y the ones I want you to know.
What has happened is this, if I may borrow your theory:

"My mind has invaded Mersey's, but his human vitality is too strong to
permit him to be controlled by it. In fact, the reverse is true. His
vitality is making use of my mind for its own good, and for the good
of your human race. His own mind is damaged badly, but his healthy
body has taken over and made use of my mind. It is using my mind to
make it speak against its will--to speak the thoughts of an alien
without subterfuge, as they actually exist in truth. Thus I am
helplessly telling you all about myself and the intentions of my
people.

"What is in operation in Mersey is the human body's instinct of
self-preservation. It is utilizing my mind to warn you against that
very mind. Do you see? That would be the case, too, if a million of us
invaded a million minds like Mersey's. None of us could plot
successfully against you, if that were our desire--which, of course,
it is--because the babbling tongues we inherited along with the bodies
would give us away."

The doctor no longer smiled. His expression was grave now.

"I don't know," he said. "Now I am not sure any longer. I'm not
certain that I follow you--or whether I want to follow you. I think
I'm a bit frightened."

"You needn't be. I'm going. I'll say good-by, in your custom, and
thank you for the hospitality and pleasures your world has given me.
And I suppose I must thank Mersey for the warning of doom he's
unknowingly given my people, poor man. I hope you can help him."

"I'll try," said Dr. Cloyd, "though I must say you've complicated the
diagnosis considerably."

"Good-by. I won't be back, I promise you."

"I believe you," said the doctor. "Good-by."

Mersey slumped back on the couch. He looked up at the ceiling,
vacantly.

* * * * *

For a long time there was no sound in the room.

Then the doctor said: "Mersey."

There was no answer. The man continued to lie there motionless,
breathing normally, looking at the ceiling.

"Mersey," said the doctor again. "How do you feel?"

The man turned his head. He looked at the doctor with hostility, then
went back to his contemplation of the ceiling.

"Drop dead," he muttered.

--RICHARD WILSON

* * * * *

End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Inhabited, by Richard Wilson

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