He established, to his own satisfaction, the mechanism whereby short- wave radiation had produced a deterioration in human physical performance. The synapses between dendrites acted as if they were points of leakage. Nerve impulses would sometimes fail to make the jump, would leak off - to where? To Other Space, he was sure. Such leakage seemed to establish a preferred path, a canalization, whereby the condition of the victim became steadily worse. Motor action was not lost entirely, as both paths were still available, but efficiency was lost. It reminded him of a metallic electrical circuit with a partial ground
An unfortunate cat, which had become dead undergoing the experimentation, had supplied him with much of his data. The kitten had been born and raised free from exposure to power radiation. He subjected it to heavy exposure and saw it acquire a myasthenia nearly as complete as his own - while studying in minute detail what actually went on in its nerve tissues. He felt quite sentimental about it when it died
Yet, if Gramps Schneider were right, human beings need not be damaged by radiation. If they had the wit to look at it with the proper orientation, the radiation would not affect them; they might even draw power out of the Other World
That was what Grarnps Schneider had told him to do
That was what Gramps Schneider had told him to do! Gramps Schneider had told him he need not be weak! That he could be strong-Strong! STRONG! He had never thought of it. Schneider's friendly ministrations to him, his ] advice about overcoming the weakness, he had ignored, had thrown off as inconsequential. His own weakness, his own peculiarity which made him different from the smooth apes, he had regarded as a basic, implicit fact. He had accepted it as established when he was a small child, a final unquestioned factor
Naturally he had paid no attention to Schneider's words in so far as they referred to him
To be strong! To stand alone - to walk, to run! Why, he ... he could, he could go down to Earth surface without fear. He wouldn't mind the field. They said they didn't mind it; they even carried things - great, heavy things. Everybody did. They threw things
He made a sudden convulsive movement in his primary waldoes, quite unlike his normal, beautifully economical rhythm. The secondaries were oversize, as he was making a new setup. The guys tore loose, a brace plate banged against the wall. Baldur was snoozing nearby; he pricked up his ears, looked around, then turned his face to Waldo, questioning him
Waldo glared at him and the dog whined. ‘Shut up!
The dog quieted and apologized with his eyes
Automatically he looked over the damage - not much, but he would have to fix it. Strength. Why, if he were strong, he could do anything - anything! No 6 extension waldoes and some new guys- Strong! Absent-mindedly he shifted to the No 6 waldoes
Strength! He could even meet women - be stronger than they were! He could swim. He could ride. He could fly a ship - run, jump. He could handle things with his bare hands. He could even learn to dance! Strong! He would have muscles! He could break things
He could- He could- He switched to the great waldoes with hands the size of a man's body. Strong - they were strong! With one giant waldo he hauled from the stock pile a quarter-inch steel plate, held it up, and shook it. A booming rumble. He shook it again. Strong
He took it in both waldoes, bent it double. The metal buckled unevenly. Convulsively he crumpled it like wastepaper between the two huge palms. The grinding racket raised hackles on Baldur; he himself had not been aware of it. He relaxed for a moment, gasping. There was sweat on his forehead; blood throbbed in his ears. But he was not spent; he wanted something heavier~ stronger. Cutting to the adjoining storeroom he selected an L-beam twelve feet long, shoved it through to where the giant hands could reach it, and cut back to them
The beam was askew in the port; he wrenched it loose, knocking a big dent in the port frame. He did not notice it
The beam made a fine club in the gross fist. He brandished it. Baldur backed away, placing the control ring between himself and the great hands
Power! Strength! Smashing, unbeatable strength- With a spastic jerk he checked his swing just before the beam touched the wall. No- But he grabbed the other end of the club with the left waldo and tried to bend it. The big waldoes were built for heavy work, but the beam was built to resist. He strained inside the primaries, strove to force the great fists to do his will. A warning light flashed on his control board. Bliiidly he kicked in the emergency overload and persisted
The hum of the waldoes and the rasp of his own breath were drowned out by the harsh scrape of metal on metal as the beam began to give way. Exulting, he bore down harder in the primaries. The beam was bending double when the waldobs blew out. The right-hand tractors let go first; the fist flung open. The left fist, relieved of the strain, threw the steel from it
It tore its way through the thin bulkhead, making a ragged hole, crashed and clanged in the room beyond
But the giant waldoes were inanimate junk
He drew his soft pink hands from the waldoes and looked at them. His shoulders heaved, and racking sobs pushed up out of him. He covered his face with his hands; the tears leaked out between his fingers. Baldur whimpered and edged in closer
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 pass 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