Short Stories by Robert A. Heinlein Vol 2 Part 79

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. 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 d.a.m.n 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, h.e.l.lo, 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 s.h.i.+p 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 d.a.m.n 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. 'h.e.l.lo, Mr Jones.'

'Oh - h.e.l.lo, 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.