"
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.
"What do you think of the language?" he asked Lillian.
"They all sound that bad, when you first hear them. Give them a few
seconds, and then we'll have Phase Two."
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.
The natives seemed shocked. She repeated the gesture and the word,
then turned and addressed Paul Meillard. "You."
"Me," Meillard said, pointing to himself.
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