"You're tired, Granthan," Kayle said. "You get some rest. In a few weeks you'll be back on the job, as good as new."
"That's where the key is," I said. "In our minds; there's so much there, and we haven't even scratched the surface. To the mind nothing is impossible. Matter is an illusion, space and time are just convenient fictions—"
"I'll leave the medal here, Mr. Granthan. When you feel equal to it, we'll make the official presentation. Television...."
He faded off as I closed my eyes and thought about things that had been clamoring for attention ever since I'd met the Gool, but hadn't had time to explore. My arm....
I felt my way along it—from inside—tracing the area of damage, watching as the bodily defenses worked away, toiling to renew, replace. It was a slow, mindless process. But if I helped a little....
It was easy. The pattern was there. I felt the tissues renew themselves, the skin regenerate.
The bone was more difficult. I searched out the necessary minerals, diverted blood; the broken ends knit....
The nurse was bending over me, a bowl of soup in her hand.
"You've been asleep for a long time, sir," she said, smiling. "How about some nice chicken broth now?"