Hear this you are not the first strangers to come here once before strange men came to us from the sky they called themselves the Kyben and they told us they wanted to trade but they did not trade they ate away our land and burned our jungle and took our women and killed our young warriors.
It came as a blast of pure thought. All at once, as though spurted out whole from the mind. The inflection was there—the meaning—the depth of bitterness. Shreve felt his mouth dry out at the calibre of agony in the thoughts.
Teller shrugged his shoulders as though he wanted no more part in the matter, and retreated a few steps, massaging his throbbing jaws.
The alien stream ceased, and the Diamorai drew back. He seemed to rise up on his toes, as though he wanted to strike the Earthman, but was restraining himself through the movement.
Shreve felt a desperation mounting in him. He had to save these people, had to make them realize their danger. "But you can read our minds—you can see we're telling the truth!" he argued. He found his stomach muscles had tightened, hands had clenched.
The alien thought reverberated in his head: What makes you think you cannot lie with telepathy?
Then the thoughts flowed again. This time cold, dispassionate, merely information.
We have been as you think burned once and we do not wish to be burned again we cannot say whether or not these things you warn us of really exist but we will take our own destinies in our hands and treat them if they come we have seen no such indications of eruptions and we do not believe you.
The thoughts ceased. Then one word alone: Go.