To Your Scattered Bodies Go by Phillip Jose Farmer

Burton said, “What makes you think that?”

“I looked inside mine. It contains dishes and cups, all empty now, but obviously made to be filled.” Burton felt less unreal. The being – the Tau Cetan – talked so pragmatically, so sensibly, that he provided an anchor to which Burton could tie his senses before they drifted away again. And, despite the repulsive alien-ness of the creature; he exuded a friendliness and an openness that warmed Burton. Moreover, any creature that came from a civilization which could span many trillions of miles of interstellar space must have very valuable knowledge and resources.

Others were beginning to separate themselves from the crowd. A group of about ten men and women walked slowly toward him. Some were talking, but others were silent and wide-eyed. They did not seem to have a definite goal in mind; they just floated along like a cloud driven by a wind. When they got near Burton and Monat, they stopped walking.

A man trailing the group especially attracted Burton’s scrutiny. Monat was obviously non-human, but this fellow was subhuman or pre-human. He stood about five feet tall. He was squat and powerfully muscled. His head was thrust forward on a bowed and very thick neck. The forehead was low and slanting. The skull was long and narrow. Enormous supraorbital ridges shadowed dark brown eyes. The nose was a smear of flesh with arching nostrils, and the bulging bones of his jaws pushed his thin lips out. He may have been covered with as much hair as an ape at one time, but now, like everybody else, he was stripped of hair.

The huge hands looked as if they could squeeze water from a stone.

He kept looking behind him as if he feared that someone was sneaking up on him. The human beings moved away from him when he approached them.

But then another man walked up to him and said something to the subhuman in English. It was evident that the man did not expect to be understood but that he was trying to be friendly. His voice, however, was almost hoarse. The newcomer was a muscular youth about six feet tall. He had a face that looked handsome when he faced Burton but was comically craggy in profile. His eyes were green.

The subhuman jumped a little when he was addressed. He peered at the grinning youth from under the bars of bone. Then he smiled, revealing large thick teeth, and spoke in a language Burg did not recognize. He pointed to himself and said something that sounded like Kaxzintuitruuabemss. Later, Burton would find out that it was his name and it meant Man-Who-Slew-The-Long-White-Tooth.

The others consisted of five men and four women. Two of the men had known each other in Earthlife, and one of them had been married to one of the women. All were Italians or Slovenes who had died in Trieste, apparently about 1890, though he knew none of them.

“You there,” Burton said, pointing to the man who had spoken in English. “Step forward. What is your name?” The man approached him hesitantly. He said, “You’re English, right?” The man spoke with an American Midwest flatness.

Burton held out his hand and said, “Yaas. Burton here.” The fellow raised hairless eyebrows and said, “Burton?” He leaned forward and peered at Burton’s face. “It’s hard to say … it couldn’t be…’.

He straightened up. “Name’s Peter Frigate. F-R-I-G-A-T-E.” He looked around him and then said in a voice even more strained, “It’s hard to talk coherently. Everybody’s in such a state of shock, you know. I feel as if I’m coming apart. But … here we are. .. alive again … young again .. . no hellfire … not yet, anyway. Born in 1918, died 2008 … because of what this extra-Terrestrial did … don’t hold it against him … only defending himself, you know.” Frigate’s voice died away to a whisper. He grinned nervously at Monat.

Burton said, “You know this .. . Monat Grrautut?” “Not exactly,” Frigate said. “I saw enough of him on TV, of course, and heard enough and read enough about him.” He held out his hand as if he expected it to be rejected, smiled and they shook hands.