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Beans About It(continued) The alien seemed to shudder before regrouping to say, “My purpose here is to deliver this warning so as to give your species time to get your affairs in order with your various deities. Make your existence right with your gods. As spiritual beings ourselves, we believe it to be only proper that we allow you time for this communion.” “How is it that so-called spiritual beings can elect to wipe out an intelligent species on a planet that isn’t even theirs?” “Ours is an angry god,” Backass explained. “Violent, too. As far as your planet is concerned, pretty soon it will be ours. Many ships are on the way; they will fill your skies. But you will never see them, thanks to their invisibility cloaks. My people will flood your world, also maintaining their invisibility until it is time to act. We will transform into deadly spin-plates, our four edges razor-sharp —" “Hold it, hold it,” said Carrington, waving a hand in front of his face. “You’ve lost me. ‘Spin-plates’?” To clarify, Backass — or whatever his name was — suddenly became a thin, floating plate of solid gray, about 1.5 feet square. The plate began spinning, faster, faster, until it was nothing more than a blur. At a speed that made it still more difficult to see, the plate began flying throughout the big kitchen, even zipping into the adjoining living room and returning to the kitchen on several occasions. Sometimes it missed Carrington’s face by mere inches. Finally the spin-plate stopped in front of Carrington, and Backass, in his original form, returned. “In spin-plate form we are sharp and deadly. We will slice your people to ribbons before they ever know what hit them. Board meetings, birthday parties, bus trips — we will be able to slaughter numerous of your kind in moments. We cannot talk or remain invisible in spin-plate mode, but it scarcely matters. Your end will be very bloody. We like your blood; it invigorates us spiritually as we bathe in it and drink it in.” “You have a strange idea of spirituality,” said the national security advisor. Backass made a small jerky movement at its midsection that the politician took to be the equivalent of a human shrug. Carrington heard and felt another eruption in his stomach and bowels. He’d been holding in the gas since he woke up. But he’d reached the point where his dwindling respect for the alien had intersected with his irresistible urge to cut one. And so he did: He let her rip, loud and lengthy. Immediately the alien began to stagger on its skinny legs. Now it was the alien’s turn to wave a hand in front of its face, though for an entirely different reason than Carrington had minutes earlier. “N-no!” gasped the extraterrestrial. “Intestinal gas! Deadly — c-can’t breathe! Must — must try to get — away — !” But Backass didn’t escape. Instead he collapsed on Carrington’s kitchen floor, quite clearly dead. Quickly Carrington went into the living room and got on the hotline, keeping his voice as low as he could so as not to disturb Lois. “Mr. President,” he said, “sorry to wake you, but we’ve got to get people the world over to eat beans — lots of beans. And soon!”
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