The native finished, and Imbry had to wait for his translator to make up its mind. Finally, it whispered in his ear.

“This is necessarily a rough computation. The communication is probably: Hello. Are you a god? (That’s an approximation. He means something between ancestor and deity.) I’m very glad to meet you.”

Imbry shook his head at the native, hoping this culture didn’t take that to mean “yes.”

“No,” he said to the computer, “I’m an explorer. And I’m glad to meet you.” He continued to smile.

The computer hummed softly. “Explorer is inapplicable as yet,” it told Imbry. It didn’t have the vocabulary built up.

The native was looking curiously at the little box of the computer sitting on Imbry’s shoulder.’ His jungle-trained ears were sharp, and he could obviously hear at least the sibilants as it whispered. His curiosity was friendly and intelligent; he seemed intrigued.

“All right, try: I’m like you. Hello,” Imbry told the computer.

The translator spoke to the native. He looked at Imbry in gentle unbelief and answered.

This time, it was easier. The translator sank its teeth into this new material, and after a much shorter lag, without qualification, gave Imbry the native’s communication, in its colloquial English, somewhat flavored:

“Obviously, you’re not like me very much. But we’ll straighten that out later. Will you stay in my village for a while?”

Imbry nodded, to register the significance of the gesture. “I’d be glad to. My name’s Imbry. What’s yours?”

“Good. I’m Tylus. Will you walk with me? And who’s the little ancestor on your shoulder?”

Imbry walked forward, and the native waited until they were a few feet apart and then began leading the way down the trail.