“Flo-ra was not hurt by vi-bra-tions. It is all still grow-ing.”
“Nice for the flora,” said Walter. “You weren’t as hard on it, then, as you were on the fauna, Well, George, you started out with ‘point one.’ I deduced there is a point two kicking around somewhere. What is it?”
“Some-thing we do not un-der-stand. Two of the oth-er a-nimals sleep and do not wake? They are cold.”
“It happens in the best regulated zoos, George,” Walter Phelan said. “Probably not a thing wrong with them except that they’re dead.”
“Dead? That means stopped. But nothing stopped them. Each was a-lone.”
Walter stared at the Zan. “Do you mean, George, you don’t know what natural death is?”
“Death is when a be-ing is killed, stopped from liv-ing.”
Walter Phelan blinked. “How old are you, George?” he asked.
“Six-teen-you would not know the word. Your pla-net went a-round your sun a-bout sev-en thou-sand times, I am still young.”
Walter whistled softly. “A babe in arms,” he said. He thought hard a moment. “Look, George,” he said, “you’ve got something to learn about this planet you’re on. There’s a guy here who doesn’t hang around where you come from. An old man with a beard and a scythe and an hour-glass. Your vibrations didn’t kill him.”