"You are quite afraid, aren't you?" the wub said. "Have I done anything to you? I am against the idea of hurting. All I have done is try to protect myself. Can you expect me to rush eagerly to my death? I am a sensible being like yourselves. I was curious to see your ship, learn about you. I suggested to the native--" The gun jerked. "See," Franco said. "I thought so." The wub settled down, panting. It put its paw out, pulling its tail around it. "It is very warm," the wub said. "I understand that we are close to the jets. Atomic power. You have done many wonderful things with it--technically. Apparently, your scientific hierarchy is not equipped to solve moral, ethical--" Franco turned to the men, crowding behind him, wide-eyed, silent. "I'll do it. You can watch." French nodded. "Try to hit the brain. It's no good for eating. Don't hit the chest. If the rib cage shatters, we'll have to pick bones out." "Listen," Peterson said, licking his lips. "Has it done anything? What harm has it done? I'm asking you. And anyhow, it's still mine. You have no right to shoot it. It doesn't belong to you." Franco raised his gun. "I'm going out," Jones said, his face white and sick. "I don't want to see it." "Me, too," French said. The men straggled out, murmuring. Peterson lingered at the door. "It was talking to me about myths," he said. "It wouldn't hurt anyone." He went outside. Franco walked toward the wub. The wub looked up slowly. It swallowed. "A very foolish thing," it said. "I am sorry that you want to do it. There was a parable that your Saviour related--" It stopped, staring at the gun. "Can you look me in the eye and do it?" the wub said. "Can you do that?" The Captain gazed down. "I can look you in the eye," he said. "Back on the farm we had hogs, dirty razor-back hogs. I can do it." Staring down at the wub, into the gleaming, moist eyes, he pressed the trigger. * * * * * The taste was excellent. They sat glumly around the table, some of them hardly eating at all. The only one who seemed to be enjoying himself was Captain Franco. "More?" he said, looking around. "More? And some wine, perhaps." "Not me," French said. "I think I'll go back to the chart room." "Me, too." Jones stood up, pushing his chair back. "I'll see you later." The Captain watched them go. Some of the others excused themselves. "What do you suppose the matter is?" the Captain said. He turned to Peterson. Peterson sat staring down at his plate, at the potatoes, the green peas, and at the thick slab of tender, warm meat. He opened his mouth. No sound came. The Captain put his hand on Peterson's shoulder. "It is only organic matter, now," he said. "The life essence is gone." He ate, spooning up the gravy with some bread. "I, myself, love to eat. It is one of the greatest things that a living creature can enjoy. Eating, resting, meditation, discussing things."