"What's that mean?" asked Mills paging his way through a book.
"'Halt propulsion equipment,' I think," said Harrison.
"It's a good thing the code makers were vague about that," smiled Mills. "It's a good thing they didn't say jets or rockets—'cause this thing hasn't got any."
"Attention!"
That single word suddenly issued from the alien ship.
"The Races of Wan greet you."
It might have been the voice of a frog. It was low, gutteral, entirely alien, entirely without either enthusiasm or trace of human emotion.
"Jesus!" muttered Mills.
Scores of video teams focused equipment on the gleaming alien.
"The Races of Wan desire contact with you."