You'll go on, he thought, maybe one day, maybe one night, but what about the next night and the next, and the _next_? Can you stay awake _all_ that time, for six nights? Until the rescue ship comes? Are you _that_ good, _that_ strong? The answer was no. What are you afraid of? I don't know. Those voices. Those sounds. But they can't hurt you, can they? They _might_. You've got to face them some time. Must I? Brace up to it, old man. Chin up, and all that rot. He sat down on the hard ground. He felt very much like crying. He felt as if life was over and he was entering new and unknown territory. It was such a deceiving day, with the sun warm; physically, he felt able and well, one might fish on such a day as this, or pick flowers or kiss a woman or anything. But in the midst of a lovely day, what did one get? Death. Well, hardly _that_. Death, he insisted. He lay down and closed his eyes. He was tired of messing around. All right, he thought, if you _are_ death, come get me. I want to know what all this damned nonsense is about. Death came. * * * * * _Eeeeeeeeeeeeee_, said a voice. Yes, I know, said Leonard Sale, lying there. But what else? _Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh_, said a voice. I know that, also, said Leonard Sale, irritably. He turned cold. His mouth hung open wildly. "I am Tylle of Rathalar, Killer of Men!" "I am Iorr of Wendillo, Destroyer of Infidels!" What is this place? asked Leonard Sale, struggling against horror. "Once a mighty planet!" said Tylle of Rathalar. "Once a place of battles!" said Iorr of Wendillo. "Now dead," said Tylle. "Now silent," said Iorr. "Until _you_ came," said Tylle. "To give us life again," said Iorr. You're dead, insisted Leonard Sale, flesh writhing. You're nothing but empty wind. "We live, through you." "And fight, through _you_!" So that's it, thought Leonard Sale. I'm to be a battleground, am I? Are you friends? "Enemies!" cried Iorr. "Foul enemies!" cried Tylle. * * * * * Leonard smiled a rictal smile. He felt ghastly. How long have you waited? he demanded. "How long is _time_?" Ten thousand years? "Perhaps." Ten million years? "Perhaps." What are you? Thoughts, spirits, ghosts? "All of those, and more." Intelligences? "Precisely." How did you survive? _Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeee_, sang the chorus, far away. _Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh_, sang another army, waiting to fight. "Once upon a time, this was fertile land, a rich planet. And there were two nations, strong nations, led by two strong men. I, Iorr. And he, that one who calls himself Tylle. And the planet declined and gave way to nothingness. The peoples and the armies languished in the midst of a great war which had lasted five thousand years. We lived long lives and loved long loves, drank much, slept much, fought much. And when the planet died, our bodies withered, and, only in time, and with much science, did we survive."