You didn't hear them unless something deep in your mind whispered: "This one is different. This is an emergency. Take heed!"
The screeching was very different. It was like nothing I'd ever heard before, on Earth or in space.
The others must have heard it too, for it had been too loud, the second time, to be ignored. But apparently that strange acceptance of strange noises in space which goes with the kind of deafness I've mentioned had only been shattered for me. The six men and women in the lounge chairs had looked a little startled for a moment and exchanged puzzled glances. Which meant, of course, that they had heard it despite the mental earplugs in some inner recess of their minds. But that didn't prevent them from shrugging it off and resuming their conversation.
Joan also looked a trifle uneasy. She stopped reading just long enough to raise her eyes and frown, then became absorbed in the book again.
I got up quietly and pressed her wrist. "See you," I said.
She shut the book abruptly and straightened in her chair. "Where are you going, Ralph?"
"Just stay right where you are, kitten," I said. "I'll be back in a moment."
"That screeching noise," she said. "I was wondering about it, Ralph. I guess you'd better see what's causing it."
So she'd been disturbed by it too, and ignoring it had taken a deliberate effort of will which I hadn't realized she was exerting. It made me happy in an odd inner way, because it proved again what I'd always known ... that we were very close and there were currents of understanding which flowed back and forth between us and I had a wife I could be proud of.
"It's probably nothing," I said, not wanting to alarm her. "But I might as well take a look. It seems to be coming from the chart room."