They're Made out of
Meat
Terry Bisson, 1991
"They're made out of meat."
"Meat?"
"Meat. They're made out of meat."
"Meat?"
"There's no doubt about it. We picked several from
different parts of the planet, took them aboard our recon vessels, 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 the 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 too long. Do you have
any idea 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 is a brain all right. It's just that the
brain is made out of meat!"
"So... what does the thinking?"
"You're not understanding, are 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 getting the picture?"
"Omigod. You're serious then. They're made out of
meat."
"Finally, Yes. They are indeed made out meat. And
they've been trying to get in touch with us for almost a hundred of their
years."
"So what does the meat have in mind."
"First it wants to talk to us. Then I imagine it wants
to explore the universe, contact other sentients, 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? Anyone 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 the quadrant, 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 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 have 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 can marked this 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
rotation 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."
Speaking of talking meat, and, um, meat:
