He drove powerfully with his wings, felt tonus across his back, shot
forward and up. He thought of the controls of his ship. He imagined
flowing into them, becoming part of them, as he had so often done--and
for the first time in his life the thought failed to excite him.

No machine could compare with this!

What he would give to have wings of his own!

_... Get from my sight, Shapeless One!_

The Displacer must be planted, activated. All Grom depended on him.

He eyed the building, far below. He would pass over it. The Displacer
would tell him which window to enter--which window was so near the
reactor that he could do his job before the Men even knew he was
about.

He started to drop lower, and the Hawk struck.

* * * * *

It had been above him. His first inkling of danger was the sharp pain
of talons in his back, and the stunning blow of a beak across his
head.

Dazed, he let his back go Shapeless. His body-substance flowed from
the grasp of the talons. He dropped a dozen feet and resumed
Sparrow-shape, hearing an astonished squawk from the attacker.

He banked, and looked up. The Hawk was eyeing him.

Talons spread again. The sharp beak gaped. The Hawk swooped.

Pid had to fight as a Bird, naturally. He was four hundred feet above
the ground.

So he became an impossibly deadly Bird.

He grew to twice the size of the Hawk. He grew a foot-long beak with
a double razor's edge. He grew talons like six inch scimitars. His
eyes gleamed a red challenge.

The Hawk broke flight, squalling in alarm. Frantically, tail down and
widespread, it thundered its wings and came to a dead stop six feet
from Pid.

Looking thoughtfully at Pid, it allowed itself to plummet. It fell a
hundred feet, spread its wings, stretched its neck and flew off so
hastily that its wings became blurs.

Pid saw no reason to pursue it.

Then, after a moment, he did.

He glided, keeping the Hawk in sight, thoughts racing, feeling the
newness, the power, the wonder of Freedom of Shape.

Freedom....

He did not want to give it up.

The bird-shape was wondrous. He would experiment with it. Later, he
might tire of it for a time and assume another--a crawling or running
shape, or even a swimming one. The possibilities for excitement, for
adventure, for fulfilment and simple sensual pleasure were endless!

Freedom of Shape was--obviously, now that you thought on it--the Grom
birthright. And the ca