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and grabbed out the little pale-green insect, much to the dismay of the spider, who started yelling, "Hey, you bastard!" in an equally tiny voice, "that was my dinner, asshole! How'd you like a nice welt on your ankle for a few weeks?"
        I helped to disentangle the little insect from what was left of his bonds. He dropped down prostrate on the palm of my hand, I guess to thank me, and then tore ass out of there as fast as he could fy.
        "What's the deal here, anyway? Isn't that cannibalism?" I asked the spider, "Eating another sentient life form? Aren't you ashamed of yourself?"
        The rest of my party was getting ahead of me; Ralph hung back and called to me to hurry it up.
        "Look, shitheel," he said, purple glow-eyes pulsing, "If I don't eat the insects, I starve. My body chemistry requires it. That's bad enough. But if I don't eat those insects, you know what happens? A lot more bugs with a lot of time on their hands, making more bugs. Suddenly, there's not enough leaves for them to eat. They start to starve. Lots of them die, slowly, miserably. Not to mention all the plant life. My way is relatively painless. So next time you see one of us about to chow down, mind your own business, okay?"
        I didn't have time to argue with him. I caught up with Ralph and told him what had just happened.
        "I guess it's really a question of degree," he said. "Humans, other large animals have a choice. Some don't. When you're part of a delicate ecosystem like most of the critters out here, there isn't much of a choice. Sure, the prey doesn't want to get caught, but they accept it as a possible way to die, an act of God. They don't see the Hawk or the Spider as evil. They see them as part of a dance, a balancing act, whatever, that's been going on forever.
        "Usually farm animals have unions, make deals with their farmers, are generally well-treated. Alternatives to eating them have been worked out for ages. These kinds of beings are as socialized as we are. But that stuff just doesn't exist out in the wild. Part of Hollow Man's whole argument is that this 'law of the jungle' should extend to man. That man, an omnivore, should be eating the other animals because it's nature's way. We've been given the means to eat them. We have opposible thumbs and all that shit.
        "I mean, there's defnitely a gray area, but you can usually scope it out and obviously see whether it's wrong or not. Usually."
        I really had to think about that one—I'm still thinking about it.
        After a little more hiking, the word got passed back for everyone to shut up. We stopped while Pimbi and another guy were sent forward to scout something out. They were back in about fve minutes. I couldn't hear what they were saying to Nick Chopper, but it looked like something fairly serious was about to go down.
        Ralph confrmed what I was feeling. "Whatever happens," he said, "just hang back and stay out of the way. Nobody here expects you to fght. But take this, just in case."
        He opened his coat up. He took a really big pistol out of a leather holster and handed it to me. "This is my One That Got Through. Don't fuck it up."
        It looked like one of those ones from the Dirty Harry movies, a .357 Magnum. I couldn't be sure; I know nothing about guns.
        "I don't believe this." I muttered. The gravity of the situation was starting to sink in. "How do you work this?"
        Ralph took it back, unlatched the safety.
        "Be really careful, frst of all. Then if something really ugly and scary heads your way and tries to kill you, aim this and pull the trigger. And try to hunker down before you do—this thing has a hell of a kick."
        "What are you gonna use?"
        He pulled a little dagger out of his pocket. It glowed blue, and
    wiggled a bit. Then it started telescoping out, growing like Pinnochio's nose or the biggest steel boner in the world, until it was a fearsome