I was taken aback. "What do you mean?"
"I felt your mind probe back a few minutes ago when I was talking about Scotland Yard or the F.B.I. possibly flushing an alien. Telepathy is a sense not trained by the humanoids. If they had it, your job—and mine—would be considerably more difficult. Let's face it, in spite of these human bodies we're disguised in, neither of us is humanoid. Where are you really from, Rupert?"
"Aldebaran," I said. "How about you?"
"Deneb," he told me, shaking.
We had a laugh and ordered another beer.
"What're you doing here on Earth?" I asked him.
"Researching for one of our meat trusts. We're protein eaters. Humanoid flesh is considered quite a delicacy. How about you?"
"Scouting the place for thrill tourists. My job is to go around to these backward cultures and help stir up inter-tribal, or international, conflicts—all according to how advanced they are. Then our tourists come in—well shielded, of course—and get their kicks watching it."
Paul frowned. "That sort of practice could spoil an awful lot of good meat."
THE END