The voice from the ship answered: "Better this than a sterile planet--the complete destruction of your race. Do not blame our interpreters. If a race can learn to communicate, it can be saved. Your race can be saved. First we had to make certain you held the potential. There will be pain in the new ways, no doubt. Many still will try to fight us, but you have not yet erupted fully into space where it would be more difficult to control your course." "Why couldn't you have just picked some of us, tested a few of us?" she demanded. "Why did you put this terrible pressure on the entire world?" "What if we had picked the wrong ones?" asked the voice. "How could we be certain with a strange race such as yours that we had a fair sampling of your highest potential? No. All of you had to have the opportunity to learn of our problem. The pressure was to be certain that your own people chose their best representatives." Francine thought of the unimaginative rule-book followers who had led the teams. She felt hysteria close to the surface. _So close. So hellishly close!_ Ohashi spoke softly beside her: "Francine?" It was a calming voice that subdued the hysteria. She nodded. A feeling of relief struggled for recognition within her, but it had not penetrated all nerve channels. She felt her hands twitching. Ohashi said: "They are speaking English with you. What of their language that we were supposed to solve?" "We leaped to a wrong conclusion, Hiko," she said. "We were asked to communicate. We were supposed to remember our own language--the language we knew in childhood, and that was slowly lost to us through the elevation of reason." "Ahhhhh," sighed Ohashi. All anger drained from her now, and she spoke with sadness. "We raised the power of reason, the power of manipulating words, above all other faculties. The written word became our god. We forgot that before words there were actions--that there have always been things beyond words. We forgot that the spoken word preceded the written one. We forgot that the written forms of our letters came from ideographic pictures--that standing behind every letter is an image like an ancient ghost. The image stands for natural movements of the body or of other living things." "The dances," whispered Ohashi. "Yes, the dances," she said. "The primitive dances did not forget. And the body did not forget--not really." She lifted her hands, looked at them. "I am my own past. Every incident that ever happened to every ancestor of mine is accumulated within me." She turned, faced Ohashi. He frowned. "Memory stops at the beginning of your...."