"Turned my back on a couple of clauses," said Paresi. "Here—have a look."
At that moment the usually imperturbable Ives uttered a sharp grunt that echoed and re-echoed through the cabin. Paresi and the Captain turned. Hoskins was just coming out of the after alleyway with an oxygen bottle in his hand, and had frozen in his tracks at the sharp sound Ives had made. Johnny had whipped around as if the grunt had been a lion's roar. His back was to the bulkhead, his lean, long frame tensed for fight or flight. It was indescribable, Ives' grunt, and it was the only sound which could have had such an effect on such a variety of men—the same shocked immobility.
Ives sat over his Communications desk as if hypnotized by it. He moved one great arm forward, almost reluctantly, and turned a knob.
A soft, smooth hum filled the room. "Carrier," said Ives.
Then the words came. They were English words, faultlessly spoken, loud and clear and precise. They were harmless words, pleasant words even.
They were: "Men of Earth! Welcome to our planet."
The voice hung in the air. The words stuck in the silence like insects wriggling upon a pin. Then the voice was gone, and the silence was complete and heavy. The carrier hum ceased. With a spine-tingling brief blaze of high-frequency sound, Hoskins' oxygen-bottle hit the steel deck.
Then they all began to breathe again.
"There's your farmers, Johnny," said Paresi.