Foreigner by Robert J. Sawyer Page B

were eight in the Others’ speech, six corresponding to the Quintaglio ones, plus two more that Toroca gathered meant “with what degree of certainty?” and “how righteous is this?” He’d picked up the latter by Jawn repeatedly asking questions and pointing through the glass roof at the gibbous Face of God; the Other religion centered on the Face, just as the Quintaglios’ own discredited Larskian faith had.
    The first question Jawn asked was the one Toroca had expected. Jawn leaned back on his tail — Toroca had decided to refer to Jawn as “he”; it was too difficult maintaining a mental image of a “she” with a dewlap — and said in his own language, “Where you from, Toroca?”
    Toroca had to answer with a question of his own. “Picture land,” he said, and made the beckoning hand sign that meant “give me.”
    Jawn looked momentarily confused, then apparently realized that “picture land” must refer to a “map,” a word the Other equivalent of which Toroca didn’t know. Jawn spoke to Morb, the fellow with the black armbands, and a map was brought in. It was made of neither leather nor paper, but rather a pinkish material that had a waxy feel to it; perhaps a plant derivative. Once the map was unfurled, Toroca was surprised to see that although the page it was printed on was square, the image was perfectly circular. Rather than having the Others’ archipelago in the center, it was displaced toward the upper left. In the correct relative positions the northern and southern polar caps were indicated.
    Suddenly it hit Toroca: the circular view showed all of the back side of their moon, everywhere from which the Face of God was visible. Had the Others never sailed farther than that? Perhaps with a religion built around the Face, they refused to sail beyond its purview. Indeed, the glass roofs of their buildings might be for more than simply letting in light; perhaps they ensured that the Others were never out of sight of their god.
    Toroca used his hands to make the map bulge up from the tabletop into a dome, in hopes of indicating that it represented one hemisphere. Then, with an exaggerated gesture of his muzzle, he tried to show that he came from around past the borders of the map.
    Jawn looked shocked. He glanced over at the guard, but Morb was paying little attention. Jawn said just two words, the two interrogatives unique to the Other language: With what degree of certainty? How righteous is this?
    “Loud,” said Toroca in Jawn’s language, and then, realizing he was using the wrong word, “Much.”
    Jawn shook his head. “How you here?”
    Toroca hadn’t learned many verbs yet, but that sentence was easy enough to decipher even without them. “ Ga-san ,” he said. Sailing ship.
    “No see,” said Jawn.
    Toroca gestured in the direction of the water, then curved his arm down, hoping to convey that the ship was below the horizon. “No far,” said Toroca, wanting to make clear that it hadn’t gone all the way back to Land.
    Jawn touched his own chest. “Jawn,” he said. He pointed at Toroca. “Toroca.” Then, wrinkling his muzzle in a way that Toroca had come to associate with asking questions, “ Ga-san ?”
    “ Dasheter , ” said Toroca. “ Ga-san Dasheter . “
    Jawn pointed at himself, then Toroca, then Morb, the guard. “Three,” he said in his language. “Three here. Ga-san ?”
    Toroca only knew the numerals to ten. “Ten and two,” he said.
    “ Farg-sol ,” said Jawn.
    Toroca briefly wondered what “eleven” was; he hated gaps in his knowledge. But Jawn pressed on. “Few,” he said.
    And that was the key point. Yes, there were only a few people aboard the Dasheter, even though it was a big ship. Toroca had never thought the ship particularly empty, but by the standards of these people, it would be. How to explain territoriality? For God’s sake, he was the least expert of all his people on that topic.
    With one hand he lifted the corner of the map and