— how did you find out about me?”
“Your camera-watch went click.” Bill figured that after all the time that had passed, telling the Chinger now wouldn't matter. And it might help to at least appear to cooperate.
“Gee — I thought it might be that. The new model spy-watch doesn't click, you will be cheered to know. Now, to pick up where we left off that hot, humid day so long ago. In our talk you said that your race, homo sapiens, likes war. Do you still believe that?”
“Yes. Only more so.”
“And you, dear lady, member of the gentler sex in uniform. Why do you fight this war?”
“Because I was drafted.”
“Agreed. But if you were not drafted — would you have enlisted?”
“Maybe. To make the galaxy safe for humans. After all, you filthy Chingers started this war and want to kill and eat us all.”
“The last is a physical impossibility — our metabolisms are too different. But the truth is that we are a peaceful race and loathe violence. It is really you humans who make war on us.”
“Do you expect me to believe that old bush-wah?” she sniffed.
“Believe it,” Bill said. “It's true. The whole war is a fake to keep the military in power and the factory wheels turning.”
“Gee — the same can be said of all wars down through human history. I have become a keen student of humanity since I saw you last, Bill. So — gee — would you help me, both of you?”
“Death to Chingers,” Meta muttered.
“Help you do what?”
“End the war, of course. You would like that, wouldn't you?”
“I'm sort of used to the job now —”
“Gee — Bill — you are being a dummy! I don't mean you personally. I mean your entire society. Wouldn't it be nice to free your fellow men, and women, from the burden of warfare once and for all? End all the death, mutilation and destruction. How about that?”
“You would put a lot of people out of work.”
“I can't believe that I'm hearing this. What about you, Meta? You look like a sensible girl. Do you really believe that unending war is the only future for mankind?”
“I never really thought about it. But we really have to protect ourselves.”
“Against what — whom, or which? Let me tell you about recent history — because I was involved in it myself. Settle down on the nice stone floor and listen.”
The Chinger leaned back comfortably on his tail, tucked his thumbs into his marsupial pouch, and told them —
THE CHINGER'S TALE
My youth was spent in happy study at the university, whose name you could not pronounce, on the Chinger home planet, which you will never find. In those halcyon days of yore, BH, Before Humans, life was an idyllic pleasure. I graduated head of my class and my family was so proud. They held a grand party and all my siblings came, pouch-brothers we call them. All males of course, for ours was a male family. There are female families, neuter families and stupidaggine families — but I digress. This is not the time to talk about sex.
After the banquet of grilled snake's legs, my mouth waters at the memory, my old teacher took me aside — may his aged gray scales be ever blessed! — and asked me what I intended to do with my life. I told him I had considered teaching, but he cozened me against it. “Get out into the world, young lizard,” he said. “Or better the worlds.” And he was right. I opened my first exopology text and I knew that this was what I wanted to devote my life to. The study of alien life forms. I got a doctorate for my paper on Veniolan swamp denizens and went on for my masters in Cacabene dung roller beetles. Life was indeed sweet. It was then we had our first contact with homo sapiens.
This was to be my specialty, I felt it in my bones. We had a small settlement on the planet Cacabene, built around a heavy-metal mine. I knew it well from my years of study in the surrounding swamps. When the FTL message was received that a strange spaceship had been detected landing on the planet I
“Your camera-watch went click.” Bill figured that after all the time that had passed, telling the Chinger now wouldn't matter. And it might help to at least appear to cooperate.
“Gee — I thought it might be that. The new model spy-watch doesn't click, you will be cheered to know. Now, to pick up where we left off that hot, humid day so long ago. In our talk you said that your race, homo sapiens, likes war. Do you still believe that?”
“Yes. Only more so.”
“And you, dear lady, member of the gentler sex in uniform. Why do you fight this war?”
“Because I was drafted.”
“Agreed. But if you were not drafted — would you have enlisted?”
“Maybe. To make the galaxy safe for humans. After all, you filthy Chingers started this war and want to kill and eat us all.”
“The last is a physical impossibility — our metabolisms are too different. But the truth is that we are a peaceful race and loathe violence. It is really you humans who make war on us.”
“Do you expect me to believe that old bush-wah?” she sniffed.
“Believe it,” Bill said. “It's true. The whole war is a fake to keep the military in power and the factory wheels turning.”
“Gee — the same can be said of all wars down through human history. I have become a keen student of humanity since I saw you last, Bill. So — gee — would you help me, both of you?”
“Death to Chingers,” Meta muttered.
“Help you do what?”
“End the war, of course. You would like that, wouldn't you?”
“I'm sort of used to the job now —”
“Gee — Bill — you are being a dummy! I don't mean you personally. I mean your entire society. Wouldn't it be nice to free your fellow men, and women, from the burden of warfare once and for all? End all the death, mutilation and destruction. How about that?”
“You would put a lot of people out of work.”
“I can't believe that I'm hearing this. What about you, Meta? You look like a sensible girl. Do you really believe that unending war is the only future for mankind?”
“I never really thought about it. But we really have to protect ourselves.”
“Against what — whom, or which? Let me tell you about recent history — because I was involved in it myself. Settle down on the nice stone floor and listen.”
The Chinger leaned back comfortably on his tail, tucked his thumbs into his marsupial pouch, and told them —
THE CHINGER'S TALE
My youth was spent in happy study at the university, whose name you could not pronounce, on the Chinger home planet, which you will never find. In those halcyon days of yore, BH, Before Humans, life was an idyllic pleasure. I graduated head of my class and my family was so proud. They held a grand party and all my siblings came, pouch-brothers we call them. All males of course, for ours was a male family. There are female families, neuter families and stupidaggine families — but I digress. This is not the time to talk about sex.
After the banquet of grilled snake's legs, my mouth waters at the memory, my old teacher took me aside — may his aged gray scales be ever blessed! — and asked me what I intended to do with my life. I told him I had considered teaching, but he cozened me against it. “Get out into the world, young lizard,” he said. “Or better the worlds.” And he was right. I opened my first exopology text and I knew that this was what I wanted to devote my life to. The study of alien life forms. I got a doctorate for my paper on Veniolan swamp denizens and went on for my masters in Cacabene dung roller beetles. Life was indeed sweet. It was then we had our first contact with homo sapiens.
This was to be my specialty, I felt it in my bones. We had a small settlement on the planet Cacabene, built around a heavy-metal mine. I knew it well from my years of study in the surrounding swamps. When the FTL message was received that a strange spaceship had been detected landing on the planet I
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