"Inne John Barth" av William W. Stuart , även svaret på den här gamla frågan och den här . Finns på Project Gutenberg och Internetarkiv .
En man skadas i en explosion
Ingen explosion, men han är skadad. Han är på jaktresa med sin farbror John:
Then, all of a sudden, there was a bright flash of blue-green light and a loud sort of a zoop-zing sound. And a sharp, stinging sensation in my thighs.
I hollered. I jumped to my feet. I looked down, and my pants were peppered with about a dozen little holes, like buckshot. I didn't have to drop my pants to know my legs were, too. I could feel it. And blood started to ooze.
och senare inser han att han har blivit värd för en hel civilisation av utlänningar.
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 that 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.
Utlänningar hjälper honom att reparera sig fysiskt
"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 noticed the vast improvement in your condition?"
och ge honom hjälp och råd.
All at once, almost anything I undertook to do was sensationally successful. I wrote, in several different styles and fields and under a number of different names; I was terrific. My painting was the talk of the art world. "Superb," said the critics. "An astonishing otherworldly quality." How right they were—even if they didn't know why. I patented a few little inventions, just for fun; and I invested. The money poured in so fast I couldn't count it. I hired people to count it, and to help guide it through the tax loopholes—although I was able to give them a few sneaky little ideas that even our sharpest tax lawyers hadn't worked out.
Den enda sak som de inte låter honom göra är att raka med ett blad eftersom ett nick skulle orsaka tusentals utlänningar så att han måste använda en elektrisk rakhyvel.
I had always used an ordinary safety razor—nicked myself not more than average. It seemed O.K. to me. Never cared too much for electric razors; it didn't seem to me they shaved as close. But—I took to using an electric razor now, because I had to.
[. . . .]
I had to be careful because, as they explained it, even a small nick with a razor might wipe out an entire suburban family.
Mannen hittar så småningom en kvinna som också är smittad av samma typ av utomjordingar.
It was late afternoon, turning to dusk. She lifted up on one elbow and half turned away from me to switch on the bedside lamp. The light came on and I looked down at her, lovingly, admiringly. Idly, I started to ask her, "How did you get those little scars on your leg there and . . . those little scars? Like buckshot? Julia! Once, along about ten years ago—you must have been a little girl then—in the mountains—sure. You were hit by a meteor, weren't you?"
She turned and stared at me. I pointed at my own little pockmark scars.
"A meteor—about ten years ago?"
"Oh!"
"I knew it. You were."
"Some damn fool, crazy hunter," was what Pop said. He thought it really was buckshot. So did I, at first. We all did. Of course, about six months later I found out what it was but we—my little people and I—agreed there was no sense in my telling anyone. But you know."
It was the other ship. There were two in this sector, each controlled to colonize a person. My own group always hoped and believed the other ship might have landed safely. And now they knew.
De går på en bender med alkohol och droger som resulterar i kvinnans död men mannen återhämtar knappt.
"Don't ask," said the doctor. I wasn't going to. I didn't even care where I was, but he told me anyway, "You are in the South Side Hospital, Mr. Barth. You will be all right—which is a wonder, considering. Remarkable stamina! Please tell me, Mr. Barth, what kind of lunatic suicide pact was that?"
"Suicide pact?"
"Yes, Mr. Barth. Why couldn't you have settled for just one simple poison, hm-m? The lab has been swearing at you all day."
"Uh?"
"Yes. At what we pumped from your stomach. And found in the girl's. Liquor, lots of that—but then, why aspirin? Barbiturates we expect. Roach pellets are not unusual. But aureomycin? Tranquilizers? Bufferin? Vitamin B complex, vitamin C—and, finally, half a dozen highly questionable contraceptive pills? Good Lord, man!"
"It was an accident. The girl—Julia—?"
"You are lucky. She wasn't."
"Dead?"
"Yes, Mr. Barth. She is dead."
Han finner ut till hans ånger att alla utomjordingar inom honom har blivit dödade på grund av alkohol- och drogdriven episod.
They were gone! At last, after all these years, they were gone. I was free again, truly free. It was glorious to be free—wasn't it?
[. . . .]
But I feel awful.
Well—how do you suppose New England would feel today if suddenly all of its inhabitants died?
Det var en novell eller en kortfattad historia från slutet av 60-talet eller början av 70-talet.
En novelette, den publicerades först i Galaxy Magazine , juni 1960 .