John thumbed feverishly through the little book until he found the word for "space ship" then another for "Earth—" He puzzled for other words and wrote, "many years—last—not see—" It was incoherent but these old men had an uncanny way of guessing context of meaning.
"You mean, why did previous expeditions not find us? We took care of that, since we knew, long before they started, that they were coming. Much of the life on your world is transmitted to us by devices your mind have not yet dreamed. When the ships came we covered—no, camouflaged—our entrances. We were not discovered. You two have been brought here for a medical reason—"
John wrote, "question."
"Yes, we want to know about your woman companion's arm, and about the others in the cave—what has happened on earth—?"
The old man's face peered, suddenly eager, closer up to the screen. His eyes watered, and the calm manner was gone. His thin fingers tapped a lexicon nervously.
Hilda pointed to words in her lexicon and John wrote, "cripple—colony."
The old scientist grew pale and he staggered a bit as he turned to the others. Their white beards bent in an almost comical cluster over the little green table and bobbed excitedly. Their hissing syllables were shrill. Suddenly the screen blanked out.
"Well, what do you know about that?"
"John, do you remember what they said about 'primitive contagion'?"