Ohashi gathered up a stack of film cans, left the room. He knocked out
his pipe on a "No Smoking" sign beside the door as he left.
"Consonants," whispered Francine. "The ancient alphabets were almost
exclusively made up of consonants. Vowels came later. They were the
softeners, the swayers." She chewed at her lower lip. "Language
constricts the _ways_ you can think." She rubbed at her forehead. "Oh,
if I only had Bob's ability with languages!"
She tapped her fingers on the chair arm. "It has something to do with
our emphasis on _things_ rather than on people and the things people
do. Every Indo-European language is the same on that score. If only...."
"Talking to yourself?" It was a masculine voice, startling her because
she had not heard the door open.
Francine jerked upright, turned toward the door. Dr. Irving Langsmith,
chief of the American Division of the Germanic-Root team stood just
inside, closing the door.
"Haven't seen you for a couple of days," he said. "We got your note
that you were indisposed." He looked around the room, then at the
clutter on the floor beside the chairs.
Francine blushed.
* * * * *
Dr. Langsmith crossed to the chair Ohashi had occupied, sat down. He
was a grey-haired runt of a man with a heavily seamed face, small
features--a gnome figure with hard eyes. He had the reputation of an
organizer and politician with more drive than genius. He pulled a
stubby pipe from his pocket, lighted it.
"I probably should have cleared this through channels," she said. "But
I had visions of it getting bogged down in red tape, especially with
Hiko ... I mean with another team represented in this project."
"Quite all right," said Langsmith. "We knew what you were up to within
a couple of hours. Now, we want to know what you've discovered. Dr.
Ohashi looked pretty excited when he left here a bit ago."
Her eyes brightened. "I think we're onto something," she said. "We've
compared the Galactics' movements to known symbolism from primitive
dances."
Dr. Langsmith chuckled. "That's very interesting, my dear, but surely
you...."
"No, really!" she said. "We've found one hundred and six points of
comparison, almost exact duplication of movements!"
"Dances? Are you trying to tell me that...."
"I know it sounds strange," she said, "but we...."
"Even if you _have_ found exact points of comparison, that means
nothing," said Langsmith. "These are _aliens_ ... from another world.
You've no right to assume that their language development would follow
the same pattern as ours has."
"But they're humanoid!" she said. "Don't you believe that language
started as the unconscious shaping of the _speech_ organs to imitate
_bodily_ gestures?"
"It's highly likely," said Langsmith.
"We can make quite a few pretty safe assumptions about them," she
said. "For one thing, they apparently have a rather high standard of
civilization to be able to construct--"
"Let's not labor the obvious," interrupted Langsmith, a little
impatiently.
Francine studied the team chief a moment, said: "Did you ever hear how
Marshal Foch planned his military campaigns?"
Langsmith puffed on his pipe, took it out of his mouth. "Uh ... are
you suggesting that a military...."
"He wrote out the elements of his problem on a sheet of paper," said
Francine. "At the top of the paper went the lowest common denominator.
There, he wrote: '_Problem--To beat the Germans._' Quite simple. Quite
obvious. But oddly enough _beating the enemy_ has frequently been
overlooked by commanders who got too involved in complicated maneuvers."
"Are you suggesting that the Galactics are enemies?"
She shook her head indignantly. "I am _not_! I'm suggesting that
language is primarily an instinctive social reflex. The least common
denominator of a social problem is a human being. One single human
being. And here we are all involved with getting this thing into
mathematical equations and neat word frequency primarily oral!"
"But you've been researching a visual...."
"Yes! But only as it modifies the sounds." She leaned toward Langsmith.
"Dr. Langsmith, I believe that this language is a _flexional_ language
with the flexional endings and root changes contained entirely in the
bodily movements!"
"Hmmmmmmm." Langsmith studied the smoke spiraling ceilingward from his
pipe. "Fascinating idea!"
"We can assume that this is a highly standardized language,"
said Francine. "Basing the assumption on their high standard of
civilization. The two usually go hand in hand."
Langsmith nodded.
"Then the gestures, the sounds would tend to be ritual," she said.
"Mmmmm-hmmmm."
"Then ... may we have the help to go into this idea the way it
deserves?" she asked.
"I'll take it up at the next top staff meeting," said Langsmith. He got
to his feet. "Don't get your hopes up. This'll have to be submitted
to the electronic computers. It probably has been cross-checked and
rejected in some other problem."
She looked up at him, dismayed. "But ... Dr. Langsmith ... a computer's
no better than what's put into it. I'm certain that we're stepping out
into a region here where we'll have to build up a whole new approach to
language."
"Now, don't you worry," said Langsmith. He frowned. "No ... don't worry
about _this_."
"Shall we go ahead with what we're doing then?" she asked. "I mean--do
we have permission to?"
"Yes, yes ... of course." Langsmith wiped his mouth with the back
of his hand. "General Speidel has called a special meeting tomorrow
morning. I'd like to have you attend. I'll send somebody to pick you
up." He waved a hand at the litter around Francine. "Carry on, now."
There was a pathetic emptiness to the way he put his pipe in his mouth
and left the room. Francine stared at the closed door.
She felt herself trembling, and recognized that she was deathly afraid.
_Why?_ she asked herself. _What have I sensed to make me afraid?_
* * * * *
Presently, Ohashi came in carrying a paper bag.
"Saw Langsmith going out," he said. "What did he want?"
"He wanted to know what we're doing."