The small metal case of the Heuristic Language Programmer contained a wealth of sophisticated circuitry and design. It functioned through a holographic projector that formed a three-dimensional image an image that apparently floated in the air above it. The first image that appeared was a tilted white surface with operating instructions printed upon it. Brion read this and punched into the controls the codes that he wanted. The instructions vanished and the teacher-image appeared in their place. This was an elderly man dressed in a plain grey outfit who sat, crosslegged, with a lidless box on the ground before him. Brion worked with the controls until he had replaced the man’s suit with a loincloth affair, and had managed to lengthen the image’s hair as well. Though their prisoner was much filthier, teacher and student resembled each other very much.
Brion looked at the frozen three-dimensional image and nodded. It was good enough. A touch of a final control caused the image to move backward in space so that it concealed the projection mechanism. When this happened it looked as though Brion’s arm had been plunged deep into the man’s naked thigh. He withdrew his hand, satisfied.
As soon as the task was completed the worry returned. Nor would it recede until the lifeship had landed and taken off safely again with Lea aboard. Now all he had to worry about were the remaining members of the tribe. There was no sign of them yet, nor could he detect their presence anywhere nearby. The seconds ticked slowly by.
Nothing had changed by the time the ship had returned and landed. He stood and waved. “Just drop the equipment down to me, one item at a time,” he called out to Lea when the airlock had opened, “Then get down yourself as fast as you can.”
It was dangerous but it was the fastest way to get the equipment unloaded. He caught the heavy containers, one after another, stacking them to one side, then hurrying them into the crater as Lea climbed down to join him. As soon as they were clear of the blast area of the ship he punched in the commands that sent it back into orbit again. Only after it was gone and there had been no retaliation from the sky could they relax. Lea shook her fist at the distant hills.
“All right out there, you can come back now, come down here and try to cause some more trouble. Are you going to get a lovely surprise this time! It will be my pleasure. Not one of you smelly creatures is worth a finger of Brion’s hand!”
“I appreciate the sentiments,” he said, putting a bandage over the antiseptic foam that had been spread on the stump of the missing finger. He looked down. “Our guest seems to be stirring again.”
“I’ll go get us some food while you start up the machine. You can find out if it’s possible to strike up a conversation with him.”
The education technique of the HLP was painfully slow and painstakingly precise. It was essential that the subject cooperate at all times. This proved difficult because there was no active cooperation by the captive at first, something that was necessary to make this technique work. It wasn’t that the man was belligerent just that he was terrified out of his wits.
Brion had known that the man was about to awake when he sensed the unconscious brain rhythms begin to change. First there was worry and a sensation of pain, and nothing else until he opened his eyes. Then they were replaced by simple and unmitigated fear, the same fear that had possessed Vjer when he had first seen Brion. But this was worse because it was unending and relentless. When the captive focused his eyes on Brion he tried to scramble away, mewling with terror. Brion seized him by the ankle to prevent his escape, but when he did this the sensation of fear grew even stronger. The man moaned in agony, venting his bowels uncontrollably. His eyes rolled up so that only the whites showed as he fainted. Brion went to get the medkit.
“Would you like some food?” Lea asked as he joined her in the shelter of the crater.
“Not quite yet. He’s being very uncooperative, so I’m going to give him the shot of scopalamine that the instructions recommended for this kind of case.”
The slight sting of the subcutaneous pressure spray from the capsule stirred the man to consciousness; Brion slipped the device into his pocket before it could be seen. This time a numbness spread over the captive’s fear. The man moved uncomfortably, wiping at himself, eyeing Brion with fear-ridden suspicion. Brion did nothing, simply sat on the ground and waited. He could see the man looking at the projected image, and at the same time felt the first touches of curiosity behind the ebbing fear. To the prisoner’s eyes the image was that of a man of his own age. A man who appeared to have astonishing body control, for he sat, not moving his body in the slightest, just breathing very lightly. Without this computer simulation of life the image would have been a statue. When the curiosity grew stronger-Brion spoke the cue word softly.
“Begin.”
The captive glanced at Brion with a sudden spurt of fear then back to the image which had stirred for the first time. The image nodded and smiled, then reached into the open box that was sitting on the ground before him. He withdrew his hand holding what appeared to be an ordinary rock.
“Rock,” the image said clearly. “Rock…rock.” Each time it spoke the word it nodded and smiled. Then it extended the rock and made an interrogative sound. The old man only gaped, his brain filled with confusion.
With infinite machine patience the image repeated the demonstration and the interrogative. There was no positive reaction. On the third repetition the image was no longer smiling. When the old man did not answer to its interrogation the face grew ugly, the lips drew back from the teeth, it frowned expressing every outward indication of aggression and anger that the anthropologists had ever discovered in any culture. The captive quailed away, moaning with fear. On the next repetition, when the rock was thrust in his direction, he stammered out “Prtr”. The image smiled and nodded and made all kinds of reinforcing friendly gestures. The learning process had begun.
Brion had moved back out of the old man’s line of vision, so his presence would not interrupt the lesson. He watched as the image poured water, over and over again, from one container to another, never spilling a drop.
“Does this really work?” Lea asked, “Every time. The computer program is self-checking. As soon as a few words are memorized it will play them back to the subject for cross reference. As its vocabulary grows the process is speeded up. Within a short period of time it will be able to ask questions, simple ones at first, then more and more abstract ones. When the old man gets tired, the machine will give him time to rest. Then it can teach us whatever it has learned.”
“Drilling us and correcting our accents, grammar and all the rest I suppose?”
“Exactly. Now where’s that food you were talking about? I don’t have to watch the man to keep track of him. His emotional patterns will let me know if he is up to anything.
It was late afternoon before the captive began to nod with fatigue. Brion brought him some water in a wooden bowl and he slurped at it noisily.
“What’s his name?” Brion asked the HLP.
“The subject is named Ravn. Ravn. Ravn. I repeat, Ravn…”
“That’s enough.” He turned and smiled broadly. “Ravn: Welcome to the human race.”
10: Taking Charge
“The wound is healing quite well,” Lea said, holding Brion’s hand and turning it back and forth as she looked at the stump of the missing finger. She spread antiseptic cream on the wound while he watched.