        Shortly thereafter, the two had finished writing down their respective alphabets.  Dale had been quite surprised to see her pull out a quill and inkpot, but again attributed it to the aliens lowering their technology so not to alarm him.  He was amused watching her trace out the letters with her mouth—she was reasonably adept, but it was obvious that she normally did not use this technique, further reinforcing his notion.  He wondered—given their lack of manual dexterity—how they had managed to build spacecraft, and all that went with it.  Still, he knew of enough amputees that managed to gracefully navigate a world which was not built for them, thus proving the old adage that when there was a will, there was a way.  A worrying thought was nagging at the back of his mind: maybe they didn’t build spaceships.  Maybe they enslaved creatures who did.  Creatures with useful hands, perhaps.  What if they wanted to know if he was intelligent enough to train in the fine art of re-entry shield bonding, or control panel wiring?  Should he play dumb, to avoid the possibility of being press-ganged into unwanted space servitude?  No.  Even if that was what she wanted, it would be worth it for the experience.  He glanced up at the sky briefly, before picking up the stick.