Waldo

by Robert A. Heinlein

  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

  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

  Carrying in his hand a small control panel radio hooked to the motor which inipelled the centrifuge wheel, he propelled himself to the wheel and placed himself inside, planting his feet on the inner surface of the rim and grasping one of the spokes, so that he would be in a standing position with respect to the centrifugal force, once it was impressed. He started the wheel slowly

  Its first motion surprised him and he almost fell off. But he recovered himself and gave it a littlc more power. All right so far. He speeded it up gradually, triumph spreading through him as he felt the pull of the pseudo gravitational field, felt his legs grow heavy, but still strong! He let it out, one full g. He could take it. He could, indeed! To be sure, the force did not affect the upper part of his body so strongly as the lower, as his head was only a foot or so from the point of rotation. He could fix that; he squatted down slowly, hanging on tight to the spoke. It was all right

  But the wheel swayed and the motor complained. His un­balanced weight, that far out from the centre of rotation, was putting too much of a strain on a framework intended to sup­port a cuckoo clock and its counterweight only. He straightened up with equal caution, feeling the fine shove of his thigh muscles and calves. He stopped the wheel

  Baldur had been much perturbed by the whole business. He had almost twisted his neck off trying to follow the motions of Waldo

  He still postponed calling Grimes. He wanted to arrange for some selective local controls on the centrifuging of the reception room, in order to have a proper place in which to practice standing up. Then he had to get the hang of this walk­ing business; it looked easy, but he didn't know. Might be quite a trick to learn it

  Thereafter he planned to teach Baldur to walk. He tried to get Baldur into the cuckoo-clock wheel, but the dog objected. He wiggled free and retreated to the farthest part of the room. No matter - when he had the beast in the reception room he would damn well have to learn to walk. Should have seen to it long ago. A big brute like that, and couldn't walk! He visualized a framework into which the dog could be placed which would force him to stand erect. It was roughly equivalent to a baby's toddler, but Waldo did not know that. He had never seen a baby's toddler

  ‘Uncle Gus-

  ‘Oh, hello, Waldo. How you been?

  ‘Fine. Look, Uncle Gus, could you come up to Freehold -right away?

  Grimes shook his head. ‘Sorry. My bus is in the shop.

  ‘Your bus is too slow anyhow. Take a taxi, or get somebody to drive you.

  ‘And have you insult ‘em when we get there? Huh-uh.

  ‘I'll be sweet as sugar.

  ‘Well, Jimmie Stevens said something yesterday about want­ing to see you.

  Waldo grinned. ‘Get him. I'd like to see him.

  ‘I'll try.

  ‘Call me back. Make it soon.

  Waldo met them in the reception room, which he had left uncentrifuged. As soon as they came in he started his act. ‘My, I'm glad you're here. Dr Stevens - could you fly me down to Earth rightaway? Something's comeup.

  ‘Why - I suppose so.

  ‘Let's go.

  ‘Wait a minute, Waldo. Jimmie's not prepared to handle you the way you have to be handled.

  ‘I'll have to chance it, Uncle Gus. This is urgent.

  ‘But-

  ‘No "buts". Let's leave at once.

  They bustled Baldur into the ship and tied him down. Grimes saw to it that Waldo's chair was tilted back in the best approxi­mation of a deceleration rig. Waldo settled himself into it and closed his eyes to discourage questions. He sneaked a look and found Grimes grimly silent. Stevens made very nearly a record trip, but set them down quite gently on the parking flat ovcr Grimes's home. Grimes touched Waldo's arm. ‘How do you feel? I'll get someone and we'll get you inside. I want to get you to bed.

  ‘Can't do that, Uncle Gus. Things to do. Give me your arm, will you?

  ‘Huh?' But Waldo reached for the support requested and drew himself up

  ‘I'll be all right now, I guess.' He let go the physician's arm and started for the door. ‘Will you untie Baldur?

  ‘Waldo!

  He turned around, grinning happily. ‘Yes, Uncle Gus, it's true. I'm not weak any more. I can walk.

  Grimes took hold of the back of one of the seats and said shakily, ‘Waldo, I'm an old man. You ought not to do things like this to me.' He wiped at his eyes

  ‘Yes,' agreed Stevens, ‘it's a damn dirty trick.

  Waldo looked blankly from one face to the other. ‘I'm sorry,' he said humbly. ‘I just wanted to surprise you.

  ‘It's all right. Let's go downside and have a drink. You can tell us about it then.

  ‘All right. Come on, Baldur.' The dog got up and followed after his master. He had a very curious gait; Waldo's trainer gadget had taught him to pace instead of trot

  Waldo stayed with Grimes for days, gaining strength, gain­ing new reflex patterns, building up his flabby muscles. He had no setbacks; the myasthenia was gone. All he required was conditioning

  Grimes had forgiven him at once for his unnecessarily abrupt and spectacular revelation of his cure, but Grimes had insisted that he take it easy and become fully readjusted before he undertook to venture out unescorted. It was a wise pre­caution. Even simple things were hazards to him. Stairs, for example. He could walk on the level, but going downstairs had to be learned. Going up was not so difficult

  Stevens showed up one day, let himself in, and found Waldo alone in the living room, listening to a stereo show. ‘Hello, Mr Jones.

  ‘Oh - hello, Dr Stevens.' Waldo reached down hastily, fumbled for his shoes, zipped them on. ‘Uncle Gus says I should wear them all the time,' he explained. ‘Everybody does. But you caught me unawares.

  ‘Oh, that's no matter. You don't have to wear them in the house. Where's Doc?

  ‘Gone for the day. Don't you, really? Seems to me my nurses always wore shoes.

  ‘Oh yes, everybody does - but there's no law to make you.

  ‘Then I'll wear them. But I can't say that I like them. They feel dead, like a pair of disconnected waldoes. But I want to learn how.

  ‘How to wear shoes?

  ‘How to act like people act. It's really quite difficult,' he said seriously

  Stevens felt a sudden insight, a welling of sympathy for this man with no background and no friends. It must be odd and strange to him. He felt an impulse to confess something which had been on his mind with respect to Waldo. ‘You really are strong now, aren't you?

  Waldo grinned happily. ‘Getting stronger every day. I gripped two hundred pounds this morning. And see how much fat I've worked off.

  ‘You're looking fit, all right. Here's a funny thing. Ever since I first met you I've wished to high heaven that you were as strong as an ordinary man.

  ‘You really did? Why?

  ‘Well . .. I think you will admit that you used some pretty poisonous language to me, one time and another. You had me riled up all the time. I wanted you to get strong so that I could just beat the hell out of you.

  Waldo had been walking up and down, getting used to his shoes. He stopped and faced Stevens. He seemed considerably startled. ‘You mean you wanted to fist-fight me?

  ‘Exactly. You used language to me that a man ought not to use unless he is prepared to back it up with his fist
s. If you had not been an invalid I would have pasted you one, oh, any number of times.

  Waldo seemed to be struggling with a new concept. ‘I think I see,' he said slowly. ‘Well - all right.' On the last word he delivered a roundhouse swipe with plenty of power behind it. Stevens was not in the least expecting it; it happened to catch him on the button. He went down. out cold

  When he came to he found himself in a chair. Waldo was shaking him. ‘Wasn't that right?' he said anxiously

  ‘What did you hit me with?

  ‘My hand. Wasn't that right? Wasn't that what you wanted?

  ‘Wasn't that what I-' He still had little bright lights float­ing in front of his eyes, but the situation began to tickle him. ‘Look here - is that your idea of the proper way to start a fight?

  ‘Isn't it?

  Stevens tried to explain to him the etiquette of fisticuffs, contemporary American. Waldo seemed puzzled, but finally he nodded. ‘I get it. You have to give the other man warning. All right - get up, and we'll do it over.

  ‘Easy, easy! Wait a minute. You never did give me a chance to finish what I was saying. I was sore at you, but I'm not any more. That is what I was trying to tell you. Oh, you were utterly poisonous; there is no doubt about that. But you couldn't help being.

  ‘I don't mean to be poisonous,' Waldo said seriously

  ‘I know you don't, and you're not. I rather like you now -now that you're strong.

  ‘Do you really?

  ‘Yes, I do. But don't practise any more of those punches on me.

  ‘ Iwon't. But I didn't understand. But, do you know, Dr Stevens, it's-

  ‘Call inc Jim.

  ‘Jim. It's a very hard thing to know just what people do expect. There is so little pattern to it. Take belching; I didn't know it was forbidden to burp when other people are around. It seems obviously necessary to me. But Uncle Gus says not.