TRY to REMEMBER! By FRANK HERBERT Illustrated by FINLAY _The science of language--an overly-neglected field for the extrapolations of science-fiction--is put to brilliant use in this powerful story. Against a background of ultimate peril from a galactic invader, man (in this case, woman) goes back beyond Babel to recall for humanity the places of the soul, where words are not enough._ [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Amazing Stories October 1961. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Every mind on earth capable of understanding the problem was focused on the spaceship and the ultimatum delivered by its occupants. _Talk or Die!_ blared the newspaper headlines. The suicide rate was up and still climbing. Religious cults were having a field day. A book by a science fiction author: "What the Deadly Inter-Galactic Spaceship Means to You!" had smashed all previous best-seller records. And this had been going on for a frantic seven months. The ship had _flapped_ out of a gun-metal sky over Oregon, its shape that of a hideously magnified paramecium with edges that rippled like a mythological flying carpet. Its five green-skinned, froglike occupants had delivered the ultimatum, one copy printed on velvety paper to each major government, each copy couched faultlessly in the appropriate native tongue: "_You are requested to assemble your most gifted experts in human communication. We are about to submit a problem. We will open five identical rooms of our vessel to you. One of us will be available in each room._ "_Your problem: To communicate with us._ "_If you succeed, your rewards will be great._ "_If you fail, that will result in destruction for all sentient life on your planet._ "_We announce this threat with the deepest regret. You are urged to examine Eniwetok atoll for a small display of our power. Your artificial satellites have been removed from the skies._ "_You must break away from this limited communication!_" Eniwetok had been cleared off flat as a table at one thousand feet depth ... with no trace of explosion! All Russian and United States artificial satellites had been combed from the skies. * * * * * All day long a damp wind poured up the Columbia Gorge from the ocean. It swept across the Eastern Oregon alkali flats with a false prediction of rain. Spiny desert scrub bent before the gusts, sheltering blur-footed coveys of quail and flop-eared jackrabbits. Heaps of tumbleweed tangled in the fence lines, and the air was filled with dry particles of grit that crept under everything and into everything and onto everything with the omnipresence of filterable virus.