



                         Asleep in Armageddon

                            By RAY BRADBURY

            Avoid Planetoid 787. Lush and sunny, with fine
            air and no dangerous beasts, it'll tempt you to
           curve in for some nice solid-ground sleep. DON'T! [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
                      Planet Stories Winter 1948. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] You don't want death and you don't expect death. Something goes wrong,
your rocket tilts in space, a planetoid jumps up, blackness, movement,
hands over the eyes, a violent pulling back of available power in the
fore-jets, the crash.... The darkness. In the darkness, the senseless pain. In the pain, the
nightmare. He was not unconscious. _Your name?_ asked hidden voices. _Sale_, he replied in whirling
nausea. _Leonard Sale._ _Occupation_, cried the voices. _Spaceman!_
he cried, alone in the night. _Welcome_, said the voices. _Welcome,
welcome._ They faded. He stood up in the wreckage of his ship. It lay like a folded, tattered
garment around him. The sun rose and it was morning. Sale pried himself out the small air-lock and stood breathing the
atmosphere. Luck. Sheer luck. The air was breathable. An instant's
checking showed him that he had two month's supply of food with him. Fine, fine! And this--he fingered at the wreckage. Miracle of miracles! The radio was intact. He stuttered out the message on the sending key. CRASHED ON PLANETOID
787. SALE. SEND HELP. SALE. SEND HELP. The reply came instantly: HELLO, SALE. THIS IS ADDAMS IN MARSPORT. SENDING RESCUE SHIP LOGARITHM. WILL ARRIVE PLANETOID 787 IN SIX DAYS. HANG ON. Sale did a little dance. It was simple as that. One crashed. One had food. One radioed for help. Help came. _La!_ He clapped his hands. The sun rose and was warm. He felt no sense of mortality. Six days
would be no time at all. He would eat, he would read, he would sleep. He glanced at his surroundings. No dangerous animals; a tolerable
oxygen supply. What more could one ask. Beans and bacon, was the
answer. The happy smell of breakfast filled the air. After breakfast he smoked a cigarette slowly, deeply, blowing out. He
nodded contentedly. What a life! Not a scratch on him. Luck. Sheer luck. His head nodded. Sleep, he thought. Good idea. Forty winks. Plenty of time to sleep, take it easy. Six
whole long, luxurious days of idling and philosophizing. Sleep. He stretched himself out, tucked his arm under his head, and shut his
eyes. *       *       *       *       *

Insanity came in to take him. The voices whispered. _Sleep, yes, sleep_, said the voices. _Ah, sleep, sleep._

He opened his eyes. The voices stopped. Everything was normal. He
shrugged. He shut his eyes casually, fitfully. He settled his long body. _Eeeeeeeeeeee_, sang the voices, far away. _Ahhhhhhhh_, sang the voices. _Sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep_, sang the voices. _Die, die, die, die, die_, sang the voices. _Ooooooooooooooo_, cried the voices. _Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm_, a bee ran through his brain. He sat up. He shook his head. He put his hands to his ears. He blinked
at the crashed ship. Hard metal. He felt the solid rock under his
fingers. He saw the real sun warming the blue sky. Let's try sleeping on our back, he thought. He adjusted himself, lying
back down. His watch ticked on his wrist. The blood burned in his veins. _Sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep_, sang the voices. _Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh_, sang the voices. _Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh_, sang the voices. _Die, die, die, die, die. Sleep, sleep, die, sleep, die, sleep, die! Oohhh. Ahhhhh. Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!_

Blood tapped in his ears. The sound of the wind rising. _Mine, mine_, said a voice. _Mine, mine, he's mine!_

_No, mine, mine_, said another voice. _No, mine, mine; he's_ mine! _No, ours, ours_, sang ten voices. _Ours, ours, he's_ ours! His fingers twitched. His jaws spasmed. His eyelids jerked. _At last, at last_, sang a high voice. _Now, now. The long time, the
waiting. Over, over_, sang the high voice. _Over, over at last!_

It was like being undersea. Green songs, green visions, green time. Bubbled voices drowning in deep liquors of sea tide. Far away choruses
chanting senseless rhymes. Leonard Sale stirred in agony. _Mine, mine_, cried a loud voice. _Mine, mine!_ shrieked another. _Ours, ours!_ shrieked the chorus. The din of metal, the crash of sword, the conflict, the battle, the
fight, the war. All of it exploding, his mind fiercely torn apart! _Eeeeeeeeeeeeee!_

He leaped up, screaming. The landscape melted and flowed. [Illustration: _He leaped up, raving. What was going on?_]

A voice said, "I am Tylle of Rathalar. Proud Tylle, Tylle of the Blood
Mound and the Death Drum. Tylle of Rathalar, Killer of Men!" Another spoke, "I am Iorr of Wendillo, Wise Iorr, Destroyer of
Infidels!" The chorus chanted. "And we the warriors, we the steel, we the
warriors, we the red blood rushing, the red blood falling, the red
blood steaming in the sun--"

Leonard Sale staggered under the burden. "Go away!" he cried. "Leave
me, in God's name, leave me!" _Eeeeeeeeeee_, shrieked the high sound of steel hot on steel. Silence. *       *       *       *       *

He stood with the sweat boiling out of him. He was trembling so
violently he could not stand. Insane, he thought. Absolutely insane. Raving insane. Insane. He jerked the food kit open, did something to a chemical packet. Hot
coffee was ready in an instant. He mouthed it, spilled gushes of it
down his shirt. He shivered. He sucked in raw gulps of breath. Let's be logical, he thought, sitting down heavily. The coffee seared
his tongue. No record of insanity in the family for two hundred years. All healthy, well-balanced. No reason for insanity now. Shock? Silly. No shock. I'm to be rescued in six days. No shock to that. No danger. Just an ordinary planetoid. Ordinary, ordinary place. No reason for
insanity. I'm sane. _Oh?_ cried a small metal voice within. An echo. Fading. "Yes!" he cried, beating his fists together. "Sane!" _Hahahahahahahahahah._ Somewhere a vanishing laughter. He whirled about. "Shut up, you!" he cried. We didn't say anything, said the mountains. We didn't say anything,
said the sky. We didn't say anything, said the wreckage. "All right then," he said, swaying. "See that you don't." Everything was normal. *       *       *       *       *

The pebbles were getting hot. The sky was big and blue. He looked at
his fingers and saw the way the sun burned on every black hair. He
looked at his boots and the dust on them. Suddenly he felt very happy
because he made a decision. I won't go to sleep, he thought. I'm having
nightmares, so why sleep. There's your solution. He made a routine. From nine o'clock in the morning, which was this
minute, until twelve, he would walk around and see the planetoid. He
would write on a pad with a yellow pencil everything he saw.