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Updated: May 19, 2025
"I wish I could design a sound-detector one-tenth as good as this must be." Yes. The way the Lord Mayor said fwoonk and the way Paul Meillard said it sounded entirely different to them. Of course, fwoonk and pwink and tweelt and kroosh sounded alike to them, but let's don't be too picky about things.
"Well, that seems to be the information," he said. "The rest is just noise." "Maybe one of them is saying, 'John Doe, me, son of Joe Blow, and another is saying, 'Tough guy, me; lick anybody in town." "All in one syllable?" Then he shrugged. How did he know what these people could pack into one syllable? He picked up the hand-phone and said, "Fwoonk," into it.
By this time, fwoonk and pwink and tweelt and kroosh had become swear words among the joint Space Navy-Colonial Office contact team. "Well, if I hear the two sounds alike, why doesn't the analyzer hear them alike?" Karl Dorver demanded. "It has better ears than you do, Karl. Look how many different frequencies there are in that word, all crowding up behind each other," Lillian said.
The staff bearer touched himself on the brow. "Fwoonk," he said. Then he pointed to Meillard. "Hoonkle," he said. "They got it!" Lillian was hugging herself joyfully. "I knew they ought to!" Meillard indicated himself and said, "Fwoonk." That wasn't right. The village elder immediately corrected him. The word, it seemed, was, "Fwoonk."
A punch in the nose feels the same to anybody. They thought they were giving us bodily feelings. They didn't know we were insensible to them." "But they do ... they do have a language," Lillian faltered. "They talk." "Not the way we understand it. If they want to say, 'Me, it's tickle-pinch-rub, even if it sounds like fwoonk to us, when it doesn't sound like pwink or tweelt or kroosh.
When she pressed a button, a recorded voice said, "Fwoonk." An instant later, a pattern of vertical lines in various colors and lengths was projected on the screen. "Those green lines," she said. "That's it. Now, watch this." She pressed another button, got the photoprint out of a slot, and propped it beside the screen. Then she picked up a hand-phone and said, "Fwoonk," into it.
There was a difference between event-level sound, which was a series of waves of alternately crowded and rarefied molecules of air, and object-level sound, which was an auditory sensation inside the nervous system, she admitted. That, Fayon crowed, was what he'd been saying all along; their auditory system was probably such that fwoonk and pwink and tweelt and kroosh all sounded alike to them.
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