Waldo

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

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 pass from one space 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 snatched 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