ou 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?"