as a solid pincushion of darting needles of
fire. Later, my ears reported not a sound, and even later still I awoke
to find myself strapped into a portable resuscitator that moved my chest
up and down with an inexorable force.

That's about all I know of it. When the smoke cleared away completely
and the veil across my eyes was gone, it was Spring outside and I was a
Mekstrom.

* * * * *

I sat up in bed.

It was morning, the sun was streaming in the window brightly and the
fresh morning air of Spring stirred the curtains gently. It was quite
warm and the smell that came in from the outside was alive with newborn
greenery. It felt good just to be alive.

The hanging bottles and festoons of rubber hose were gone. The crude
manipulators had been stowed somewhere and the bottles of medicine and
stuff were missing from the bureau. There wasn't even a thermometer in a
glass anywhere within the range of my vision, and frankly I was so glad
to be alive again that I did not see any point to digging through the
joint with my perception to find the location of the medical junk.
Instead, I just wanted to get up and run.

I did take a swing at the clothes closet and found my stuff. Then I took
a mild pass at the house, located the bathroom and also assured myself
that no one was likely to interrupt me.

I was going to shave and shower and dress and go downstairs. I was just
shrugging myself up and out of bed when Nurse Farrow came bustling up
the stairs and into the room with no preamble.

"Hi!" I greeted her. "I was going to--"

"Surprise us," she said quickly. "I know. So I came up to see that you
don't get into trouble."

"Trouble?" I asked, pausing on the edge of the bed.

"You're a Mekstrom, Steve," she told me unnecessarily. Then she caught
my thought and went on: "It's necessary to remind you. You have to learn
how to control your strength, Steve."

I flexed my arms. They didn't feel any different. I pinched my muscle
with my other hand and it pinched just as it always had. I took a deep
breath and the air went in pleasantly and come out again.

"I don't feel any different," I told her.

She smiled and handed me a common wooden lead pencil. "Write your name,"
she directed.

"Think I'll have to learn all over?" I grinned. I took the pencil, put
my fist down on the top of the bureau above a pad of paper and chuckled
at Farrow. "Now, let's see, my first initial is the letter 'S'