the tech reps gonna take the transmitter down again this morning? If you are, I want to work on the generator cut-over circuit some more—"
The men scattered then, to the day's work. Just before lunch, a yell of "Everybody out here to catch this action—hey, you guys, outside— quick!" brought everyone running. Jim followed Ralph out the door, then bounced off his broad back when the big man stopped short.
"What is it?" asked someone.
"A—a moon rocket or somethin'?"
"Can't be; we'd of heard, and—"
"Maybe Russian? Gawd, that thing's big!"
Jim worked his way through the little crowd and looked up. The thing—whatever it was—looked like a small oil refinery wrapped rather tightly around a large, illuminating-gas storage-tank, and the whole affair—nearly a quarter the size of the whole island—was descending for a landing. A set of antenna-tower guy-wires was in the way. Beams of light lanced out from the top of the gigantic thing and found the guys. In a moment, they glowed red, then they parted.
"Hey! You stop that!" yelled Ralph. He dashed forward, shook his fist up at the descending thing, then retreated cautiously as it majestically settled onto the island.
Behind him, Jim heard the antenna tower, with one set of guy-wires gone, topple into the sea, but none of the men turned to watch its fall. Every eye was on the thing that towered over them.
"Now what?" said Ralph, "Ted you're in charge; aren't you supposed—my Gawd! Look at that— those—"
Hatches had popped open around the lower circumference of the thing, and animals—creatures—things were scuttling out. They were, Jim saw, about man-sized, with upright bodies, but there were four legs supporting the chunky hip structure, and those legs, though thick and straight, bent outward at the joints, so that the creatures moved with a strangely bowlegged, almost crab-wise scuttle. The arms were hardly man-like either; the creatures held them half-raised, half-folded, but for a few that were carrying various objects. And as for the heads—Jim looked, swallowed hard, and shuddered.
"Well, at least they ain't the Russians," said a voice from the back of the little huddle of humans.
"But, what is it?"
"Flying saucer, silly."
"Some damn saucer. Hey, Ralph, say somethin' to 'em.'"
"Uh, what'll I say?" asked Ralph, turning to look at the men clustered behind him, then jerking his head back to keep an eye on the advancing horde. One, carrying a two-foot cube, scuttled within a couple of yards, put the cube down on the sand, and stood motionless while another creature—about a foot taller than the rest—moved slowly up to, the cube.
The tallest creature chattered his mandibles for a second, then the cube bellowed, "RITUAL INITIAL GREETINGS!"
Everyone jumped; Jim saw Ralph wince, then heard the big man growl, "Not so damn loud; we're not deaf—least, not yet."
The cube chattered; the tallest creature chattered back. The cube spoke again, "Ritual and appropriate apologies, we give you. Your deafness, we do not intend. So, English, we are speaking?"
"Uh—ah—you mean, are we speaking English?" asked Ralph. "Yeah, sure. But we're United States—uh—I mean, we're Americans and—"
While Ralph explained, Jim took a careful look at the creature. The sturdy torso and thick limbs seemed to be encased in some kind of armor or shell, like a crab? No, the legs were too thick for a crab, and there weren't enough of them. Still, it reminded him of something familiar… He turned to Ted, touched his shoulder. "What—?"
"Extraterrestrial," said Ted, almost in a whisper. "But that isn't saying anything, really. Six limbs, and those jaws! I'd say it's a kind of giant insect, redesigned for the size, semi-graviportal legs and a good circulatory system, only—"
"Like one of those—whatcha-call-ems—praying mantises?" asked someone behind Jim.
Jim took a deep breath. The creature had none of the spidery grace of a mantis, but it was built along the same general plan. Maybe.
"No way," said Ted, firmly. "If it's extraterrestrial—extrasolar, too—it couldn't be related to any of our insects. It just happens—"
"Speaking one at a time, we ask you!" the cube said loudly. The tallest creature pointed a claw-tipped arm at Jim and resumed chattering his mandibles; the cube spoke a second later. "Speaking several at a time, you confuse the speak circuit."
"Uh, that's a—a translation machine?" asked Jim.
"Ritual and appropriate apologies, the wrong word we used. This, a translation machine is. So, similar to us, you have an insect?"
Jim was still puzzling out the sentence when Ted nodded, said, "Yes," and held up a hand with thumb and forefinger spread to show size. "Little thing, like so. But you can't be related to our—"
"On this island, you have not any?" interrupted the cube. Ted shook his head; the chattering creature and its translating machine went on: "Incompletely, we explored this planet; although many times, we have visited it. Ritual apologies, but the word 'related' confuses us. Related, meaning common ancestors, we are not to your insects. But related, meaning of the same meat, we are precisely like so."
Ted asked, "You mean you're really—uh—just the same as insects, only bigger and smarter and—and you evolved on another planet and all?"
"We are so," the creature said through his translating cube. "By the nature of things, only the five chief kinds of large land life are possible. As every mid-school Dreth knows, these five occur—but for a life-science lecture, we are not with an appropriate instant. But, on full inter-eatability, we assure you."
"Uh—inter-eatability?" asked Ralph.
"A word of your language, it is not?" The creature opened his claws wide in what seemed to be the equivalent of a shrug. "Ritual apologies; new your language is to our translation machine. In different words I say my meaning. So: safely and easily, we Dreth and you internal skeleton animals can eat each other."
"Eat each other!" said Ralph. "Now look here—"
"Cool it, Ralph," said Ted. "He doesn't mean the—uh—Dreth go around eating people, just—" he turned to the tallest of the insectile Dreth and asked, "What have you been eating, anyway? Around here, about the only thing would be whales and porpoises and—"
"Whales? The large ocean air-breathing animals about eighteen glirts in size?" asked the tallest visitor. "To us, you should give ritual apologies. Being now rare animals in risk of disappearing, of course we do not eat them. Ever conscious of the balance of life, we Dreth do not do such things. Always after proper study of abundances and overpopulation, we establish our feeding routes. So, if tilted is the balance of life, we do to restore it. So also, if overpopulations we find, then therefore—"
"What feeding stations?" asked Ralph abruptly.
"In our interstellar journeys, we establish stopping places for feeding our crews. For carrying adequate prey aboard, our ships are too small."
"Too small?" snorted Ralph, glancing up at the spaceship that towered over them all. "Just what are you leadin' up to, anyway?" he demanded.
"Since at last you have asked, it is no longer impolite to say this," said the Dreth. "Ritual apologies nevertheless, but your kind are too numerous for the balance of life on your planet. So also, in selecting your own feeding, your kind does yet more harm to the balance of life. In our recent survey, the air poisons from your population clusters we—"
"O.K., O.K., what are you bugs plannin' to do about it?" asked Ralph. The broad-shouldered man stood a pace in front of the rest of the men, facing the tallest Dreth with the translation cube at his feet. "Kill us off with A-bombs or poisons or somethin'?"
The tallest Dreth drew himself up to his full height and clattered his claws for a moment, while the cube said, "Expression of extreme anger!" The Dreth's mandibles chattered, and the cube went on with, "Ritual apologies, I should demand of you. Your question is a great discourtesy. That we Dreth are without the science of the balance of life, you are suggesting?" This is quite—but I forget, you are still primitive." He snapped his claws again; Jim saw the chelae were somewhat like both the pincers of a crab and the grasping arms of a mantis.
"So," continued the tallest Dreth, "many dozens of erbtors ago, when your kind were not so numerous, a regular stopping place this planet was. Since they were in proper numbers then, whales we took. So, since even then your kind were not rare, for variety we would catch an ocean vessel or even on one of the islands to the north we would land—"
"The Marie Celeste—that ship with the crew gone," gasped someone behind Jim.
"Been enough ships vanished without a trace," said Ted. "Maybe that's why the Polynesians were that way about cannibalism."
"Perhaps," said the tallest Dreth, through the translation machine at his feet. "You are of their tribe? Most excellent and admirable, we found them."
"No," said Ralph.
"Ritual apologies," replied the Dreth. "But traffic lapsed for many dozen erbtors, during the Nurithan disturbances." He shuffled all four of his feet for a moment. "So now, the disturbances being disposed of, I and this scoutship and my crew are re-establishing the interstellar routes. So also, the feeding stations, we—"
"Hey! You're not going to—to eat one of us!" interrupted Ralph.
"Minor apologies; not one, all."
"All of us? But you can't—" Jim glanced around; the little group of men was surrounded by the man-high Dreth now. "Look, there's lots of bigger islands—maybe up north—"
"Jim," objected Ralph, "we can't send these—these things somewheres else. They'll—damn, they'll do us in. But—"
"Perhaps," said the tallest Dreth, "a demonstration we can show you?"
He pointed to the island's one tree, then drew back his claw. "The plant I should not damage. Instead, the corner of the building." He pointed there, clicked his pincers twice. Light, white and intense, beamed down from the top of the spaceship, and a cubic foot of concrete exploded into dust. "So," the Dreth said through the cube, "of the uselessness of resistance, we have—"
"Yeah, yeah, we're convinced," growled Ralph. "That and gettin' outnumbered by a hundred or so to fourteen." He bit his lip, then turned to Ted. '"Member what we were talkin' about this mornin'?"
"Yes, but—"
"Might work?"
"If it doesn't—" Ted glanced at the waiting Dreth. "You going to—uh— take us all at once, or—"
"One at a time, we would prefer. So, in this way, any indigestion will be restricted to the first feeders. Does your custom—"
"One at a time," said Ralph, firmly. "And me first."
"But I'm the senior," objected Ted. "I'm in charge; I should—"
"Ted, shut up," growled Ralph. "If this doesn't work, you can get ate next all you like, but I'm goin' first if I gotta paste you one."
"Ritual apologies for interrupting a discussion," said the tallest Dreth via the translator, "but our custom is to save the biggest and best to last. With appropriate apologies for touching on your customs, why—"
Ralph yanked off his shirt, tossed it aside. He glared at the Dreth, then ripped off his trousers and kicked them away. "I don't give a howlin' hoot fer your damn customs," he growled. "I'm goin' first 'cause I want to. O.K.?"
The Dreth spread his pincers wide; behind him, the rest of his horde pressed close, pincers twitching. One, standing just behind the tallest, chattered his mandibles; the translation machine picked up his remark as, "Extreme fortune; he is in moult!"
Another chatter of mandibles came through: "He is shedding his integument. The records did not mention—"
"O.K.," said Ralph, completely stripped now. "What next? Do I go in your kitchen and get cooked there, or do you bring the stuff out here or what?"
"No, no, we'll eat you right here," replied the tallest of the insectile Dreth. "Is there something—?" he asked, at Ralph's startled yelp.
"No, there's an old joke—well, it isn't very funny this way. But, aren't you going to—"
"Quite unbearable, your insults are becoming," interrupted the Dreth. "You should submit a major ritual apology for even hinting that we would eat you without a pain-stop spray first." He gestured; a smaller Dreth scuttled forward, thrust a small implement under Ralph's nose. Jim heard a hiss, saw Ralph sneeze. "So, in a moment you should have no pain feeling. Now about that apology—"
"I'm gettin' ate alive; isn't that enough apology for ya?" growled Ralph. In a calmer tone, he went on, "What is that stuff, anyway?"
"General purpose pain-stop for internal skeleton animals," explained the small Dreth. "Quick acting and, of course, not persisting; none of any civilized race's chemicals persist, you know. There should be enough interval now. Would you pinch yourself anywhere?"
Ralph did. He looked surprised, pinched harder. "Damn! It works," he said. Jim saw the small Dreth move in again, pincers extended. "Hey!" Ralph said, looking up at the tallest of the giant insects. "Aren't you goin' to—you know—lead off?"
"Ritual apologies, I give you for even hinting such a thing," said the tallest Dreth, "but in case you should be unsuitable eating, it is our custom—but I should be introducing you to my spouse's second eldest brother, who has the honor to have the post of first taster of the expedition."
"Yeah, yeah," growled Ralph, frowning down at the small Dreth. "Glad't' meet ya, I suppose. Only—"
Professor Timble interrupted with a firm, "I don't believe it."
"Now really," said Mrs. Jonas. "Don't be rude. I know what you think about saucers and things, but—"
"No, no, that's not it at all. I just can't see a man volunteering to go first, much less being polite to the little horror that was about to start—" The professor took a long drink of his whiskey and soda.
"He wasn't, as you put it, being all that polite," said Jim, defensively. "Anyway, he was just—you know—still, it was pretty brave," he added, shaking his head as he remembered Ralph glaring at the Dreth.
"That brave?" Professor Timble took another sip of his drink.
"Oh, come now," said Old Dr. Wimple. "Did the lad play bridge? No? Well, it shtill-sorry-still applies. The way the morning paper's bridge writer keeps saying, if you can make your bid only if the cards lie a particular way, then you have to play the hand as if they do lie that way." He sighed. "I'm not making it very clear, am I?"
"No, no; I mean yes," said Mrs. Jonas. "You mean if—ah—Ralph's DDT didn't work, they'd get to him no matter whether he was first or last in line; but if the DDT did work after all, they'd have to—to eat him to find out, so the sooner the better, at least for the rest of you." She smiled. "Of course, Jim, your being here does spoil the story's suspense."
"Sorry to disappoint you like that," said Jim. "It was pretty damn suspenseful for us on the island, that morning, especially for Ralph."
"Only, if you guys are all that worried about us being intereatable—" Ralph turned and loped toward the island's one building, calling back over his naked shoulder, "Back in a sec. And Ted, if they get t' chompin' at th' bit, stall."
After a short, uneasy wait, another of the Dreth scuttled over to the tallest of the giant insects; the pair chattered mandibles for a few seconds. Then, the tallest Dreth turned to the waiting men; the cube translated his words: "A minor apology, but a question is asked. The word 'stall', used by your first-to-be-eaten but now- for- the- moment- departed- one: did he command you to delay for an interval of time, or is that you have an accommodation for horses?"
To Jim; Ted whispered, "What'n hell do I do now?"
"Like Ralph said, stall," hissed Jim. Inspiration struck. "Get real insulted; demand an apology for everything in sight. The way these bugs are on politeness and—"
"How dare you?" yelled Ted, taking a long pace forward. "The very idea!" He snatched off his cap, hurled it to the ground, and jumped on it with both feet. The tallest Dreth backed up a scuttling step; most of his horde retreated two. "Never in the history of—of—of history has so insulting an—am insult been m-made!". Ted continued. "Calling us horses, are you?" He jumped on his cap again, ground his heels into it, then yanked his shirt off, over his head, and began to rip it to shreds. "Horses indeed," he growled, hurling bits of cloth this way and that. He stopped, pointed at the little island's one building. "Does that look like the work of horses?" He grabbed a handful of his undershirt, jerked hard, and tore it half off his torso. "Do I look like a horse?" he yelled, snatching off the rest of his undershirt in grabs and handfuls. "Does he—or him—or him—do they look like horses?" he demanded, pointing at one man, then another.
Ted stood a moment, panting, then stalked forward until he stood just inches from the tallest Dreth. "WELL?" he bellowed.
"Most major and intense apologies," replied the chief Dreth, retreating another sidelong pace. "The translation cube—the language—our ignorance—that you are to delay an interval of time, it is now clear. So—"
Jim took a deep breath, strode forward. "Oh, that's it," he snarled. He swallowed hard, forced a scowl on his face. "First you insult us by calling us horses, and now you say we're stalling—calling us cowards—claiming we're afraid!" His voice broke on the last word. He swallowed again, glanced around desperately. "Here he is," he said, putting a hand on Ted's bare shoulder, "m-moulting his—I mean, stripping off his clothing, practically climbing into your— your c-claws, and you say he's stalling?"
"Hey!" came a yell from the building. Jim stopped searching for his next words, whirled, and stared. Ralph, still naked, was trotting towards the group of men and Dreth, with a package under one arm and what looked like a large ham in his hands. "I told you guys to wait till I got back," Ralph said, as he joined the group.
"I was waiting, but these things— you know." Ted jerked his thumb at the waiting crowd of giant insects. "Wait a minute; that's the ham for lunch."
"Yeah?" Ralph grinned, lifted it to his mouth, and bit out a big chunk. "Good, too," he mumbled as he began chewing, then held out the ham to a nearby Dreth. "Before you begin trying us out, take a few bites of this first, see if we're really as intereatable as you say."
The Dreth scuttled backwards a step, waving its antennae suspiciously. "Do you mean you do eat each other after all? In that case, an apology-"
"Nope," said Ralph. "Just ham. Off of hogs. I'll take another bite, while you're making up your minds." He started to raise the ham to his mouth again, but the closest Dreth scuttled to him and snatched the meat from Ralph's hands. "Hey, there," said Ralph. "There's no call for ya t' get grabby; I was just gonna take one more bite."
"Ritual, apologies," said the Dreth with the ham, "but you were seeming about to devour if all for yourself." The creature lifted the ham in its claws, rotated it for a moment, then started to nibble. There was a moment of frozen silence while the rest, men and Dreth, watched a quarter of the ham disappear. Finally the little Dreth lowered the ham, licked its mandibles clean, and announced, "Delicious!"
"Well, I suppose so," sighed Ralph. He pulled the package from under his arm and unwrapped it.
"What are you doing with that?" demanded the station's cook, from the huddled group of Coast-guardsmen. "That corned beef was for supper."
"Way I figger it," said Ralph, "either we won't be around for supper, or else we'll be having more of a celebration than corned beefs good for." He took a bite of the beef, then said, "Not bad, though." He chewed for a moment. "Lemme take another bite, before you—hey, there!" One of the Dreth had grabbed the corned beef away from Ralph; now, out of Ralph's reach, the creature was burying its mandibles in the pink meat.
"Medium apologies," said the tallest Dreth, "but they have been for so long without variety in their diet that they are being hasty." He gestured at the surrounding crowd of Dreth, where the remains of the ham were going from claw to claw, with each biting off a mandible-full before passing it on. "They are forgetting that, since we will eat you, nothing of what you devour beforehand will be lost to us."
"Uh, you eat everything?" asked Ted. "Innards and all?"
"Rudeness is a custom among you internal-skeleton beings, it appears to me," said the tallest Dreth, while the translation cube put a tone of disapproval into the words. "No civilized being would leave the landscape littered, nor leave eatable parts uneaten. Even the bones, especially if you are stiffened with calcium and phosphate, will be devoured to the last." A sharp grinding noise interrupted it; when the noise subsided, the Dreth went on, "That was the bone of the ham, I believe. Now, your first-to-be-eaten?"
Ralph gulped hard, paled, but stepped bravely up to the chief Dreth. "Aren't ya gonna wait until there's been time for—"
"It would be a discourtesy to keep you waiting longer," said the Dreth. "Clearly our previous expeditions found your planet's meat proper, and the small sample you provided has been assimilated without distaste. We Dreth metabolize quickly. That you ate from your samples shows no poison has been added; a minor apology, but thoughts such as this must be thought on a not recently visited planet. Now, the first taster again." He gestured; the small Dreth—Jim assumed it was the one who had been introduced before-scuttled to Ralph, claws at the ready.
"Hey, don't grab me there," protested Ralph.
"Is not the pain-stop effective?" asked the small Dreth. "It is just the right—"
"Look, who's gettin' ate, me or you?" growled the big man. "As long as it's me, you'll do it my way!" He scowled at the Dreth, then patted his rump. "Start here."
"As you insist," said the small Dreth, reluctantly letting go its first hold and moving around to Ralph's side. The small Dreth spread its mandibles, reached for Ralph's hip. Jim felt his own stomach turn over; he looked hastily away.
Jim saw some of the men watching in sick fascination; others had squeezed their eyes shut. One man, the cook, had turned almost green. The Dreth, however, were all' watching with what Jim could only interpret as avid interest. At least, all but one that was beginning to twitch its antennae aimlessly. Jim stared a moment, then turned back to Ralph and the Dreth who had taken a nip out of the big man's rump. "Whatever your name is—you, the one in charge," said Jim. He jerked his thumb back over his shoulder. "Something's wrong with one of your—uh— people." He turned away quickly, away from the Dreth that was about to take another nip out of Ralph, just in time to see the twitching Dreth stumble and fall over its own legs. Another Dreth limped to the tallest of the horde.
"Ritual apologies," the cube translated, "but since I ate the ham, I am tending to forget to breathe."
"Forgetting to breathe?" said the Dreth leader. "At once, to the ship, go!" The tallest waved its chelae; his mandibles chattered. "Give assistance to those unable! The alerting of—" and the cube lost the rest as the big insect scuttled around, directing the evacuation of the half-dozen Dreth who were now helplessly twitching on the ground or staggering in circles.
"Just in time," whispered Ted, as the men watched the confusion swirl around them. "Ralph, are you—?"
"I'm O.K.," said the big man, looking down at the point where a trickle of blood was welling from a small wound on his hip. "It don't hurt none, and I won't miss what he bit off; I'm too big there anyways." He glanced around. "Wonder what happened to th' little—oh, oh; here comes the boss critter now."
The tallest of the Dreth, flanked by two more of the giant insects, halted their approach a half-dozen paces away. "Whether apologies are required, I do not yet know," announced the Dreth. "It is visible to all that the samples you brought us are giving some problem. Whether your associate is digestible, we will have to discover with caution. The first taster—"
"Isn't that the one," said Ralph, pointing behind Jim, "running in circles? That must be; his claws are all bloody."
"Yes, it appears so. One hesitates to say, out of politeness, but it is almost as if there is a poison—"
"There is, there is," said Ralph, with a broad grin. "Touch of DDT. You bugs, with big brains and all, must be awful sensitive t' th' stuff, but it don't bother us internal skeleton animals a bit. Whole planet's soaked in th' stuff by now."
"Deepest condolences," said the Dreth. "You have been overtaken by a natural disaster?"
"Nope," said Jim. "We make the stuff, By the ton."
"Make it? Disgusting—utterly uncivilized. We shall quit this—this polluted place at once." The giant insect turned away while the cube translated, "At once; board ship!"
"Wait!" yelped Ralph. "How about—?" he pointed at the Dreth with the bloody claws, who was now rushing madly around the gigantic space ship, claws waving in the air.
"No time," said the tallest Dreth. A medium-sized one picked up the translation cube; together the pair scuttled for the ship. "We would be all day catching him, and doubtless the very sands are saturated with your horrid poison; ritual apologies but you must dispose of him yourselves. Perhaps in place of—" The two insectile horrors sidled through a hatch, and the ungainly craft lurched into the air and fled toward the sky.
"My God!" said Ted, as the men watched the Dreth ship disappear. "I had no idea we were that soaked with DDT."
"Well, I was afraid the ham might not be," said Ralph, "so I sprayed it and th' slab of beef with a bug-bomb I found in th' galley. Some fanners don't lay on the DDT like me and dad."
"And then you took a few bites to show the bugs it was O.K.?" asked Ted. "Gave you a chance to spray yourself too."
"Spray me?" demanded Ralph, indignantly. "That would be cheating, wouldn't it? I told you guys I got enough DDT in me already."
"Well, granting your adventure really happened, shall we say, as you told it," said Professor Timble, "I can see how it proves the point about a pesticide saving your lives. And for that matter, a lot more lives too; it would be rather awkward for those, how did you name them, Dreth using Earth for a quick lunch counter. But the other side of the picture—"
"How come nothing ever showed in the papers or TV?" asked Mrs. Jonas. "With all these leaks, I don't see how the government could keep it all secret."
"Government never heard about it," said Jim. "We all agreed we'd rather not go through a big scene, so we worked out a story about lightning hitting the guy wire and dropping the antenna, and Ralph getting a little chunk taken out when the wire whipped around and hit him in the butt. What else could we have done? And who would have believed us?"
"I suppose you're right." Mrs.
Jonas paused for a thoughtful moment. "Still—with overpopulation and the A-bombs and all, maybe being a lunch stop wouldn't be so bad, the way we're messing up things on our own." She patted her hair absently. "And you had that translating machine and that anesthetic; I'm not completely sure it's such a good thing that it turned out the way it did."
"Oh, come on now, Mrs. Jonas," said the professor, "if you really want to see overpopulation, go take a look at the inside of a livestock feeding pen. If we're going to solve our overpopulation problems, we're going to have to do it ourselves. However, that anesthetic—"
"I do not think so," interrupted Old Dr. Wimple. "If there is anything we do not need, it is another 'perfect' anesthetic. When I think of all the misery and trouble we've had from one perfect pain-killer after an-other, I think we'd be off better having none and spending the effort on curing causes instead of symptoms." He looked up, called, "Ricky—another cup, please?"
"You are right about that," said Jim. "Even in the three-four days the pain-killer was working on Ralph, he found he was bruising himself and getting cuts and burns and things, because he couldn't feel them hurt; that kid was glad when he could feel pain again."
The doctor blinked gravely around the table. "And of course, the last of the insect monsters—Ah, thank you, Ricky—that's where the example on the other side of the pollution argument comes in, doesn't it?" He picked up the refilled cup and sipped.
"Yes, it does," said Jim. He grinned at the obvious puzzlement on Mrs. Jonas's face. 'The last of the Dreth, the first taster, eventually ran into the side of the building and knocked himself cold, and somebody suggested that since the Dreth had eaten our lunch—dinner too—and even took a couple of nips out of Ralph—" Jim grinned again and licked his lips.
"You didn't!" said Mrs. Jonas.
"We did," said Jim. "Tasted like king crab, only more so, if you know what I mean."
"But the other side of the pollution argument?" said the professor. "I don't—"
"Don't you see it?" asked Old Dr. Wimple. He took another sip of coffee. "Just think how lucky it was for Jim and his friends that the how did you call them—the Dreth were too civilized and ecologized to let themselves get polluted with some kind of pesticide that kills off vertebrate animals."