Short Stories by Robert A. Heinlein Vol 2 Part 78

On the control board a bell rang persistently.

The wreckage had been cleared away and an adequate, neat patch covered the place where the L-beam had made its own exit. But the giant waldoes had not yet been replaced; their frame was uninhabited. Waldo was busy rigging a strength tester.

It had been years since he had paid any attention to the exact strength of his body. He had had so little use for strength; he had concentrated on dexterity, particularly on the exact and discriminating control of his namesakes. In the selective, efficient, and accurate use of his muscles he was second to none; he had control - he had to have. But he had had no need for strength.

With the mechanical equipment at hand it was not difficult to jury-rig a device which would register strength of grip as pounds-force on a dial.

A spring-loaded scale and a yoke to act on it sufficed. He paused and looked at the contrivance.

He need only take off the primary waldoes, place his bare hand on the grip, bear down - and he would know. Still he hesitated.

It felt strange to handle anything so large with his bare hand. Now. Reach into the Other World for power. He closed his eyes and pressed. He opened them.

Fourteen pounds - less than he used to have.

But he had not really tried yet. He tried to imagine Gramps Schneider's hands on his arm, that warm tingle. Power. Reach Out and claim it.

Fourteen pounds, fifteen - seventeen, eighteen, twenty, twenty-one! He was winning! He was winning!

Both his strength and his courage failed him, in what order he could not say.

The needle spun back to zero; he had to rest.

Had he really shown exceptional strength - or was twenty one pounds of grip simply normal for him at his present age and weight? A normally strong and active man, he knew, should have a grip of the order of one hundred and fifty pounds.

Nevertheless, twenty-one pounds of grip was six pounds higher than he had ever before managed on test.

Try, again. Ten, eleven - twelve. Thirteen. The needle hesitated. Why, he had just started - this was ridiculous. Fourteen.

There it stopped. No matter how he strained and concentrated his driving will he could not pa.s.s that point. Slowly, he dropped back from it.

Sixteen pounds was the highest he managed in the following days. Twenty-one pounds seemed to have been merely a fluke, a good first effort. He ate bitterness.

But he had not reached his present position of wealth and prominence by easy surrender. He persisted, recalling carefully just what Schneider had said to him, and trying to feel the touch of Schneider's hands. He told himself now that he really had been strong under Schneider's touch, but that he had failed to realize it because of the Earth's heavy field. He continued to try.

In the back of his mind he knew that he must eventually seek out Gramps Schneider and ask his help, if he did not find the trick alone. But he was extremely reluctant to do so, not because of the terrible trip it entailed - though that would ordinarily have been more than enough reason - but because if he did so and Schneider was not able to help him, then there would be no hope, no hope at all.

It was better to live with disappointment and frustration than to live without hope. He continued to postpone it.

Waldo paid little attention to Earth time; he ate and slept when he pleased.

He might catch a cat nap at any time; however, at fairly regular intervals he slept for longer periods. Not in a bed, of course. A man who floats in air has no need for a bed. But he did make it a habit to guy himself into place before undertaking eight hours of solid sleep, as it prevented him from casual drifting in random air currents which might carry him, unconscious, against controls or switches.

Since the obsession to become strong had possessed him he had frequently found it necessary to resort to soporifics to ensure sleep.

Dr Rambeau had returned and was looking for him. Rambeau - crazy and filled with hate. Rambeau, blaming his troubles on Waldo. He was not safe, even in Freehold, as the crazy physicist had found out how to pa.s.s from one s.p.a.ce to another. There he was now! Just his head, poked through from the Other World. 'I'm going to get you, Waldo!' He was gone - no, there he was behind him! Reaching, reaching out with hands that were writhing antennae. 'You, Waldo!' But Waldo's own hands were the giant waldoes; he s.n.a.t.c.hed at Rambeau.

The big waldoes went limp.

Rambeau was at him, was on him; he had him around the throat.

Gramps Schneider said in his ear, in a voice that was calm and strong,

'Reach out for the power, my son. Feel it in your fingers.' Waldo grabbed at the throttling fingers, strained, tried.

They were coming loose. He was winning. He would stuff Rambeau back into the Other World and keep him there. There! He had one hand free. Baldur was barking frantically; he tried to tell him to shut up, to bite

Rambeau, to help- The dog continued to bark.

He was in his own home, in his own great room. Baldur let out one more yipe.

'Quiet!' He looked himself over.

When he had gone to sleep he had been held in place by four light guys, opposed like the axes of a tetrahedron. Two of them were still fastened to his belt; he swung loosely against the control ring. Of the other two, one had snapped off at his belt; its end floated a few feet away.

The fourth had been broken in two places, near his belt and again several feet out; the severed piece was looped loosely around his neck.

He looked the situation over. Study as he might, he could conceive no way in which the guys could have been broken save by his own struggles in the nightmare. The dog could not have done it; he had no way to get a purchase. He had done it himself.

The lines were light, being intended merely as stays. Still- It took him a few minutes to rig a testing apparatus which would test pull instead of grip; the yoke had to be reversed. When it was done, he cut in a medium waldo pair, fastened the severed piece of line to the tester, and, using the waldo, pulled.

The line parted at two hundred and twelve pounds.

Hastily, but losing time because of nervous clumsiness, he re-rigged the tester for grip. He paused, whispered softly, 'Now is the time,

Gramps!' and bore down on the grip.

Twenty pounds - twenty-one. Twenty-five!

Up past thirty. He was not even sweating! Thirty-five -forty, -one,

-two, -three. Forty-five! And -six! And a half. Forty-seven pounds!

With a great sigh he let his hand relax. He was strong. Strong.

When he had somewhat regained his composure, he considered what to do next. His first impulse was to call Grimes, but he suppressed it.

Soon enough when he was sure of himself.

He went back to the tester and tried his left hand. Not as strong as his right, but almost - nearly forty-five pounds. Funny thing, he didn't feel any different. Just normal, healthy. No sensation.

He wanted to try all of his muscles. It would take too long to rig testers for kick, and shove, and back lift, and, oh, a dozen others.

He needed a field, that was it, a one-g field. Well, there was the reception room; it could be centrifuged.

But its controls were in the ring and it was long corridors away.

There was a nearer one, the centrifuge for the cuckoo clock. He had rigged the wheel with a speed control as an easy way to regulate the clock. He moved back to the control ring and stopped the turning of the big wheel; the clockwork was disturbed by the sudden change; the little red bird popped out, said, 'TIz-wu th-woo' once, hopefully, and subsided.