Five minutes later, they were standing with pretty Sandra Richardson at the foot of the bed on which Richardson, clad in his pajamas, sprawled on his back. He was in a deep sleep and from his mouth came a low chanting. Franstein and Snow glanced at each other as they recognized the sounds.
Snow tried to wake the astronaut, gently at first, then less so, but it had no effect. He used his stethoscope on heart and lungs, drew back an eyelid and examined the eye beneath, felt the brow.
"When did this happen?" he asked the anxious Sandra.
"About fifteen, maybe twenty minutes ago," she replied. "We came in here and undressed and I used the bathroom first. When I came out, I found him like this."
"How's he been all the evening?"
"Fine, just as I told you when you rang. Tom and Betty Moreland came for dinner and we played canasta. Is he all right?"
"As far as I can see, yes. Heart, lungs, eyes all right, no fever. I guess we'll just have to wait till he wakes."
They went into the sitting room and Sandra left them to make coffee.
"He's living through something," Franstein said. "Pity you haven't got the recorder here."
"I thought the same. I'll get it."
Snow left and Franstein wandered back into the bedroom and leaned over Richardson. Now he was sure this was a language and that the sleeper was conversing with someone in his sleep. The expressions changed on Richardson's face rapidly as they do on the face of anyone during a conversation. At one moment he laughed as he said something, then became serious as he said something else.
Sandra came into the bedroom and joined Franstein at the bedside. "He's never been like this before," she said worriedly.
"Doesn't he ever talk in his sleep?"
"He never even snores. When we were first married, he slept so quietly that I thought he'd stopped breathing, but I'd only have to touch him or whisper to him and he'd wake in an instant. What does this mean?"
"We'll find out, never fear."
They went back into the sitting room as they heard Snow return. He was carrying the recording machine, and seeing the question in Sandra's eyes as she saw it, he said reassuringly: "We're going to make a recording of what Ham's saying. We'll soon find out what this is all about."
He busied himself changing the tapes on the machine, taking the new one from his pocket, and fumbled the job in his haste. He had plugged in the microphone and was unwinding the long chord when they heard Richardson's voice call out from the next room: "Sandra!" and a moment later, Richardson appeared in the open doorway, staring at them in astonishment.
"Abe! Phil! When did you come here?"
"About half an hour ago," Snow replied.

Richardson passed a hand over his eyes. "I must have fallen asleep," he said.
"You did, darling, and I couldn't wake you," Sandra said. "So I called Phil."
"You couldn't wake me?"
"No, and you were talking away in your sleep. You had me worried."
"Why?"
Sandra, at a loss, looked at Franstein and he answered for her. "You were dreaming, Ham," he said.
Richardson thought for a moment before replying. "Now that you mention it, I was. But what's so extraordinary about that? Why are you all looking at me as if I'd suddenly grown horns?
"D'you remember what the dream was about?" Franstein asked.
"Vaguely. Yes, I do. It was just a dream. Why is it so important?" He sat down in a deep chair and looked around at them. "What is all this?" he said. "I fall asleep for half an hour, have a silly dream, and wake up to find you here looking as if something big has happened."
"Something has happened, Ham," said Franstein. "Something we don't understand." Richardson started up in his seat. "Take it easy, there's nothing to worry about. We'll get to the bottom of it." He turned to Snow. "I think I know the way out of this. Play the recording for Ham to hear."
Snow hesitated for a moment. "All right, if you think so," he said, and busied himself with the recorder, replacing the used tape on the spool.
Sandra perched herself on the arm of her husband's chair and put an arm about his shoulders. They waited while Snow linked up the end of the tape to the other spool. He pressed the Play switch, and presently there came the voices of Snow and Richardson.
"That's this afternoon's test," Richardson said.
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."
"And what's that got to do with the test?"
"You were making the same sort of sounds in your sleep as you did in the test, and I'm sure they add up to a language of some sort."
"What? You mean to say that was a language? For Pete's sake, I've never spoken anything but English all my life. I can't."
"We know that."
Richardson turned to his wife. "Is this true?" he asked her tensely. "Was I making noises like that in my sleep?"
She nodded miserably.
He threw up his hands. "Okay," he said, "you're three to one. The ace astronaut turns out to be some sort of nut who talks monkey language in his sleep, and when he's awake too, without knowing it." He went to the deep chair and slumped down into it. "What do we do now? Go into analysis again? Start all over?" He laughed shortly and bitterly, and added: "Or do I resign from the project?"
"Listen, Ham," Franstein said. "We're up against something new, something I don't understand, and whatever happens, we've got to try and find out what it is, for your sake as well as for the project's. Let's relax and start with the dream. Tell us what you remember of it."
Richardson took time to calm down before he spoke. "It was just a dream," he began presently. "There was a big spaceship and a lot of people standing about."
"Where was this?"
&q............