I sat down, cross-legged, some twenty feet in front of the platform, and waited.
I watched the thing on the platform. It was large, and shaggy, and curled upon itself, and alive.
I was not sure, initially, if there were one or more things on the platform. But then I became confident it was only one thing. I had not realized he was so gigantic.
I sat quietly, watching it breathe.
After a time it stirred. Then, with an ease, an indolent smoothness of motion startling in so large a beast it sat up on the platform, regarding me. It blinked. The pupils of its eyes were like dark moons. It yawned. I saw the double row of fangs, inclined backward in the mouth, to move caught meat toward the throat It blinked again, and began to lick its paws. Its long, dark tongue, too, cleaned the fur about its mouth. It turned away and went to a side of the room where it relieved itself. A lever, depressed, released water, washing the waste away. The animal scratched twice on the plates near where it had relieved itself, as though reflexively covering its spoor. It then, moving on all fours, lightly, moved forward, around the platform, and went to the sunken basin of water in the room. It put down its cupped paws and splashed water in its face, and then shook its head. Too, it took water in its cupped paws, and drank. With one paw it gestured that I should approach, and palm open on the appendage, indicated that I might use the water. Crouching down I took a bit of water in the palm of my hand and drank. We looked at one another across the sunken basin.
The animal, on all fours, withdrew from the edge of the basin.
It projected its claws and scratched on the ruglike substance on the walls. Then, claws catching in the heavy material, it moved up the wall, stretching and twisting its body. Then it dropped down to a pole in the scaffolding. It sat there for a moment, and then, lightly, swung from one pole to another, and then returned, dropping lightly, for an animal of its weight, to the floor before the platform. It stretched again, catlike. And then it rose to its hind feet and looked down at me. It was more than eight feet in height I would have conjectured its weight at some nine hundred pounds. Then it dropped again to all fours and moved to the table on which there reposed the dark, boxlike object.
It moved a switch on the box. It uttered sounds, low, guttural, inquisitive. It did not use human phonemes and so it is difficult, if not impossible, to convey the quality of the sound. If you have heard the noises made by great cats, such as the Bengal tiger or the black-maned lion, and can conceive of such noises articulated with the subtlety and precision of g civilized speech, that will provide you with an approximation of what I heard. On the other hand, the vocal apparatus of the beast was not even of Earth origin. Certain of its sounds, for example, were more reminiscent of the snort of the boar, the snuffling of the grizzly, the hiss of the snake, than those of the large cats. The phonemes of such beasts are unmistakable, but they are, truly, like nothing Earth has prepared one to hear. They are different, not of Earth, alien. To hear these noises, and know they are a speech can be initially very frightening. Evolution did not prepare those of Earth to find intelligence in such a form.
The beast was then silent.
"Are you hungry?" I heard. The sounds, separate, had been emitted from the dark, flatish, boxlike object on the table. It was, then, a translator.
"Not particularly," I said.
After a moment a set of sounds, brief, like a growl, came from the translator. I smiled.
The beast shrugged. It shambled to the side of the room, and there pressed a switch.
A metal panel slid up. I heard a squeal and a small animal, a lart, fled from within toward the opening. It happened quickly. The large six-digited paw of the beast closed about the lart, hideously squealing, and lifted it to its mouth, where it bit through the back of its neck, spitting out vertebrae. The lart, dead, but spasmodically trembling, was then held in the beast's mouth. It then, with its claws freed, opened its furs and, by feel, delicately, regarding me, fingered out various organs which it laid on the floor before it. In moments it had removed the animal from its mouth. Absently, removing meat from the carcass, it fed.
"You do not cook your meat?" I asked.
The translator, turned on, accepted the human phonemes, processed them, and, momentarily, produced audible, correspondent phonemes in one of the languages of the Kur.
The beast responded. I waited.
"We sometimes do," he said. It looked at me. "Cooked meat weakens the jaws," it said.
"Fire, and cooked meat," I said, "makes possible a smaller jaw and smaller teeth, permitting less cranial musculature and permitting the development of a larger brain case."
"Our brain cases are larger than those of humans," it said. "Our anatomy could not well support a larger cranial development. In our history, as in yours, larger brain cases have been selected for."
"In what way?" I asked.
"In the killings," it said.
"The Kur is not a social animal?" I asked, "It is a social animal," it said. "But it is not as social as the human."
"That is perhaps a drawback to it as a species," I said.
"It has its advantages," it said. "The Kur can live alone. It can go its own way. It does not need its herd."
"Surely, in ancient times, Kurii came together," I said.
"Yes," it said, "in the matings, and the killings." It looked at me, chewing. "But that was long ago," it said. "We have had civilization for one hundred thousand years, as you would understand these things. In the dawn of our prehistory small bands emerged from the burrows and the caves and forests. It was a beginning."
"How can such an animal have a civilizatioit?" I asked.
"Discipline," it said.
"That is a slender thread with which to restrain such fierce, titanic instincts," I said.
The beast extended to me a thigh of the lart. "True," it said. "I see you understand us well."
I took the meat and chewed on it. It was fresh, warm, still porous with blood.
"You like it, do you not?" asked the beast.
"Yes," I said.
"You see," it said, "you are not so different from us."
"I have never claimed to be," I said.
"Is not civilization as great an achievement for your species as for mine?" it asked.
"Perhaps," I said.
"Are the threads on which your survival depends stouter than those on which ours depends?" it asked.
"Perhaps not," I said.
"I know little of humans," it said, "but it is my understanding that most of them are liars and hypocrites. I do not include you in this general charge."
I nodded.
"They think of themselves as civilized animals, and yet they are only animals with a civilization. There is quite a difference."
"Admittedly," I said.
"Those of Earth, as I understand it, which is your home world, are the most despicable. They are petty. They mistake weakness for virtue. They take their lack of appetite, their incapacity to feel, as a merit. How small they are. The more they betray their own nature the more they congratulate themselves on their perfection. And they put economic gain above all. Their greed and their fevered scratching repulses me."