Joseph Benton was getting on in years, nearly eighty. Although he lived alone now, he retained a lively interest in the world, and was not short of friends. His tastes were elevated, maybe snobbish, running from Beethoven to Leonardo to Shakespeare. Yet, he enjoyed his ballgames on t.v., watched old movies about World War II, and drank too much cheap beer.

His most intimate and permanent companions were his books. Many nights, Joe went off to the small library in his house, furnished with his favorite books and a couple of overstuffed chairs, and read.

Sometimes, late at night, he dozed off. On this night, he fell sound asleep with a book on his chest. A Beethoven quartet piece played quietly in the background, accompanying the steady, deep sounds of Joe's breathing.

"Asleep on the job, I see?"

The voice was sharp, precise, and totally unfamiliar. Before Joe could ask the first question—such as who on earth could be there with him—he looked at a face that, to put it mildly, scared him nearly out of his mind. He screamed more than once and jumped out of his chair.

Joe saw something that he thought existed only in the world of fantasy. Sitting across from him was a being that was not human. In the first place, it was huge—perhaps over seven feet tall if it were to stand - except that it was sitting very properly with legs casually crossed in the chair opposite him. Secondly, the being (it looked like a "he") was almost perfectly white, with a slightly greyish coloration. The most striking feature of all, however, were enormous wings, which in Joe's hysterical state looked like the large, folded wings of a bat.

The face was human-like. Two eyes, two ears, a nose, and a mouth, but in very un-human proportions. The eyes were intense and searching. The nose was long and pointed. The mouth was wide, and bordered by thin lips. The ears would have been almost comical had the situation been otherwise, as they stuck out like little pieces of cauliflower.

"Please, there is no need for theatrics," stated the terrifying entity. His voice was still precise, but calm.

Joe calmed down. He began to realize that this thing was not here to kill him, abduct him, or otherwise destroy his life and ruin his week. Finally, he asked, "Who are you? What are you?"

"That is of no importance to you," replied the winged creature. "Against my better judgment, I decided finally to pay you a visit in person."

Thousands of thoughts collided in Joe's mind, disintegrating before they reached any formulation. One thought finally emerged: Is this creature a demon? An angel? Maybe an alien? Joe had no especially strong belief in any of these things before, but acute fear can transform one's beliefs in an instant.

"It just won't do you any good, if I get into that," continued the creature. "For a while, I found your species' ideas on my identity amusing. Now they just bore me. If you want to think of me as a demon, fine. Ditto angel or alien."

He's reading my mind? wondered Joe.

"Actually, my favorite name was hatched by the Greeks, whom you admire so much from afar. They didn't think of me as 'evil' or 'good' probably the best approach. They simply called me a daimon. And yes, to some extent I can hear and understand your thoughts. Don't overrate that skill, however. I almost always avoid it with your people. It's painful to try thinking the way your species does, certainly nothing I would ever choose to do for recreation. And don't flatter yourself into thinking that you're an exception, since despite my occasional interest in you I generally avoid your thoughts, as well. On the flip side, it is fun to speak Human every so often. I recently argued with some colleagues that human language has developed into a reasonably good tool. Entry-level, one might say, but somewhat effective and oddly pretty."

"So you're a demon and a character," said Joe.

"Demon, daimon, monster from Mars. Take your pick."

"Why are you here?"

"Excellent," exclaimed the daimon. "You get right to the point. Very good." The daimon moved his eyes around his surroundings. "Goodness, it's cramped in here. I am always mystified by how anyone can learn or accomplish anything in quarters like this. But of course, humans so seldom do accomplish anything productive.

"Nevertheless, I am here, Joseph, because I have a small matter on my mind, and you're a thoughtful person. Perhaps you can offer me your perspective on something."

Joe, still recovering from his initial shock, was unsure if he could trust his companion. Then again, he had little choice but to trust him. He was also flattered that, well, an entity would call upon him for his opinion on anything. "Of course. I'd be glad to tell you anything you need to know," he said.

The huge daimon paused. Joe thought he sensed a measure of doubt in his mysterious guest, as if the daimon suddenly questioned the wisdom of coming here. The creature's great wings opened and closed slightly. Perhaps, thought Joe, this was an annoying habit among the creature's own kind.

"Your species has very little time left," stated the daimon. "As a result, my people have been wondering whether or not we ought to, essentially, bail you out. Most of us say no, but a few are willing to consider it. Toward that end, I would like to hear your own defense of your species."

This was a lot for anyone to take, for sure. Within the space of a few minutes, a seven-foot, winged, demon appeared before Joe, demonstrated his ability to read his mind, announced the impending end of the human race, and then placed him, Joseph Benton, in a position of perhaps preventing this catastrophe.

"You want me to defend the human race," Joe repeated.

"To the best of your ability, yes."

"Hmm." Joe was intrigued. He sensed himself rising to the occasion. If he could just distance himself from the reality of his situation, he could see how, in a purely intellectual sense, this was a very interesting problem. He knew as well as anyone the crimes and shortcomings of humanity. Yet, he continued to retain a faith in human potential, on the individual level as well as for the species.

"Yes, that is exactly why I came to see you," said the daimon, replying to Joe's thoughts.

"What? Oh, yes," said Joe. "Well," he began, "it's hard to provide much of a defense when I don't exactly know where I should start, or what I should talk about."

The daimon graciously agreed to help provide focus. "I shall provide the arguments against your species. You will listen to them and respond."

"Good. And I hope you plan to tell me what you mean by the human race having very little time left. It's going to be hard for me to think about anything else unless you give me a little more information."

"Ah!" replied the daimon abruptly, raising his narrow hand. "Quiet and listen." He stretched his arms and legs to relieve a developing cramp, then began.

"I want you to think of the very big picture. Billions of years, back to the beginning of this Earth, and onward to its end, billions of years hence. Very roughly speaking, using your system of time, we are talking about 10 billion years, that is, from the origin of the Earth until the Sun eventually incinerates it in a super nova.

"Your species entered the picture at the four and a half billion year point. Of course, complex life patterns did not emerge until the Earth had reached the age of four billion years. It all took quite a long time, did it not?"

Joe nodded. He knew all this, but the daimon's manner of expressing it made him feel rather insignificant. The daimon continued.

"It took a long time, my dear Joseph, because life takes a long time. Not simply to cook up this or that species artificially, anyone can do that. No, I mean the complex interlocking of millions of species, some complex, most very simple. This takes a long, a very long, time. Of course, species con stantly come and go. Sometimes the process is slow and tiresome, at other times the whole thing moves very rapidly. Very rapidly."

The daimon paused to reflect on his own point. "Such as the situation now. To put the matter bluntly, the human race, within a few thousand years, mind you has not only extinguished countless numbers of species prematurely, but has now gotten itself to a point where if it continues in its current patterns, it will extinguish itself within the next few generations. You see, your species, like all others, doesn't live in isolation. Like everything else here, you developed under certain necessary conditions, which you've now radically undermined. You did not evolve in the concrete jungle you've created. You evolved in a real jungle, which you've all but decimated."

"Sorry for interrupting you," said Joe, "but, how can that be? There are more than six billion of us, and soon we'll be past ten billion. I see lots of problems that we've created, most definitely, but human extinction isn't one of them."

"Yes, it's ironic. You are creatures of extremes, if nothing else. You've overrun this little world, it's true. But you're on a tightrope, old boy, and you're about to fall off. Yes, ironic is the word that may describe you best and if there is one quality my colleagues and I can appreciate, it is irony.

"Reflect on this, Joseph: just as your species has attained the power of the gods, my people are already inquiring about your legacy. You are already becoming past tense. And what will be the legacy of the human race, after it has taken down more than half of what you call the global ecosystem? Allow me to suggest the answer. Amid the 10 billion year life of the Earth, the human existence will have amounted to a brief, ruinous, spectacle. Think of the Earth's life as your life: about 80 or 85 years. In that case, homo sapiens arrived during the fortieth year and stayed for about eight hours."

The daimon could not suppress a chuckle. "The equivalent, in your culture, of a temp filling in at the office for one day. Yes, the analogy is instructive. Let's see. Arrive at 8 a.m. for work. For nearly the entire work day, your species more or less performs its functions. Toward the end of the day, you get a little uppity. With twenty-four minutes before the end of the day, say, at 4:36 p.m., you learn how to write, and decide you should take over the office. At 4:48, we meet those wonderful, irascible Greeks, then those painfully correct Romans. Shortly after 4:51, some of your species find Christ. Five minutes later, they are laying waste to infidels in the Holy Land."

The daimon smiled. "To tell you the truth, it was all rather fun to watch. I won't deny it. What a spectacle, and all fairly harmless. Sure, you lived in wretched squalor and killed each other with an astonishing bloodlust, yes, yes, I grant that. But such fun to watch you! And besides, you were mainly harming yourselves, so no one thought much of it.

"Then, however, you found Science—at around 4:58 p.m. on our friendly office clock. A minute later, you began industrializing. In the span of another sixty seconds, you destroyed entire forests, erased millions of species, poisoned river systems, lakes, and oceans. You've helped to cause your atmosphere to overheat. You've paved over your living space and trashed everything else.

"It's now 5 o'clock, the end of the work day. You've spent the last few minutes in an all-out assault, robbery, and rape of the planet, the effects of which are going to last for a long time. We may hope, however, that the victim recovers enough so that some kind of normal life may resume. Either way, I'm sure you'll understand when you are asked not to return to work the next day - in other words, why some of us do not favor saving you now."

As Joe wondered whether this would be the probable legacy of the human species, the daimon continued his argument, full of momentum.

"The ecosystem problem is at the heart of what is wrong, but there is much more. If humanity were engaged in some thing worthy or noble, one supposes it would be possible to provide a defense for its befoulment of this unique and precious little globe. Let us see whether or not it is.

"I must say that one of the striking elements of your species is its amazing self-centeredness. Anything not immediately germane to the cause of the human being is automatically relegated to insignificance. You're a typical species, in that sense. Still, that attitude got you into this mess, and now that you're stuck, it keeps you from moving positively toward solving it.

"But on to other matters. One might consider that with a species such as humanity, one that is so brutal toward less sophisticated and less aggressive species, that perhaps it provides especially well for its own kind. And yet, throughout your history, we find the opposite to be the rule. All of your societies, past and present, that reach any level of significance, do so upon the backs of a large and ignorant class of poverty- dwellers. There is, to my knowledge, no exception to this rule. Are you aware of any?"

Joe was startled by the question. He gave his honest answer: no.

"In truth, there are none," continued the daimon, almost without pause. "Without fail, there are a few within each human group who find a way to hoard the bounties of nature whether by skill, birth, or luck and then to find a way to organize their society to keep the private party going. It does not appear that they look out for their own kind."

"Wait a minute," Joe protested. "Yes, there are the wealthy and poor in all societies "

"All human societies," the daimon corrected him.

"Okay, all human societies. Still, it's not as though all the rich people despise the poor, or that they enjoy knowing that others live in misery. We're not all sadists, you know. Besides, most countries have tax laws designed precisely to lessen some of the extreme gaps in wealth. We're at least trying to do something about it. We're working to help the less fortunate. Sure, we could do better, but we've got to start somewhere."

The daimon looked bewildered. "Joseph, really. That was unworthy of you, and you know it. It's a little early in the game to be grasping at straws. Tax laws? Where do I begin to tell you how wrong that is? Please. My people are not interested in human rationalizations, nor even their motivations. We are interested in actions. Deeds matter; words don't. You're nearly eighty years old, a mature age for a human. Must I now school you on matters of your own civilization?"

"Well, I'm just saying that we have laws designed to help the less fortunate. These are tangible things. They exist."

"And misery yet pervades. Outside your little room, misery—not philanthropy—is the rule. So, clearly these tangible things are ineffective. Are you trying to argue that the most powerful members of your species do not exploit, trap, and even enslave humanity's weaker members?"

Silence from Joe.

"This cruelty that is so clearly demonstrated on the larger scale is replicated right down to the smallest detail. There is the universal misery of war and social oppression, and this is combined with the daily oppression that my colleagues and I see in your very homes, and also against those humans different enough in appearance and culture to be called 'minorities.' My goodness, until yesterday, your own country openly enslaved such people. Today, the practice is barely disguised everywhere one looks."

The daimon paused for a moment and stared intensely at Joe. "So," he continued, "we have a species of astonishing destructiveness, one which has brought its ecosystem to the brink of collapse. Moreover, it has failed to mitigate this by pursuing good will toward its own kind, except at the most tribal of levels."

Joe groaned, partly in despair, partly in annoyance. Clearly, this was not going well. "Tribal?"

"Yes. You need enemies, of course, and you create distinc tions between those in and out of your group. What's so objectionable about that? I think tribalism covers it well enough."

"Fine. I'm getting a beer." Joe got his creaky body out of his chair and walked over to a small refrigerator in the far corner of the room. "I assume you don't drink this stuff, but you're welcome to one if you like some old fashioned swill."

The daimon smiled weakly. "No, thank you. To continue. Despite these shortcomings, however despite the greed and cruelty of your species it may yet be that you've still been able to create a worthy level of civilization."

"Yes, I think we have," Joe said confidently, popping his can.

"Stop. You will get your opportunity to make your case. For now, allow me to continue, and listen." The daimon studied the old human walking stiffly back to his chair, beer in hand.

"I will not argue that your species has produced nothing of value. Actually, I agree with you, Joseph. Humanity has produced some interesting civilizations and individuals. My colleagues also agree with this. From what you call 'ancient history' right through the present time, your species has produced certain things of interest to us. Of course, even at its best, the 'glorious' elements of these societies were remarkably short lived, and experienced by a very few.

"But I am interested in the path your civilization has taken to the present day, and its current state of affairs. That is, what is now the result of the efforts of the 'great' humans who have contributed to the progress of your species? What is the state of world civilization today? Let us assess it."

The daimon stood up and began to walk around the room, noticing little things here and there. "I will make a small confession, Joseph," he stated. "There are certain things about your species that I fail to understand. Truly. For example, I can see by your tastes as expressed in this room your books, computer files, little pictures on the wall and so on that you at least make an attempt toward some level of self-improvement. And there are certainly others like you. To produce this state of affairs, I admit, requires that something has been done right. Very good.

"Despite this, however, I submit that humanity has produced a civilization of idiocy. Look at your main forms of entertainment: television, radio, internet, movies, books, and what you call news. Is it for this that your life is worthwhile? If culture is meant to elevate, just how do these things function? Despite the advantage of technology, your civilization operates at a lower level than many of the past, at least when we regard the actual, day-to-day reality that most people experience. I'll put it differently: for what, exactly, did your ancestors toil in back-breaking labor, trying to survive long enough to provide something of value to their descendants? For trash-talking television entertainment? Or the empty sonority of your major network newscasts? For video games? Packaged junk food? Romance novels? Shopping malls? Internet pornography? Media sports? What exactly is the cultural bounty of your civilization?"

The daimon took a volume of Greek tragedy off the bookshelf, turned some pages, and placed it back. "Yes, your species has had better days, and shown much greater promise. I am curious about this smug belief among your kind that this creation of cultural waste, this endless and unsupportable consumption of ... stuff, and the complete overrunning of the globe by humanity, are all good things—indeed, the point of civilization! Your people also seem to have this idea that they've transcended their earlier history of oppression and poverty. That anyone can achieve anything, purchase any thing. This, at least, is the dominant message transmitted through your public media."

The daimon walked around the cramped little room. "Your species has always been rapacious and violent. In the past, however, its insufferable pride was usually tempered by widespread disease and hardship, and its culture usually reflected this, usually by promoting certain valuable qualities."

"Such as?" asked Joe.

"Such as diligence, honesty, and duty," replied the adver sary. Joe, nodded in agreement. He was, after all, an old man from an generation raised to believe in those values.

"Futile traits among your kind, I agree," continued the daimon, "but at least ... tasteful. The problem is that you've succeeded more than you deserve, and have discarded these qualities, which now seem so very quaint. I don't really know how much credit you deserve, but your species did discover the key that provided the means of transforming your civiliza tion and, in time, the world."

"You're talking about science," said Joe.

"Yes. Do you realize that the possession of science is not a natural state of affairs for your people? Throughout most of your existence you had nothing like it, nor were you supposed to. For a hundred thousand years, you plodded along, happy in your wretchedness. Suddenly, wham. You discover the secret of Prometheus—a method of rational inquiry that has changed the world. I suppose the whole thing was inevitable once you learned how to write ..." The daimon trailed off, lost in thought.

"Yes, the problem is that science has been a dangerous weapon for you. You know how to manipulate it for certain selfish ends, which has seduced you utterly. But you do not understand how to use it wisely, and this has diminished your appeal to my colleagues. The so-called benefits science has conferred upon you have actually accentuated your worst qualities, making you really quite repugnant."

Joe had no difficulty accepting the daimon's reasoned argument, but he wondered who was doing the trash-talking here. People are not all short-sighted, plundering, fools. He was about to object when the daimon stopped him.

"You asked me to provide an argument, and that is what I am doing. You'll get your chance in just a moment. I am nearly done. You are annoyed that I speak of the human species with such, what is it ... disrespect! I advise you to 'get over it,' as your people say. It is a fact that the benefits of science have not altered the human mind at all. You're still the same little creatures, only now you wield so much more power - power for which you are not ready.

"Having read the minds of all too many humans, I can assure you that your species collectively spends .04 of one percent of its time thinking intelligently on matters that are actually important or useful. Obviously, it expends much less energy than that doing anything useful. Most of you spend your working days in repetitive, mind-killing tasks. On top of that, you spend most of this work as well as your so-called recreation time bombarded with the requisite brain-washing to keep you motivated and distracted in this lunacy. As an escape, you're either ingesting narcotics or alcohol, or thinking about such irrelevancies as sports and scandals, or fantasizing about sexual relations. Naturally, the humans who exercise power understand this, and use these great weak nesses against you. Yet another aspect of the self-predatory nature of your species. Perhaps it is for the best that your lives are so uselessly short, if for no other reason than to end this farce as quickly as possible. Of course, your brief life span also ensures a continuous fresh supply of idiocy."

The daimon then presented his summation. "Selfish, cruel, and mired in self-imposed folly. That would be perfectly fine if you were not on the verge of destroying your planet. But you are, and this has persuaded most of my colleagues to let you destroy yourselves. A few of us actually want to accelerate the process. If your species were something more noble, we might be more willing to help you. We see nothing positive, however, coming out of your species' continued existence. With that, I complete the general argument against the human race. Not comprehensive, nor even the best argument I could make, but why don't you start with that?"

The daimon sat down in the chair opposite Joe and folded his long hands across his lap. His eyes looked at the human searchingly, hoping, but not expecting, to be refuted.

Joseph rubbed his forehead, frowning and thinking. A minute or two passed before he spoke.

"I concede most of your argument. Still, I believe in the redemption of mankind for several reasons.

"First of all, you speak of the idiocy of my species. Yes, we have idiots, so what? Certain types of personalities are necessary for others to exist. We are not like you we are not entities. We have to struggle to stay alive. We have to organize ourselves into societies. We have a division of labor, and most of the jobs are pretty menial. Menial jobs require menial minds: that cannot possibly surprise you. People adapt to what they have to do.

"But the very existence of those people makes it possible for others to do very great things. We have Shakespeare, Milton, Confucius, Einstein. You're listening to Beethoven right now. And there is so much more. I don't know what kind of art or science your colleagues produce, but I am proud of humanity's creations, and I bet that our best efforts would not look bad by comparison. Besides, I think you knock ordinary people too much. I've known many, many people of character and intelligence good people."

Joe wondered whether some of this was little more than bravado, but then again, he did believe in what he said. A disturbing thought entered him: was his belief in the value of certain human accomplishments a mere illusion? Sure, he thought that the human legacy was worthwhile, but was it really? He knew that his own ability to understand things had serious limits: what were the dimensions of understanding beyond what he was capable of? How might Shakespeare stack up against the genius of some super-human species? Knowing that the daimon could read his thoughts, however, Joe struggled to control these doubts and tried to continue with his arguments.

"I've always thought of some of those exceptional human beings as redeemers for the rest of us. If nothing else, the example of such people and not just the brilliant ones, but the good ones tell you what we can be. They're proof that we're not worthless, that we have value.

"Having said that, I am well aware of the deficiencies of my species. And, in fact, lots of people have believed there is something fundamentally wrong about us. Some people used to call it original sin. That's why so many people turn to figures like Christ, Mohammed, or Buddha prophets or redeemers sent by God to show us the way toward enlighten ment or even salvation. Maybe we can't do it ourselves. If so, at least we have the wisdom to acknowledge that. I guess that's what faith is all about the faith that, somehow and for some reason, we can be worthy of salvation by focusing on the divine, by attaining a state of grace."

Joe paused to regard the impassive daimon. "Maybe we really do need a higher intelligence such as yours to help us out. I'm willing to consider anything at this point. But don't you think that, with the proper direction, the human race is capable of great things?"

"Is this a rhetorical flourish," queried the daimon, "or are you actually asking me?"

"I'd like to know what you think," replied Joe.

"I'll keep this brief, since I expect you still have more to say—at least I hope you do. Essentially, the answer is, yes, most of us think highly of your species' capabilities, and also, yes, you gravely lack proper direction. Let me leave it at that for now."

"Okay, thanks," said Joe. "Anyway, I don't know how effective either of my arguments were. But I have another point to make. I talked about faith, now I will talk about hope. It is my hope, and also my belief, that the human race will at some point grow up into something like an adulthood. I know we have our problems. But I truly believe that we can solve some of our worst problems through the very means that got us into this mess. That is, through science. Even you have admitted how far we've come so quickly. I can only wonder what we'll be able to do in another century or two, if we can somehow get it together. I think we have a real possibility to do some extraordinary things.

"It's funny that I've never thought of this idea before. I'm beginning to think that what we are going through may be a normal stage of development for any species that reaches our level. We are animals, after all, but now we have to learn to be a different kind of animal. In other words, we evolved under certain conditions, and our development effected certain necessary changes in ourselves and our world. The problem is, can we adapt to our new situation? I imagine that if there are other species out there on other worlds, they would have had to go through a similar dangerous time, a similar threshold. It's kind of like running through a gauntlet. We might make it through, a little bloodied perhaps; or we might fail completely.

"I guess I think we'll make it. You say that we are in trouble. Okay, so we're in trouble. But ... the end of our species? In total honesty, as impressive as you are, I'm not sure that you know the future any better than I do. Perhaps what it comes down to for me is faith in humanity. I've seen enough of this world, and my fellow men and women, to believe in them."

The small room was silent for a moment. The daimon sighed, then chuckled. "That's it? I expected the tiresome pontificating about your greatness. But ... faith in humanity? That's your position? Your hope that, somehow, human civilization will change gosh, maybe even human nature will change and your people will learn how to comport themselves the way they ought? I might have thought that you of all people would have remained free of Star Trek illusions."

"Well, look now," said Joe. "That's not good enough for you, then fine. What else can I say to you? I know we're flawed. We are what we are. Maybe we should be consigned to dust. That fate awaits all of us, even you. But I stand by what I said."

Joe took a last drink from his nearly empty can of beer, then stood up. "I didn't mention this earlier, since I didn't want to bring my own personal experiences into this so-called defense of my species. But, what the hell, the more I think about it, the more I think it's important after all."

The old man walked over to his desk and took out a small wooden box. He opened it in front of the daimon, which displayed a small, military medal. "That's my service medal, and I want to tell you a little bit about it."

Joe sat back down. "You're right, of course, about this culture of idiocy. I won't argue that. But you're damned wrong when you say we don't have nobility.

"Back in 1943, I was eighteen years old, and enlisted in the Army. Within a year, I found myself in northern France shortly after D-Day.

"We were involved in skirmishes with the Germans all through that summer and fall, but my unit didn't see a whole lot of action. Not until December. By then, we were in the Ardennes Forest, and that's where the Germans made their last big push. Well, I can tell you something. In one day, we sure made up for lost time. It was December 17th, I believe, and I was in the B Battery of the 81st Anti-Aircraft. We were pretty well mauled by German artillery. My sergeant was killed by a shell that landed about a hundred feet from me. We retreated like the dickens toward the town of Bastogne, wading through mud the whole way. I was freezing, since I didn't have my coat. In fact, I didn't even have my helmet. Of course, not many of us did.

"The boys from the 101st Airborne were coming into the town. I was amazed that anyone was coming in to where we were just trying to get out. But that's war. I remember sitting down in the freezing mud, eating a K ration, not saying a word to anyone. Lots of the guys I served with kept going west, away from the Germans. I just sat and ate, thinking, hell, I'm sticking this one out. So I asked for a rifle. I hooked up with some other troops, and pretty soon we voluntarily attached ourselves to the 3rd Battalion. It was all haphazard, you see, because there was gunfire and artillery all around us. We just went to where we thought we could do the most good. I ended up with Company I.

"On the 19th, we were doing reconnaissance in a wooded area near the front, and ended up in this tiny little village named Wardin. Right after we got there, we saw German tanks coming in fast, firing at us point blank. German infantry came in from all sides. I remember this like it was yesterday. We were outnumbered and outgunned. I was hiding out in a house with four other Americans, wondering, 'how am I going to get out of this alive?'

"I had my rifle, of course, and I was at the window on the second floor, shooting away. Suddenly a shell came in and smashed the first floor of the house. It killed one of our men, and the house was close to collapsing. The lead German tank was about 50 yards away. What happened next was something incredible. A soldier who had been hiding in another house came out into the street with a bazooka. He looked younger than me. That kid knelt down right in the middle of the most terrific enemy fire a hail storm of bullets, really and hit the lead German tank, dead-on. And he took it out, too.

"An instant later, he was dead. That boy, however, temporarily stopped the entire German tank convoy. Our company Captain, a man named Wallace, ordered everyone to get the hell out of that village. Out in the street near the command post we threw up a makeshift tank barricade. The Captain ordered some of us to man the barricade and keep shooting Germans until the rest of us retreated. The entire town was in a blaze of fire. The sound was enough to make you go deaf. I have no idea how many men I killed. At some point, I was hit by something, a nasty graze on my shoulder, and it didn't feel too good at the time, but I was lucky it wasn't worse."

Joe paused for a moment, forgetting that he had such an unusual guest, forgetting everything except the vivid memory of a cold winter's day more than half a century before.

"Wallace finally ordered us to retreat, too. I obeyed his order, but the amazing thing was that some of our men refused."

Joe looked directly at the daimon. He had none of the fear, none of the feelings of inferiority, that he had felt earlier in the evening. "Wallace stayed with those men to the very end, and in fact no one ever saw any of them again. They knew they were going to die, and they gave their lives in order to save the rest of our sorry gang.

"That night, I reached Bastogne. There was this old school house, and some of us ended up there. I just remember sitting on the floor, for hours, with my head in my hands. It's all I was able to do. We lost more than half the entire company that day."

Joe realized that stories of personal heroism had no bearing on the fate of the earth, on the destruction brought upon it by his own species. But he would be damned if someone, even an entity, was going to impugn his honor. "That story I just told you is one hundred percent true. There is no way you can sit there and tell me we humans lack nobility. I'm not speaking for myself, but I sure am speaking for Captain Wallace, for that young boy whose name I don't even know, and for every man I served with that day.

"It just occurred to me you probably know nothing about this sort of thing, at least not from personal experience. Have you ever been in the middle of a storm of bullets, scared out of your mind, but still doing what you had to do because you knew it was the right thing to do? I just don't think so. You have abilities that I lack, but you don't have my experiences. And somehow I believe that it's our experiences that make us what we are. If you haven't gone through what I went through, or what other men and women have gone through, then I don't think you're in a position to judge us."

The daimon sat opposite Joe. He was motionless except for his thin eyebrows which arched upward. He sighed once more and stared at Joe for a long time. "I gather you are done? It is ironic, don't you think, that you resorted to an example of mass carnage and murder to make your point?

"And, my dear Joseph, I do hope you realize that I hold you and your species in no small degree of estimation. I am well aware of the heroics of which you are at certain times capable. I'll tell you something else, too. There are several of my colleagues who are almost jealous of you humans, for exactly the kind of sublimity you described so well."

Joe was gratified to hear this concession from the implacable, haughty daimon. "But," continued the entity, "none of that, unfortunately, changes the fundamental problem. I do have a better glimpse into the future than you do. Not perfect, but not too bad, either. Your species, despite occasional heroics, will soon go the way of the dinosaur, except in this case it will be of your own doing. What a spectacular pity.

"While my people are not the final arbiter of your fate, we are significant. Whether or not we act in your favor will hinge upon the objective situation as well as our assessment of your potential. It's not surprising that both of these are so extreme, each pointing in the opposite direction. There's the problem, and I tell you honestly that we haven't yet resolved it. It would behoove you, however, to be more humble regarding us. I'm not here to condemn you or your kind so much as to decide whether you're worth the trouble of saving."

"Can I ask you," said Joe, "if you do decide to help us out, how would you do it? I mean, what's your plan?"

For the only time that evening, the daimon grimaced. "You wouldn't like it, I can assure you. It would involve lots of 'lawgiving,' although hopefully as little 'enforcement' as we can stand. By your standards, however, the measures would be draconian. We are not gleeful at the prospect. In an earlier time, we could simply tell you we were the gods, or some such thing. It would be much more unpleasant this time. On the other hand, losing your precious freedom to destroy the world is a reasonable price to pay for survival."

Joe was becoming more animated. "I have so many questions I want to ask you, such as where do you—"

The daimon stood up. "Thank you for your time, Joseph. You're a good man, and I am sorry that I dropped in on you in this fashion. This isn't especially good news, I realize. You'll be interested to know that your points will be included in the final record. Also, you'll be relieved to know that I'll be canvassing other humans tonight. Your species won't live or die solely by your arguments."

"That's a good thing," said Joe.

"Indeed it is," replied the daimon.

The daimon seemed prepared to leave when he stopped abruptly. "Oh dear, almost forgot." He turned to Joe and lifted his hand. "Forget everything and go back to sleep," he said perfunctorily. Then, in a flash, he was gone.

Joe fell back to sleep in his chair. Before long, he woke up. It was nearly 1 a.m. He felt a little odd, and went straight to bed. He failed to notice the volume of Aeschylus, slightly ajar, jutting from his bookshelf, or the small wooden box resting on his desk.

* * * End
Copyright 2000 by Richard M. Dolan. All rights reserved.

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