It tapped at the threshold of his consciousness for minutes before he admitted it was more than imagination. He turned his eyes toward one after the other of his companions, wondering if they had heard it. Then for the first time he distinguished words.
"Men of Earth," the faint voice called.
Underwood stood up suddenly. Terry jerked his head about. "You heard it, too?" he asked.
Underwood nodded. "I could have sworn someone was in this room talking. Listen, now—it's getting louder."
While they stared at each other questioningly, there came a sudden wavering of light in the center of the room. They glanced at the illumination panel, but nothing was wrong there. Still the distortion of light in their midst took on vague shape. It wavered and writhed, as if it were an image on a sheet being tossed in the wind. Then it assumed questionable solidity.
It was human in form, taller than a man and copper-skinned.
"Jandro!" Underwood exclaimed.
The image faded and wavered again.
"How can it be?" murmured Phyfe.
The image was not a thing of reality, Underwood knew. It was no more than conjuration within their own brains, yet the experience appeared identical to all of them. That Jandro was in some strange manner communicating with them, Underwood had no doubt, but the means were utterly beyond comprehension.