summaryrefslogtreecommitdiff
path: root/19076-h/19076-h.htm
blob: 6d550d0901bd556807abe5ccaefa003c9edf0948 (plain) 
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414
415
416
417
418
419
420
421
422
423
424
425
426
427
428
429
430
431
432
433
434
435
436
437
438
439
440
441
442
443
444
445
446
447
448
449
450
451
452
453
454
455
456
457
458
459
460
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468
469
470
471
472
473
474
475
476
477
478
479
480
481
482
483
484
485
486
487
488
489
490
491
492
493
494
495
496
497
498
499
500
501
502
503
504
505
506
507
508
509
510
511
512
513
514
515
516
517
518
519
520
521
522
523
524
525
526
527
528
529
530
531
532
533
534
535
536
537
538
539
540
541
542
543
544
545
546
547
548
549
550
551
552
553
554
555
556
557
558
559
560
561
562
563
564
565
566
567
568
569
570
571
572
573
574
575
576
577
578
579
580
581
582
583
584
585
586
587
588
589
590
591
592
593
594
595
596
597
598
599
600
601
602
603
604
605
606
607
608
609
610
611
612
613
614
615
616
617
618
619
620
621
622
623
624
625
626
627
628
629
630
631
632
633
634
635
636
637
638
639
640
641
642
643
644
645
646
647
648
649
650
651
652
653
654
655
656
657
658
659
660
661
662
663
664
665
666
667
668
669
670
671
672
673
674
675
676
677
678
679
680
681
682
683
684
685
686
687
688
689
690
691
692
693
694
695
696
697
698
699
700
701
702
703
704
705
706
707
708
709
710
711
712
713
714
715
716
717
718
719
720
721
722
723
724
725
726
727
728
729
730
731
732
733
734
735
736
737
738
739
740
741
742
743
744
745
746
747
748
749
750
751
752
753
754
755
756
757
758
759
760
761
762
763
764
765
766
767
768
769
770
771
772
773
774
775
776
777
778
779
780
781
782
783
784
785
786
787
788
789
790
791
792
793
794
795
796
797
798
799
800
801
802
803
804
805
806
807
808
809
810
811
812
813
814
815
816
817
818
819
820
821
822
823
824
825
826
827
828
829
830
831
832
833
834
835
836
837
838
839
840
841
842
843
844
845
846
847
848
849
850
851
852
853
854
855
856
857
858
859
860
861
862
863
864
865
866
867
868
869
870
871
872
873
874
875
876
877
878
879
880
881
882
883
884
885
886
887
888
889
890
891
892
893
894
895
896
897
898
899
900
901
902
903
904
905
906
907
908
909
910
911
912
913
914
915
916
917
918
919
920
921
922
923
924
925
926
927
928
929
930
931
932
933
934
935
936
937
938
939
940
941
942
943
944
945
946
947
948
949
950
951
952
953
954
955
956
957
958
959
960
961
962
963
964
965
966
967
968
969
970
971
972
973
974
975
976
977
978
979
980
981
982
983
984
985
986
987
988
989
990
991
992
993
994
995
996
997
998
999
1000
1001
1002
1003
1004
1005
1006
1007
1008
1009
1010
1011
1012
1013
1014
1015
1016
1017
1018
1019
1020
1021
1022
1023
1024
1025
1026
1027
1028
1029
1030
1031
1032
1033
1034
1035
1036
1037
1038
1039
1040
1041
1042
1043
1044
1045
1046
1047
1048
1049
1050
1051
1052
1053
1054
1055
1056
1057
1058
1059
1060
1061
1062
1063
1064
1065
1066
1067
1068
1069
1070
1071
1072
1073
1074
1075
1076
1077
1078
1079
1080
1081
1082
1083
1084
1085
1086
1087
1088
1089
1090
1091
1092
1093
1094
1095
1096
1097
1098
1099
1100
1101
1102
1103
1104
1105
1106
1107
1108
1109
1110
1111
1112
1113
1114
1115
1116
1117
1118
1119
1120
1121
1122
1123
1124
1125
1126
1127
1128
1129
1130
1131
1132
1133
1134
1135
1136
1137
1138
1139
1140
1141
1142
1143
1144
1145
1146
1147
1148
1149
1150
1151
1152
1153
1154
1155
1156
1157
1158
1159
1160
1161
1162
1163
1164
1165
1166
1167
1168
1169
1170
1171
1172
1173
1174
1175
1176
1177
1178
1179
1180
1181
1182
1183
1184
1185
1186
1187
1188
1189
1190
1191
1192
1193
1194
1195
1196
1197
1198
1199
1200
1201
1202
1203
1204
1205
1206
1207
1208
1209
1210
1211
1212
1213
1214
1215
1216
1217
1218
1219
1220
1221
1222
1223
1224
1225
1226
1227
1228
1229
1230
1231
1232
1233
1234
1235
1236
1237
1238
1239
1240
1241
1242
1243
1244
1245
1246
1247
1248
1249
1250
1251
1252
1253
1254
1255
1256
1257
1258
1259
1260
1261
1262
1263
1264
1265
1266
1267
1268
1269
1270
1271
1272
1273
1274
1275
1276
1277
1278
1279
1280
1281
1282
1283
1284
1285
1286
1287
1288
1289
1290
1291
1292
1293
1294
1295
1296
1297
1298
1299
1300
1301
1302
1303
1304
1305
1306
1307
1308
1309
1310
1311
1312
1313
1314
1315
1316
1317
1318
1319
1320
1321
1322
1323
1324
1325
1326
1327
1328
1329
1330
1331
1332
1333
1334
1335
1336
1337
1338
1339
1340
1341
1342
1343
1344
1345
1346
1347
1348
1349
1350
1351
1352
1353
1354
1355
1356
1357
1358
1359
1360
1361
1362
1363
1364
1365
1366
1367
1368
1369
1370
1371
1372
1373
1374
1375
1376
1377
1378
1379
1380
1381
1382
1383
1384
1385
1386
1387
1388
1389
1390
1391
1392
1393
1394
1395
1396
1397
1398
1399
1400
1401
1402
1403
1404
1405
1406
1407
1408
1409
1410
1411
1412
1413
1414
1415
1416
1417
1418
1419
1420
1421
1422
1423
1424
1425
1426
1427
1428
1429
1430
1431
1432
1433
1434
1435
1436
1437
1438
1439
1440
1441
1442
1443
1444
1445
1446
1447
1448
1449
1450
1451
1452
1453
1454
1455
1456
1457
1458
1459
1460
1461
1462
1463
1464
1465
1466
1467
1468
1469
1470
1471
1472
1473
1474
1475
1476
1477
1478
1479
1480
1481
1482
1483
1484
1485
1486
1487
1488
1489
1490
1491
1492
1493
1494
1495
1496
1497
1498
1499
1500
1501
1502
1503
1504
1505
1506
1507
1508
1509
1510
1511
1512
1513
1514
1515
1516
1517
1518
1519
1520
1521
1522
1523
1524
1525
1526
1527
1528
1529
1530
1531
1532
1533
1534
1535
1536
1537
1538
1539
1540
1541
1542
1543
1544
1545
1546
1547
1548
1549
1550
1551
1552
1553
1554
1555
1556
1557
1558
1559
1560
1561
1562
1563
1564
1565
1566
1567
1568
1569
1570
1571
1572
1573
1574
1575
1576
1577
1578
1579
1580
1581
1582
1583
1584
1585
1586
1587
1588
1589
1590
1591
1592
1593
1594
1595
1596
1597
1598
1599
1600
1601
1602
1603
1604
1605
1606
1607
1608
1609
1610
1611
1612
1613
1614
1615
1616
1617
1618
1619
1620
1621
1622
1623
1624
1625
1626
1627
1628
1629
1630
1631
1632
1633
1634
1635
1636
1637
1638
1639
1640
1641
1642
1643
1644
1645
1646
1647
1648
1649
1650
1651
1652
1653
1654
1655
1656
1657
1658
1659
1660
1661
1662
1663
1664
1665
1666
1667
1668
1669
1670
1671
1672
1673
1674
1675
1676
1677
1678
1679
1680
1681
1682
1683
1684
1685
1686
1687
1688
1689
1690
1691
1692
1693
1694
1695
1696
1697
1698
1699
1700
1701
1702
1703
1704
1705
1706
1707
1708
1709
1710
1711
1712
1713
1714
1715
1716
1717
1718
1719
1720
1721
1722
1723
1724
1725
1726
1727
1728
1729
1730
1731
1732
1733
1734
1735
1736
1737
1738
1739
1740
1741
1742
1743
1744
1745
1746
1747
1748
1749
1750
1751
1752
1753
1754
1755
1756
1757
1758
1759
1760
1761
1762
1763
1764
1765
1766
1767
1768
1769
1770
1771
1772
1773
1774
1775
1776
1777
1778
1779
1780
1781
1782
1783
1784
1785
1786
1787
1788
1789
1790
1791
1792
1793
1794
1795
1796
1797
1798
1799
1800
1801
1802
1803
1804
1805
1806
1807
1808
1809
1810
1811
1812
1813
1814
1815
1816
1817
1818
1819
1820
1821
1822
1823
1824
1825
1826
1827
1828
1829
1830
1831
1832
1833
1834
1835
1836
1837
1838
1839
1840
1841
1842
1843
1844
1845
1846
1847
1848
1849
1850
1851
1852
1853
1854
1855
1856
1857
1858
1859
1860
1861
1862
1863
1864
1865
1866
1867
1868
1869
1870
1871
1872
1873
1874
1875
1876
1877
1878
1879
1880
1881
1882
1883
1884
1885
1886
1887
1888
1889
1890
1891
1892
1893
1894
1895
1896
1897
1898
1899
1900
1901
1902
1903
1904
1905
1906
1907
1908
1909
1910
1911
1912
1913
1914
1915
1916
1917
1918
1919
1920
1921
1922
1923
1924
1925
1926
1927
1928
1929
1930
1931
1932
1933
1934
1935
1936
1937
1938
1939
1940
1941
1942
1943
1944
1945
1946
1947
1948
1949
1950
1951
1952
1953
1954
1955
1956
1957
1958
1959
1960
1961
1962
1963
1964
1965
1966
1967
1968
1969
1970
1971
1972
1973
1974
1975
1976
1977
1978
1979
1980
1981
1982
1983
1984
1985
1986
1987
1988
1989
1990
1991
1992
1993
1994
1995
1996
1997
1998
1999
2000
2001
2002
2003
2004
2005
2006
2007
2008
2009
2010
2011
2012
2013
2014
2015
2016
2017
2018
2019
2020
2021
2022
2023
2024
2025
2026
2027
2028
2029
2030
2031
2032
2033
2034
2035
2036
2037
2038
2039
2040
2041
2042
2043
2044
2045
2046
2047
2048
2049
2050
2051
2052
2053
2054
2055
2056
2057
2058
2059
2060
2061
2062
2063
2064
2065
2066
2067
2068
2069
2070
2071
2072
2073
2074
2075
2076
2077
2078
2079
2080
2081
2082
2083
2084
2085
2086
2087
2088
2089
2090
2091
2092
2093
2094
2095
2096
2097
2098
2099
2100
2101
2102
2103
2104
2105
2106
2107
2108
2109
2110
2111
2112
2113
2114
2115
2116
2117
2118
2119
2120
2121
2122
2123
2124
2125
2126
2127
2128
2129
2130
2131
2132
2133
2134
2135
2136
2137
2138
2139
2140
2141
2142
2143
2144
2145
2146
2147
2148
2149
2150
2151
2152
2153
2154
2155
2156
2157
2158
2159
2160
2161
2162
2163
2164
2165
2166
2167
2168
2169
2170
2171
2172
2173
2174
2175
2176
2177
2178
2179
2180
2181
2182
2183
2184
2185
2186
2187
2188
2189
2190
2191
2192
2193
2194
2195
2196
2197
2198
2199
2200
2201
2202
2203
2204
2205
2206
2207
2208
2209
2210
2211
2212
2213
2214
2215
2216
2217
2218
2219
2220
2221
2222
2223
2224
2225
2226
2227
2228
2229
2230
2231
2232
2233
2234
2235
2236
2237
2238
2239
2240
2241
2242
2243
2244
2245
2246
2247
2248
2249
2250
2251
2252
2253
2254
2255
2256
2257
2258
2259
2260
2261
2262
2263
2264
2265
2266
2267
2268
2269
2270
2271
2272
2273
2274
2275
2276
2277
2278
2279
2280
2281
2282
2283
2284
2285
2286
2287
2288
2289
2290
2291
2292
2293
2294
2295
2296
2297
2298
2299
2300
2301
2302
2303
2304
2305
2306
2307
2308
2309
2310
2311
2312
2313
2314
2315
2316
2317
2318
2319
2320
2321
2322
2323
2324
2325
2326
2327
2328
2329
2330
2331
2332
2333
2334
2335
2336
2337
2338
2339
2340
2341
2342
2343
2344
2345
2346
2347
2348
2349
2350
2351
2352
2353
2354
2355
2356
2357
2358
2359
2360
2361
2362
2363
2364
2365
2366
2367
2368
2369
2370
2371
2372
2373
2374
2375
2376
2377
2378
2379
2380
2381
2382
2383
2384
2385
2386
2387
2388
2389
2390
2391
2392
2393
2394
2395
2396
2397
2398
2399
2400
2401
2402
2403
2404
2405
2406
2407
2408
2409
2410
2411
2412
2413
2414
2415
2416
2417
2418
2419
2420
2421
2422
2423
2424
2425
2426
2427
2428
2429
2430
2431
2432
2433
2434
2435
2436
2437
2438
2439
2440
2441
2442
2443
2444
2445
2446
2447
2448
2449
2450
2451
2452
2453
2454
2455
2456
2457
2458
2459
2460
2461
2462
2463
2464
2465
2466
2467
2468
2469
2470
2471
2472
2473
2474
2475
2476
2477
2478
2479
2480
2481
2482
2483
2484
2485
2486
2487
2488
2489
2490
2491
2492
2493
2494
2495
2496
2497
2498
2499
2500
2501
2502
2503
2504
2505
2506
2507
2508
2509
2510
2511
2512
2513
2514
2515
2516
2517
2518
2519
2520
2521
2522
2523
2524
2525
2526
2527
2528
2529
2530
2531
2532
2533
2534
2535
2536
2537
2538
2539
2540
2541
2542
2543
2544
2545
2546
2547
2548
2549
2550
2551
2552
2553
2554
2555
2556
2557
2558
2559
2560
2561
2562
2563
2564
2565
2566
2567
2568
2569
2570
2571
2572
2573
2574
2575
2576
2577
2578
2579
2580
2581
2582
2583
2584
2585
2586
2587
2588
2589
2590
2591
2592
2593
2594
2595
2596
2597
2598
2599
2600
2601
2602
2603
2604
2605
2606
2607
2608
2609
2610
2611
2612
2613
2614
2615
2616
2617
2618
2619
2620
2621
2622
2623
2624
2625
2626
2627
2628
2629
2630
2631
2632
2633
2634
2635
2636
2637
2638
2639
2640
2641
2642
2643
2644
2645
2646
2647
2648
2649
2650
2651
2652
2653
2654
2655
2656
2657
2658
2659
2660
2661
2662
2663
2664
2665
2666
2667
2668
2669
2670
2671
2672
2673
2674
2675
2676
2677
2678
2679
2680
2681
2682
2683
2684
2685
2686
2687
2688
2689
2690
2691
2692
2693
2694
2695
2696
2697
2698
2699
2700
2701
2702
2703
2704
2705
2706
2707
2708
2709
2710
2711
2712
2713
2714
2715
2716
2717
2718
2719
2720
2721
2722
2723
2724
2725
2726
2727
2728
2729
2730
2731
2732
2733
2734
2735
2736
2737
2738
2739
2740
2741
2742
2743
2744
2745
2746
2747
2748
2749
2750
2751
2752
2753
2754
2755
2756
2757
2758
2759
2760
2761
2762
2763
2764
2765
2766
2767
2768
2769
2770
2771
2772
2773
2774
2775
2776
2777
2778
2779
2780
2781
2782
2783
2784
2785
2786
2787
2788
2789
2790
2791
2792
2793
2794
2795
2796
2797
2798
2799
2800
2801
2802
2803
2804
2805
2806
2807
2808
2809
2810
2811
2812
2813
2814
2815
2816
2817
2818
2819
2820
2821
2822
2823
2824
2825
2826
2827
2828
2829
2830
2831
2832
2833
2834
2835
2836
2837
2838
2839
2840
2841
2842
2843
2844
2845
2846
2847
2848
2849
2850
2851
2852
2853
2854
2855
2856
2857
2858
2859
2860
2861
2862
2863
2864
2865
2866
2867
2868
2869
2870
2871
2872
2873
2874
2875
2876
2877
2878
2879
2880
2881
2882
2883
2884
2885
2886
2887
2888
2889
2890
2891
2892
2893
2894
2895
2896
2897
2898
2899
2900
2901
2902
2903
2904
2905
2906
2907
2908
2909
2910
2911
2912
2913
2914
2915
2916
2917
2918
2919
2920
2921
2922
2923
2924
2925
2926
2927
2928
2929
2930
2931
2932
2933
2934
2935
2936
2937
2938
2939
2940
2941
2942
2943
2944
2945
2946
2947
2948
2949
2950
2951
2952
2953
2954
2955
2956
2957
2958
2959
2960
2961
2962
2963
2964
2965
2966
2967
2968
2969
2970
2971
2972
2973
2974
2975
2976
2977
2978
2979
2980
2981
2982
2983
2984
2985
2986
2987
2988
2989
2990
2991
2992
2993
2994
2995
2996
2997
2998
2999
3000
3001
3002
3003
3004
3005
3006
3007
3008
3009
3010
3011
3012
3013
3014
3015
3016
3017
3018
3019
3020
3021
3022
3023
3024
3025
3026
3027
3028
3029
3030
3031
3032
3033
3034
3035
3036
3037
3038
3039
3040
3041
3042
3043
3044
3045
3046
3047
3048
3049
3050
3051
3052
3053
3054
3055
3056
3057
3058
3059
3060
3061
3062
3063
3064
3065
3066
3067
3068
3069
3070
3071
3072
3073
3074
3075
3076
3077
3078
3079
3080
3081
3082
3083
3084
3085
3086
3087
3088
3089
3090
3091
3092
3093
3094
3095
3096
3097
3098
3099
3100
3101
3102
3103
3104
3105
3106
3107
3108
3109
3110
3111
3112
3113
3114
3115
3116
3117
3118
3119
3120
3121
3122
3123
3124
3125
3126
3127
3128
3129
3130
3131
3132
3133
3134
3135
3136
3137
3138
3139
3140
3141
3142
3143
3144
3145
3146
3147
3148
3149
3150
3151
3152
3153
3154
3155
3156
3157
3158
3159
3160
3161
3162
3163
3164
3165
3166
3167
3168
3169
3170
3171
3172
3173
3174
3175
3176
3177
3178
3179
3180
3181
3182
3183
3184
3185
3186
3187
3188
3189
3190
3191
3192
3193
3194
3195
3196
3197
3198
3199
3200
3201
3202
3203
3204
3205
3206
3207
3208
3209
3210
3211
3212
3213
3214
3215
3216
3217
3218
3219
3220
3221
3222
3223
3224
3225
3226
3227
3228
3229
3230
3231
3232
3233
3234
3235
3236
3237
3238
3239
3240
3241
3242
3243
3244
3245
3246
3247
3248
3249
3250
3251
3252
3253
3254
3255
3256
3257
3258
3259
3260
3261
3262
3263
3264
3265
3266
3267
3268
3269
3270
3271
3272
3273
3274
3275
3276
3277
3278
3279
3280
3281
3282
3283
3284
3285
3286
3287
3288
3289
3290
3291
3292
3293
3294
3295
3296
3297
3298
3299
3300
3301
3302
3303
3304
3305
3306
3307
3308
3309
3310
3311
3312
3313
3314
3315
3316
3317
3318
3319
3320
3321
3322
3323
3324
3325
3326
3327
3328
3329
3330
3331
3332
3333
3334
3335
3336
3337
3338
3339
3340
3341
3342
3343
3344
3345
3346
3347
3348
3349
3350
3351
3352
3353
3354
3355
3356
3357
3358
3359
3360
3361
3362
3363
3364
3365
3366
3367
3368
3369
3370
3371
3372
3373
3374
3375
3376
3377
3378
3379
3380
3381
3382
3383
3384
3385
3386
3387
3388
3389
3390
3391
3392
3393
3394
3395
3396
3397
3398
3399
3400
3401
3402
3403
3404
3405
3406
3407
3408
3409
3410
3411
3412
3413
3414
3415
3416
3417
3418
3419
3420
3421
3422
3423
3424
3425
3426
3427
3428
3429
3430
3431
3432
3433
3434
3435
3436
3437
3438
3439
3440
3441
3442
3443
3444
3445
3446
3447
3448
3449
3450
3451
3452
3453
3454
3455
3456
3457
3458
3459
3460
3461
3462
3463
3464
3465
3466
3467
3468
3469
3470
3471
3472
3473
3474
3475
3476
3477
3478
3479
3480
3481
3482
3483
3484
3485
3486
3487
3488
3489
3490
3491
3492
3493
3494
3495
3496
3497
3498
3499
3500
3501
3502
3503
3504
3505
3506
3507
3508
3509
3510
3511
3512
3513
3514
3515
3516
3517
3518
3519
3520
3521
3522
3523
3524
3525
3526
3527
3528
3529
3530
3531
3532
3533
3534
3535
3536
3537
3538
3539
3540
3541
3542
3543
3544
3545
3546
3547
3548
3549
3550
3551
3552
3553
3554
3555
3556
3557
3558
3559
3560
3561
3562
3563
3564
3565
3566
3567
3568
3569
3570
3571
3572
3573
3574
3575
3576
3577
3578
3579
3580
3581
3582
3583
3584
3585
3586
3587
3588
3589
3590
3591
3592
3593
3594
3595
3596
3597
3598
3599
3600
3601
3602
3603
3604
3605
3606
3607
3608
3609
3610
3611
3612
3613
3614
3615
3616
3617
3618
3619
3620
3621
3622
3623
3624
3625
3626
3627
3628
3629
3630
3631
3632
3633
3634
3635
3636
3637
3638
3639
3640
3641
3642
3643
3644
3645
3646
3647
3648
3649
3650
3651
3652
3653
3654
3655
3656
3657
3658
3659
3660
3661
3662
3663
3664
3665
3666
3667
3668
3669
3670
3671
3672
3673
3674
3675
3676
3677
3678
3679
3680
3681
3682
3683
3684
3685
3686
3687
3688
3689
3690
3691
3692
3693
3694
3695
3696
3697
3698
3699
3700
3701
3702
3703
3704
3705
3706
3707
3708
3709
3710
3711
3712
3713
3714
3715
3716
3717
3718
3719
3720
3721
3722
3723
3724
3725
3726
3727
3728
3729
3730
3731
3732
3733
3734
3735
3736
3737
3738
3739
3740
3741
3742
3743
3744
3745
3746
3747
3748
3749
3750
3751
3752
3753
3754
3755
3756
3757
3758
3759
3760
3761
3762
3763
3764
3765
3766
3767
3768
3769
3770
3771
3772
3773
3774
3775
3776
3777
3778
3779
3780
3781
3782
3783
3784
3785
3786
3787
3788
3789
3790
3791
3792
3793
3794
3795
3796
3797
3798
3799
3800
3801
3802
3803
3804
3805
3806
3807
3808
3809
3810
3811
3812
3813
3814
3815
3816
3817
3818
3819
3820
3821
3822
3823
3824
3825
3826
3827
3828
3829
3830
3831
3832
3833
3834
3835
3836
3837
3838
3839
3840
3841
3842
3843
3844

<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN"
    "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd">

<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml">
  <head>
    <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" />
    <title>
      The Project Gutenberg eBook of Naudsonce, by H. Beam Piper
    </title>
    <style type="text/css">
/*<![CDATA[  XML blockout */
<!--
    p {  margin-top: .75em;
         text-align: justify;
         margin-bottom: .75em;
         }
    h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 {
         text-align: center; /* all headings centered */
         clear: both;
         }
    hr { width: 33%;
	 margin-top: 2em;
	 margin-bottom: 2em;
         margin-left: auto;
         margin-right: auto;
         clear: both;
       }

    table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;}

   .tr { text-align: center;
	     margin-left:  10%;
	     margin-right: 10%;
	     margin-top:    5%;
	     margin-bottom: 5%;
	     padding: 1em;
	     background-color: #f6f2f2;
	     color:  black;
	     border: solid black 1px;}

    body{margin-left: 10%;
         margin-right: 10%;
        }

    .pagenum  { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */
                visibility: hidden;
                position: absolute;
                left: 92%;
                font-size: smaller;
                text-align: right;
              } /* page numbers */


    .blurb    {margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%;}
    .center   {text-align: center;}

    .figcenter   {margin: auto; text-align: center;}

    .figleft     {float: left; clear: left; margin-left: 0; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top:
                 1em; margin-right: 1em; padding: 0; text-align: center;}

    .figright    {float: right; clear: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;
                 margin-top: 1em; margin-right: 0; padding: 0; text-align: center;}


    // -->
    /* XML end  ]]>*/
    </style>
  </head>
<body>


<pre>

The Project Gutenberg EBook of Naudsonce, by H. Beam Piper

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org


Title: Naudsonce

Author: H. Beam Piper

Illustrator: Morey

Release Date: August 18, 2006 [EBook #19076]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NAUDSONCE ***




Produced by Greg Weeks, William Woods, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net






</pre>


<p class="tr">Transcriber's note: <br />
This etext was produced from <i>Analog Science Fact&mdash;Science Fiction</i>,
January 1962.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the copyright
on this publication was renewed.</p>




<h1>NAUDSONCE</h1>
<p>&nbsp;</p>
<div class="blurb"><p>
Bishop Berkeley's famous question<br />
about the sound of a falling tree<br />
may have no standing in Science.<br />
But there is a highly interesting<br />
question about "sound" that Science<br />
needs to consider....<br />
</p></div>
<p>&nbsp;</p>
<h2>BY H. BEAM PIPER</h2>

<h4>ILLUSTRATED BY MOREY</h4>

<p>&nbsp;</p>
<hr style='width: 65%;' />
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span></p>

<!-- Page 001 image shifted down below credits. -->
<div class="figleft" style="width: 312px;"><span class="figleft" style="width: 312px;"><img src="images/image01.png" width="312" height="437" alt="Terrans wait to meet Svants"  title="Terrans wait to meet Svants" /></span></div>

<p>The sun warmed Mark Howell's back
pleasantly. Underfoot, the mosslike
stuff was soft and yielding, and there
was a fragrance in the air unlike anything
he had ever smelled. He was
going to like this planet; he knew it.
The question was, how would it, and
its people, like him? He watched the
little figures advancing across the
fields from the mound, with the village
out of sight on the other end of
it and the combat-car circling lazily
on contragravity above.</p>

<p>Major Luis Gofredo, the Marine
officer, spoke without lowering his
binoculars:</p>

<p>"They have a tubular thing about
twelve feet long; six of them are
carrying it on poles, three to a side,
and a couple more are walking behind
it. Mark, do you think it could
be a cannon?"</p>

<p>So far, he didn't know enough to
have an opinion, and said so,
adding:</p>

<p>"What I saw of the village in the
screen from the car, it looked pretty
primitive. Of course, gunpowder's
one of those things a primitive people
could discover by accident, if the
ingredients were available."</p>

<p>"We won't take any chances,
then."</p>

<p>"You think they're hostile? I was
hoping they were coming out to
parley with us."</p>

<p>That was Paul Meillard. He had a
right to be anxious; his whole future
in the Colonial Office would be made
or ruined by what was going to
happen here.</p>

<p>The joint Space Navy-Colonial
Office expedition was looking for
new planets suitable for colonization;
they had been out, now, for
four years, which was close to maximum
for an exploring expedition.
They had entered eleven systems,
and made landings on eight planets.
Three had been reasonably close to
Terra-type. There had been Fafnir;
conditions there would correspond
to Terra during the Cretaceous Period,
but any Cretaceous dinosaur
would have been cute and cuddly to
the things on Fafnir. Then there had
been Imhotep; in twenty or thirty
thousand years, it would be a fine
planet, but at present it was undergoing
an extensive glaciation. And
Irminsul, covered with forests of
gigantic trees; it would have been
fine except for the fauna, which was
nasty, especially a race of subsapient
near-humanoids who had just gotten
as far as clubs and <i>coup-de-poing</i>
axes. Contact with them had entailed
heavy ammunition expenditure,
with two men and a woman
killed and a dozen injured. He'd had
a limp, himself, for a while as a
result.</p>

<p>As for the other five, one had
been an all-out hell-planet, and the
rest had been the sort that get colonized
by irreconcilable minority-groups
who want to get away from
everybody else. The Colonial Office
wouldn't even consider any of them.</p>

<p>Then they had found this one,
third of a G0-star, eighty million
miles from primary, less axial inclination
than Terra, which would
mean a more uniform year-round<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span>
temperature, and about half land
surface. On the evidence of a couple
of sneak landings for specimens, the
biochemistry was identical with
Terra's and the organic matter was
edible. It was the sort of planet
every explorer dreams of finding,
except for one thing.</p>

<p>It was inhabited by a sapient humanoid
race, and some of them
were civilized enough to put it in
Class V, and Colonial Office doctrine
on Class V planets was rigid.
Friendly relations with the natives
had to be established, and permission
to settle had to be guaranteed
in a treaty of some sort with somebody
more or less authorized to
make one.</p>

<p>If Paul Meillard could accomplish
that, he had it made. He would stay
on with forty or fifty of the ship's
company to make preparations. In a
year a couple of ships would come
out from Terra, with a thousand
colonists, and a battalion or so of
Federation troops, to protect them
from the natives and vice versa.
Meillard would automatically be appointed
governor-general.</p>

<p>But if he failed, he was through.
Not out&mdash;just through. When he got
back to Terra, he would be promoted
to some home office position at
slightly higher base pay but without
the three hundred per cent extraterrestrial
bonus, and he would
vegetate there till he retired. Every
time his name came up, somebody
would say, "Oh, yes; he flubbed the
contact on Whatzit."</p>

<p>It wouldn't do the rest of them
any good, either. There would always
be the suspicion that they had
contributed to the failure.</p>

<!-- Page 002 image shifted down to separate it from page 001 image.
<hr style='width: 45%;' />
-->
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"><span class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"><img src="images/image02.jpg" width="600" height="809" alt="Svants come out to meet Terrans" title="Svants come out to meet Terrans" /></span></div>

<p><i>Bwaaa-waaa-waaanh!</i></p>

<p>The wavering sound hung for an
instant in the air. A few seconds
later, it was repeated, then repeated
again.</p>

<p>"Our cannon's a horn," Gofredo
said. "I can't see how they're blowing
it, though."</p>

<p>There was a stir to right and left,
among the Marines deployed in a
crescent line on either side of the
contact team; a metallic clatter as
weapons were checked. A shadow
fell in front of them as a combat-car
moved into position above.</p>

<p>"What do you suppose it means?"
Meillard wondered.</p>

<p>"Terrans, go home." He drew a
frown from Meillard with the suggestion.
"Maybe it's supposed to intimidate
us."</p>

<p>"They're probably doing it to encourage
themselves," Anna de Jong,
the psychologist, said. "I'll bet
they're really scared stiff."</p>

<p>"I see how they're blowing it,"
Gofredo said. "The man who's walking
behind it has a hand-bellows."
He raised his voice. "Fix bayonets!
These people don't know anything
about rifles, but they know what
spears are. They have some of their
own."</p>

<p>So they had. The six who walked
in the lead were unarmed, unless the
thing one of them carried was a
spear. So, it seemed, were the horn-bearers.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span>
Behind them, however, in
an open-order skirmish-line, came
fifty-odd with weapons. Most of
them had spears, the points glinting
redly. Bronze, with a high copper
content. A few had bows. They came
slowly; details became more plainly
visible.</p>

<p>The leader wore a long yellow
robe; the thing in his hand was a
bronze-headed staff. Three of his
companions also wore robes; the
other two were bare-legged in short
tunics. The horn-bearers wore either
robes or tunics; the spearmen and
bowmen behind either wore tunics
or were naked except for breechclouts.
All wore sandals. They were
red-brown in color, completely hairless;
they had long necks, almost
chinless lower jaws, and fleshy,
beaklike noses that gave them an
avian appearance which was heightened
by red crests, like roosters'
combs, on the tops of their heads.</p>

<p>"Well, aren't they something to
see?" Lillian Ransby, the linguist
asked.</p>

<p>"I wonder how we look to them,"
Paul Meillard said.</p>

<p>That was something to wonder
about, too. The differences between
one and another of the Terrans must
puzzle them. Paul Meillard, as close
to being a pure Negro as anybody in
the Seventh Century of the Atomic
Era was to being pure anything. Lillian
Ransby, almost ash-blond. Major
Gofredo, barely over the minimum
Service height requirement; his
name was Old Terran Spanish, but
his ancestry must have been Polynesian,
Amerind and Mongolian. Karl
Dorver, the sociographer, six feet
six, with red hair. Bennet Fayon, the
biologist and physiologist, plump,
pink-faced and balding. Willi Schallenmacher,
with a bushy black
beard....</p>

<p>They didn't have any ears, he noticed,
and then he was taking stock
of the things they wore and carried.
Belts, with pouches, and knives with
flat bronze blades and riveted handles.
Three of the delegation had
small flutes hung by cords around
their necks, and a fourth had a reed
Pan-pipe. No shields, and no swords;
that was good. Swords and shields
mean organized warfare, possibly a
warrior-caste. This crowd weren't
warriors. The spearmen and bowmen
weren't arrayed for battle, but
for a drive-hunt, with the bows behind
the spears to stop anything that
broke through the line.</p>

<p>"All right; let's go meet them."
The querulous, uncertain note was
gone from Meillard's voice; he knew
what to do and how to do it.</p>

<hr style='width: 45%;' />

<p>Gofredo called to the Marines to
stand fast. Then they were advancing
to meet the natives, and when
they were twenty feet apart, both
groups halted. The horn stopped
blowing. The one in the yellow robe
lifted his staff and said something
that sounded like, "<i>Tweedle-eedle-oodly-eenk</i>."</p>

<p>The horn, he saw, was made of
strips of leather, wound spirally and
coated with some kind of varnish.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span>
Everything these people had was
carefully and finely made. An old
culture, but a static one. Probably
tradition-bound as all get-out.</p>

<p>Meillard was raising his hands;
solemnly he addressed the natives:</p>

<p>"'Twas brillig and the slithy toves
were whooping it up in the Malemute
Saloon, and the kid that
handled the music box did gyre and
gimble in the wabe, and back of the
bar in a solo game all mimsy were
the borogoves, and the mome raths
outgabe the lady that's known as
Lou."</p>

<p>That was supposed to show them
that we, too, have a spoken language,
to prove that their language
and ours were mutually incomprehensible,
and to demonstrate the
need for devising a means of communication.
At least that was what
the book said. It demonstrated
nothing of the sort to this crowd. It
scared them. The dignitary with the
staff twittered excitedly. One of his
companions agreed with him at
length. Another started to reach for
his knife, then remembered his manners.
The bellowsman pumped a few
blasts on the horn.</p>

<p>"What do you think of the language?"
he asked Lillian.</p>

<p>"They all sound that bad, when
you first hear them. Give them a few
seconds, and then we'll have Phase
Two."</p>

<p>When the gibbering and skreeking
began to fall off, she stepped forward.
Lillian was, herself, a good
test of how human aliens were; this
gang weren't human enough to
whistle at her. She touched herself
on the breast. "Me," she said.</p>

<p>The natives seemed shocked. She
repeated the gesture and the word,
then turned and addressed Paul
Meillard. "You."</p>

<p>"Me," Meillard said, pointing to
himself. Then he said, "You," to
Luis Gofredo. It went around the
contact team; when it came to him,
he returned it to point of origin.</p>

<p>"I don't think they get it at all,"
he added in a whisper.</p>

<p>"They ought to," Lillian said.
"Every language has a word for self
and a word for person-addressed."</p>

<p>"Well, look at them," Karl Dorver
invited. "Six different opinions about
what we mean, and now the band's
starting an argument of their own."</p>

<p>"Phase Two-A," Lillian said firmly,
stepping forward. She pointed to
herself. "Me&mdash;Lillian Ransby. Lillian
Ransby&mdash;me <i>name</i>. You&mdash;<i>name?</i>"</p>

<p>"<i>Bwoooo!</i>" the spokesman
screamed in horror, clutching his
staff as though to shield it from profanation.
The others howled like a
hound-pack at a full moon, except
one of the short-tunic boys, who was
slapping himself on the head with
both hands and yodeling. The horn-crew
hastily swung their piece
around at the Terrans, pumping
frantically.</p>

<p>"What do you suppose I said?"
Lillian asked.</p>

<p>"Oh, something like, 'Curse your
gods, death to your king, and spit in
your mother's face,' I suppose."</p>

<p>"Let me try it," Gofredo said.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span></p>

<p>The little Marine major went
through the same routine. At his
first word, the uproar stopped; before
he was through, the natives'
faces were sagging and crumbling
into expressions of utter and heartbroken
grief.</p>

<p>"It's not as bad as all that, is it?"
he said. "You try it, Mark."</p>

<p>"Me ... Mark ... Howell...."
They looked bewildered.</p>

<p>"Let's try objects, and play-acting,"
Lillian suggested. "They're
farmers; they ought to have a word
for water."</p>

<hr style='width: 45%;' />

<p>They spent almost an hour at it.
They poured out two gallons of
water, pretended to be thirsty, gave
each other drinks. The natives simply
couldn't agree on the word, in
their own language, for water. That
or else they missed the point of the
whole act. They tried fire, next. The
efficiency of a steel hatchet was impressive,
and so was the sudden
flame of a pocket-lighter, but no
word for fire emerged, either.</p>

<p>"Ah, to Niflheim with it!" Luis
Gofredo cried in exasperation.
"We're getting nowhere at five times
light speed. Give them their presents
and send them home, Paul."</p>

<p>"Sheath-knives; they'll have to be
shown how sharp they are," he suggested.
"Red bandannas. And costume
jewelry."</p>

<p>"How about something to eat,
Bennet?" Meillard asked Fayon.</p>

<p>"Extee Three, and C-H trade candy,"
Fayon said. Field Ration, Extraterrestrial
Service, Type Three,
could be eaten by anything with a
carbon-hydrogen metabolism, and
so could the trade candy. "Nothing
else, though, till we have some idea
what goes on inside them."</p>

<p>Dorver thought the six members
of the delegation would be persons of
special consequence, and should have
something extra. That was probably
so. Dorver was as quick to pick up
clues to an alien social order as he
was, himself, to deduce a culture pattern
from a few artifacts. He and Lillian
went back to the landing craft to
collect the presents.</p>

<p>Everybody, horn-detail, armed
guard and all, got one ten-inch bowie
knife and sheath, a red bandanna
neckcloth, and a piece of flashy junk
jewelry. The (town council? prominent
citizens? or what?) also received
a colored table-spread apiece; these
were draped over their shoulders and
fastened with two-inch plastic pins
advertising the candidacy of somebody
for President of the Federation
Member Republic of Venus a couple
of elections ago. They all looked
woebegone about it; that would be
their expression of joy. Different type
nerves and different facial musculature,
Fayon thought. As soon as
they sampled the Extee Three and
candy, they looked crushed under all
the sorrows of the galaxy.</p>

<p>By pantomime and pointing to the
sun, Meillard managed to inform
them that the next day, when the sun
was in the same position, the Terrans
would visit their village, bringing
more gifts. The natives were
quite agreeable, but Meillard was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span>
disgruntled that he had to use sign-talk.
The natives started off toward
the village on the mound, munching
Extee Three and trying out their
new knives. This time tomorrow,
half of them would have bandaged
thumbs.</p>

<hr style='width: 45%;' />

<p>The Marine riflemen and submachine-gunners
were coming in, slinging
their weapons and lighting cigarettes.
A couple of Navy technicians
were getting a snooper&mdash;a thing
shaped like a short-tailed tadpole, six
feet long by three at the widest, fitted
with visible-light and infra-red screen
pickups and crammed with detection
instruments&mdash;ready to relieve the
combat car over the village. The
contact team crowded into the Number
One landing craft, which had
been fitted out as a temporary headquarters.
Prefab-hut elements were
already being unloaded from the
other craft.</p>

<p>Everybody felt that a drink was in
order, even if it was two hours short
of cocktail time. They carried bottles
and glasses and ice to the front of the
landing craft and sat down in front of
the battery of view and communication
screens. The central screen was
a two-way, tuned to one in the officers'
lounge aboard the <i>Hubert
Penrose</i>, two hundred miles above.
In it, also provided with drinks, were
Captain Guy Vindinho and two other
Navy officers, and a Marine captain
in shipboard blues. Like Gofredo,
Vindinho must have gotten
into the Service on tiptoe; he had a
bald dome and a red beard, and he
always looked as though he were
gloating because nobody knew that
his name was really Rumplestiltskin.
He had been watching the contact by
screen. He lifted his glass toward
Meillard.</p>

<p>"Over the hump, Paul?"</p>

<p>Meillard raised his drink to Vindinho.
"Over the first one. There's a
whole string of them ahead. At least,
we sent them away happy. I hope."</p>

<p>"You're going to make permanent
camp where you are now?" one of
the other officers asked. Lieutenant-Commander
Dave Questell; ground
engineering and construction officer.
"What do you need?"</p>

<p>There were two viewscreens from
pickups aboard the 2500-foot battle
cruiser. One, at ten-power magnification,
gave a maplike view of the
broad valley and the uplands and
mountain foothills to the south. It
was only by tracing the course of the
main river and its tributaries that
they could find the tiny spot of the
native village, and they couldn't see
the landing craft at all. The other, at
a hundred power, showed the oblong
mound, with the village on its flat
top, little dots around a circular central
plaza. They could see the two
turtle-shaped landing-craft, and the
combat car, that had been circling
over the mound, landing beside
them, and, sometimes, a glint of sunlight
from the snooper that had taken its place.</p>

<p>The snooper was also transmitting
in, to another screen, from two hundred
feet above the village. From the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span>
sound outlet came an incessant gibber
of native voices. There were over
a hundred houses, all small and
square, with pyramidal roofs. On the
end of the mound toward the Terran
camp, animals of at least four
different species were crowded, cattle
that had been herded up from the
meadows at the first alarm. The open
circle in the middle of the village was
crowded, and more natives lined the
low palisade along the edge of the
mound.</p>

<p>"Well, we're going to stay here till
we learn the language," Meillard was
saying. "This is the best place for it.
It's completely isolated, forests on
both sides, and seventy miles to the
nearest other village. If we're careful,
we can stay here as long as we
want to and nobody'll find out about
us. Then, after we can talk with these
people, we'll go to the big town."</p>

<hr style='width: 45%;' />

<p>The big town was two hundred and
fifty miles down the valley, at the
forks of the main river, a veritable
metropolis of almost three thousand
people. That was where the treaty
would have to be negotiated.</p>

<div class="figright" style="width: 300px;">
<img src="images/image09.jpg" width="300" height="856" alt="... But no two of them
speak the same language!" title="... But no two of them speak the same language!" /><br />
<i>"... But no two of them
speak the same language!"</i>
</div>

<p>"You'll want more huts. You'll
want a water tank, and a pipeline to
that stream below you, and a pump,"
Questell said. "You think a month?"</p>

<p>Meillard looked at Lillian Ransby.
"What do you think?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span></p>

<p>"<i>Poodly-doodly-oodly-foodle</i>," she
said. "You saw how far we didn't
get this afternoon. All we found out
was that none of the standard procedures
work at all." She made a tossing
gesture over her shoulder. "There
goes the book; we have to do it off
the cuff from here."</p>

<p>"Suppose we make another landing,
back in the mountains, say two
or three hundred miles south of you,"
Vindinho said. "It's not right to keep
the rest aboard two hundred miles off
planet, and you won't be wanting liberty
parties coming down where you
are."</p>

<p>"The country over there looks uninhabited,"
Meillard said. "No villages,
anyhow. That wouldn't hurt,
at all."</p>

<p>"Well, it'll suit me," Charley
Loughran, the xeno-naturalist, said.
"I want a chance to study the life-forms
in a state of nature."</p>

<p>Vindinho nodded. "Luis, do you
anticipate any trouble with this
crowd here?" he asked.</p>

<p>"How about it, Mark? What do
they look like to you? Warlike?"</p>

<p>"No." He stated the opinion he
had formed. "I had a close look at
their weapons when they came in
for their presents. Hunting arms.
Most of the spears have cross-guards,
usually wooden, lashed on, to prevent
a wounded animal from running
up the spear-shaft at the hunter.
They made boar-spears like that on
Terra a thousand years ago. Maybe
they have to fight raiding parties
from the hills once in a while, but not
often enough for them to develop
special fighting weapons or techniques."</p>

<p>"Their village is fortified," Meillard
mentioned.</p>

<p>"I question that," Gofredo differed.
"There won't be more than a
total of five hundred there; call that
a fighting strength of two hundred,
to defend a twenty-five-&#8203;hundred-&#8203;meter
perimeter, with woodchoppers'
axes and bows and spears. If you notice,
there's no wall around the village
itself. That palisade is just a
fence."</p>

<p>"Why would they mound the village
up?" Questell, in the screen wondered.
"You don't think the river gets
up that high, do you? Because if it
does&mdash;"</p>

<p>Schallenmacher shook his head.
"There just isn't enough watershed,
and there's too much valley. I'll be
very much surprised if that stream,
there"&mdash;he nodded at the hundred-power
screen&mdash;"ever gets more than
six inches over the bank."</p>

<p>"I don't know what those houses
are built of. This is all alluvial country;
building stone would be almost
unobtainable. I don't see anything
like a brick kiln. I don't see any evidence
of irrigation, either, so there
must be plenty of rainfall. If they
use adobe, or sun-dried brick, houses
would start to crumble in a few
years, and they would be pulled
down and the rubble shoved aside to
make room for a new house. The village
has been rising on its own ruins,
probably shifting back and forth
from one end of that mound to the
other."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span></p>

<p>"If that's it, they've been there a
long time," Karl Dorver said. "And
how far have they advanced?"</p>

<p>"Early bronze; I'll bet they still use
a lot of stone implements. Pre-dynastic
Egypt, or very early Tigris-Euphrates,
in Terran terms. I can't
see any evidence that they have the
wheel. They have draft animals;
when we were coming down, I saw a
few of them pulling pole travoises.
I'd say they've been farming for a
long time. They have quite a diversity
of crops, and I suspect that they
have some idea of crop-rotation. I'm
amazed at their musical instruments;
they seem to have put more skill into
making them than anything else. I'm
going to take a jeep, while they're
all in the village, and have a look
around the fields, now."</p>

<p>Charley Loughran went along for
specimens, and, for the ride, Lillian
Ransby. Most of his guesses, he
found, had been correct. He found a
number of pole travoises, from
which the animals had been unhitched
in the first panic when the
landing craft had been coming down.
Some of them had big baskets permanently
attached. There were drag-marks
everywhere in the soft ground,
but not a single wheel track. He
found one plow, cunningly put together
with wooden pegs and rawhide
lashings; the point was stone,
and it would only score a narrow
groove, not a proper furrow. It
was, however, fitted with a big
bronze ring to which a draft animal
could be hitched. Most of the cultivation
seemed to have been done
with spades and hoes. He found a
couple of each, bronze, cast flat in an
open-top mold. They hadn't learned
to make composite molds.</p>

<p>There was an even wider variety of
crops than he had expected: two cereals,
a number of different root-plants,
and a lot of different legumes,
and things like tomatoes and pumpkins.</p>

<p>"Bet these people had a pretty
good life, here&mdash;before the Terrans
came," Charley observed.</p>

<p>"Don't say that in front of Paul,"
Lillian warned. "He has enough to
worry about now, without starting
him on whether we'll do these people
more harm than good."</p>

<p>Two more landing craft had come
down from the <i>Hubert Penrose</i>; they
found Dave Questell superintending
the unloading of more prefab-huts,
and two were already up that had
been brought down with the first
landing.</p>

<p>A name for the planet had also
arrived.</p>

<p>"Svantovit," Karl Dorver told
him. "Principal god of the Baltic
Slavs, about three thousand years
ago. Guy Vindinho dug it out of the
'Encyclopedia of Mythology.' Svantovit
was represented as holding a
bow in one hand and a horn in the
other."</p>

<p>"Well, that fits. What will we call
the natives; Svantovitians, or Svantovese?"</p>

<p>"Well, Paul wanted to call them
Svantovese, but Luis persuaded him
to call them Svants. He said everybody'd
call them that, anyhow, so we<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span>
might as well make it official from
the start."</p>

<p>"We can call the language Svantovese,"
Lillian decided. "After dinner,
I am going to start playing back recordings
and running off audiovisuals.
I will be so happy to know that I
have a name for what I'm studying.
Probably be all I will know."</p>

<hr style='width: 45%;' />

<p>After dinner, he and Karl and Paul
went into a huddle on what sort of
gifts to give the natives, and the advisability
of trading with them, and
for what. Nothing too far in advance
of their present culture level.
Wheels; they could be made in the
fabricating shop aboard the ship.</p>

<p>"You know, it's odd," Karl Dorver
said. "These people here have never
seen a wheel, and, except in documentary
or historical-drama films,
neither have a lot of Terrans."</p>

<p>That was true. As a means of
transportation, the wheel had been
completely obsolete since the development
of contragravity, six centuries
ago. Well, a lot of Terrans in the
Year Zero had never seen a suit of
armor, or an harquebus, or even a
tinder box or a spinning wheel.</p>

<p>Wheelbarrows; now there was
something they'd find useful. He
screened Max Milzer, in charge of the
fabricating and repair shops on the
ship. Max had never even heard of a
wheelbarrow.</p>

<p>"I can make them up, Mark; better
send me some drawings, though.
Did you just invent it?"</p>

<p>"As far as I know, a man named
Leonardo da Vinci invented it, in the
Sixth Century Pre-Atomic. How
soon can you get me half a dozen of
them?"</p>

<p>"Well, let's see. Welded sheet metal,
and pipe for the frame and handles.
I'll have some of them for you
by noon tomorrow. Now, about
hoes; how tall are these people, and
how long are their arms, and how
far can they stoop over?"</p>

<hr style='width: 45%;' />

<p>They were all up late, that night.
So were the Svants; there was a fire
burning in the middle of the village,
and watch-fires along the edge of the
mound. Luis Gofredo was just as distrustful
of them as they were of the
Terrans; he kept the camp lighted, a
strong guard on the alert, and the
area of darkness beyond infra red
lighted and covered by photoelectric
sentries on the ground and snoopers
in the air. Like Paul Meillard, Luis
Gofredo was a worrier and a pessimist.
Everything happened for the
worst in this worst of all possible
galaxies, and if anything could conceivably
go wrong, it infallibly
would. That was probably why he
was still alive and had never had a
command massacred.</p>

<p>The wheelbarrows, four of them,
came down from the ship by midmorning.
With them came a grindstone,
a couple of crosscut saws, and
a lot of picks and shovels and axes,
and cases of sheath knives and mess
gear and miscellaneous trade goods,
including a lot of the empty wine and
whisky bottles that had been hoarded
for the past four years.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span></p>

<p>At lunch, the talk was almost exclusively
about the language problem.
Lillian Ransby, who had not
gotten to sleep before sunrise and
had just gotten up, was discouraged.</p>

<p>"I don't know what we're going to
do next," she admitted. "Glenn Orent
and Anna and I were on it all night,
and we're nowhere. We have about a
hundred wordlike sounds isolated,
and twenty or so are used repeatedly,
and we can't assign a meaning to any
of them. And none of the Svants
ever reacted the same way twice to
anything we said to them. There's
just no one-to-one relationship anywhere."</p>

<p>"I'm beginning to doubt they have
a language," the Navy intelligence
officer said. "Sure, they make a lot
of vocal noise. So do chipmunks."</p>

<p>"They have to have a language,"
Anna de Jong declared. "No sapient
thought is possible without verbalization."</p>

<p>"Well, no society like that is possible
without some means of communication,"
Karl Dorver supported
her from the other flank. He seemed
to have made that point before.
"You know," he added, "I'm beginning
to wonder if it mightn't be telepathy."</p>

<p>He evidently hadn't suggested that
before. The others looked at him
in surprise. Anna started to say, "Oh,
I doubt if&mdash;" and then stopped.</p>

<p>"I know, the race of telepaths is an
old gimmick that's been used in new-planet
adventure stories for centuries,
but maybe we've finally found
one."</p>

<p>"I don't like it, Karl," Loughran
said. "If they're telepaths, why don't
they understand us? And if they're
telepaths, why do they talk at all?
And you can't convince me that this
boodly-oodly-doodle of theirs isn't
talking."</p>

<p>"Well, our neural structure and
theirs won't be nearly alike," Fayon
said. "I know, this analogy between
telepathy and radio is full of holes,
but it's good enough for this. Our
wave length can't be picked up with
their sets."</p>

<p>"The deuce it can't," Gofredo contradicted.
"I've been bothered about
that from the beginning. These people
act as though they got meaning
from us. Not the meaning we intend,
but some meaning. When Paul made
the gobbledygook speech, they all reacted
in the same way&mdash;frightened,
and then defensive. The you-me routine
simply bewildered them, as we'd
be at a set of semantically lucid but
self-contradictory statements. When
Lillian tried to introduce herself, they
were shocked and horrified...."</p>

<p>"It looked to me like actual physical
disgust," Anna interpolated.</p>

<p>"When I tried it, they acted like a
lot of puppies being petted, and when
Mark tried it, they were simply baffled.
I watched Mark explaining that
steel knives were dangerously sharp;
they got the demonstration, but
when he tried to tie words onto it,
it threw them completely."</p>

<p>"ALL RIGHT. Pass that," Loughran
conceded. "But if they have telepathy,
why do they use spoken
words?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span></p>

<p>"Oh, I can answer that," Anna
said. "Say they communicated by
speech originally, and developed
their telepathic faculty slowly and
without realizing it. They'd go on using
speech, and since the message
would be received telepathically
ahead of the spoken message, nobody
would pay any attention to the words
as such. Everybody would have a
spoken language of his own; it would
be sort of the instrumental accompaniment
to the song."</p>

<p>"Some of them don't bother speaking,"
Karl nodded. "They just toot."</p>

<p>"I'll buy that, right away," Loughran
agreed. "In mating, or in group-danger
situations, telepathy would be
a race-survival characteristic. It
would be selected for genetically, and
the non-gifted strains would tend to
die out."</p>

<p>It wouldn't do. It wouldn't do at
all. He said so.</p>

<p>"Look at their technology. We
either have a young race, just
emerged from savagery, or an old,
stagnant race. All indications seem to
favor the latter. A young race would
not have time to develop telepathy as
Anna suggests. An old race would
have gone much farther than these
people have. Progress is a matter of
communication and pooling ideas
and discoveries. Make a trend-graph
of technological progress on Terra;
every big jump comes after an improvement
in communications. The
printing press; railways and steamships;
the telegraph; radio. Then
think how telepathy would speed up
progress."</p>

<hr style='width: 45%;' />

<p>The sun was barely past noon meridian
before the Svants, who had
ventured down into the fields at sunrise,
were returning to the mound-village.
In the snooper-screen, they
could be seen coming up in tunics
and breechclouts, entering houses,
and emerging in long robes. There
seemed to be no bows or spears in
evidence, but the big horn sounded
occasionally. Paul Meillard was
pleased. Even if it had been by sign-talk,
which he rated with worm-fishing
for trout or shooting sitting rabbits,
he had gotten something across
to them.</p>

<p>When they went to the village, at
1500, they had trouble getting their
lorry down. A couple of Marines in
a jeep had to go in first to get the
crowd out of the way. Several of the
locals, including the one with the
staff, joined with them; this quick
co-operation delighted Meillard.
When they had the lorry down and
were all out of it, the dignitary with
the staff, his scarlet tablecloth over
his yellow robe, began an oration,
apparently with every confidence
that he was being understood. In
spite of his objections at lunch, the
telepathy theory was beginning to
seem more persuasive.</p>

<p>"Give them the Shooting of Dan
McJabberwock again," he told Meillard.
"This is where we came in yesterday."</p>

<p>Something Meillard had noticed
was exciting him. "Wait a moment.
They're going to do something."</p>

<p>They were indeed. The one with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span>
the staff and three of his henchmen
advanced. The staff bearer touched
himself on the brow. "<i>Fwoonk</i>," he
said. Then he pointed to Meillard.
"<i>Hoonkle</i>," he said.</p>

<p>"They got it!" Lillian was hugging
herself joyfully. "I knew they ought
to!"</p>

<p>Meillard indicated himself and
said, "<i>Fwoonk</i>."</p>

<p>That wasn't right. The village elder
immediately corrected him. The
word, it seemed, was, "<i>Fwoonk</i>."</p>

<p>His three companions agreed that
that was the word for self, but that
was as far as the agreement went.
They rendered it, respectively, as
"<i>Pwink</i>," "<i>Tweelt</i>" and "<i>Kroosh</i>."</p>

<p>Gofredo gave a barking laugh. He
was right; anything that could go
wrong would go wrong. Lillian used
a word; it was not a ladylike word at
all. The Svants looked at them as
though wondering what could possibly
be the matter. Then they went
into a huddle, arguing vehemently.
The argument spread, like a ripple in
a pool; soon everybody was twittering
vocally or blowing on flutes and
Panpipes. Then the big horn started
blaring. Immediately, Gofredo
snatched the hand-phone of his belt
radio and began speaking urgently
into it.</p>

<p>"What are you doing, Luis?" Meillard
asked anxiously.</p>

<p>"Calling the reserve in. I'm not
taking chances on this." He spoke
again into the phone, then called
over his shoulder: "Rienet; three one-second
bursts, in the air!"</p>

<p>A Marine pointed a submachine
gun skyward and ripped off a string
of shots, then another, and another.
There was silence after the first burst.
Then a frightful howling arose.</p>

<p>"Luis, you imbecile!" Meillard was
shouting.</p>

<p>Gofredo jumped onto the top of an
airjeep, where they could all see him;
drawing his pistol, he fired twice into
the air.</p>

<p>"Be quiet, all of you!" he shouted,
as though that would do any good.</p>

<p>It did. Silence fell, bounced noisily,
and then settled over the crowd.
Gofredo went on talking to them:
"Take it easy, now; easy." He might
have been speaking to a frightened
dog or a fractious horse. "Nobody's
going to hurt you. This is nothing
but the great noise-magic of the Terrans...."</p>

<p>"Get the presents unloaded," Meillard
was saying. "Make a big show of
it. The table first."</p>

<p>The horn, which had started,
stopped blowing. As they were getting
off the long table and piling it
with trade goods, another lorry came
in, disgorging twenty Marine riflemen.
They had their bayonets fixed;
the natives looked apprehensively at
the bare steel, but went on listening
to Gofredo. Meillard pulled the
(Lord Mayor? Archbishop? Lord of
the Manor?) aside, and began making
sign-talk to him.</p>

<p>When quiet was restored, Howell
put a pick and shovel into a wheelbarrow
and pushed them out into the
space that had been cleared in front
of the table. He swung the pick for a
while, then shoveled the barrow full<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span>
of ground. After pushing it around
for a while, he dumped it back in the
hole and leveled it off. Two Marines
brought out an eight-inch log and
chopped a couple of billets off it with
an ax, then cut off another with one
of the saws, split them up, and filled
the wheelbarrow with the firewood.</p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;">
<img src="images/image16.jpg" width="600" height="492" alt="We can't use the computer till
we can tell it what the data is data about!" title="We can't use the computer till we can tell it what the data is data about!" /><br />
<i>We can't use the computer till
we can tell it what the data is data about!</i>
</div>

<p>The knives, jewelry and other
small items would be no problem;
they had enough of them to go
around. The other stuff would be
harder to distribute, and Paul Meillard
and Karl Dorver were arguing
about how to handle it. If they weren't
careful, a lot of new bowie knives
would get bloodied.</p>

<p>"Have them form a queue," Anna
suggested. "That will give them the
idea of equal sharing, and we'll be
able to learn something about their
status levels and social hierarchy and
agonistic relations."</p>

<hr style='width: 45%;' />

<p>The one with the staff took it as a
matter of course that he would go
first; his associates began falling in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span>
behind him, and the rest of the villagers
behind them. Whether they'd
gotten one the day before or not,
everybody was given a knife and a
bandanna and one piece of flashy
junk-jewelry, also a stainless steel
cup and mess plate, a bucket, and an
empty bottle with a cork. The women
didn't carry sheath knives, so they
got Boy Scout knives on lanyards.
They were all lavishly supplied with
Extee Three and candy. Any of the
children who looked big enough to be
trusted with them got knives too, and
plenty of candy.</p>

<p>Anna and Karl were standing
where the queue was forming, watching
how they fell into line; so was
Lillian, with an audiovisual camera.
Having seen that the Marine enlisted
men were getting the presents handed
out properly, Howell strolled over to
them. Just as he came up, a couple
approached hesitantly, a man in a
breechclout under a leather apron,
and a woman, much smaller, in a
ragged and soiled tunic. As soon as
they fell into line, another Svant, in a
blue robe, pushed them aside and
took their place.</p>

<p>"Here, you can't do that!" Lillian
cried. "Karl, make him step back."</p>

<p>Karl was saying something about
social status and precedence. The
couple tried to get into line behind
the man who had pushed them aside.
Another villager tried to shove them
out of his way. Howell advanced, his
right fist closing. Then he remembered
that he didn't know what he'd
be punching; he might break the
fellow's neck, or his own knuckles.
He grabbed the blue-robed Svant by
the wrist with both hands, kicked a
foot out from under him, and jerked,
sending him flying for six feet and
then sliding in the dust for another
couple of yards. He pushed the others
back, and put the couple into
place in the line.</p>

<p>"Mark, you shouldn't have done
that," Dorver was expostulating. "We
don't know...."</p>

<p>The Svant sat up, shaking his head
groggily. Then he realized what had
been done to him. With a snarl of
rage, he was on his feet, his knife in
his hand. It was a Terran bowie
knife. Without conscious volition,
Howell's pistol was out and he was
thumbing the safety off.</p>

<p>The Svant stopped short, then
dropped the knife, ducked his head,
and threw his arms over it to shield
his comb. He backed away a few
steps, then turned and bolted into the
nearest house. The others, including
the woman in the ragged tunic, were
twittering in alarm. Only the man in
the leather apron was calm; he was
saying, tonelessly, "<i>Ghrooogh-ghrooogh</i>."</p>

<p>Luis Gofredo was coming up on
the double, followed by three of his
riflemen.</p>

<p>"What happened, Mark? Trouble?"</p>

<p>"All over now." He told Gofredo
what had happened. Dorver was still
objecting:</p>

<p>"... Social precedence; the Svant
may have been right, according to
local customs."</p>

<p>"Local customs be damned!" Gofredo<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span>
became angry. "This is a Terran
Federation handout; we make
the rules, and one of them is, no
pushing people out of line. Teach the
buggers that now and we won't have
to work so hard at it later." He called
back over his shoulder, "Situation under
control; get the show going
again."</p>

<p>The natives were all grimacing
heartbrokenly with pleasure. Maybe
the one who got thrown on his ear&mdash;no,
he didn't have any&mdash;was not one
of the more popular characters in the
village.</p>

<p>"You just pulled your gun, and he
dropped the knife and ran?" Gofredo
asked. "And the others were scared,
too?"</p>

<p>"That's right. They all saw you
fire yours; the noise scared them."</p>

<p>Gofredo nodded. "We'll avoid promiscuous
shooting, then. No use letting
them find out the noise won't
hurt them any sooner than we have
to."</p>

<p>Paul Meillard had worked out a
way to distribute the picks and shovels
and axes. Considering each house
as representing a family unit, which
might or might not be the case, there
were picks and shovels enough to go
around, and an ax for every third
house. They took them around in an
airjeep and left them at the doors.
The houses, he found, weren't adobe
at all. They were built of logs, plastered
with adobe on the outside. That
demolished his theory that the houses
were torn down periodically, and left
the mound itself unexplained.</p>

<p>The wheelbarrows and the grindstone
and the two crosscut saws were
another matter. Nobody was quite
sure that the (nobility? capitalist-class?
politicians? prominent citizens?)
wouldn't simply appropriate
them for themselves. Paul Meillard
was worried about that; everybody
else was willing to let matters take
their course. Before they were off
the ground in their vehicles, a violent
dispute had begun, with a bedlam of
jabbering and shrieking. By the time
they were landing at the camp, the
big laminated leather horn had begun
to bellow.</p>

<hr style='width: 45%;' />

<p>One of the huts had been fitted as
contact-team headquarters, with all
the view and communication screens
installed, and one end partitioned off
and soundproofed for Lillian to study
recordings in. It was cocktail time
when they returned; conversationally,
it was a continuation from
lunch. Karl Dorver was even more
convinced than ever of his telepathic
hypothesis, and he had completely
converted Anna de Jong to it.</p>

<p>"Look at that." He pointed at the
snooper screen, which gave a view
of the plaza from directly above.
"They're reaching an agreement already."</p>

<p>So they seemed to be, though upon
what was less apparent. The horn
had stopped, and the noise was diminishing.
The odd thing was that
peace was being restored, or was restoring
itself, as the uproar had
begun&mdash;outwardly from the center of
the plaza to the periphery of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span>
crowd. The same thing had happened
when Gofredo had ordered
the submachine gun fired, and, now
that he recalled, when he had dealt
with the line-crasher.</p>

<p>"Suppose a few of them, in the
middle, are agreed," Anna said.
"They are all thinking in unison,
combining their telepathic powers.
They dominate those nearest to them,
who join and amplify their telepathic
signal, and it spreads out through the
whole group. A mental chain-reaction."</p>

<p>"That would explain the mechanism
of community leadership, and
I'd been wondering about that," Dorver
said, becoming more excited.
"It's a mental aristocracy; an especially
gifted group of telepaths, in
agreement and using their powers in
concert, implanting their opinions in
the minds of all the others. I'll bet
the purpose of the horn is to distract
the thoughts of the others, so that
they can be more easily dominated.
And the noise of the shots shocked
them out of communication with
each other; no wonder they were
frightened."</p>

<p>Bennet Fayon was far from convinced.
"So far, this telepathy theory
is only an assumption. I find it a lot
easier to assume some fundamental
difference between the way they
translate sound into sense-data and
the way we do. We <i>think</i> those combs
on top of their heads are their external
hearing organs, but we have
no idea what's back of them, or
what kind of a neural hookup is connected
to them. I wish I knew how
these people dispose of their dead.
I need a couple of fresh cadavers.
Too bad they aren't warlike. Nothing
like a good bloody battle to advance
the science of anatomy, and
what we don't know about Svant
anatomy is practically the entire subject."</p>

<p>"I should imagine the animals hear
in the same way," Meillard said.
"When the wagon wheels and the
hoes and the blacksmith tools come
down from the ship, we'll trade for
cattle."</p>

<p>"When they make the second landing
in the mountains, I'm going to do
a lot of hunting," Loughran added.
"I'll get wild animals for you."</p>

<p>"Well, I'm going to assume that
the vocal noises they make are meaningful
speech," Lillian Ransby said.
"So far, I've just been trying to analyze
them for phonetic values. Now
I'm going to analyze them for sound-wave
patterns. No matter what goes
on inside their private nervous systems,
the sounds exist as waves in
the public atmosphere. I'm going to
assume that the Lord Mayor and his
stooges were all trying to say the
same thing when they were pointing
to themselves, and I'm going to see
if all four of those sounds have any
common characteristic."</p>

<p>By the time dinner was over, they
were all talking in circles, none of
them hopefully. They all made recordings
of the speech about the
slithy toves in the Malemute Saloon;
Lillian wanted to find out what was
different about them. Luis Gofredo
saw to it that the camp itself would<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span>
be visible-lighted, and beyond the
lights he set up more photoelectric
robot sentries and put a couple of
snoopers to circling on contragravity,
with infra-red lights and receptors.
He also insisted that all his own
men and all Dave Questell's Navy
construction engineers keep their
weapons ready to hand. The natives
in the village were equally distrustful.
They didn't herd the cattle up
from the meadows where they had
been pastured, but they lighted
watch-fires along the edge of the
mound as soon as it became dark.</p>

<hr style='width: 45%;' />

<p>It was three hours after nightfall
when something on the indicator-board
for the robot sentries went off
like a startled rattlesnake. Everybody,
talking idly or concentrating
on writing up the day's observations,
stiffened. Luis Gofredo, dozing in a
chair, was on his feet instantly and
crossing the hut to the instruments.
His second-in-command, who had
been playing chess with Willi Schallenmacher,
rose and snatched his belt
from the back of his chair, putting
it on.</p>

<p>"Take it easy," Gofredo said.
"Probably just a cow or a horse&mdash;local
equivalent&mdash;that's strayed over
from the other side."</p>

<p>He sat down in front of one of the
snooper screens and twisted knobs on
the remote controls. The monochrome
view, transformed from infra red,
rotated as the snooper circled
and changed course. The other
screen showed the camp receding and
the area around it widening as its
snooper gained altitude.</p>

<p>"It's not a big party," Gofredo was
saying. "I can't see&mdash;Oh, yes I can.
Only two of them."</p>

<p>The humanoid figures, one larger
than the other, were moving cautiously
across the fields, crouching
low. The snooper went down toward
them, and then he recognized
them. The man and woman whom
the blue-robed villager had tried to
shove out of the queue, that afternoon.
Gofredo recognized them, too.</p>

<p>"Your friends, Mark. Harry," he
told his subordinate, "go out and pass
the word around. Only two, and we
think they're friendly. Keep everybody
out of sight; we don't want to
scare them away."</p>

<p>The snooper followed closely behind
them. The man was no longer
wearing his apron; the woman's tunic
was even more tattered and soiled.
She was leading him by the hand.
Now and then, she would stop and
turn her head to the rear. The snooper
over the mound showed nothing
but half a dozen fire-watchers dozing
by their fires. Then the pair were at
the edge of the camp lights. As they
advanced, they seemed to realize that
they had passed a point-of-no-return.
They straightened and came forward
steadily, the woman seeming to be
guiding her companion.</p>

<p>"What's happening, Mark?"</p>

<p>It was Lillian; she must have just
come out of the soundproof speech-lab.</p>

<p>"You know them; the pair in the
queue, this afternoon. I think we've<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span>
annexed a couple of friendly natives."</p>

<p>They all went outside. The two
natives, having come into the camp,
had stopped. For a moment, the man
in the breechclout seemed undecided
whether he was more afraid to turn
and run than advance. The woman,
holding his hand, led him forward.
They were both bruised, and both
had minor cuts, and neither of them
had any of the things that had been
given to them that afternoon.</p>

<p>"Rest of the gang beat them up and
robbed them," Gofredo began angrily.</p>

<p>"See what you did?" Dorver began.
"According to their own customs,
they had no right to be ahead
of those others, and now you've gotten
them punished for it."</p>

<p>"I'd have done more to that fellow
then Mark did, if I'd been there
when it happened." The Marine officer
turned to Meillard. "Look, this is
your show, Paul; how you run it is
your job. But in your place, I'd take
that pair back to the village and have
them point out who beat them up,
and teach the whole gang of them a
lesson. If you're going to colonize
this planet, you're going to have to
establish Federation law, and Federation
law says you mustn't gang up
on people and beat and rob them.
We don't have to speak Svantese to
make them understand what we'll
put up with and what we won't."</p>

<p>"Later, Luis. After we've gotten a
treaty with somebody." Meillard
broke off. "Watch this!"</p>



<p>The woman was making sign-talk.
She pointed to the village on the
mound. Then, with her hands, she
shaped a bucket like the ones that
had been given to them, and made a
snatching gesture away from herself.
She indicated the neckcloths, and the
sheath knife and the other things, and
snatched them away too. She made
beating motions, and touched her
bruises and the man's. All the time,
she was talking excitedly, in a high,
shrill voice. The man made the same
<i>ghroogh-ghroogh</i> noises that he had
that afternoon.</p>

<p>"No; we can't take any punitive
action. Not now," Meillard said. "But
we'll have to do something for them."</p>

<p>Vengeance, it seemed, wasn't what
they wanted. The woman made vehement
gestures of rejection toward
the village, then bowed, placing her
hands on her brow. The man imitated
her obeisance, then they both
straightened. The woman pointed to
herself and to the man, and around
the circle of huts and landing craft.
She began scuttling about, picking up
imaginary litter and sweeping with
an imaginary broom. The man started
pounding with an imaginary hammer,
then chopping with an imaginary
ax.</p>

<p>Lillian was clapping her hands
softly. "Good; got it the first time.
'You let us stay; we work for you.'
How about it, Paul?"</p>

<p>Meillard nodded. "Punitive action's
unadvisable, but we will show
our attitude by taking them in. You
tell them, Luis; these people seem to
like your voice."</p>

<p>Gofredo put a hand on each of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span>
their shoulders. "You ... stay ...
with us." He pointed around the
camp. "You ... stay ... this ... place."</p>

<p>Their faces broke into that funny
just-before-tears expression that
meant happiness with them. The man
confined his vocal expressions to his
odd <i>ghroogh-ghroogh</i>-ing; the woman
twittered joyfully. Gofredo put a
hand on the woman's shoulder, pointed
to the man and from him back to
her. "Unh?" he inquired.</p>

<p>The woman put a hand on the
man's head, then brought it down to
within a foot of the ground. She
picked up the imaginary infant and
rocked it in her arms, then set it
down and grew it up until she had
her hand on the top of the man's
head again.</p>

<p>"That was good, Mom," Gofredo
told her. "Now, you and Sonny come
along; we'll issue you equipment and
find you billets." He added, "What in
blazes are we going to feed them;
Extee Three?"</p>

<hr style='width: 45%;' />

<p>They gave them replacements for
all the things that had been taken
away from them. They gave the man
a one-piece suit of Marine combat
coveralls; Lillian gave the woman a
lavender bathrobe, and Anna contributed
a red scarf. They found
them quarters in one end of a store
shed, after making sure that there
was nothing they could get at that
would hurt them or that they could
damage. They gave each of them a
pair of blankets and a pneumatic
mattress, which delighted them, although
the cots puzzled them at first.</p>

<p>"What do you think about feeding
them, Bennet?" Meillard asked,
when the two Svants had gone to bed
and they were back in the headquarters
hut. "You said the food on this
planet is safe for Terrans."</p>

<p>"So I did, and it is, but the rule's
not reversible. Things we eat might
kill them," Fayon said. "Meats will be
especially dangerous. And no caffeine,
and no alcohol."</p>

<p>"Alcohol won't hurt them," Schallenmacher
said. "I saw big jars full of
fermenting fruit-mash back of some
of those houses; in about a year, it
ought to be fairly good wine.
C<sub>2</sub>H<sub>5</sub>OH is the same on any planet."</p>

<p>"Well, we'll get native foodstuffs
tomorrow," Meillard said. "We'll
have to do that by signs, too," he regretted.</p>

<p>"Get Mom to help you; she's pretty
sharp," Lillian advised. "But I
think Sonny's the village half-wit."</p>

<p>Anna de Jong agreed. "Even if we
don't understand Svant psychology,
that's evident; he's definitely subnormal.
The way he clings to his mother
for guidance is absolutely pathetic.
He's a mature adult, but mentally
he's still a little child."</p>

<p>"That may explain it!" Dorver
cried. "A mental defective, in a community
of telepaths, constantly invading
the minds of others with irrational
and disgusting thoughts; no
wonder he is rejected and persecuted.
And in a community on this culture
level, the mother of an abnormal
child is often regarded with
superstitious detestation&mdash;"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 586px;">
<img src="images/image23.png" width="586" height="296" alt="Svant drives new wagon" title="Svant drives new wagon" />
</div>

<p>"Yes, of course!" Anna de Jong
instantly agreed, and began to go
into the villagers' hostility to both
mother and son; both of them were
now taking the telepathy hypothesis
for granted.</p>

<p>Well, maybe so. He turned to Lillian.</p>

<p>"What did you find out?"</p>

<p>"Well, there is a common characteristic
in all four sounds. A little
patch on the screen at seventeen-twenty
cycles. The odd thing is that
when I try to repeat the sound, it
isn't there."</p>

<p>Odd indeed. If a Svant said something,
he made sound waves; if she
imitated the sound, she ought to imitate
the wave pattern. He said so,
and she agreed.</p>

<p>"But come back here and look at
this," she invited.</p>

<p>She had been using a visibilizing
analyzer; in it, a sound was broken
by a set of filters into frequency-groups,
translated into light from
dull red to violet paling into pure
white. It photographed the light-pattern
on high-speed film, automatically
developed it, and then made a
print-copy and projected the film in
slow motion on a screen. When she
pressed a button, a recorded voice
said, "<i>Fwoonk</i>." An instant later, a
pattern of vertical lines in various
colors and lengths was projected on
the screen.</p>

<p>"Those green lines," she said.
"That's it. Now, watch this."</p>

<p>She pressed another button, got
the photoprint out of a slot, and
propped it beside the screen. Then
she picked up a hand-phone and said,
"<i>Fwoonk</i>," into it. It sounded like
the first one, but the pattern that
danced onto the screen was quite
different. Where the green had been,
there was a patch of pale-blue lines.
She ran the other three Svants'
voices, each saying, presumably,
"Me." Some were mainly up in blue,
others had a good deal of yellow<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span>
and orange, but they all had the little
patch of green lines.</p>

<p>"Well, that seems to be the information,"
he said. "The rest is just
noise."</p>

<p>"Maybe one of them is saying,
'John Doe, <i>me</i>, son of Joe Blow,' and
another is saying, 'Tough guy, <i>me</i>;
lick anybody in town.'"</p>

<p>"All in one syllable?" Then he
shrugged. How did he know what
these people could pack into one syllable?
He picked up the hand-phone
and said, "Fwoonk," into it. The pattern,
a little deeper in color and with
longer lines, was recognizably like
hers, and unlike any of the Svants'.</p>

<hr style='width: 45%;' />

<p>The others came in, singly and in
pairs and threes. They watched the
colors dance on the screen to picture
the four Svant words which might or
might not all mean <i>me</i>. They tried to
duplicate them. Luis Gofredo and
Willi Schallenmacher came closest of
anybody. Bennet Fayon was still insisting
that the Svants had a perfectly
comprehensible language&mdash;to other
Svants. Anna de Jong had started to
veer a little away from the Dorver
Hypothesis. There was a difference
between event-level sound, which
was a series of waves of alternately
crowded and rarefied molecules of
air, and object-level sound, which
was an auditory sensation inside the
nervous system, she admitted. That,
Fayon crowed, was what he'd been
saying all along; their auditory system
was probably such that <i>fwoonk</i>
and <i>pwink</i> and <i>tweelt</i> and <i>kroosh</i> all
sounded alike to them.</p>

<p>By this time, <i>fwoonk</i> and <i>pwink</i>
and <i>tweelt</i> and <i>kroosh</i> had become
swear words among the joint Space
Navy-Colonial Office contact team.</p>

<p>"Well, if I hear the two sounds
alike, why doesn't the analyzer hear
them alike?" Karl Dorver demanded.</p>

<p>"It has better ears than you do,
Karl. Look how many different frequencies
there are in that word, all
crowding up behind each other," Lillian
said. "But it isn't sensitive or
selective enough. I'm going to see
what Ayesha Keithley can do about
building me a better one."</p>

<p>Ayesha was signals and detection
officer on the <i>Hubert Penrose</i>. Dave
Questell mentioned that she'd had a
hard day, and was probably making
sack-time, and she wouldn't welcome
being called at 0130. Nobody seemed
to have realized that it had gotten
that late.</p>

<p>"Well, I'll call the ship and have a
recording made for her for when she
gets up. But till we get something
that'll sort this mess out and make
sense of it, I'm stopped."</p>

<p>"You're stopped, period, Lillian,"
Dorver told her. "What these people
gibber at us doesn't even make as
much sense as the Shooting of Dan
McJabberwock. The real information
is conveyed by telepathy."</p>

<hr style='width: 45%;' />

<p>Lieutenant j.g. Ayesha Keithley
was on the screen the next morning
while they were eating breakfast. She
was a blonde, like Lillian.</p>

<p>"I got your message; you seem to
have problems, don't you?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span></p>

<p>"Speaking conservatively, yes.
You see what we're up against?"</p>

<p>"You don't know what their vocal
organs are like, do you?" the girl in
naval uniform in the screen asked.</p>

<p>Lillian shook her head. "Bennet
Fayon's hoping for a war, or an epidemic,
or something to break out, so
that he can get a few cadavers to
dissect."</p>

<p>"Well, he'll find that they're pretty
complex," Ayesha Keithley said. "I
identified stick-and-slip sounds and
percussion sounds, and plucked-string
sounds, along with the ordinary
hiss-and-buzz speech-sounds.
Making a vocoder to reproduce that
speech is going to be fun. Just what
are you using, in the way of equipment?"</p>

<p>Lillian was still talking about that
when the two landing craft from the
ship were sighted, coming down.
Charley Loughran and Willi Schallenmacher,
who were returning to
the <i>Hubert Penrose</i> to join the other
landing party, began assembling their
luggage. The others went outside,
Howell among them.</p>

<p>Mom and Sonny were watching
the two craft grow larger and closer
above, keeping close to a group of
spacemen; Sonny was looking
around excitedly, while Mom clung
to his arm, like a hen with an oversized
chick. The reasoning was clear&mdash;these
people knew all about big
things that came down out of the sky
and weren't afraid of them; stick
close to them, and it would be perfectly
safe. Sonny saw the contact
team emerging from their hut and
grabbed his mother's arm, pointing.
They both beamed happily; that expression
didn't look sad, at all, now
that you knew what it meant. Sonny
began ghroogh-ghrooghing hideously;
Mom hushed him with a hand
over his mouth, and they both made
eating gestures, rubbed their abdomens
comfortably, and pointed toward
the mess hut. Bennet Fayon
was frightened. He turned and started
on the double toward the cook,
who was standing in the doorway of
the hut, calling out to him.</p>

<p>The cook spoke inaudibly. Fayon
stopped short. "Unholy Saint Beelzebub,
no!" he cried. The cook said
something in reply, shrugging. Fayon
came back, talking to himself.</p>

<p>"Terran carniculture pork," he
said, when he returned. "Zarathustra
pool-ball fruit. Potato-flour hotcakes,
with Baldur honey and Odin flameberry
jam. And two big cups of coffee
apiece. It's a miracle they aren't
dead now. If they're alive for lunch,
we won't need to worry about feeding
them anything we eat, but I'm
glad somebody else has the moral
responsibility for this."</p>

<p>Lillian Ransby came out of the
headquarters hut. "Ayesha's coming
down this afternoon, with a lot of
equipment," she said. "We're not exactly
going to count air molecules in
the sound waves, but we'll do everything
short of that. We'll need more
lab space, soundproofed."</p>

<p>"Tell Dave Questell what you
want," Meillard said. "Do you really
think you can get anything?"</p>

<p>She shrugged. "If there's anything<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span>
there to get. How long it'll take is another
question."</p>

<hr style='width: 45%;' />

<p>The two sixty-foot collapsium-armored
turtles settled to the ground
and went off contragravity. The ports
opened, and things began being
floated off on lifter-skids: framework
for the water tower, and curved titanium
sheets for the tank. Anna de
Jong said something about hot showers,
and not having to take any more
sponge-baths. Howell was watching
the stuff come off the other landing
craft. A dozen pairs of four-foot
wagon wheels, with axles. Hoes, in
bundles. Scythe blades. A hand
forge, with a crank-driven fan blower,
and a hundred and fifty pound
anvil, and sledges and cutters and
swages and tongs.</p>

<p>Everybody was busy, and Mom
and Sonny were fidgeting, gesturing
toward the work with their own empty
hands. <i>Hey, boss; whatta we gonna
do?</i> He patted them on the shoulders.</p>

<p>"Take it easy." He hoped his tone
would convey nonurgency. "We'll
find something for you to do."</p>

<p>He wasn't particularly happy
about most of what was coming off.
Giving these Svants tools was fine,
but it was more important to give
them technologies. The people on the
ship hadn't thought of that. These
wheels, now; machined steel hubs,
steel rims, tubular steel spokes, drop-forged
and machined axles. The
Svants wouldn't be able to copy them
in a thousand years. Well, in a hundred,
if somebody showed them
where and how to mine iron and how
to smelt and work it. And how to
build a steam engine.</p>

<p>He went over and pulled a hoe out
of one of the bundles. Blades
stamped out with a power press,
welded to tubular steel handles. Well,
wood for hoe handles was hard to
come by on a spaceship, even a battle
cruiser almost half a mile in diameter;
he had to admit that. And
they were about two thousand per
cent more efficient than the bronze
scrapers the Svants used. That wasn't
the idea, though. Even supposing that
the first wave of colonists came out
in a year and a half, it would be close
to twenty years before Terran-operated
factories would be in mass production
for the native trade. The
idea was to teach these people to
make better things for themselves;
give them a leg up, so that the next
generation would be ready for contragravity
and nuclear and electric
power.</p>

<p>Mom didn't know what to make
of any of it. Sonny did, though; he
was excited, grabbing Howell's
arm, pointing, saying, "<i>Ghroogh</i>!
<i>Ghroogh</i>!" He pointed at the
wheels, and then made a stooping,
lifting and pushing gesture. <i>Like
wheelbarrow?</i></p>

<p>"That's right." He nodded, wondering
if Sonny recognized that as
an affirmative sign. "Like big wheelbarrow."</p>

<p>One thing puzzled Sonny, though.
Wheelbarrow wheels were small&mdash;his
hands indicated the size&mdash;and single.
These were big, and double.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span></p>

<p>"Let me show you this, Sonny."</p>

<p>He squatted, took a pad and pencil
from his pocket, and drew two
pairs of wheels, and then put a wagon
on them, and drew a quadruped
hitched to it, and a Svant with a stick
walking beside it. Sonny looked at
the picture&mdash;Svants seemed to have
pictoral sense, for which make us
thankful!&mdash;and then caught his
mother's sleeve and showed it to her.
Mom didn't get it. Sonny took the
pencil and drew another animal, with
a pole travois. He made gestures. A
travois dragged; it went slow. A
wagon had wheels that went around;
it went fast.</p>

<p>So Lillian and Anna thought he
was the village half-wit. Village genius,
more likely; the other peasants
didn't understand him, and resented
his superiority. They went over for a
closer look at the wheels, and pushed
them. Sonny was almost beside himself.
Mom was puzzled, but she
thought they were pretty wonderful.</p>

<p>Then they looked at blacksmith
tools. Tongs; Sonny had never seen
anything like them. Howell wondered
what the Svants used to handle
hot metal; probably big tweezers
made by tying two green sticks together.
There was an old Arabian
legend that Allah had made the first
tongs and given them to the first
smith, because nobody could make
tongs without having a pair already.</p>

<p>Sonny didn't understand the fan-blower
until it was taken apart. Then
he made a great discovery. The
wheels, and the fan, and the pivoted
tongs, all embodied the same principle,
one his people had evidently
never discovered. A whole new
world seemed to open before him;
from then on, he was constantly finding
things pierced and rotating on
pivots.</p>

<hr style='width: 45%;' />

<p>By this time, Mom was fidgeting
again. She ought to be doing something
to justify her presence in the
camp. He was wondering what sort
of work he could invent for her when
Karl Dorver called to him from the
door of the headquarters hut.</p>

<p>"Mark, can you spare Mom for a
while?" he asked. "We want her to
look at pictures and show us which of
the animals are meat-cattle, and
which of the crops are ripe."</p>

<p>"Think you can get anything out
of her?"</p>

<p>"Sign-talk, yes. We may get a few
words from her, too."</p>

<p>At first, Mom was unwilling to
leave Sonny. She finally decided that
it would be safe, and trotted over to
Dorver, entering the hut.</p>

<p>Dave Questell's construction crew
began at once on the water tank,
using a power shovel to dig the foundation.
They had to haul water in a
tank from the river a quarter-mile
away to mix the concrete. Sonny
watched that interestedly. So did a
number of the villagers, who gathered
safely out of bowshot. They noticed
Sonny among the Terrans and pointed
at him. Sonny noticed that. He
unobtrusively picked up a double-bitted
ax and kept it to hand.</p>

<p>He and Mom had lunch with the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span>
contact team. As they showed no ill
effects from breakfast, Fayon decided
that it was safe to let them have
anything the Terrans ate or drank.
They liked wine; they knew what it
was, all right, but this seemed to have
a delightfully different flavor. They
each tried a cigarette, choked over
the first few puffs, and decided that
they didn't like smoking.</p>

<p>"Mom gave us a lot of information,
as far as she could, on the crops
and animals. The big things, the size
of rhinoceroses, are draft animals
and nothing else; they're not eaten,"
Dorver said. "I don't know whether
the meat isn't good, or is taboo, or
they are too valuable to eat. They
eat all the other three species, and
milk two of them. I have an idea
they grind their grain in big stone
mortars as needed."</p>

<p>That was right; he'd seen things
like that.</p>

<p>"Willi, when you're over in the
mountains, see if you can find something
we can make millstones out of.
We can shape them with sono-cutters;
after they get the idea, they can
do it themselves by hand. One of
those big animals could be used to
turn the mill. Did you get any words
from her?"</p>

<p>Paul Meillard shook his head
gloomily. "Nothing we can be sure
of. It was the same thing as in the
village, yesterday. She'd say something,
I'd repeat it, and she'd tell us it
was wrong and say the same thing
over again. Lillian took recordings;
she got the same results as last night.
Ask her about it later."</p>

<p>"She has the same effect on Mom
as on the others?"</p>

<p>"Yes. Mom was very polite and
tried not to show it, but&mdash;"</p>

<p>Lillian took him aside, out of earshot
of the two Svants, after lunch.
She was almost distracted.</p>

<p>"Mark, I don't know what I'm going
to do. She's like the others. Every
time I open my mouth in front of her,
she's simply horrified. It's as though
my voice does something loathsome
to her. And I'm the one who's supposed
to learn to talk to them."</p>

<p>"Well, those who can do, and those
who can't teach," he told her. "You
can study recordings, and tell us
what the words are and teach us how
to recognize and pronounce them.
You're the only linguist we have."</p>

<p>That seemed to comfort her a little.
He hoped it would work out that
way. If they could communicate
with these people and did leave a
party here to prepare for the first
colonization, he'd stay on, to teach
the natives Terran technologies and
study theirs. He'd been expecting
that Lillian would stay, too. She was
the linguist; she'd have to stay. But
now, if it turned out that she would
be no help but a liability, she'd go
back with the <i>Hubert Penrose</i>. Paul
wouldn't keep a linguist who offended
the natives' every sensibility
with every word she spoke. He didn't
want that to happen. Lillian and
he had come to mean a little too
much to each other to be parted now.</p>

<hr style='width: 45%;' />

<p>Paul Meillard and Karl Dorver had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span>
considerable difficulty with Mom,
that afternoon. They wanted her to
go with them and help trade for cattle.
Mom didn't want to; she was
afraid. They had to do a lot of play-acting,
with half a dozen Marines pretending
to guard her with fixed bayonets
from some of Dave Questell's
Navy construction men who had red
bandannas on their heads to simulate
combs before she got the idea.
Then she was afraid to get into the
contragravity lorry that was to carry
the hoes and the wagon wheels. Sonny
managed to reassure her, and insisted
on going along, and he insisted
on taking his ax with him. That
meant doubling the guard, to make
sure Sonny didn't lose his self-control
when he saw his former persecutors
within chopping distance.</p>

<p>It went off much better than either
Paul Meillard or Luis Gofredo
expected. After the first shock of being
air-borne had worn off, Mom
found that she liked contragravity-riding;
Sonny was wildly delighted
with it from the start. The natives
showed neither of them any hostility.
Mom's lavender bathrobe and
Sonny's green coveralls and big ax
seemed to be symbols of a new and
exalted status; even the Lord Mayor
was extremely polite to them.</p>

<p>The Lord Mayor and half a dozen
others got a contragravity ride, too,
to the meadows to pick out cattle. A
dozen animals, including a pair of the
two-ton draft beasts, were driven to
the Terran camp. A couple of lorry-loads
of assorted vegetables were
brought in, too. Everybody seemed
very happy about the deal, especially
Bennet Fayon. He wanted to slaughter
one of the sheep-sized meat-and-milk
animals at once and get to work
on it. Gofredo advised him to put it
off till the next morning. He wanted
a large native audience to see the
animal being shot with a rifle.</p>

<p>The water tower was finished, and
the big spherical tank hoisted on top
of it and made fast. A pump, and a
filter-system were installed. There
was no water for hot showers that
evening, though. They would have to
run a pipeline to the river, and that
would entail a ditch that would cut
through several cultivated fields,
which, in turn, would provoke an uproar.
Paul Meillard didn't want that
happening until he'd concluded the
cattle-trade.</p>

<p>Charley Loughran and Willi Schallenmacher
had gone up to the ship
on one of the landing craft; they accompanied
the landing party that
went down into the mountains.
Ayesha Keithley arrived late in the
afternoon on another landing craft,
with five or six tons of instruments
and parts and equipment, and a male
Navy warrant-officer helper.</p>

<p>They looked around the lab Lillian
had been using at one end of the
headquarters hut.</p>

<p>"This won't do," the girl Navy officer
said. "We can't get a quarter of
the apparatus we're going to need in
here. We'll have to build something."</p>

<p>Dave Questell was drawn into the
discussion. Yes, he could put up
something big enough for everything
the girls would need to install,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span>
and soundproof it. Concrete, he decided;
they'd have to wait till he got
the water line down and the pump
going, though.</p>

<p>There was a crowd of natives in
the fields, gaping at the Terran camp,
the next morning, and Gofredo decided
to kill the animal&mdash;until they
learned the native name, they were
calling it Domesticated Type C. It
was herded out where everyone could
watch, and a Marine stepped forward
unslung his rifle took a kneeling
position, and aimed at it. It was a
hundred and fifty yards away. Mom
had come out to see what was going
on; Sonny and Howell, who had been
consulting by signs over the construction
of a wagon, were standing
side by side. The Marine squeezed
his trigger. The rifle banged, and the
Domesticated-C bounded into the
air, dropped, and kicked a few times
and was still. The natives, however,
missed that part of it; they were
howling piteously and rubbing their
heads. All but Sonny. He was just
mildly surprised at what had happened
to the Dom.-C.</p>

<p>Sonny, it would appear, was stone
deaf.</p>

<hr style='width: 45%;' />

<p>As anticipated, there was another
uproar later in the morning when
the ditching machine started north
across the meadow. A mob of Svants,
seeing its relentless progress toward
a field of something like turnips,
gathered in front of it, twittering
and brandishing implements of agriculture,
many of them Terran-made.</p>

<p>Paul Meillard was ready for this.
Two lorries went out; one loaded
with Marines, who jumped off with
their rifles ready. By this time, all the
Svants knew what rifles would do beside
make a noise. Meillard, Dorver,
Gofredo and a few others got out of
the other vehicle, and unloaded
presents. Gofredo did all the talking.
The Svants couldn't understand him,
but they liked it. They also liked the
presents, which included a dozen
empty half-gallon rum demijohns,
tarpaulins, and a lot of assorted
knickknacks. The pipeline went
through.</p>

<p>He and Sonny got the forge set up.
There was no fuel for it. A party of
Marines had gone out to the woods
to the east to cut wood; when they
got back, they'd burn some charcoal
in the pit that had been dug beside
the camp. Until then, he and Sonny
were drawing plans for a wooden
wheel with a metal tire when Lillian
came out of the headquarters hut
with a clipboard under her arm. She
motioned to him.</p>

<p>"Come on over," he told her. "You
can talk in front of Sonny; he won't
mind. He can't hear."</p>

<p>"Can't hear?" she echoed. "You
mean&mdash;?"</p>

<p>"That's right. Sonny's stone deaf.
He didn't even hear that rifle going
off. The only one of this gang that
has brains enough to pour sand out
of a boot with directions on the bottom
of the heel, and he's a total
linguistic loss."</p>

<p>"So he isn't a half-wit, after all."</p>

<p>"He's got an IQ close to genius<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span>
level. Look at this; he never saw a
wheel before yesterday; now he's designing
one."</p>

<!-- image31 shifted down to illustrated scene on 033-4. -->

<p>Lillian's eyes widened. "So that's
why Mom's so sharp about sign-talk.
She's been doing it all his life." Then
she remembered what she had come
out to show him, and held out the
clipboard. "You know how that analyzer
of mine works? Well, here's
what Ayesha's going to do. After
breaking a sound into frequency
bands instead of being photographed
and projected, each band goes to an
analyzer of its own, and is projected
on its own screen. There'll be forty
of them, each for a band of a hundred
cycles, from zero to four thousand.
That seems to be the Svant vocal
range."</p>

<p>The diagram passed from hand to
hand during cocktail time, before
dinner. Bennet Fayon had been
working all day dissecting the animal
they were all calling a <i>domsee</i>, a
name which would stick even if and
when they learned the native name.
He glanced disinterestedly at the
drawing, then looked again, more
closely. Then he set down the drink
he was holding in his other hand and
studied it intently.</p>

<p>"You know what you have here?"
he asked. "This is a very close analogy
to the hearing organs of that animal I
was working on. The comb, as we've
assumed, is the external organ. It's
covered with small flaps and fissures.
Back of each fissure is a long, narrow
membrane; they're paired, one on
each side of the comb, and from them
nerves lead to clusters of small round<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span>
membranes. Nerves lead from them
to a complex nerve-cable at the bottom
of the comb and into the brain
at the base of the skull. I couldn't
understand how the system functioned,
but now I see it. Each of the
larger membranes on the outside responds
to a sound-frequency band,
and the small ones on the inside
break the bands down to individual
frequencies."</p>

<p>"How many of the little ones are
there?" Ayesha asked.</p>

<p>"Thousands of them; the inner
comb is simply packed with them.
Wait; I'll show you."</p>

<p>He rose and went away, returning
with a sheaf of photo-enlargements
and a number of blocks of lucite in
which specimens were mounted.
Everybody examined them. Anna de
Jong, as a practicing psychologist,
had an M.D. and to get that she'd
had to know a modicum of anatomy;
she was puzzled.</p>

<p>"I can't understand how they hear
with those things. I'll grant that the
membranes will respond to sound,
but I can't see how they transmit it."</p>

<p>"But they do hear," Meillard said.
"Their musical instruments, their reactions
to our voices, the way they
are affected by sounds like gunfire&mdash;"</p>

<p>"They hear, but they don't hear in
the same way we do," Fayon replied.
"If you can't be convinced by anything
else, look at these things, and
compare them with the structure of
the human ear, or the ear of any
member of any other sapient race
we're ever contacted. That's what
I've been saying from the beginning."</p>

<p>"They have sound-perception to
an extent that makes ours look almost
like deafness," Ayesha Keithley
said. "I wish I could design a sound-detector
one-tenth as good as this
must be."</p>

<p>Yes. The way the Lord Mayor said
<i>fwoonk</i> and the way Paul Meillard
said it sounded entirely different to
them. Of course, <i>fwoonk</i> and <i>pwink</i>
and <i>tweelt</i> and <i>kroosh</i> sounded alike
to them, but let's don't be too picky
about things.</p>

<hr style='width: 45%;' />

<p>There were no hot showers that
evening; Dave Questell's gang had
trouble with the pump and needed
some new parts made up aboard the
ship. They were still working on it
the next morning. He had meant to
start teaching Sonny blacksmithing,
but during the evening Lillian and
Anna had decided to try teaching
Mom a nonphonetic, ideographic,
alphabet, and in the morning they
co-opted Sonny to help. Deprived of
his disciple, he strolled over to watch
the work on the pump. About twenty
Svants had come in from the fields
and were also watching, from the
meadow.</p>

<p>After a while, the job was finished.
The petty officer in charge of the
work pushed in the switch, and the
pump started, sucking dry with a
harsh racket. The natives twittered in
surprise. Then the water came, and
the pump settled down to a steady
<i>thugg-thugg, thugg-thugg</i>.</p>

<p>The Svants seemed to like the new
sound; they grimaced in pleasure
and moved closer; within forty or<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span>
fifty feet, they all squatted on the
ground and sat entranced. Others
came in from the fields, drawn by
the sound. They, too, came up and
squatted, until there was a semicircle
of them. The tank took a long time
to fill; until it did, they all sat immobile
and fascinated. Even after it
stopped, many remained, hoping that
it would start again. Paul Meillard
began wondering, a trifle uneasily, if
that would happen every time the
pump went on.</p>

<p>"They get a positive pleasure from
it. It affects them the same way
Luis' voice does."</p>

<p>"Mean I have a voice like a
pump?" Gofredo demanded.</p>

<p>"Well, I'm going to find out,"
Ayesha Keithley said. "The next time
that starts, I'm going to make a recording,
and compare it with your
voice-recording. I'll give five to one
there'll be a similarity."</p>

<p>Questell got the foundation for
the sonics lab dug, and began pouring
concrete. That took water, and
the pump ran continuously that
afternoon. Concrete-mixing took
more water the next day, and by noon
the whole village population, down
to the smallest child, was massed at
the pumphouse, enthralled. Mom
was snared by the sound like any of
the rest; only Sonny was unaffected.
Lillian and Ayesha compared recordings
of the voices of the team
with the pump-sound; in Gofredo's
they found an identical frequency-pattern.</p>

<p>"We'll need the new apparatus to
be positive about it, but it's there, all
right," Ayesha said. "That's why Luis'
voice pleases them."</p>

<p>"That tags me; Old Pump-Mouth,"
Gofredo said. "It'll get all through
the Corps, and they'll be calling me
that when I'm a four-star general, if
I live that long."</p>

<p>Meillard was really worried, now.
So was Bennet Fayon. He said so that
afternoon at cocktail time.</p>

<p>"It's an addiction," he declared.
"Once they hear it, they have no will
to resist; they just squat and listen. I
don't know what it's doing to them,
but I'm scared of it."</p>

<p>"I know one thing it's doing,"
Meillard said. "It's keeping them from
their work in the fields. For all we
know, it may cause them to lose a crop
they need badly for subsistence."</p>

<hr style='width: 45%;' />

<div class="figright" style="width: 300px;">
<img src="images/image31.jpg" width="300" height="809" alt="It's killing us it's so nice...." title="It's killing us it's so nice...." /><br />
<i>It's killing us it's so nice....</i>
</div>

<p>The native they had come to call
the Lord Mayor evidently thought so,
too. He was with the others, the next
morning, squatting with his staff
across his knees, as bemused as any of
them, but when the pump stopped
he rose and approached a group of
Terrans, launching into what could
only be an impassioned tirade. He
pointed with his staff to the pump
house, and to the semicircle of still
motionless villagers. He pointed to
the fields, and back to the people,
and to the pump house again, gesturing
vehemently with his other hand.</p>

<p><i>You make the noise. My people
will not work while they hear it. The
fields lie untended. Stop the noise,
and let my people work.</i></p>

<p>Couldn't possibly be any plainer.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span></p>

<p>Then the pump started again. The
Lord Mayor's hands tightened on the
staff; he was struggling tormentedly
with himself, in vain. His face relaxed
into the heartbroken expression
of joy; he turned and shuffled
over, dropping onto his haunches
with the others.</p>

<p>"Shut down the pump, Dave!"
Meillard called out. "Cut the power
off."</p>

<p>The <i>thugg-thugg</i>-ing stopped. The
Lord Mayor rose, made an odd
salaamlike bow toward the Terrans,
and then turned on the people, striking
with his staff and shrieking at
them. A few got to their feet and
joined him, screaming, pushing, tugging.
Others joined. In a little while,
they were all on their feet, straggling
away across the fields.</p>

<p>Dave Questell wanted to know
what it meant; Meillard explained.</p>

<p>"Well, what are we going to do for
water?" the Navy engineer asked.</p>

<p>"Soundproof the pump house. You
can do that, can't you?"</p>

<p>"Sure. Mound it over with earth.
We'll have that done in a few hours."</p>

<p>That started Gofredo worrying.
"This happens every time we colonize
an inhabited planet. We give
the natives something new. Then we
find out it's bad for them, and we try
to take it away from them. And then
the knives come out, and the shooting
starts."</p>

<p>Luis Gofredo was also a specialist,
speaking on his subject.</p>

<hr style='width: 45%;' />

<p>While they were at lunch, Charley
Loughran screened in from the
other camp and wanted to talk to
Bennet Fayon.</p>

<p>"A funny thing, Bennet. I took a
shot at a bird ... no, a flying mammal
... and dropped it. It was dead when
it hit the ground, but there isn't a
mark on it. I want you to do an
autopsy, and find out how I can kill
things by missing them."</p>

<p>"How far away was it?"</p>

<p>"Call it forty feet; no more."</p>

<p>"What were you using, Charley?"
Ayesha Keithley called from the
table.</p>

<p>"Eight-point-five Mars-Consolidated
pistol," Loughran said. "I'd laid
my shotgun down and walked away
from it&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Twelve hundred foot-seconds,"
Ayesha said. "Bow-wave as well as
muzzle-blast."</p>

<p>"You think the report was what
did it?" Fayon asked.</p>

<p>"You want to bet it didn't?" she
countered.</p>

<p>Nobody did.</p>

<hr style='width: 45%;' />

<p>Mom was sulky. She didn't like
what Dave Questell's men were doing
to the nice-noise-place. Ayesha
and Lillian consoled her by taking
her into the soundproofed room and
playing the recording of the pump-noise
for her. Sonny couldn't care
less, one way or another; he spent the
afternoon teaching Mark Howell
what the marks on paper meant. It
took a lot of signs and play-acting.
He had learned about thirty ideographs;
by combining them and
drawing little pictures, he could express
a number of simple ideas.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span>
There was, of course, a limit to how
many of those things anybody could
learn and remember&mdash;look how long
it took an Old Terran Chinese scribe
to learn his profession&mdash;but it was
the beginning of a method of communication.</p>

<p>Questell got the pump house
mounded over. Ayesha came out and
tried a sound-meter, and also Mom,
on it while the pump was running.
Neither reacted.</p>

<p>A good many Svants were watching
the work. They began to demonstrate
angrily. A couple tried to interfere
and were knocked down with
rifle butts. The Lord Mayor and his
Board of Aldermen came out with
the big horn and harangued them at
length, and finally got them to go
back to the fields. As nearly as anybody
could tell, he was friendly to
and co-operative with the Terrans.
The snooper over the village reported
excitement in the plaza.</p>

<p>Bennet Fayon had taken an airjeep
to the other camp immediately
after lunch. He was back by 1500, accompanied
by Loughran. They carried
a cloth-wrapped package into
Fayon's dissecting-room. At cocktail
time, Paul Meillard had to go and get
them.</p>

<p>"Sorry," Fayon said, joining the
group. "Didn't notice how late it was
getting. We're still doing a post on
this svant-bat; that's what Charley's
calling it, till we get the native
name.</p>

<p>"The immediate cause of death was
spasmodic contraction of every muscle
in the thing's body; some of them
were partly relaxed before we could
get to work on it, but not completely.
Every bone that isn't broken is
dislocated; a good many both. There
is not the slightest trace of external
injury. Everything was done by its
own muscles." He looked around. "I
hope nobody covered Ayesha's bet,
after I left. If they did, she collects.
The large outer membranes in the
comb seem to be unaffected, but
there is considerable compression of
the small round ones inside, in just
one area, and more on the left side
than on the right. Charley says it was
flying across in front of him from
left to right."</p>

<p>"The receptor-area responding to
the frequencies of the report," Ayesha
said.</p>

<p>Anna de Jong made a passing
gesture toward Fayon. "The baby's
yours, Bennet," she said. "This isn't
psychological. I won't accept a case
of psychosomatic compound fracture."</p>

<p>"Don't be too premature about it,
Anna. I think that's more or less
what you have, here."</p>

<p>Everybody looked at him, surprised.
His subject was comparative
technology. The bio- and psycho-sciences
were completely outside his
field.</p>

<p>"A lot of things have been bothering
me, ever since the first contact.
I'm beginning to think I'm on the
edge of understanding them, now.
Bennet, the higher life-forms here&mdash;the
people, and that domsee, and
Charley's svant-bat&mdash;are structurally
identical with us. I don't mean gross<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span>
structure, like ears and combs. I
mean molecular and cellular and tissue
structure. Is that right?"</p>

<p>Fayon nodded. "Biology on this
planet is exactly Terra type. Yes.
With adequate safeguards, I'd even
say you could make a viable tissue-graft
from a Svant to a Terran, or
vice versa."</p>

<p>"Ayesha, would the sound waves
from that pistol-shot in any conceivable
way have the sort of physical
effect we're considering?"</p>

<p>"Absolutely not," she said, and
Luis Gofredo said: "I've been shot at
and missed with pistols at closer
range than that."</p>

<p>"Then it was the effect on the animal's
nervous system."</p>

<p>Anna shrugged. "It's still Bennet's
baby. I'm a psychologist, not a
neurologist."</p>

<p>"What I've been saying, all along,"
Fayon reiterated complacently.
"Their hearing is different from ours.
This proves it.</p>

<p>"It proves that they don't hear at
all."</p>

<p>He had expected an explosion; he
wasn't disappointed. They all contradicted
him, many derisively. Signal
reactions. Only Paul Meillard
made the semantically appropriate
response:</p>

<p>"What do you mean, Mark?"</p>

<p>"They don't <i>hear</i> sound; they <i>feel</i>
it. You all saw what they have inside
their combs. Those things don't transmit
sound like the ears of any sound-sensitive
life-form we've ever seen.
They transform sound waves into
tactile sensations."</p>

<p>Fayon cursed, slowly and luridly.
Anna de Jong looked at him wide-eyed.
He finished his cocktail and
poured another. In the snooper
screen, what looked like an indignation
meeting was making uproar in
the village plaza. Gofredo cut the
volume of the speaker even lower.</p>



<p>"That would explain a lot of
things," Meillard said slowly. "How
hard it was for them to realize that
we didn't understand when they
talked to us. A punch in the nose
feels the same to anybody. They
thought they were giving us bodily
feelings. They didn't know we were
insensible to them."</p>

<p>"But they do ... they do have a
language," Lillian faltered. "They
talk."</p>

<p>"Not the way we understand it. If
they want to say, 'Me,' it's <i>tickle-pinch-rub</i>,
even if it sounds like
<i>fwoonk</i> to us, when it doesn't sound
like <i>pwink</i> or <i>tweelt</i> or <i>kroosh</i>. The
tactile sensations, to a Svant, feel no
more different than a massage by
four different hands. Analogous to a
word pronounced by four different
voices, to us. They'll have a code for
expressing meanings in tactile sensation,
just as we have a code for expressing
meanings in audible sound."</p>

<p>"Except that when a Svant tells another,
'I am happy,' or 'I have a
stomach-ache,' he makes the other
one feel that way too," Anna said.
"That would carry an awful lot more
conviction. I don't imagine symptom-swapping
is popular among
Svants. Karl! You were nearly right,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span>
at that. This isn't telepathy, but it's a
lot like it."</p>

<p>"So it is," Dorver, who had been
mourning his departed telepathy
theory, said brightly. "And look how
it explains their society. Peaceful,
everybody in quick agreement&mdash;" He
looked at the screen and gulped. The
Lord Mayor and his party had formed
one clump, and the opposition was
grouped at the other side of the
plaza; they were screaming in unison
at each other. "They make their decisions
by endurance; the party that
can resist the feelings of the other
longest converts their opponents."</p>

<p>"Pure democracy," Gofredo declared.
"Rule by the party that can
make the most noise."</p>

<p>"And I'll bet that when they're
sick, they go around chanting, 'I am
well; I feel just fine!'" Anna said.
"Autosuggestion would really work,
here. Think of the feedback, too.
One Svant has a feeling. He verbalizes
it, and the sound of his own
voice re-enforces it in him. It is induced
in his hearers, and they verbalize
it, re-enforcing it in themselves
and in him. This could go on
and on."</p>

<p>"Yes. It has. Look at their technology."
He felt more comfortable,
now he was on home ground again.
"A friend of mine, speaking about a
mutual acquaintance, once said,
'When they installed her circuits,
they put in such big feeling circuits
that there was no room left for any
thinking circuits.' I think that's a
perfect description of what I estimate
Svant mentality to be. Take these
bronze knives, and the musical instruments.
Wonderful; the work of individuals
trying to express feeling in
metal or wood. But get an idea like
the wheel, or even a pair of tongs?
Poo! How would you state the First
Law of Motion, or the Second Law of
Thermodynamics, in tickle-pinch-rub
terms? Sonny could grasp an idea
like that. Sonny's handicap, if you
call it that, cuts him off from feel-thinking;
he can think logically instead
of sensually."</p>

<p>He sipped his cocktail and continued:
"I can understand why the
village is mounded up, too. I realized
that while I was watching Dave's
gang bury the pump house. I'd been
bothered by that, and by the absence
of granaries for all the grain they
raise, and by the number of people
for so few and such small houses. I
think the village is mostly underground,
and the houses are just entrances,
soundproofed, to shelter
them from uncomfortable natural
noises&#8203;&mdash;&#8203;thunderstorms, for instance."</p>



<p>The horn was braying in the
snooper-screen speaker; somebody
wondered what it was for. Gofredo
laughed.</p>

<p>"I thought, at first, that it was a
war-horn. It isn't. It's a peace-horn,"
he said. "Public tranquilizer. The
first day, they brought it out and blew
it at us to make us peaceable."</p>

<p>"Now I see why Sonny is rejected
and persecuted," Anna was saying.
"He must make all sorts of horrible
noises that he can't hear ... that's not
the word; we have none for it ... and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span>
nobody but his mother can stand being
near him."</p>

<p>"Like me," Lillian said. "Now I
understand. Just think of the most
revolting thing that could be done to
you physically; that's what I do to
them every time I speak. And I always
thought I had a nice voice," she
added, pathetically.</p>

<p>"You have, for Terrans," Ayesha
said. "For Svants, you'll just have to
change it."</p>

<p>"But how&mdash;?"</p>

<p>"Use an analyzer; train it. That
was why I took up sonics, in the first
place. I had a voice like a crow with
a sore throat, but by practicing with
an analyzer, an hour a day, I gave
myself an entirely different voice in
a couple of months. Just try to get
some pump-sound frequencies into
it, like Luis'."</p>

<p>"But why? I'm no use here. I'm a
linguist, and these people haven't
any language that I could ever learn,
and they couldn't even learn ours.
They couldn't learn to make sounds,
as sounds."</p>

<p>"You've been doing very good
work with Mom on those ideographs,"
Meillard said. "Keep it up till
you've taught her the Lingua Terra
Basic vocabulary, and with her help
we can train a few more. They can
be our interpreters; we can write
what we want them to say to the
others. It'll be clumsy, but it will
work, and it's about the only thing I
can think of that will."</p>

<p>"And it will improve in time,"
Ayesha added. "And we can make
vocoders and visibilizers. Paul, you
have authority to requisition personnel
from the ship's company. Draft
me; I'll stay here and work on it."</p>

<p>The rumpus in the village plaza
was getting worse. The Lord Mayor
and his adherents were being out-shouted
by the opposition.</p>

<p>"Better do something about that
in a hurry, Paul, if you don't want a
lot of Svants shot," Gofredo said.
"Give that another half hour and
we'll have visitors, with bows and
spears."</p>

<p>"Ayesha, you have a recording of
the pump," Meillard said. "Load a
record-player onto a jeep and fly over
the village and play it for them. Do
it right away. Anna, get Mom in
here. We want to get her to tell that
gang that from now on, at noon and
for a couple of hours after sunset,
when the work's done, there will be
free public pump-concerts, over the
village plaza."</p>

<hr style='width: 45%;' />

<p>Ayesha and her warrant-officer
helper and a Marine lieutenant went
out hastily. Everybody else faced the
screen to watch. In fifteen minutes,
an airjeep was coming in on the village.
As it circled low, a new sound,
the steady <i>thugg-thugg, thugg-thugg</i>
of the pump, began.</p>

<p>The yelling and twittering and
the blaring of the peace-horn died
out almost at once. As the jeep circled
down to housetop level, the
two contending faction-clumps broke
apart; their component individuals
moved into the center of the plaza
and squatted, staring up, letting the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span>
delicious waves of sound caress
them.</p>

<p>"Do we have to send a detail in a
jeep to do that twice a day?" Gofredo
asked. "We keep a snooper over the
village; fit it with a loud-speaker and
a timer; it can give them their <i>thugg-thugg</i>,
on schedule, automatically."</p>

<p>"We might give the Lord Mayor a
recording and a player and let him
decide when the people ought to listen&mdash;if
that's the word&mdash;to it,"
Dorver said. "Then it would be
something of their own."</p>

<p>"No!" He spoke so vehemently
that the others started. "You know
what would happen? Nobody would
be able to turn it off; they'd all be
hypnotized, or doped, or whatever it
is. They'd just sit in a circle around it
till they starved to death, and when
the power-unit gave out, the record-player
would be surrounded by a
ring of skeletons. We'll just have to
keep on playing it for them ourselves.
Terrans' Burden."</p>

<p>"That'll give us a sanction over
them," Gofredo observed. "Extra
<i>thugg-thugg</i> if they're very good;
shut it off on them if they act nasty.
And find out what Lillian has in her
voice that the rest of us don't have,
and make a good loud recording of
that, and stash it away along with the
rest of the heavy-weapons ammunition.
You know, you're not going to
have any trouble at all, when we go
down-country to talk to the king or
whatever. This is better than fire-water
ever was."</p>

<p>"We must never misuse our advantage,
Luis," Meillard said seriously.
"We must use it only for their
good."</p>

<p>He really meant it. Only&mdash;You
had to know some general history to
study technological history, and it
seemed to him that that pious assertion
had been made a few times before.
Some of the others who had
made it had really meant it, too, but
that had made little difference in the
long run.</p>

<p>Fayon and Anna were talking enthusiastically
about the work ahead
of them.</p>

<p>"I don't know where your subject
ends and mine begins," Anna was
saying. "We'll just have to handle it
between us. What are we going to
call it? We certainly can't call it
hearing."</p>

<p>"Nonauditory sonic sense is the
only thing I can think of," Fayon
said. "And that's such a clumsy
term."</p>

<p>"Mark; you thought of it first,"
Anna said. "What do you think?"</p>

<p>"Nonauditory sonic sense. It isn't
any worse than Domesticated Type
C, and that got cut down to size.
<i>Naudsonce.</i>"</p>

<hr style='width: 80%;' />








<pre>





End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Naudsonce, by H. Beam Piper

*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NAUDSONCE ***

***** This file should be named 19076-h.htm or 19076-h.zip *****
This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
        http://www.gutenberg.org/1/9/0/7/19076/

Produced by Greg Weeks, William Woods, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net


Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions
will be renamed.

Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no
one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation
(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without
permission and without paying copyright royalties.  Special rules,
set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to
copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to
protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark.  Project
Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you
charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission.  If you
do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the
rules is very easy.  You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose
such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and
research.  They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do
practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks.  Redistribution is
subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
redistribution.



*** START: FULL LICENSE ***

THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK

To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project
Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at
http://gutenberg.org/license).


Section 1.  General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic works

1.A.  By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
(trademark/copyright) agreement.  If you do not agree to abide by all
the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.
If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the
terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or
entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.

1.B.  "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark.  It may only be
used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement.  There are a few
things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
even without complying with the full terms of this agreement.  See
paragraph 1.C below.  There are a lot of things you can do with Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
works.  See paragraph 1.E below.

1.C.  The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation"
or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic works.  Nearly all the individual works in the
collection are in the public domain in the United States.  If an
individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are
located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from
copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative
works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg
are removed.  Of course, we hope that you will support the Project
Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by
freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of
this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with
the work.  You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by
keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project
Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.

1.D.  The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
what you can do with this work.  Copyright laws in most countries are in
a constant state of change.  If you are outside the United States, check
the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement
before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or
creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project
Gutenberg-tm work.  The Foundation makes no representations concerning
the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
States.

1.E.  Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:

1.E.1.  The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently
whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the
phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project
Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed,
copied or distributed:

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org

1.E.2.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived
from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is
posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied
and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees
or charges.  If you are redistributing or providing access to a work
with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the
work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1
through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the
Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or
1.E.9.

1.E.3.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional
terms imposed by the copyright holder.  Additional terms will be linked
to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the
permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.

1.E.4.  Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.

1.E.5.  Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
Gutenberg-tm License.

1.E.6.  You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any
word processing or hypertext form.  However, if you provide access to or
distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than
"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version
posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org),
you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a
copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon
request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other
form.  Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm
License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.

1.E.7.  Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.

1.E.8.  You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided
that

- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
     the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
     you already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  The fee is
     owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he
     has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the
     Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.  Royalty payments
     must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you
     prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax
     returns.  Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and
     sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the
     address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to
     the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."

- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
     you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
     does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
     License.  You must require such a user to return or
     destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
     and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
     Project Gutenberg-tm works.

- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
     money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
     electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days
     of receipt of the work.

- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
     distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.

1.E.9.  If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set
forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from
both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael
Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark.  Contact the
Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.

1.F.

1.F.1.  Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm
collection.  Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain
"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or
corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual
property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a
computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by
your equipment.

1.F.2.  LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
fees.  YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3.  YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
DAMAGE.

1.F.3.  LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
written explanation to the person you received the work from.  If you
received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with
your written explanation.  The person or entity that provided you with
the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a
refund.  If you received the work electronically, the person or entity
providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to
receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund.  If the second copy
is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further
opportunities to fix the problem.

1.F.4.  Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO OTHER
WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO
WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.

1.F.5.  Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
the applicable state law.  The invalidity or unenforceability of any
provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.

1.F.6.  INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance
with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,
promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works,
harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees,
that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do
or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm
work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any
Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.


Section  2.  Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm

Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers
including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers.  It exists
because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from
people in all walks of life.

Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
remain freely available for generations to come.  In 2001, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.
To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4
and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org.


Section 3.  Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
Foundation

The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
Revenue Service.  The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
number is 64-6221541.  Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at
http://pglaf.org/fundraising.  Contributions to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent
permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.

The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.
Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered
throughout numerous locations.  Its business office is located at
809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email
business@pglaf.org.  Email contact links and up to date contact
information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official
page at http://pglaf.org

For additional contact information:
     Dr. Gregory B. Newby
     Chief Executive and Director
     gbnewby@pglaf.org

Section 4.  Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation

Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
array of equipment including outdated equipment.  Many small donations
($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
status with the IRS.

The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
States.  Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
with these requirements.  We do not solicit donations in locations
where we have not received written confirmation of compliance.  To
SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any
particular state visit http://pglaf.org

While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
approach us with offers to donate.

International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
outside the United States.  U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.

Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
methods and addresses.  Donations are accepted in a number of other
ways including checks, online payments and credit card
donations.  To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate


Section 5.  General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
works.

Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm
concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
with anyone.  For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.

Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.
unless a copyright notice is included.  Thus, we do not necessarily
keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.

Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:

     http://www.gutenberg.org

This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.

*** END: FULL LICENSE ***



</pre>

</body>
</html>
generated by cgit v1.2.3 (git 2.25.1) at 2026-09-01 14:15:56 +0000