They're Made out of Meat
Terry Bisson
"They're made out of meat."
"Meat?"
"Meat. They're made out of meat."
"Meat?"
"There's no doubt about it. We picked up
several from different parts of the planet, took them aboard our recon
vessels, and probed them all the way through. They're completely meat."
"That's impossible. What about the radio
signals? The messages to the stars?"
"They use the radio waves to talk, but the
signals don't come from them. The signals come from machines."
"So who made the machines? That's who we want
to contact."
"They made the machines. That's what I'm
trying to tell you. Meat made the machines."
"That's ridiculous. How can meat make a
machine? You're asking me to believe in sentient meat."
"I'm not asking you, I'm telling you. These
creatures are the only sentient race in that sector and they're made
out of meat."
"Maybe they're like the orfolei. You know, a
carbon-based intelligence that goes through a meat stage."
"Nope. They're born meat and they die meat. We
studied them for several of their life spans, which didn't take long.
Do you have any idea what's the life span of meat?"
"Spare me. Okay, maybe they're only part meat.
You know, like the weddilei. A meat head with an electron plasma brain
inside."
"Nope. We thought of that, since they do have
meat heads, like the weddilei. But I told you, we probed them. They're
meat all the way through."
"No brain?"
"Oh, there's a brain all right. It's just that
the brain is made out of meat! That's what I've been trying to tell
you."
"So ... what does the thinking?"
"You're not understanding, are you? You're
refusing to deal with what I'm telling you. The brain does the
thinking. The meat."
"Thinking meat! You're asking me to believe in
thinking meat!"
"Yes, thinking meat! Conscious meat! Loving
meat. Dreaming meat. The meat is the whole deal! Are you beginning to
get the picture or do I have to start all over?"
"Omigod. You're serious then. They're made out
of meat."
"Thank you. Finally. Yes. They are indeed made
out of meat. And they've been trying to get in touch with us for almost
a hundred of their years."
"Omigod. So what does this meat have in mind?"
"First it wants to talk to us. Then I imagine
it wants to explore the Universe, contact other sentiences, swap ideas
and information. The usual."
"We're supposed to talk to meat."
"That's the idea. That's the message they're
sending out by radio. 'Hello. Anyone out there. Anybody home.' That
sort of thing."
"They actually do talk, then. They use words,
ideas, concepts?"
"Oh, yes. Except they do it with meat."
"I thought you just told me they used radio."
"They do, but what do you think is on the
radio? Meat sounds. You know how when you slap or flap meat, it makes a
noise? They talk by flapping their meat at each other. They can even
sing by squirting air through their meat."
"Omigod. Singing meat. This is altogether too
much. So what do you advise?"
"Officially or unofficially?"
"Both."
"Officially, we are required to contact,
welcome and log in any and all sentient races or multibeings in this
quadrant of the Universe, without prejudice, fear or favor.
Unofficially, I advise that we erase the records and forget the whole
thing."
"I was hoping you would say that."
"It seems harsh, but there is a limit. Do we
really want to make contact with meat?"
"I agree one hundred percent. What's there to
say? 'Hello, meat. How's it going?' But will this work? How many
planets are we dealing with here?"
"Just one. They can travel to other planets in
special meat containers, but they can't live on them. And being meat,
they can only travel through C space. Which limits them to the speed of
light and makes the possibility of their ever making contact pretty
slim. Infinitesimal, in fact."
"So we just pretend there's no one home in the
Universe."
"That's it."
"Cruel. But you said it yourself, who wants to
meet meat? And the ones who have been aboard our vessels, the ones you
probed? You're sure they won't remember?"
"They'll be considered crackpots if they do.
We went into their heads and smoothed out their meat so that we're just
a dream to them."
"A dream to meat! How strangely appropriate,
that we should be meat's dream."
"And we marked the entire sector unoccupied."
"Good. Agreed, officially and unofficially.
Case closed. Any others? Anyone interesting on that side of the galaxy?"
"Yes, a rather shy but sweet hydrogen core
cluster intelligence in a class nine star in G445 zone. Was in contact
two galactic rotations ago, wants to be friendly again."
"They always come around."
"And why not? Imagine how unbearably, how
unutterably cold the Universe would be if one were all alone ..."
the end
This story originally appeared in
Omni April 1991 and was nominated for the Nebula Award. It is taken
from the collection 'Bears Discover Fire', available here. You can find
out more about Terry Bisson on his website.