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"The wub, sir," Peterson said. "It spoke!"

BEYOND LIES THE WUB

By Philip K. Dick

The slovenly wub might well have said: Many men
talk like philosophers and live like fools.

The messy wub could have easily said: Many guys talk like they're philosophers but act like fools.

They had almost finished with the loading. Outside stood the Optus, his arms folded, his face sunk in gloom. Captain Franco walked leisurely down the gangplank, grinning.

They had nearly finished loading. Outside stood the Optus, his arms crossed, his face clouded with sadness. Captain Franco walked casually down the gangplank, smiling.

"What's the matter?" he said. "You're getting paid for all this."

"What's wrong?" he asked. "You're getting paid for all of this."

The Optus said nothing. He turned away, collecting his robes. The Captain put his boot on the hem of the robe.

The Optus said nothing. He turned away, gathering his robes. The Captain stepped on the edge of the robe with his boot.

"Just a minute. Don't go off. I'm not finished."

"Hold on a second. Don’t leave yet. I’m not done."

"Oh?" The Optus turned with dignity. "I am going back to the village." He looked toward the animals and birds being driven up the gangplank into the spaceship. "I must organize new hunts."

"Oh?" The Optus turned with dignity. "I'm going back to the village." He looked toward the animals and birds being herded up the gangplank into the spaceship. "I need to plan new hunts."

Franco lit a cigarette. "Why not? You people can go out into the veldt and track it all down again. But when we run out halfway between Mars and Earth—"

Franco lit a cigarette. "Why not? You all can head out into the veldt and track it down again. But when we run out halfway between Mars and Earth—"

The Optus went off, wordless. Franco joined the first mate at the bottom of the gangplank.

The Optus went silent. Franco joined the first mate at the bottom of the gangplank.

"How's it coming?" he said. He looked at his watch. "We got a good bargain here."

"How's it going?" he said. He glanced at his watch. "We got a great deal here."

The mate glanced at him sourly. "How do you explain that?"

The crew member shot him a frustrated look. "How do you explain that?"

"What's the matter with you? We need it more than they do."

"What's wrong with you? We need it more than they do."

"I'll see you later, Captain." The mate threaded his way up the plank, between the long-legged Martian go-birds, into the ship. Franco watched him disappear. He was just starting up after him, up the plank toward the port, when he saw it.

"I'll catch you later, Captain." The mate made his way up the plank, weaving between the tall Martian go-birds, and onto the ship. Franco watched him vanish. He was just about to follow him up the plank toward the port when he noticed it.

"My God!" He stood staring, his hands on his hips. Peterson was walking along the path, his face red, leading it by a string.

"My God!" He stood there staring, his hands on his hips. Peterson was walking down the path, his face flushed, leading it by a string.

"I'm sorry, Captain," he said, tugging at the string. Franco walked toward him.

"I'm sorry, Captain," he said, pulling at the string. Franco walked over to him.

"What is it?"

"What's that?"

The wub stood sagging, its great body settling slowly. It was sitting down, its eyes half shut. A few flies buzzed about its flank, and it switched its tail.

The wub sagged, its large body slowly settling down. It was sitting, its eyes half-closed. A few flies buzzed around its side, and it flicked its tail.

It sat. There was silence.

It sat in silence.

"It's a wub," Peterson said. "I got it from a native for fifty cents. He said it was a very unusual animal. Very respected."

"It's a wub," Peterson said. "I got it from a local for fifty cents. He said it was a really unique animal. Very respected."

"This?" Franco poked the great sloping side of the wub. "It's a pig! A huge dirty pig!"

"This?" Franco poked the large sloping side of the wub. "It's a pig! A massive dirty pig!"

"Yes sir, it's a pig. The natives call it a wub."

"Yeah, it's a pig. The locals call it a wub."

"A huge pig. It must weigh four hundred pounds." Franco grabbed a tuft of the rough hair. The wub gasped. Its eyes opened, small and moist. Then its great mouth twitched.

"A huge pig. It must weigh four hundred pounds." Franco grabbed a bunch of the coarse hair. The wub gasped. Its eyes opened, small and wet. Then its big mouth twitched.

A tear rolled down the wub's cheek and splashed on the floor.

A tear rolled down the wub's cheek and splashed onto the floor.

"Maybe it's good to eat," Peterson said nervously.

"We'll soon find out," Franco said.

"We'll find out soon," Franco said.

The wub survived the take-off, sound asleep in the hold of the ship. When they were out in space and everything was running smoothly, Captain Franco bade his men fetch the wub upstairs so that he might perceive what manner of beast it was.

The wub made it through the take-off, fast asleep in the hold of the ship. Once they were out in space and everything was going well, Captain Franco told his crew to bring the wub upstairs so he could see what kind of creature it was.

The wub grunted and wheezed, squeezing up the passageway.

The wub grunted and wheezed, making its way through the passage.

"Come on," Jones grated, pulling at the rope. The wub twisted, rubbing its skin off on the smooth chrome walls. It burst into the ante-room, tumbling down in a heap. The men leaped up.

"Come on," Jones growled, tugging at the rope. The wub twisted, scraping its skin against the smooth chrome walls. It crashed into the ante-room, falling down in a pile. The men jumped up.

"Good Lord," French said. "What is it?"

"Good Lord," French said. "What's going on?"

"Peterson says it's a wub," Jones said. "It belongs to him." He kicked at the wub. The wub stood up unsteadily, panting.

"Peterson says it’s a wub," Jones said. "It belongs to him." He kicked at the wub. The wub stood up unsteadily, panting.

"What's the matter with it?" French came over. "Is it going to be sick?"

"What's wrong with it?" French came over. "Is it going to get sick?"

They watched. The wub rolled its eyes mournfully. It gazed around at the men.

They watched. The wub rolled its eyes sadly. It looked around at the men.

"I think it's thirsty," Peterson said. He went to get some water. French shook his head.

"No wonder we had so much trouble taking off. I had to reset all my ballast calculations."

"No wonder we had so much trouble getting off the ground. I had to redo all my weight calculations."

Peterson came back with the water. The wub began to lap gratefully, splashing the men.

Peterson returned with the water. The wub started to drink happily, splashing the men.

Captain Franco appeared at the door.

Captain Franco showed up at the door.

"Let's have a look at it." He advanced, squinting critically. "You got this for fifty cents?"

"Let's check this out." He stepped forward, squinting in judgment. "You got this for fifty cents?"

"Yes, sir," Peterson said. "It eats almost anything. I fed it on grain and it liked that. And then potatoes, and mash, and scraps from the table, and milk. It seems to enjoy eating. After it eats it lies down and goes to sleep."

"Sure, sir," Peterson said. "It pretty much eats anything. I fed it grain, and it liked that. Then I gave it potatoes, mash, table scraps, and milk. It seems to really enjoy eating. After it eats, it lies down and falls asleep."

"I see," Captain Franco said. "Now, as to its taste. That's the real question. I doubt if there's much point in fattening it up any more. It seems fat enough to me already. Where's the cook? I want him here. I want to find out—"

"I see," Captain Franco said. "Now, about its taste. That's the real question. I don't think there's much point in making it any fatter. It looks fat enough to me already. Where's the cook? I want him here. I need to find out—"

The wub stopped lapping and looked up at the Captain.

The wub stopped licking and looked up at the Captain.

"Really, Captain," the wub said. "I suggest we talk of other matters."

"Honestly, Captain," the wub said. "I think we should discuss other things."

The room was silent.

The room was quiet.

"What was that?" Franco said. "Just now."

"What was that?" Franco asked. "Just now."

"The wub, sir," Peterson said. "It spoke."

"The wub, sir," Peterson said. "It talked."

They all looked at the wub.

They all stared at the wub.

"What did it say? What did it say?"

"It suggested we talk about other things."

"It suggested we discuss other topics."

Franco walked toward the wub. He went all around it, examining it from every side. Then he came back over and stood with the men.

Franco walked over to the wub. He circled it, checking it out from every angle. Then he returned and stood with the guys.

"I wonder if there's a native inside it," he said thoughtfully. "Maybe we should open it up and have a look."

"I wonder if there's someone native inside it," he said thoughtfully. "Maybe we should open it up and take a look."

"Oh, goodness!" the wub cried. "Is that all you people can think of, killing and cutting?"

"Oh, my goodness!" the wub exclaimed. "Is that all you guys can think about, killing and cutting?"

Franco clenched his fists. "Come out of there! Whoever you are, come out!"

Franco clenched his fists. "Come out of there! Whoever you are, show yourself!"

Nothing stirred. The men stood together, their faces blank, staring at the wub. The wub swished its tail. It belched suddenly.

Nothing moved. The men stood together, their faces blank, staring at the wub. The wub swished its tail. It burped suddenly.

"I beg your pardon," the wub said.

"I'm sorry," the wub said.

"I don't think there's anyone in there," Jones said in a low voice. They all looked at each other.

"I don't think anyone's in there," Jones said quietly. They all exchanged glances.

The cook came in.

The chef came in.

"You wanted me, Captain?" he said. "What's this thing?"

"You wanted to see me, Captain?" he asked. "What's this all about?"

"This is a wub," Franco said. "It's to be eaten. Will you measure it and figure out—"

"This is a wub," Franco said. "It's meant to be eaten. Can you measure it and find out—"

"I think we should have a talk," the wub said. "I'd like to discuss this with you, Captain, if I might. I can see that you and I do not agree on some basic issues."

"I think we need to talk," the wub said. "I'd like to discuss this with you, Captain, if that's okay. I can see that you and I have some fundamental disagreements."

The Captain took a long time to answer. The wub waited good-naturedly, licking the water from its jowls.

The Captain took a while to respond. The wub patiently waited, licking the water off its jowls.

"Come into my office," the Captain said at last. He turned and walked out of the room. The wub rose and padded after him. The men watched it go out. They heard it climbing the stairs.

"Come into my office," the Captain finally said. He turned and walked out of the room. The wub got up and followed him. The men watched it leave. They heard it going up the stairs.

"I wonder what the outcome will be," the cook said. "Well, I'll be in the kitchen. Let me know as soon as you hear."

"I wonder what the outcome will be," the cook said. "Well, I'll be in the kitchen. Just let me know as soon as you hear."

"Sure," Jones said. "Sure."

The wub eased itself down in the corner with a sigh. "You must forgive me," it said. "I'm afraid I'm addicted to various forms of relaxation. When one is as large as I—"

The wub settled down in the corner with a sigh. "You have to forgive me," it said. "I'm afraid I'm hooked on different kinds of relaxation. When you’re as big as I am—"

The Captain nodded impatiently. He sat down at his desk and folded his hands.

The Captain nodded, clearly irritated. He sat down at his desk and clasped his hands together.

"All right," he said. "Let's get started. You're a wub? Is that correct?"

"Okay," he said. "Let's get started. You're a wub? Is that right?"

The wub shrugged. "I suppose so. That's what they call us, the natives, I mean. We have our own term."

The wub shrugged. "I guess so. That's what they call us, the locals, I mean. We have our own word for it."

"And you speak English? You've been in contact with Earthmen before?"

"And you speak English? You've interacted with Earthlings before?"

"No."

"Nope."

"Then how do you do it?"

"Then how do you do that?"

"Speak English? Am I speaking English? I'm not conscious of speaking anything in particular. I examined your mind—"

"Do you speak English? Am I speaking English? I’m not aware of speaking anything specific. I looked into your mind—"

"My mind?"

"My thoughts?"

"I studied the contents, especially the semantic warehouse, as I refer to it—"

"I looked over the contents, especially what I call the semantic warehouse—"

"I see," the Captain said. "Telepathy. Of course."

"I get it," the Captain said. "Telepathy. Naturally."

"We are a very old race," the wub said. "Very old and very ponderous. It is difficult for us to move around. You can appreciate that anything so slow and heavy would be at the mercy of more agile forms of life. There was no use in our relying on physical defenses. How could we win? Too heavy to run, too soft to fight, too good-natured to hunt for game—"

"We're an ancient species," the wub said. "Ancient and really slow. It's hard for us to get around. You can understand that something so slow and heavy would be vulnerable to quicker creatures. There was no point in depending on physical defenses. How could we succeed? Too heavy to run, too gentle to fight, too kind-hearted to hunt for food—"

"How do you live?"

"How do you exist?"

"Plants. Vegetables. We can eat almost anything. We're very catholic. Tolerant, eclectic, catholic. We live and let live. That's how we've gotten along."

"Plants. Vegetables. We can eat almost anything. We're very open-minded. Tolerant, diverse, accepting. We live and let live. That's how we've managed to get along."

The wub eyed the Captain.

The wub watched the Captain.

"And that's why I so violently objected to this business about having me boiled. I could see the image in your mind—most of me in the frozen food locker, some of me in the kettle, a bit for your pet cat—"

"And that's why I strongly opposed this idea of having me boiled. I could picture what you were thinking—most of me in the frozen food section, some of me in the pot, a little for your pet cat—"

"So you read minds?" the Captain said. "How interesting. Anything else? I mean, what else can you do along those lines?"

"So you can read minds?" the Captain said. "That's interesting. What else can you do that's similar?"

"A few odds and ends," the wub said absently, staring around the room. "A nice apartment you have here, Captain. You keep it quite neat. I respect life-forms that are tidy. Some Martian birds are quite tidy. They throw things out of their nests and sweep them—"

"A few random things," the wub said absentmindedly, looking around the room. "You have a nice apartment here, Captain. You keep it pretty tidy. I respect life-forms that are organized. Some Martian birds are very neat. They throw stuff out of their nests and clean them—"

"Indeed." The Captain nodded. "But to get back to the problem—"

"Definitely." The Captain nodded. "But to return to the issue—"

"Quite so. You spoke of dining on me. The taste, I am told, is good. A little fatty, but tender. But how can any lasting contact be established between your people and mine if you resort to such barbaric attitudes? Eat me? Rather you should discuss questions with me, philosophy, the arts—"

"Absolutely. You mentioned having me for dinner. I've heard I taste good—kind of fatty but tender. But how can we build any lasting relationship between our people if you have such savage ideas? Eat me? Instead, you should talk to me about important issues like philosophy and the arts—"

The Captain stood up. "Philosophy. It might interest you to know that we will be hard put to find something to eat for the next month. An unfortunate spoilage—"

The Captain stood up. "Philosophy. You might be interested to know that we'll have a tough time finding something to eat for the next month. An unfortunate spoilage—"

"I know." The wub nodded. "But wouldn't it be more in accord with your principles of democracy if we all drew straws, or something along that line? After all, democracy is to protect the minority from just such infringements. Now, if each of us casts one vote—"

"I know." The wub nodded. "But wouldn’t it align better with your democratic principles if we all drew straws or something similar? After all, democracy is meant to protect the minority from such violations. Now, if each of us casts one vote—"

The Captain walked to the door.

The captain walked to the door.

"Nuts to you," he said. He opened the door. He opened his mouth.

He stood frozen, his mouth wide, his eyes staring, his fingers still on the knob.

He stood still, his mouth open, his eyes wide, his fingers still on the doorknob.

The wub watched him. Presently it padded out of the room, edging past the Captain. It went down the hall, deep in meditation.

The wub watched him. Soon, it padded out of the room, moving around the Captain. It went down the hall, lost in thought.

The room was quiet.

The room was silent.

"So you see," the wub said, "we have a common myth. Your mind contains many familiar myth symbols. Ishtar, Odysseus—"

"So you see," the wub said, "we share a common myth. Your mind holds many familiar myth symbols. Ishtar, Odysseus—"

Peterson sat silently, staring at the floor. He shifted in his chair.

Peterson sat quietly, looking at the floor. He adjusted himself in his chair.

"Go on," he said. "Please go on."

"Go ahead," he said. "Please continue."

"I find in your Odysseus a figure common to the mythology of most self-conscious races. As I interpret it, Odysseus wanders as an individual, aware of himself as such. This is the idea of separation, of separation from family and country. The process of individuation."

"I see in your Odysseus a character that’s common to the myths of most self-aware cultures. To me, Odysseus travels as an individual, conscious of himself as such. This represents the idea of separation—from family and homeland. It's the process of

"But Odysseus returns to his home." Peterson looked out the port window, at the stars, endless stars, burning intently in the empty universe. "Finally he goes home."

"But Odysseus returns to his home." Peterson looked out the port window at the stars, endless stars, burning brightly in the vast universe. "Finally, he goes home."

"As must all creatures. The moment of separation is a temporary period, a brief journey of the soul. It begins, it ends. The wanderer returns to land and race...."

The door opened. The wub stopped, turning its great head.

The door swung open. The wub paused, swiveling its massive head.

Captain Franco came into the room, the men behind him. They hesitated at the door.

Captain Franco walked into the room, the men following him. They paused at the door.

"Are you all right?" French said.

"Are you okay?" French asked.

"Do you mean me?" Peterson said, surprised. "Why me?"

"Are you talking about me?" Peterson asked, surprised. "Why me?"

Franco lowered his gun. "Come over here," he said to Peterson. "Get up and come here."

There was silence.

It was quiet.

"Go ahead," the wub said. "It doesn't matter."

"Go for it," the wub said. "It doesn't matter."

Peterson stood up. "What for?"

Peterson stood up. "Why?"

"It's an order."

"It's a directive."

Peterson walked to the door. French caught his arm.

Peterson walked to the door. French grabbed his arm.

"What's going on?" Peterson wrenched loose. "What's the matter with you?"

"What's happening?" Peterson asked, pulling away. "What's wrong with you?"

Captain Franco moved toward the wub. The wub looked up from where it lay in the corner, pressed against the wall.

Captain Franco walked over to the wub. The wub looked up from its spot in the corner, pressed against the wall.

"It is interesting," the wub said, "that you are obsessed with the idea of eating me. I wonder why."

"It’s interesting," the wub said, "that you’re so fixated on the idea of eating me. I wonder why."

"Get up," Franco said.

"If you wish." The wub rose, grunting. "Be patient. It is difficult for me." It stood, gasping, its tongue lolling foolishly.

"If you want." The wub got up, grunting. "Be patient. This is hard for me." It stood, gasping, its tongue hanging out clumsily.

"Shoot it now," French said.

"Do it now," French said.

"For God's sake!" Peterson exclaimed. Jones turned to him quickly, his eyes gray with fear.

"You didn't see him—like a statue, standing there, his mouth open. If we hadn't come down, he'd still be there."

"You didn't see him—like a statue, standing there with his mouth open. If we hadn't come down, he'd still be there."

"Who? The Captain?" Peterson stared around. "But he's all right now."

"Who? The Captain?" Peterson looked around. "But he’s fine now."

They looked at the wub, standing in the middle of the room, its great chest rising and falling.

They looked at the wub, standing in the middle of the room, its large chest rising and falling.

"Come on," Franco said. "Out of the way."

"Come on," Franco said. "Move aside."

The men pulled aside toward the door.

The men stepped aside toward the door.

"You are quite afraid, aren't you?" the wub said. "Have I done anything to you? I am against the idea of hurting. All I have done is try to protect myself. Can you expect me to rush eagerly to my death? I am a sensible being like yourselves. I was curious to see your ship, learn about you. I suggested to the native—"

"You’re pretty scared, huh?" the wub said. "Have I done anything to hurt you? I don't believe in hurting anyone. All I've tried to do is protect myself. Can you really expect me to just run towards my death? I'm a reasonable creature just like you. I was curious to see your ship and learn about you. I suggested to the native—"

The gun jerked.

The gun jolted.

"See," Franco said. "I thought so."

"See," Franco said. "I knew it."

The wub settled down, panting. It put its paw out, pulling its tail around it.

The wub lay down, breathing heavily. It stretched out its paw and wrapped its tail around itself.

"It is very warm," the wub said. "I understand that we are close to the jets. Atomic power. You have done many wonderful things with it—technically. Apparently, your scientific hierarchy is not equipped to solve moral, ethical—"

"It’s really warm," the wub said. "I get that we’re near the jets. Atomic power. You’ve done a lot of amazing things with it—technically. Clearly, your scientific leaders aren’t prepared to tackle moral and ethical—"

Franco turned to the men, crowding behind him, wide-eyed, silent.

Franco turned to the men who were crowding behind him, their eyes wide and silent.

"I'll do it. You can watch."

"I'll take care of it. You can watch."

French nodded. "Try to hit the brain. It's no good for eating. Don't hit the chest. If the rib cage shatters, we'll have to pick bones out."

French nodded. "Aim for the brain. It's not useful for eating. Don't hit the chest. If the rib cage breaks, we'll have to pick out the bones."

"Listen," Peterson said, licking his lips. "Has it done anything? What harm has it done? I'm asking you. And anyhow, it's still mine. You have no right to shoot it. It doesn't belong to you."

"Listen," Peterson said, licking his lips. "Has it done anything? What harm has it caused? I'm asking you. And anyway, it's still mine. You have no right to shoot it. It doesn't belong to you."

Franco raised his gun.

Franco aimed his gun.

"I'm going out," Jones said, his face white and sick. "I don't want to see it."

"I'm heading out," Jones said, his face pale and looking ill. "I can't bear to see it."

"Me, too," French said. The men straggled out, murmuring. Peterson lingered at the door.

"Me, too," French said. The men filed out, murmuring. Peterson hung back at the door.

"It was talking to me about myths," he said. "It wouldn't hurt anyone."

"It was telling me about myths," he said. "It wouldn't hurt anyone."

He went outside.

He stepped outside.

Franco walked toward the wub. The wub looked up slowly. It swallowed.

Franco walked over to the wub. The wub slowly looked up. It swallowed.

"A very foolish thing," it said. "I am sorry that you want to do it. There was a parable that your Saviour related—"

"A very foolish thing," it said. "I'm sorry you want to do that. There was a parable that your Savior told—"

It stopped, staring at the gun.

"Can you look me in the eye and do it?" the wub said. "Can you do that?"

"Can you look me in the eye and do it?" the wub asked. "Can you do that?"

The Captain gazed down. "I can look you in the eye," he said. "Back on the farm we had hogs, dirty razor-back hogs. I can do it."

The Captain looked down. "I can look you in the eye," he said. "Back on the farm, we had pigs, dirty razorback pigs. I can do it."

Staring down at the wub, into the gleaming, moist eyes, he pressed the trigger.

Staring down at the wub, into the shiny, moist eyes, he pulled the trigger.

The taste was excellent.

The flavor was excellent.

They sat glumly around the table, some of them hardly eating at all. The only one who seemed to be enjoying himself was Captain Franco.

They sat gloomily around the table, some of them barely eating at all. The only one who seemed to be having a good time was Captain Franco.

"More?" he said, looking around. "More? And some wine, perhaps."

"More?" he said, glancing around. "More? And maybe some wine, too."

"Not me," French said. "I think I'll go back to the chart room."

"Not me," French said. "I think I'll head back to the chart room."

"Me, too." Jones stood up, pushing his chair back. "I'll see you later."

"Me, too." Jones got up, pushing his chair back. "I'll catch you later."

The Captain watched them go. Some of the others excused themselves.

The Captain watched them leave. A few of the others made their excuses.

"What do you suppose the matter is?" the Captain said. He turned to Peterson. Peterson sat staring down at his plate, at the potatoes, the green peas, and at the thick slab of tender, warm meat.

"What do you think is going on?" the Captain said. He turned to Peterson. Peterson sat there, staring at his plate, at the potatoes, the green peas, and the thick slice of tender, warm meat.

He opened his mouth. No sound came.

He opened his mouth. No sound came out.

The Captain put his hand on Peterson's shoulder.

The Captain placed his hand on Peterson's shoulder.

"It is only organic matter, now," he said. "The life essence is gone." He ate, spooning up the gravy with some bread. "I, myself, love to eat. It is one of the greatest things that a living creature can enjoy. Eating, resting, meditation, discussing things."

"It’s just organic matter now," he said. "The life essence is gone." He ate, scooping up the gravy with some bread. "I, myself, love to eat. It’s one of the greatest pleasures a living being can experience. Eating, resting, meditating, discussing things."

Peterson nodded. Two more men got up and went out. The Captain drank some water and sighed.

Peterson nodded. Two more guys stood up and left. The Captain took a sip of water and sighed.

"Well," he said. "I must say that this was a very enjoyable meal. All the reports I had heard were quite true—the taste of wub. Very fine. But I was prevented from enjoying this pleasure in times past."

"Well," he said. "I have to say this was a really enjoyable meal. Everything I heard was absolutely true—the flavor of wub. Very good. But I wasn’t able to enjoy this pleasure in the past."

He dabbed at his lips with his napkin and leaned back in his chair. Peterson stared dejectedly at the table.

He wiped his lips with his napkin and leaned back in his chair. Peterson looked sadly at the table.

The Captain watched him intently. He leaned over.

The Captain watched him closely. He leaned in.

"Come, come," he said. "Cheer up! Let's discuss things."

"Come on, come on," he said. "Cheer up! Let's talk about it."

He smiled.

"As I was saying before I was interrupted, the role of Odysseus in the myths—"

Peterson jerked up, staring.

Peterson snapped awake, staring.

"To go on," the Captain said. "Odysseus, as I understand him—"

"To continue," the Captain said. "Odysseus, as I see it—"

Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories July 1952. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and typographical errors have been corrected without note.

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