"Don't be silly," said Karin, moved in spite of herself. "I have no desire to outlive you."
They were reduced to waiting again. Jan wondered whether, in all the time they had hovered between the opposing battle lines, the star-dwellers had been conscious of their existence. Even whether they had spared the time to note the bird so hopelessly trapped on their battlefield. Each side, if it was alert to its enemy's moves, must have recorded the ship's presence, and possibly speculated on what it was doing in this section of space.
When the surface of the green star began to heave, Jan returned to his controls again, ready to maneuver out of the way of whatever weapon might be used. But this time, apparently, the change on the green star presaged no attack. A section of the surface moved slowly out, and then broke up into wriggling fragments that exhibited a peculiar order. Curiously, the figures reminded him of some of the primitive alphabets of early human civilization.
"Sky writing!" exclaimed Karin.
"Space writing," he corrected. "Intended for us, or for the enemy?"
"Not for us. They must realize that we can't read it."
"That's right. But if it's for them—it may be a suggestion for a truce!"
"Whatever it is, the yellow star's not answering," said Karin anxiously.
"Give them time, Karin. They have to make up their minds."
An hour later, the light from the yellow star died slowly away, and its size shrank. Then the star blazed up again, and expanded to twice its previous diameter.