He tried to reach for his glasses to adjust them. There were no glasses!
That hit him harder than any other discovery. He must be delirious and
imagining the room. Dave Hanson was so nearsighted that he couldn't
have seen the men, much less the clothing, without corrective lenses.

The middle-aged man with the small mustache bent over the chart near his
feet. "Hmm," the man said in the voice of the first speaker. "Mars
trines Neptune. And with Scorpio so altered ... hmm. Better add two cc.
of cortisone to the transfusion."

Hanson tried to sit up, but his arms refused to bear his weight. He
opened his mouth. A slim hand came to his lips, and he looked up into
soothing blue eyes. The nurse's face was framed in copper-red hair. She
had the transparent skin and classic features that occur once in a
million times but which still keep the legend of redheaded enchantresses
alive. "Shh," she said.

He began to struggle against her hand, but she shook her head gently.
Her other hand began a series of complicated motions that had a
ritualistic look about them.

"Shh," she repeated. "Rest. Relax and sleep, Dave Hanson, and remember
when you were alive."

There was a sharp sound from the doctor, but it began to blur out before
Hanson could understand it. He fought to remember what he'd heard the
nurse say--something about when he was alive--as if he'd been dead a
long time.... He couldn't hold the thought. At a final rapid motion of
the girl's hand his eyes closed, the smell faded from his nose and all
sounds vanished. Once there was a stinging sensation, as if he were