The Man Who Spoke English

The nude man rotated morosely, suspended in mid-air. The two observing scientists, tall, thin and pale, talked among themselves as if it were nothing unusual.

The man had been arrested earlier that evening, wandering around the shopping district and pleading to the shocked patrons using some kind of nonsense vocalizations. Bystanders claimed he appeared from nowhere, collapsing a shop window pottery display. His body was sweaty and bloodied from pottery shards and his brown hair was wild and unkempt. They found his hair much more alarming than his nudity. Human beings had been free of body hair for nearly four hundred years.

"Amazing. I've never seen anything like it." Professor Lansing said, pouring over the test results.

"A mutation?" his colleague asked.

"You sound like Henley. That's what he'll call it. A mutation. Nothing so simple."

"I don't see why not. It could be a University prank."

"Highly doubtful. The new Director forbids genetic tampering for entertainment purposes. No one would risk their lives for a school prank."

"What's your theory, then?"

Professor Lansing's lipless mouth wrinkled in thought. "I really don't know. It's going to require more research. According to the tests, this creature has the same genetic makeup as our ancestors, the little we know of them."

"You know what Henley will say to that."

A third figure entered the room, identical to the other two scientists save for the expression of irritation on his face. "Lansing? Why are you wasting the University's resources on this mutant? I want it destroyed immediately."

"Professor Henley, with all respect this isn't a mutant, it's some kind of genetic anomaly. We need to study it further."

The man sprung to his feet at the sight of a new figure in the room. He hammered his bloodied fists against the invisible field that kept him suspended. He pleaded in a stream of syllables, a look of desperation in his eyes.

Henley snorted. "You see? Gibberish."

"Sir, it's not gibberish! It's far too complex. I think it's some kind of language, perhaps one our ancestors..."

"Language? There is only one language. There has only ever been one language. Since we cannot understand him, he is speaking nonsense. Simple logic, something you should be familiar with as a scientist."

"But sir, so much of ancient history was lost! Perhaps there was another language? Sometime before..."

"Maybe you didn't hear me," Henley stared levelly at the two scientists, "I want this mutant destroyed. Unless you'd like to take your case up with the Director?"

Lansing's shoulders sagged in defeat. "No... sir."

The floating man protested helplessly as the force field started to gently push him out of the examining room and down a brightly lit corridor. Two armed guards walked below, keeping pace.

The man's name was Greg Swanson and before this afternoon he lived in the early part of the twenty-first century. He was not a scientist nor an adventurer. He was just an out of work real estate agent that signed up to test an experimental time travel device. They told him it would be a one way trip but the idea of time travel eclipsed any desire to stay in his current dead-end existence. He knew nothing of the specific technology that brought him to this bizarre place, only that if the calculations were correct, he should be some five hundred years into the future.

He listened to the musical language of the guards below him. He instinctively knew what language they were speaking just by the sound. He had heard it everywhere, every day of his life but never bothered to learn it himself. Greg Swanson wept bitterly as he was moved closer to the disintegration chamber; wishing for the final time that he had paid more attention in high school Spanish class.