Chiang98

As I grew more fluent, semagraphic designs would appear fully-formed, articulating even complex ideas all
at once. My thought processes weren't moving any faster as a result, though. Instead of racing forward,
my mind hung balanced on the symmetry underlying the semagrams. The semagrams seemed to be
something more than language; they were almost like mandalas. I found myself in a meditative state,
contemplating the way in which premises and conclusions were interchangeable. There was no direction
inherent in the way propositions were connected, no “train of thought” moving along a particular route; all
the components in an act of reasoning were equally powerful, all having identical precedence.
A representative from the State Department named Hossner had the job of briefing the U.S scientists on
our agenda with the heptapods. We sat in the videoconference room, listening to him lecture. Our
microphone was turned off, so Gary and I could exchange comments without interrupting Hossner. As we
listened, I worried that Gary might harm his vision, rolling his eyes so often.
“They must have had some reason for coming all this way,” said the diplomat, his voice tinny through the
speakers. “It does not look like their reason was conquest, thank God. But if that's not the reason, what is?
Are they prospectors? Anthropologists? Missionaries? Whatever their motives, there must be something
we can offer them. Maybe it's mineral rights to our solar system. May be it's information about ourselves.
Maybe it's the right to deliver sermons to our populations. But we can be sure that there's something.
“My point is this: their motive might not be to trade, but that doesn't mean that we cannot conduct trade.
We simply need to know why they're here, and what we have that they want. Once we have that
information, we can begin trade negotiations.
“I should emphasize that our relationship with the heptapods need not be adversarial. This is not a
situation where every gain on their part is a loss on ours, or vice versa. If we handle ourselves correctly,
both we and the heptapods can come out winners.”
“You mean it's a non-zero-sum game?” Gary said in mock incredulity. “Oh my gosh.”
“A non-zero-sum game.”
“What?” You'll reverse course, heading back from your bedroom.
“When both sides can win: I just remembered, it's called a non-zero-sum game.”
“That's it!” you'll say, writing it down on your notebook. “Thanks, Mom!”
“I guess I knew it after all,” I'll say. “All those years with your father, some of it must have rubbed off.”
“I knew you'd know it,” you'll say. You'll give me a sudden, brief hug, and your hair will smell of apples.
“You're the best.”
“Louise?”
“Hmm? Sorry, I was distracted. What did you say?”
“I said, what do you think about our Mr. Hossner here?”
“I prefer not to.”