 How do Martians communicate with men from Earth?
I admit it: I didn't know if I was coming or going—but I know that if I stuck to the old man, I was a comer ... even if he was a goner! The golden Moon and the silver ship, symbols of greed. I came alongside and carefully started to lever the old man loose, one finger at a time. If a half dozen winos in Seattle hadn't helped me get them loose, Doc and I would have been wanted for the murder of a North American Mountie. All my great-grandfathers have it. I told the human no, thanks, and walked Doc toward the flophouse three doors down. Martians approaching the corner were sensing at Doc and me. It had happened a few times right after I first found him, but now it was worse. "Had a quarter all along and yet you Martian me down to twenty cents." You don't have any quarter, not if I say so. I was bent double, but I got from the floor to the chair and found my notebook and orb-point in my hands. I found I couldn't focus both my mind and my eyes through the electric flashes of agony, so I concentrated on Doc's voice and trusted my hands would follow their habit pattern and construct the symbols for his words. Oh, are ... see ...." Somehow, inside me, I knew that these words were what I had been waiting for. They told everything I needed to know to become the most powerful man in the Solar Federation.
 By sensing and without the need for talking.
 Without using logical sense, only the imagination.  By sensing and without the need for talking.  Through manuscripts and unwritten books.  Via time travel.