Later Than You Think
Obviously the Archeologist’s study belonged to an era vastly distant from today. Familiar similarities here and there only sharpened the feeling of alienage. The sunlight that filtered through the windows in the ceiling had a wan and greenish cast and was augmented by radiation from some luminous material impregnating the walls and floor. Even the wide desk and the commodious hassocks glowed with a restful light. Across the former were scattered metal-backed wax tablets, styluses, and a pair of large and oddly formed spectacles. The crammed bookcases were not particularly unusual, but the books were bound in metal and the script on their spines would have been utterly unfamiliar to the most erudite of modern linguists. One of the books, lying open on a hassock, showed leaves of a thin, flexible, rustless metal covered with luminous characters. Between the bookcases were phosphorescent oil paintings, mainly of sea bottoms, in somber greens and browns. Their style, neither wholly realistic nor abstract, would have baffled the historian of art.
A blackboard with large colored crayons hinted equally at the schoolroom and the studio.
In the center of the room, midway to the ceiling, hung a fish with iridescent scales of breathtaking beauty. So invisible was its means of support that—also taking into account the strange paintings and the greenish light—one would have sworn that the object was to create an underwater scene.
The Explorer made his entrance in a theatrical swirl of movement. He embraced the Archeologist with a warmth calculated to startle that crusty old fellow. Then he settled himself on a hassock, looked up and asked a question in a speech and idiom so different from any we know that it must be called another means of communication rather than another language. The import was, “Well, what about it?”
If the Archeologist were taken aback, he concealed it. His expression showed only pleasure at being reunited with a long-absent friend.
“What about what?” he queried.
“About your discovery!”
“What discovery?” The Archeologist’s incomprehension was playful.
The Explorer threw up his arms. “Why, what else but your discovery, here on Earth, of the remains of an intelligent species? It’s the find of the age! Am I going to have to coax you? Out with it!”
“I didn’t make the discovery,” the other said tranquilly. “I only supervised the excavations and directed the correlation of material. You ought to be doing the talking. You’re the one who’s just returned from the stars.”
“Forget that.” The Explorer brushed the question aside. “As soon as our spaceship got within radio range of Earth, they started to send us a continuous newscast covering the period of our absence. One of the items, exasperatingly brief, mentioned your discovery. It captured my imagination. I couldn’t wait to hear the details.” He paused, then confessed, “You get so eager out there in space—a metal-filmed droplet of life lost in immensity. You rediscover your emotions …” He changed color, then finished rapidly, “As soon as I could decently get away, I came straight to you. I wanted to hear about it from the best authority—yourself.”
The Archeologist regarded him quizzically. “I’m pleased that you should think of me and my work, and I’m very happy to see you again. But admit it now, isn’t there something a bit odd about your getting so worked up over this thing? I can understand that after your long absence from Earth, any news of Earth would seem especially important. But isn’t there an additional reason?”
The Explorer twisted impatiently. “Oh, I suppose there is. Disappointment, for one thing. We were hoping to get in touch with intelligent life out there. We were specially trained in techniques for establishing mental contact with alien intelligent life forms. Well, we found some planets with life upon them, all right. But it was primitive life, not worth bothering about.”
Again he hesitated embarrassedly. “Out there you get to thinking of the preciousness of intelligence. There’s so little of it, and it’s so lonely. And
