 How do Martians communicate with men from Earth?
Confidence Game By JIM HARMON Illustrated by EPSTEIN [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction June 1957. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] 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. I tried not to think about it and helped Doc through the fly-specked flophouse doors. "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. There was a wino singing on the left, a wino praying on the right, and the door didn't have any lock on it. 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. I remembered that he was somebody very important whose name and work I had once known, even if now I knew him only as Doc. He shut up at last and I laid him down again and put his arm back across his face. She was pink and clean and her platinum hair was pulled straight back, drawing her cheek-bones tighter, straightening her wide, appealing mouth, drawing her lean, athletic, feminine body erect. I don't know why, but nobody will help you if they think you are blotto.
 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.