His own assessment of himself would change. He’d dealt with worse. Caving to hardship now would… it would be a new low point on the graph of his successes and failures, part of a set of points that suggested he was on a decline, that more lowest points were to come.

“Slow down, Gambol!” a guard hollered, very close to William.

William could hear Gambol well before Gambol drew close. Feet tromped on the dirt and grass, more of a gallop than a run.

“Slow the fuck down!” the guard’s voice reached the point of rawness on the lowest syllables. He hefted his assault rifle, and William staggered to a stop, dropping to his knees on grass, hands up and touching the back of his head.

Gambol stopped, taking the wide path around William. He was a changer, and his arms and legs were a good six feet long each, each mutated to have a lifeform at each end—like a headless dog or ape with its own limbs that served as Gambol’s digits. His knees were effectively backward and the weight distribution and center of balance were screwed up enough that he had to do a push-up motion to get his upper body up enough that he could stand up, for lack of a better way of putting it. His exaggerated ‘hands’ went behind his head-two ‘thumb’ limbs touching, other limbs radiating out.

“Too fucking fast, asswipe,” the guard said.

“I have a note from my doctor.” Gambol’s normal way of talking was like other people’s telling-a-joke voice. Not the kind of thing that went over well with the guards.

“Walk or sit.”

“I really have a note. Can I reach for it? I’ll show you.”

“No. Walk or sit, Gambol.”

Gambol moved his arm. William, about four paces away, winced in anticipation of a possible gunshot. Instead, he heard the radio buzz as the guard signaled the others.

Paper rustled, and Gambol reached out with his long arm, pressing a piece of paper to the double-layer wire fence. “See? I need to exercise these limbs, or my body cannibalizes itself. I’m supposed to go all out.”

“You’re going to trample someone.”

“I won’t. I’m better than that. I’m doing warm up laps right now, but once I get going, I’ll just go over them.”

Other guards were approaching. William couldn’t get his ankle in a position where the hard back of the shoe wasn’t biting into the raw flesh around the tendon. His face settled in a glower, his eyes on the ground, while he waited for this to be cleared up. At least he wasn’t running for now.

The guards talked, the loud one with his gun still raised giving the note a dubious look.

Another guard said, “If the doc says it, we have to let it go.”