J
john f winston
Guest
Subject: Please Meet The People From Iarga. Part 4. May 23, 2007.
Here they offer him a certain piece of special metal not made on this
Earth.
...........................................................................
...........................................................................
But the man was poorly prepared for the meeting; he was nothing more
than a sailor in difficulty who could feel his legs trembling in his wet
clothes. The two figures in front of me were about five feet tall and
from a distance looked deceptively human-arms, head and legs, all in
their proper places-but their legs were shorter than ours so that their
arms reached down to their knees. Their metallic costumes were smooth
and seamless. Only by the shoulders and elbows were folds to be seen.
The short, heavy legs ended in broad feet that also stuck out behind,
and the front part of their footwear was split in the middle. The hands
were covered by supple, ribbed gloves; these were different from ours
too in that not only the thumb but also the second finger was enclosed.
They were heavy, clawlike hands.
A broad, gold-colored belt around each of their middles, sewn with
motifs and tools, was particularly noticeable, one piece of which was
clearly a hammer with a sharp striking edge. And on their right side was
something that vaguely resembled a pistol. A kind of drum, wound with
thin glistening thread, rested on the middle of their stomachs. The
remainder of their equipment was unknown to me. I gamed the impression
of immense physical strength, not only from their long, heavy arms and
enormous shoulders, but also from their quick movements. The round
ornaments around their heads were less transparent than I had originally
thought. When the beam from my flashlight fell on them, they changed
into glistening Christmas-tree balls, and only with more indirect light
was it possible to vaguely make out their heads.
The silent confrontation was suddenly broken by a huge voice. "Do you
understand English?" I nearly jumped out of my skin. Owing to my surprise
that they could speak English, I didn't realize that they had asked me a
question. The voice was totally devoid of any questioning tone. It
sounded more like a statement.
"Do you understand English?" The same statement floated over the water.
"Yes, I do."
"We want to thank you for the rescue of our crew member."
....... of course. Who are you?"
"We come from another solar system."
"My G-d," I called back. The situation was so strange that at that
moment I couldn't think of anything else to say. There followed a short
silence and I wondered about that strange accent which, in fact, wasn't
English at all. To my ears it sounded more like Dutch, my own language. I
could understand it perfectly, but I couldn't repeat a single word of what
they actually said. The voice came again, and over the still dark water an
unbelievable conversation began. "Is your ship damaged?"
"No, I don't think so."
"Will you turn the light out?"
"All right."
"Thanks. Does the ship belong to you?"
"Have you a radio transmitter on board?"
"We would like to show our appreciation for the rescue of our crew
member."
"You can do that by simply explaining some of this to me. It's just too
much. How long have you been here?"
"We have been near Earth for some time."
"Why do you hide? Why haven't you tried to make contact with us?"
"Our reason is that you do not know the laws of a higher civilization."
"I don't understand."
"There is still a great deal that the people of this planet do not
understand."
I hesitated. How much did they know about us? "You know us well, then?"
"We have studied you for some time."
"You don't have a very high opinion of us, I gather."
"Your remark shows some insight."
"Are your people more intelligent than mine?"
"No, only more developed."
"If that's so, then I don't understand why you haven't made contact
with us. You could help us."
"That would constitute a breach of the laws of nature."
I shrugged my shoulders. Despite the strange situation, I began to feel
more at ease.
This was an unimaginably important meeting, and I began wondering how I
could manage to squeeze some information out of these beings. I could learn
things that man, for centuries, has only been able to guess at, and I could
find out about their spaceships!
"We wish to give you something as a token of our thanks. If we give you
an object with which you can prove our existence, it will surely also be
worth a great deal of money. We hope that you will accept it. It is
sterilized."
"What is it?"
"It is a block of inert metal that is many times stronger than your
best steel and only half as heavy. It has a superconductive structure
that is so straight that current can only flow through it when a
positive pole is placed directly opposite a negative pole, in line with
the structure of the metal. If one of the electrodes is moved only
one-thousandth of an inch, the current ceases to flow. With this
structure it is possible, with correctly placed electrodes, to form a
spiral current pattern, the result being that when a direct current is
connected to two feed wires, a supermagnet is created with a negligible
current consumption. Also, the metal has a melting point much higher
than anything known on Earth. We use this metal for the outer skin of
our spacecraft. That is the gift. We hope you will accept it."
I was greatly impressed. "This is incredible. I am grateful. I expected
no gifts for saving your crew member, but I imagine that your intention is
to help us and I accept it with heartfelt thanks."
"We admire your unselfishness, but we must point out that the block of
metal represents a far too advanced technique to be of any use to you in
your research. Technically speaking, it is useless, but you are right in
thinking that something else is behind it. We wish to give you proof that
you are being observed by intelligent alien r-ces, who know you so well
that they are able to communicate with you, but refrain from doing so. We
live in the perhaps desperate hope that people exist who, with this
information, will be able to understand the reason for our reluctance."
"And what is the reason?"
"You do not have the values, the ethics, of a developed civilization.
Because of this, the human ra-e has, as yet, no chance of eternal
survival. It blocks the way to cosmic integration."
I shrugged my shoulders. I had never heard of "cosmic integration."
They also began to irritate me. I found them a little too arrogant.
"You regard us as children, then?"
"No. An adult does not blame a child for the fact that he is not yet
grown up."
"But you do blame us for something?" "And what is that?
"Any English-speaking Ne-ro, Chinese or American Indian can give you
the answer."
The conversation was not going exactly the way I had imagined. I had to
think of something else, and at the same time be careful that the contact
was not broken. I was afraid that they would climb back into their saucer
and that I would never see them again.
"I think I understand what you mean. May I ask a couple more questions?
This is a once-in-a lifetime experience." "That is correct. The present
generation will not have the chance again." "Answers to my questions seem
to me to be much more important than the block of metal."
Your insight surprises us. The answer to carefully selected questions
is certainly much more important."
I was surprised that they agreed to my request so quickly and easily;
they suddenly seemed much more friendly.
"In that case, I would like to know what your spacecraft looks like,
and, more important, how it is powered."
"You disappoint us with this question about technical knowledge. The
most dangerous natural law governing the development of an intelligent
people states: a highly technological society does away with all
discrimination or self-destructs. To supply technical information to a
people like yourselves is a serious crime against the cosmic laws. The
last thing that you need is technological information to increase the gap
between your intellectual development and your almost nonexistent social
development. Carry on playing with your Mars 'probes for the moment, as
half of your world's population lives in poverty and hunger. The only
information you need lies in the field of societal standards."
I was terribly disappointed. There went my dream of learning breathtaking
technical discoveries.
"I am afraid that very few people would be interested in that kind of
information."
"We are afraid so too."
"When do you think that the time will be ripe to give us information about
space travel?"
"The cosmic isolation of an intelligent rac- can only be lifted when
the minimum culture level has been reached; we call it 'social stability."
"Hmm... and this conversation, then?"
"We feel ourselves justified, because of your actions, in supplying
certain
small pieces of information which will set the present generation to
thinking."
"What do you call a socially stable culture?"
"We could give you the answer, but we doubt that you would understand it."
I will take that chance. It seems to be important."
"Be sure that you know what you want. This answer demands an explanation
in word and vision for at least two days. Furthermore, you must choose
between the material gift-the block of metal-and the immaterial gift in
the form of information. We cannot give you both."
"I don't understand what one has to do with the other."
"There is still so much that you do not understand, but after our
explanation, this question will also be answered for you.
"Are you really prepared to spend two days explaining this to me?" My
tone dearly showed my surprise.
Subject: Please Meet The People From Iaraga. Part 5. Oct. 24, 2007.
In this part he gets to go inside the alien spacecraft.
...........................................................................
...........................................................................
"We are, for at least two days. A conversation of shorter duration
would have no point; it is the minimum time in which we can give you the
necessary information. We have all the time in the world-space travelers
are never in a hurry-but we must warn you: we doubt that the information
that we will give you will make your life happier, so be sure that you
know what you are doing."
I shrugged my shoulders. It was clear to me that these beings were
devious, but I did not intend to let this one chance in a million slip
through my fingers.
"All right, what do I have to do?"
"We have a small, sterilized decompression chamber, and only from there
will you be able to hear us and see our screen. Food and drink you will
have to bring from your ship, which should stay here. We must warn you
again: you will become wiser for this experience but not happier."
"We can leave with our ship whenever we want, right?"
"Naturally, but if you leave us it is for good, and with our blessing.
All we ask now is a solemn vow from you and your wife that as long as we
are here you will not contact anyone else and will do everything in your
power to keep our presence a secret."
"I need to talk it over with my wife."
"Naturally."
But my decision had already been made. I will not tire you with Miriam's
arguments, nor with the latter part of my conversation with the aliens,
which consisted only of a number of instructions regarding anchoring,
lighting, knock signals and so on. The visit itself was to begin early the
following morning, for which preparations were needed.
The two statues turned about and, laden with their apparatus,
disappeared as quickly as they had come. As if sleepwalking, I went slowly
to the bow and, as agreed, let the anchor fall onto the hard metal bottom
complete with an extra piece of chain.
Soon afterwards the platform sank with a loud zooming noise under the
surface of the water. A dull shock followed and the ship floated in its
element once again. A short time later my brain received yet another jolt.
The dead stillness of the night was broken by a terrible noise, a loud
zooming combined with the screaming, howling tone of a circular saw. The
anchor chain jerked tight and the surface of the water became strangely
disturbed. The spaceship was acting as a submarine. We were pulled forward
over a broad foam track which was lit from beneath a dull yellow-green
light. The noise was unearthly and frightening. I stood, fascinated, and
began to wonder what I had let myself in for.
CHAPTER 2
Aboard the Alien Spacecraft
"Good Go-!" Miriam's exclamation so early in the morning reflected both
surprise and repulsion. In answer to my repeated knocking signals, the
huge, round platform had risen again above the surface of the water and
now, in broad daylight, the sight was much more impressive. The slightly
domed platform lay, just as it had yesterday evening, with its edge level
with the surface of the water. Its surface was for the most part as smooth
as polished stone and dark gray in color with scattered patches of off
white which made it appear as though someone had been throwing around bags
of flour. Over this otherwise perfectly smooth surface ran innumerable
ragged, charred grooves which ended in a small crater, as though something
had exploded there. Nearly all the scratches and grooves ran in one
direction and gave the impression that the spaceship had been grazed by
enemy fire or that someone had been at work with a blow torch. All in all,
it was an ominous sight, and Miriam's reaction was not very reasoning.
"Stef, please don't go. Something as alien as that can only spell
trouble for Us all."
She was right, of course. There was something wrong about entering this
thing, but even the latent fear from last evening and the leaden feeling
in my stomach brought on by the sight of this forbidding platform were not
enough to hold me back. A few moments later I was sitting on the edge of
the platform, drying my feet after wading through the water, I donned my
shoes and socks and, armed with sandwiches, thermos and note paper, I
began to look for the opening that they had described. I had hardly taken
a couple of steps when a round, safelike door slowly began to open near
the edge and a small quantity of sand and water which had settied in the
spaceship was blown away by a stream of compressed air. I went closer and
looked down through a round hole, about three feet in diameter, into a
cubeshaped space about eight feet across. Once again, I heard the voice.
"Welcome on board. Be careful as you come below. The ladder is
dangerous for you."
Indeed, the "ladder" was nothing more than a pole with staggered steps
on either side formed to place my feet. I stopped in my descent and waved
to Miriam, saying, "Don't worry. I'll be back around five o'clock. The
reception has been very friendly, and it's really quite cozy in here."
Once below, I cast my eyes around the room. Unimaginably complicated
equipment lined the walls and the ceiling. The only things that were
vaguely familiar were huge reels and drums, wound with every possible size
of cable and pipe. In the floors was a metal door that looked remarkably
earthly, with a round knob in the middle over which I nearly stumbled. In
one corner stood a kind of desk with rows of knobs, and above, a panoramic
screen, about five feet long and three feet high, that glowed with a soft
green fluorescent light. Behind the desk stood a strangely normal-looking
chair with a metal frame and leather upholstery.
The voice invited me to sit and explained that the seat had unlimited
possibilities for adjustment but that certain instructions from the voice
would be necessary before I could be comfortably seated. "Yes, thank you."
What happens now?"
"Introductions would seem to be the best way to start. Will you answer
a few questions?"
"Yes, of course."
"How should we address you?"
"Call me Stef."
"All right, Stef. The language we speak is not your own language,
although it seems to be. It is the language of all living species in this
universe. Even a plant or an animal will understand it. This language was
spoken on Earth before the Babylonian confusion of tongues. You don't hear
words but sounds that are directly reflected by your emotional structure,
the life-field. Therefore, don't try to understand words, but listen to
the reflections of your s-ul."
"Is that a kind of thought transference?"
"Not exactly, but you can compare it with that."
"I understand."
"How old are you?"
"I am forty-three."
"Are you in good health?"
"Yes, perfect."
"Have you a high social function?"
"High? What do you mean by high? I am the director of a business with a
few hundred employees."
"So you are a representative of the directing class of the Westblock?"
(husk m
Here they offer him a certain piece of special metal not made on this
Earth.
...........................................................................
...........................................................................
But the man was poorly prepared for the meeting; he was nothing more
than a sailor in difficulty who could feel his legs trembling in his wet
clothes. The two figures in front of me were about five feet tall and
from a distance looked deceptively human-arms, head and legs, all in
their proper places-but their legs were shorter than ours so that their
arms reached down to their knees. Their metallic costumes were smooth
and seamless. Only by the shoulders and elbows were folds to be seen.
The short, heavy legs ended in broad feet that also stuck out behind,
and the front part of their footwear was split in the middle. The hands
were covered by supple, ribbed gloves; these were different from ours
too in that not only the thumb but also the second finger was enclosed.
They were heavy, clawlike hands.
A broad, gold-colored belt around each of their middles, sewn with
motifs and tools, was particularly noticeable, one piece of which was
clearly a hammer with a sharp striking edge. And on their right side was
something that vaguely resembled a pistol. A kind of drum, wound with
thin glistening thread, rested on the middle of their stomachs. The
remainder of their equipment was unknown to me. I gamed the impression
of immense physical strength, not only from their long, heavy arms and
enormous shoulders, but also from their quick movements. The round
ornaments around their heads were less transparent than I had originally
thought. When the beam from my flashlight fell on them, they changed
into glistening Christmas-tree balls, and only with more indirect light
was it possible to vaguely make out their heads.
The silent confrontation was suddenly broken by a huge voice. "Do you
understand English?" I nearly jumped out of my skin. Owing to my surprise
that they could speak English, I didn't realize that they had asked me a
question. The voice was totally devoid of any questioning tone. It
sounded more like a statement.
"Do you understand English?" The same statement floated over the water.
"Yes, I do."
"We want to thank you for the rescue of our crew member."
....... of course. Who are you?"
"We come from another solar system."
"My G-d," I called back. The situation was so strange that at that
moment I couldn't think of anything else to say. There followed a short
silence and I wondered about that strange accent which, in fact, wasn't
English at all. To my ears it sounded more like Dutch, my own language. I
could understand it perfectly, but I couldn't repeat a single word of what
they actually said. The voice came again, and over the still dark water an
unbelievable conversation began. "Is your ship damaged?"
"No, I don't think so."
"Will you turn the light out?"
"All right."
"Thanks. Does the ship belong to you?"
"Have you a radio transmitter on board?"
"We would like to show our appreciation for the rescue of our crew
member."
"You can do that by simply explaining some of this to me. It's just too
much. How long have you been here?"
"We have been near Earth for some time."
"Why do you hide? Why haven't you tried to make contact with us?"
"Our reason is that you do not know the laws of a higher civilization."
"I don't understand."
"There is still a great deal that the people of this planet do not
understand."
I hesitated. How much did they know about us? "You know us well, then?"
"We have studied you for some time."
"You don't have a very high opinion of us, I gather."
"Your remark shows some insight."
"Are your people more intelligent than mine?"
"No, only more developed."
"If that's so, then I don't understand why you haven't made contact
with us. You could help us."
"That would constitute a breach of the laws of nature."
I shrugged my shoulders. Despite the strange situation, I began to feel
more at ease.
This was an unimaginably important meeting, and I began wondering how I
could manage to squeeze some information out of these beings. I could learn
things that man, for centuries, has only been able to guess at, and I could
find out about their spaceships!
"We wish to give you something as a token of our thanks. If we give you
an object with which you can prove our existence, it will surely also be
worth a great deal of money. We hope that you will accept it. It is
sterilized."
"What is it?"
"It is a block of inert metal that is many times stronger than your
best steel and only half as heavy. It has a superconductive structure
that is so straight that current can only flow through it when a
positive pole is placed directly opposite a negative pole, in line with
the structure of the metal. If one of the electrodes is moved only
one-thousandth of an inch, the current ceases to flow. With this
structure it is possible, with correctly placed electrodes, to form a
spiral current pattern, the result being that when a direct current is
connected to two feed wires, a supermagnet is created with a negligible
current consumption. Also, the metal has a melting point much higher
than anything known on Earth. We use this metal for the outer skin of
our spacecraft. That is the gift. We hope you will accept it."
I was greatly impressed. "This is incredible. I am grateful. I expected
no gifts for saving your crew member, but I imagine that your intention is
to help us and I accept it with heartfelt thanks."
"We admire your unselfishness, but we must point out that the block of
metal represents a far too advanced technique to be of any use to you in
your research. Technically speaking, it is useless, but you are right in
thinking that something else is behind it. We wish to give you proof that
you are being observed by intelligent alien r-ces, who know you so well
that they are able to communicate with you, but refrain from doing so. We
live in the perhaps desperate hope that people exist who, with this
information, will be able to understand the reason for our reluctance."
"And what is the reason?"
"You do not have the values, the ethics, of a developed civilization.
Because of this, the human ra-e has, as yet, no chance of eternal
survival. It blocks the way to cosmic integration."
I shrugged my shoulders. I had never heard of "cosmic integration."
They also began to irritate me. I found them a little too arrogant.
"You regard us as children, then?"
"No. An adult does not blame a child for the fact that he is not yet
grown up."
"But you do blame us for something?" "And what is that?
"Any English-speaking Ne-ro, Chinese or American Indian can give you
the answer."
The conversation was not going exactly the way I had imagined. I had to
think of something else, and at the same time be careful that the contact
was not broken. I was afraid that they would climb back into their saucer
and that I would never see them again.
"I think I understand what you mean. May I ask a couple more questions?
This is a once-in-a lifetime experience." "That is correct. The present
generation will not have the chance again." "Answers to my questions seem
to me to be much more important than the block of metal."
Your insight surprises us. The answer to carefully selected questions
is certainly much more important."
I was surprised that they agreed to my request so quickly and easily;
they suddenly seemed much more friendly.
"In that case, I would like to know what your spacecraft looks like,
and, more important, how it is powered."
"You disappoint us with this question about technical knowledge. The
most dangerous natural law governing the development of an intelligent
people states: a highly technological society does away with all
discrimination or self-destructs. To supply technical information to a
people like yourselves is a serious crime against the cosmic laws. The
last thing that you need is technological information to increase the gap
between your intellectual development and your almost nonexistent social
development. Carry on playing with your Mars 'probes for the moment, as
half of your world's population lives in poverty and hunger. The only
information you need lies in the field of societal standards."
I was terribly disappointed. There went my dream of learning breathtaking
technical discoveries.
"I am afraid that very few people would be interested in that kind of
information."
"We are afraid so too."
"When do you think that the time will be ripe to give us information about
space travel?"
"The cosmic isolation of an intelligent rac- can only be lifted when
the minimum culture level has been reached; we call it 'social stability."
"Hmm... and this conversation, then?"
"We feel ourselves justified, because of your actions, in supplying
certain
small pieces of information which will set the present generation to
thinking."
"What do you call a socially stable culture?"
"We could give you the answer, but we doubt that you would understand it."
I will take that chance. It seems to be important."
"Be sure that you know what you want. This answer demands an explanation
in word and vision for at least two days. Furthermore, you must choose
between the material gift-the block of metal-and the immaterial gift in
the form of information. We cannot give you both."
"I don't understand what one has to do with the other."
"There is still so much that you do not understand, but after our
explanation, this question will also be answered for you.
"Are you really prepared to spend two days explaining this to me?" My
tone dearly showed my surprise.
Subject: Please Meet The People From Iaraga. Part 5. Oct. 24, 2007.
In this part he gets to go inside the alien spacecraft.
...........................................................................
...........................................................................
"We are, for at least two days. A conversation of shorter duration
would have no point; it is the minimum time in which we can give you the
necessary information. We have all the time in the world-space travelers
are never in a hurry-but we must warn you: we doubt that the information
that we will give you will make your life happier, so be sure that you
know what you are doing."
I shrugged my shoulders. It was clear to me that these beings were
devious, but I did not intend to let this one chance in a million slip
through my fingers.
"All right, what do I have to do?"
"We have a small, sterilized decompression chamber, and only from there
will you be able to hear us and see our screen. Food and drink you will
have to bring from your ship, which should stay here. We must warn you
again: you will become wiser for this experience but not happier."
"We can leave with our ship whenever we want, right?"
"Naturally, but if you leave us it is for good, and with our blessing.
All we ask now is a solemn vow from you and your wife that as long as we
are here you will not contact anyone else and will do everything in your
power to keep our presence a secret."
"I need to talk it over with my wife."
"Naturally."
But my decision had already been made. I will not tire you with Miriam's
arguments, nor with the latter part of my conversation with the aliens,
which consisted only of a number of instructions regarding anchoring,
lighting, knock signals and so on. The visit itself was to begin early the
following morning, for which preparations were needed.
The two statues turned about and, laden with their apparatus,
disappeared as quickly as they had come. As if sleepwalking, I went slowly
to the bow and, as agreed, let the anchor fall onto the hard metal bottom
complete with an extra piece of chain.
Soon afterwards the platform sank with a loud zooming noise under the
surface of the water. A dull shock followed and the ship floated in its
element once again. A short time later my brain received yet another jolt.
The dead stillness of the night was broken by a terrible noise, a loud
zooming combined with the screaming, howling tone of a circular saw. The
anchor chain jerked tight and the surface of the water became strangely
disturbed. The spaceship was acting as a submarine. We were pulled forward
over a broad foam track which was lit from beneath a dull yellow-green
light. The noise was unearthly and frightening. I stood, fascinated, and
began to wonder what I had let myself in for.
CHAPTER 2
Aboard the Alien Spacecraft
"Good Go-!" Miriam's exclamation so early in the morning reflected both
surprise and repulsion. In answer to my repeated knocking signals, the
huge, round platform had risen again above the surface of the water and
now, in broad daylight, the sight was much more impressive. The slightly
domed platform lay, just as it had yesterday evening, with its edge level
with the surface of the water. Its surface was for the most part as smooth
as polished stone and dark gray in color with scattered patches of off
white which made it appear as though someone had been throwing around bags
of flour. Over this otherwise perfectly smooth surface ran innumerable
ragged, charred grooves which ended in a small crater, as though something
had exploded there. Nearly all the scratches and grooves ran in one
direction and gave the impression that the spaceship had been grazed by
enemy fire or that someone had been at work with a blow torch. All in all,
it was an ominous sight, and Miriam's reaction was not very reasoning.
"Stef, please don't go. Something as alien as that can only spell
trouble for Us all."
She was right, of course. There was something wrong about entering this
thing, but even the latent fear from last evening and the leaden feeling
in my stomach brought on by the sight of this forbidding platform were not
enough to hold me back. A few moments later I was sitting on the edge of
the platform, drying my feet after wading through the water, I donned my
shoes and socks and, armed with sandwiches, thermos and note paper, I
began to look for the opening that they had described. I had hardly taken
a couple of steps when a round, safelike door slowly began to open near
the edge and a small quantity of sand and water which had settied in the
spaceship was blown away by a stream of compressed air. I went closer and
looked down through a round hole, about three feet in diameter, into a
cubeshaped space about eight feet across. Once again, I heard the voice.
"Welcome on board. Be careful as you come below. The ladder is
dangerous for you."
Indeed, the "ladder" was nothing more than a pole with staggered steps
on either side formed to place my feet. I stopped in my descent and waved
to Miriam, saying, "Don't worry. I'll be back around five o'clock. The
reception has been very friendly, and it's really quite cozy in here."
Once below, I cast my eyes around the room. Unimaginably complicated
equipment lined the walls and the ceiling. The only things that were
vaguely familiar were huge reels and drums, wound with every possible size
of cable and pipe. In the floors was a metal door that looked remarkably
earthly, with a round knob in the middle over which I nearly stumbled. In
one corner stood a kind of desk with rows of knobs, and above, a panoramic
screen, about five feet long and three feet high, that glowed with a soft
green fluorescent light. Behind the desk stood a strangely normal-looking
chair with a metal frame and leather upholstery.
The voice invited me to sit and explained that the seat had unlimited
possibilities for adjustment but that certain instructions from the voice
would be necessary before I could be comfortably seated. "Yes, thank you."
What happens now?"
"Introductions would seem to be the best way to start. Will you answer
a few questions?"
"Yes, of course."
"How should we address you?"
"Call me Stef."
"All right, Stef. The language we speak is not your own language,
although it seems to be. It is the language of all living species in this
universe. Even a plant or an animal will understand it. This language was
spoken on Earth before the Babylonian confusion of tongues. You don't hear
words but sounds that are directly reflected by your emotional structure,
the life-field. Therefore, don't try to understand words, but listen to
the reflections of your s-ul."
"Is that a kind of thought transference?"
"Not exactly, but you can compare it with that."
"I understand."
"How old are you?"
"I am forty-three."
"Are you in good health?"
"Yes, perfect."
"Have you a high social function?"
"High? What do you mean by high? I am the director of a business with a
few hundred employees."
"So you are a representative of the directing class of the Westblock?"
(husk m