 How does it seem that the aliens communicate?
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Spring 1944. Outside, the stars were as before: tiny, myriad points of light, infinitely far away. I do not think it was what Peter called an emotion; and yet it had nothing to do with logic, either. In his mind's eye he could see it, slowly wheeling, like a second satellite, about the Earth; endlessly gathering knowledge into its insatiable mechanisms. He could see, too, the level on level of laboratories and storerooms that filled its interlocking segments; the meteor deflectors, the air renewal system, the mighty engines at the stern—all the children of his brain. The ship would be filled with the sounds of busy men and women, wresting secrets from the reluctant ether. There can be few within reach of printed reports or my words who have not seen the Invaders, or whose friends have not seen them. "The peoples of the world, then, know what they are, and know that we face the most momentous struggle in our history. "Since the Invaders first appeared in Wood River, Oregon, 24 hours ago, they have not once acknowledged our attempts to communicate, or in any way taken notice of our existence as reasoning beings. They have treated us precisely as we, in less enlightened days, might have treated a newly-discovered race of lower animals. They have not attacked our centers of government, nor immobilized our communications, nor laid siege to our defenses. But in instance after instance, they have done as they would with us. They have examined us, dissected us, driven us mad, killed us with no discernable provocation; and this is more intolerable than any normal invasion. "I have no fear that the people of Earth will fail to meet this challenge, for there is no alternative. Not only our individual lives are threatened, but our existence as a race. It was a street scene in the Science City of Manhattan, flooded by the warm spring sunshine. Down on the lowest level, visible past the transport and passenger tubes, the parks and moving ways should have been dotted with colorful, holiday crowds. There were left only two blood-red, malignant monstrosities somehow defiling the air they floated in; and below them, a pitiful huddle of flesh no longer recognizable as human beings. Their bodies had been impossibly joined, fused together into a single obscene, floundering mass of helpless protoplasm.
 They speak telepathically, in a language people can't understand.
 They make mental contact with human victims, often leading them to madness.  They speak through people, making them scream.  Their lips are sealed together. They are unable to speak.  They speak telepathically, in a language people can't understand.