Hal Clement - Natives of Space

Talker did hear, and showed the fact by a slight start; but the auditory impression he received was unimportant. As he had mentioned to Boss, he had managed to disentangle the cerebral radiations corresponding to a few simple line patterns, as received by the human eyes and symbolized in the brain; and he received, coincidentally with the vocal sounds, a thought-wave which he could translate easily into a series of just such patterns. Kirk, like many people, involuntarily visualized the written form of the words he uttered — not perfectly, but in sufficient detail for the keen mind of the listener to decipher.

Kirk saw the start, though he misinterpreted it. The motion that caught his attention was the sudden stiffening of the antennae as he spoke, the two plumelike organs expanding sideways and pointing diagonally forward, as though to bring his head between their tips. For almost a minute the two creatures remained absolutely motionless, Talker hoping for and expecting further speech, and Allen Kirk watching for some understandable signal. Then the antennae relaxed, and Talker considered the possible meaning of the images he had received.

His own race had a written language — or rather, a means for permanently recording events and ideas; since they had no vocal speech, their “writing” must have been utterly different in basis from that of any Earthly people, for the vast majority of terrestrial written languages are basically phonetic. At any rate, it is certain that Talker had severe difficulty in connecting with any, to him, normal means of communicating the symbols he learned from Kirk, for a time, at least; he did not realize that they were arbitrary line arrangements.

Kirk watched the nearly motionless insect for several minutes, without any idea of the true nature of the difficulty. Then, since speech had produced some effect the first time, he tried it again. The result caused him to doubt his own sanity.

Talker knew that he needed further data; in an attempt to obtain it he simply reached forward to a bare spot of earth and scratched with his odd “hand” the line pattern he had last seen in the human mind. Like Kirk’s speaking, it was purely an experiment.

To the man, it was a miracle. He spoke; and the grotesque thing before him wrote — crudely and clumsily, to be sure, for Talker’s interpretation was still imperfect, and he was, to put it mildly, unpracticed in the art of penmanship — the last few words that the man had uttered. Kirk was momentarily dumfounded, unable for an instant to think coherently; then he jumped to a natural, but erroneous, conclusion. The stranger, he decided, must lack vocal cords, but had learned written English from someone else. That implied previous friendly relationships with a human being, and for the first time Kirk felt fully at ease in the presence of the strange creatures.

He drew his knife, and with the tip scratched, “Who are you?” on the ground beside Talker’s line.

The meaning of the question lay in his mind; but it was couched in terms far too abstract for Talker to connect directly with the marks. A problem roughly similar would be faced by a three-year-old child, not yet literate, presented with a brick covered with cuneiform writing and told that it meant something. Talker saw the same letters in the man’s brain, but they were as utterly meaningless there as on the ground. The conference seemed to have reached an impasse.

In spite of his relatively deepset eyes, which should, in Talker’s opinion, have limited his range of vision to what lay before him, Kirk was the first to see Boss move. He turned his head to see more clearly, and Talker followed his gaze with one eye. Boss had awakened, and was standing as high as his legs would lift him in an effort to see the marks on the ground — the top of the bank was about on the same level as the air-lock floor. He saw the attention of the other two directed his way, and spoke to Talker.

“What is that? Have you got in touch with him? I can’t see what you have on the ground there.”

Talker turned his antennae toward the air lock, not that it was necessary, but to assure the human being that Boss was being included in the conversation. “Come on over,” he said resignedly,

“though it won’t do you much good to see. Don’t fly too close to the native, and don’t get nearer to him than I do at any time.”

Kirk watched Boss spread his wings and launch himself toward Talker. The pinions moved too fast to be visible; it occurred to Kirk that these creatures were heavier than any Earthly bird, except for flightless forms like the ostrich, yet their wings spanned less than eight feet.

Boss took a single glance at the letters on the ground, and turned his attention to the Earthman.

This was the first time he had seen him in full daylight, and he made the most of the opportunity, mercifully remaining silent the while. Talker promptly forgot him, as nearly as such an individual can be forgotten, and brought himself back to the matter in hand.

The “natural” method of learning a language consists of pointing out objects and having their names repeated until one can remember them. This is the first method that suggests itself to a human being, if no printed grammar is available. Talker hit upon it only after long and profound cogitation, when he suddenly realized that he had learned to interpret the human visual impressions in just that fashion — placing the subject in contact with simple objects, and examining the resulting mental radiations. He tried it.

Normally, the teacher of a language, whatever method he uses, knows what is being done. Kirk did not, for some time. Talker pointed at the ship with one of his hands, watching the man’s mind intently for a series of marks such as had accompanied the sounds from his mouth. Kirk looked in the indicated direction, and then back at Talker. The latter pointed again; and a distinct picture, such as he had been seeking, appeared for an instant in the man’s mind, to be replaced almost at once by an indecipherable complex of abstract thoughts.

Talker scratched the first impression on the ground — a perfectly recognizable word, “Ship,” and looked up again. The man had disappeared. For an instant Talker was confused; then he heard various sounds from the gully, and crawled to the edge to look over. Kirk was below, raising his pole, which had been lying where he had left it, to the sill of the air lock. Still believing that Talker was able to write English, he had completely misinterpreted the gestures and writing, and supposed he was being requested to enter the craft.

Talker had a feeling of helplessness, in the face of his troubles; then he pulled himself together, forcing himself to remember that his life, and the other lives on the ship, depended on his efforts.

At least, he now knew that the marks had a definite meaning, and he had learned the symbol for “ship.” It was, he tried to convince himself, a fair beginning.

The man was crouching in the lock entrance — it was not high enough for him to stand — watching expectantly. Talker beckoned him back. If the man misunderstood his first attempt, now was the time to straighten it out. Kirk looked annoyed, though the aliens could not interpret the expression, slid down the pole, and scrambled back up the bank.

Talker tried again, pointing this time to the early afternoon Sun, and writing the word when it formed in Kirk’s mind. The Earthman looked down at the result.

“If that job were necessary, it would be hopeless, friend,” he said, “but it isn’t necessary. I can speak English, and read it, and write it, thank you. If you can’t talk, why don’t you just write out what you want me to know?”

Not a word of this was understandable to Talker; in a rather hopeless fashion, he wrote the word or two which had been pictured clearly enough for him to catch, and succeeded in exasperating Kirk still further.