Cultural Exchange
By J. F. BONE
How could any race look so
ferocious and yet be peaceful—and
devise so nasty a weapon?
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Worlds of If Science Fiction, January 1960.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
I
I couldn't help listening to the big spaceman sitting alone at the corner table. He wasn't speaking to me—that was certain—nor was his flat, curiously uninflected voice directed at anyone else. With some surprise I realized that he was talking to himself. People don't do that nowadays. They're adjusted.
He noted my raised eye-brows and grinned, his square teeth white against the dark planes of his face. "I'm not psycho," he said. "It's just a bad habit I picked up on Lyrane."
"Lyrane?" I asked.