Franstein nodded, and they continued to listen. Then came the chanting sounds, and when he heard them, Richardson's expression changed to one of amazement. Snow switched off the machine.
"What was that?" Richardson asked.
"We hoped you'd be able to tell us," Franstein replied.
"I? What should I know about it?"
"That was your voice, Ham. Nobody's touched the tape, and I heard it during the test."
"But this is crazy. How could I make a noise like that without knowing anything about it? Why, I remember every second of that test, and I know I didn't do anything like that." He jumped to his feet and began to walk up and down the room, his hands pressed to his head.
"I said take it easy, Ham," Franstein said.
Richardson pulled up short in his pacing and turned to the little man. "How can I take it easy? I spend six hours in the capsule in a difficult test, remember every bit of it, come out of it feeling not even tired, and now you tell me that in the middle of it I had some sort of a blackout and made funny noises. That can only mean that there's something wrong with me, and you don't have to tell me what that means. I don't qualify, after all. Is that what you came here to tell me?"
Franstein's voice was as quiet as before. "It doesn't mean anything of the sort. If there'd been a blackout or if something else had happened to your brain, it would have shown up on the encephalograph, and nothing showed. I didn't know about this until I heard the recording, and we weren't going to say anything about it until we'd run the test a second time. Then Sandra called us to say she couldn't wake you and that you were talking in your sleep, and we came over to find you in a sleep as deep as a coma and obviously dreaming."