"Yes, sir." the corpsman said.

"Why didn't you eat?"

"No one was there to feed me." David said, watching the corpsman open the medicine cabinet and fill the syringe.

"We don't feed you here," Edwards said. "You feed yourself. You've got to start using your hands sometime." He waited while the medic searched for a place to give the injection.

"In his arm," he said.

The corpsman found a small, unburnt area near the elbow and plunged the needle into the skin. David, watching him, visibly relaxed. He turned his head on the board and looked at Edwards.

"We can help you grow new skin, stop your infections, graft you-if it comes to that. But it will all be for nothing if you leave here with all your joints tied down by scar tissue. If you don't exercise and keep the scar tissue and new skin over your joints loose and flexible it will tie 'em down like iron. All that new skin and scar tissue that will be forming has a tendency to contract with time. If you don't keep it loose, you'll leave here as much a cripple as if someone had shot off your arms and legs. Your hands aren't that bad, David. We'll start today with them."

"But I can't hold a fork."

"We'll put wooden blocks on them, and as you get used to handling one size, we'll make the blocks smaller. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"You married, David?" Edwards asked.

"No."

"Engaged?"

"Yes, sir."

"Would you like me to write her for you?"