Molly gripped his hand under the covers.
"It's slowing down. I made out a word then. It sounded like—like dogs. Bill, it's not Unk. I'm sure of that."
Bill went nuts. "That makes it worse," he yelled, jumping out of bed. "If it isn't Unk, who is it? There isn't anybody out here. There aren't any suns, any planets, any nothing. Who would be out here?" He paced the room, pulling at his hair. Then abruptly he climbed back in bed, shivering and mortally scared. And listening....
On bumbled the Voice. Speeding. Slowing. Sometimes seeming to catch up with their thought processes, then going past.
"He's trying to synchronize," said Molly quietly. "He's going nuts doing it. He's getting madder and madder. This is liable to go on for days. I'm going to get up and fix breakfast."
After she left, Bill mentally told the Voice to go to hell, and fell asleep. Was climbed all over him a half hour later to let him know breakfast was ready.
The Voice had stopped.
"What a coupla mutts we were," Bill told Molly. "Letting our imaginations run haywire."
"Oh, I agree with you," said Molly, being agreeable as usual. "We imagined it all, didn't we, Is?" Is wagged her prize-winning tail in agreement.