They are made out of Meat

Adaptation of a great short story by Terry Bisson. Director: Stephen O’Regan. The whole story is after the video. -Quang-

• “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 . . . ”

@ haha.nu.

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