("Hello, Steve.")
If it hadn't been for the G-forces against him at that moment, Dalt would have leaped out of his chair in surprise.
("This pressure is quite uncomfortable, isn't it?") the voice said, and Dalt realized that it was coming from inside his head. The thrust automatically cut off as orbit was reached and his stomach gave its familiar free-fall lurch.
("Ah! This is much better.")
"What's going on?" Dalt cried aloud as he glanced frantically about. "Is this someone's idea of a joke?"
("No joke, Steve. I'm what's left of the alaret that landed on your head back in that cave. You're quite lucky, you know. Mutual death is a sure result—most of the time, at least—whenever a creature of high-level intelligence is a target for pairing.") I'm going mad! Dalt thought.
("No, you're not, at least not yet. But it is a possibility if you don't sit back and relax and accept what's happened to you.")
Dalt leaned back and rested his eyes on the growing metal cone that was the Star Ways Corporation mother-ship, on the forward viewer. The glowing signal on the console indicated that the bigger ship had him in traction and was reeling him in.
"Okay, then. Just what has happened to me?" He felt a little ridiculous speaking out loud in an empty cabin.
("Well, to put it in a nutshell: You've got yourself a roommate, Steve. From now on, you and I will be sharing your body.")
"In other words, I've been invaded!"
("That's a loaded term, Steve, and not quite accurate. I'm not really taking anything from you except some of your privacy, and that shouldn't really matter since the two of us will be so intimately associated.")
"And just what gives you the right to invade my mind?" Dalt asked quickly, then added: "—and my privacy?"
("Nothing gives me the right to do so, but there are extenuating circumstances. You see, a few hours ago I was a furry, lichen-eating cave slug with no intelligence to speak of—")
"For a slug you have a pretty good command of the language!" Dalt interrupted.
("No better and no worse than yours, for I derive whatever intelligence I have from you. You see, we alarets, as you call us, invade the nervous system of any creature of sufficient size that comes near enough. It's an instinct with us. If the creature is a dog, then we wind up with the intelligence of a dog—that particular dog. If it's a human and if he survives, as you have done, the invading alaret finds himself possessing a very high degree of intelligence.")
"You used the word 'invade' yourself just then."
("Just an innocent slip, I assure you. I have no intention of taking over. That would be quite immoral.")
Dalt laughed grimly. "What would an ex-slug know about morality?"
("With the aid of your faculties I can reason now, can I not? And if I can reason, why can't I arrive at a moral code? This is your body and I am here only because of blind instinct. I have the ability to take control—not without a struggle, of course—but it would be immoral to attempt to do so. I couldn't vacate your mind if I wanted to, so you're stuck with me, Steve. Might as well make the best of it.")
"We'll see how 'stuck' I am when I get back to the ship," Dalt muttered. "But I'd like to know how you got into my brain."
("I'm not exactly sure of that myself. I know the path I followed to penetrate your skull—if you had the anatomical vocabulary I could describe it to you, but my vocabulary is your vocabulary and yours is very limited in that area.")
"What do you expect? I was educated in cultural studies, not medicine!"
("It's not important anyway. I remember almost nothing of my existence before entering your skull, for it wasn't until then that I first became truly aware.")
Dalt glanced at the console and straightened up in his seat. "Well, whatever you are, go away for now. I'm ready to dock and I don't want to be distracted."
("Gladly. You have a most fascinating organism and I have much exploring to do before I become fully acquainted with it. So long for now, Steve. It's nice knowing you.")
A thought drifted through Dalt's head: If I'm going nuts, at least I'm not doing it halfheartedly!
II
Barre was there to meet him at the dock. "No luck, Steve?"
Dalt shook his head and was about to add a comment when he noticed Barre staring at him with a strange expression.
"What's the matter?"
"You won't believe me if I tell you," Barre replied. He took Dalt's arm and led him into a nearby men's room and stood him in front of a mirror.
Dalt saw what he expected to see: a tall, muscular man in the garb of a Kwashi serf. Tanned face, short, glossy brown hair ... Dalt suddenly flexed his neck to get a better look at the top of his head. Tufts of hair were missing in a roughly oval patch on his scalp. He ran his hand over it and a light rain of brown hair showered past his eyes. With successive strokes, the oval patch became completely denuded and a shiny expanse of scalp reflected the ceiling lights into the mirror.
"Well, I'll be damned! A bald spot!"
("Don't worry, Steve,") said the voice in his head, ("the roots aren't dead. The hair will grow back.")
"It damn well better!" Dalt said aloud.
"It damn well better what?" Barre asked puzzledly.
"Nothing," Dalt replied. "Something dropped onto my head in a cave down there and it looks like it's given me a bald spot." He realized then that he would have to be very careful about talking to his invader; otherwise, even if he really wasn't crazy, he'd soon have everyone on the ship believing he was.
"Maybe you'd better see the doc," Barre suggested.
"I intend to, believe me. But first I've got to report to Clarkson. I'm sure he's waiting."
"You can bet on it." Barre had been a research head on the brain project and was well acquainted with Dirval Clarkson's notorious impatience.
The pair walked briskly toward Clarkson's office. The rotation of the huge conical ship gave the effect of one-G.
"Hi, Jean," Dalt said with a smile as he and Barre entered the anteroom of Clarkson's office. Jean was Clarkson's secretary-receptionist and she and Dalt had entertained each other on the trip out ... the more interesting games had been played during the sleep-time hours.
She returned his smile. "Glad you're back in one piece." Dalt realized that from her seated position she couldn't see the bald spot. Just as well for the moment. He'd explain it to her later.
Jean spoke into the intercom: "Mr. Dalt is here."
"Well, send him in!" squawked a voice. "Send him in!"
Dalt grinned and pushed through the door to Clark-son's office, with Barre trailing behind. A huge, graying man leaped from behind a desk and stalked forward at a precarious angle.
"Dalt! Where the hell have you been? You were supposed to go down, take a look, and then come back up. You could have done the procedure three times in the period you took. And what happened to your head?" Clarkson's speech was in its usual rapidfire form.
"Well, this—"