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.

«Oh my God - singing, thinking meat! Let's just pretend there's no one home in the Universe.»

— 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 ...

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This story was a 1991 Nebula nominee and appeared in Omni, april 1991. Written by Terry Bisson. The video: http://www.youtube.com/embed/gaFZTAOb7IE