"Barth! Oh, Land of Barth. Do you read us, oh Barthland? Do you read
us?"
I didn't hear that, you understand. It wasn't a voice. It was all
thoughts inside my head. But to me they came in terms of words.
I took it calmly. Surprisingly, I was no longer upset--which, as I
think it over, was probably more an achievement of internal engineering
than personal stability.
"Yeah," I said, "I read you. So who in hell--" a poor choice of
expression--"are you? What are you doing here? Answer me that." I
didn't have to say it, the thought would have been enough. I knew that.
But it made me feel better to speak out.
"We are Barthians, of course. We are your people. We live here."
"Well, you're trespassing on private property! Get out, you hear me?
Get out!"
"Now, now, noble Fatherland. Please, do not become upset and
unreasonable. We honor you greatly as our home and country. Surely we
who were born and raised here have our rights. True, our forefathers
who made the great voyage through space settled first here in a
frightful wilderness some four generations back. But we are neither
pioneers nor immigrants. We are citizens born."
"Invaders! Squatters!"
"Citizens of Barthland."
"Invaded! Good Lord, of all the people in the world, why me? Nothing
like this ever happened to anyone. Why did I have to be picked to be a
territory--the first man to have queer things living in me?"
"Oh, please, gracious Fatherland! Permit us to correct you. In the day
of our fathers, conditions were, we can assure you, chaotic. Many
horrible things lived here. Wild beasts and plant growths of the most
vicious types were everywhere."
"There were----?"
"What you would call microbes. Bacteria. Fungi. Viruses. Terrible
devouring wild creatures everywhere. You were a howling wilderness. Of
course, we have cleaned those things up now. Today you are civilized--a
fine, healthy individual of your species--and our revered Fatherland.
Surely you have noted the vast improvement in your condition!"
"Yes, but----"
"And we pledge our lives to you, oh Barthland. As patriotic citizens we
will defend you to the death. We promise you will never be successfully
invaded."
Yeah. Well, that was nice. But already I felt as crowded as a subway
train with the power cut out at rush hour.
But there was no room for doubt either. I'd had it. I still did have
it; had no chance at all of getting rid of it.
They went on then and told me their story.
I won't try to repeat it all verbatim. I couldn't now, since my
memory--but that's something else. Anyway, I finally got the picture.
But I didn't get it all the same evening. Oh, no. At ten I had to knock
it off to go to bed, get my sleep, keep up my health. They were
insistent.
As they put it, even if I didn't care for myself I had to think about
an entire population and generations yet unborn. Or unbudded, which was
the way they did it.
Well, as they said, we had the whole weekend to work out an
understanding. Which we did. When we were through, I didn't like it a
whole lot better, but at least I could understand it.
It was all a perfectly logical proposition from their point of
view--which differed in quite a number of respects from my own. To them
it was simply a matter of survival for their race and their culture. To
me it was a matter of who or what I was going to be. But then, I had no
choice.
According to the Official History I was given, they came from a tiny
planet of a small sun. Actually, their sun was itself a planet, still
incandescent, distant perhaps like Jupiter from the true sun. Their
planet or moon was tiny, wet and warm. And the temperature was
constant.
These conditions, naturally, governed their development--and,
eventually, mine.
Of course they were very small, about the size of a dysentery amoeba.
The individual life span was short as compared to ours but the
accelerated pace of their lives balanced it out. In the beginning,
something like four of our days was a lifetime. So they lived, grew,
developed, evolved. They learned to communicate. They became
civilized--far more so than we have, according to them. And I guess
that was true. They were even able to extend their life span to
something like two months.
"And to what," I inquired--but without much fire, I'm afraid; I was
losing fight--"to what am I indebted for this intrusion?"
"Necessity."
It was, to them. Their sun had begun to cool. It was their eviction
notice.
They had to move or adapt themselves to immeasurably harsher
conditions; and they had become so highly developed, so specialized,
that change of that sort would have been difficult if not impossible.
And they didn't want to change, anyway. They liked themselves as they
were.
The only other thing was to escape. They had to work for flight through
space. And they succeeded.
There were planets nearer to them than Earth. But these were enormous
worlds to them, and the conditions were intolerably harsh. They found
one planet with conditions much like those on Earth a few million years
back. It was a jungle world, dominated by giant reptiles--which were of
no use to the folk. But there were a few, small, struggling,
warm-blooded animals. Small to us, that is--they were county size to
the folk.
Some genius had a great inspiration. While the environment of the
planet itself was impossibly harsh and hostile, the conditions _inside_
these warm little animals were highly suitable!
It seemed to be the solution to their problem of survival. Small, trial
colonies were established. Communication with the space ships from home
was achieved.
The experiment was a success.
The trouble was that each colony's existence depended on the life of
the host. When the animal died, the colony died.
Life on the planet was savage. New colonies would, of course, be passed
from individual to individual and generation to generation of the host
species. But the inevitable toll of attrition from the violent deaths
of the animals appalled this gentle race. And there was nothing they
could do about it. They could give protection against disease, but they
could not control the hosts. Their scientists figured that, if they
could find a form of life having conscious power of reason, they would
be able to establish communication and a measure of control. But it was
not possible where only instinct existed.
They went ahead because they had no choice. Their only chance was to
establish their colonies, accepting the certainty of the slaughter of
hundreds upon hundreds of entire communities--and hoping that, with
their help, evolution on the planet would eventually produce a better
host organism. Even of this they were by no means sure. It was a hope.
For all they could know, the struggling mammalian life might well be
doomed to extermination by the giant reptiles.
They took the gamble. Hundreds of colonies were planted.
They did it but they weren't satisfied with it. So, back on the dying
home moon, survivors continued to work. Before the end came they made
one more desperate bid for race survival.
They built interstellar ships to be launched on possibly endless
journeys into space. A nucleus of select individuals in a spore-like
form of suspended animation was placed on each ship. Ships were
launched in pairs, with automatic controls to be activated when they
entered into the radius of attraction of a sun. Should the sun have
planets such as their own home world--or Earth type--the ships would be
guided there. In the case of an Earth type planet having intelligent
life, they would----
They would do just what my damned "meteor" had done.
They would home in on an individual, "explode," penetrate--and set up
heavy housekeeping on a permanent basis. They did. Lovely. Oh, joy!
Well. We would all like to see the Garden of Eden; but being it is
something quite else again.
Me, a colony!
My--uh--population had no idea where they were in relation to their
original home, or how long they had traveled through space. They did
hope that someplace on Earth their companion ship had established
another settlement. But they didn't know. So far on our world, with its
masses of powerful electrical impulses, plus those of our own brains,
they had found distance communication impossible.
"Well, look, fellows," I said. "Look here now. This is a noble,
inspiring story. The heroic struggle of your--uh--people to survive,
overcoming all odds and stuff, it's wonderful! And I admire you for it,
indeed I do. But--what about me?"
"You, Great Land of Barth, are our beloved home and fatherland for
many, many generations to come. You are the mighty base from which we
can spread over this enormous planet."
"That's you. What I mean is, what about _me_?"
"Oh? But there is no conflict. Your interests are our interests."
That was how they looked at it. Sincerely. As they said, they weren't
ruthless conquerors. They only wanted to get along.
And all they wanted for me were such fine things as good health, long
life, contentment. Contentment, sure. Continued irritation--a sour
disposition resulting in excess flow of bile--did not provide just the
sort of environment in which they cared to bring up the kiddies.
Smoking? No. It wasn't healthy. Alcohol? Well, they were willing to
declare a national holiday now and then. Within reason.
Which, as I already knew, meant two to four shots once or twice a week.
Sex? Themselves, they didn't have any. "But," they told me with an
attitude of broad tolerance, "we want to be fair. We will not interfere
with you in this matter--other than to assist you in the use of sound
judgment in the selection of a partner."
_But_ I shouldn't feel that any of this was in any way real restrictive.
It was merely practical common sense.
For observing it I would get their valuable advice and assistance in
all phases of my life. I would enjoy--or have, anyway--perfect health.
My life, if that's what it was, would be extended by better than 100
years. "You are fortunate," they pointed out, a little smugly I
thought, "that we, unlike your race, are conservationists in the truest
sense. Far from despoiling our homeland and laying waste its resources
and natural scenic wonders, we will improve it."
I had to be careful because, as they explained it, even a small nick
with a razor might wipe out an entire suburban family.
"But fellows! I want to live my own life."
"Come now. Please remember that you are not alone now."
"Aw, fellows. Look, I'll get a dog, lots of dogs--fine purebreds, not
mongrels like me. The finest. I'll pamper them. They'll live like
kings.... Wouldn't you consider moving?"
"Out of the question."
"An elephant then? Think of the space, the room for the kids to
play----"
"Never."
"Damn it! Take me to--no, I mean let me talk to your leader."
That got me no place. It seemed I was already talking to their highest
government councils. All of my suggestions were considered, debated,
voted on--and rejected.
They were democratic, they said. They counted my vote in favor; but
that was just one vote. Rather a small minority.
As I suppose I should have figured, my thoughts were coming through
over a period that was, to them, equal to weeks. They recorded them,
accelerated them, broadcast them all around, held elections and
recorded replies to be played back to me at my own slow tempo by the
time I had a new thought ready. No, they wouldn't take time to let me
count the votes. And there is where you might say I lost my self
control.
"Damn it!" I said. Or shouted. "I won't have it! I won't put up with
it. I'll--uh--I'll get us all dead drunk. I'll take dope! I'll go out
and get a shot of penicillin and--"