— 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 ...
This story was a 1991 Nebula nominee and appeared in Omni, april 1991. Written by Terry Bisson.
