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.