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chamber. The change badly frightened people, and it was at that point the Shop collected us and took us to their top-secret facility in Italy.

-3-

    It was noon when Kay left my boat. Noon Friday, June 12. I returned to my cabin and slipped on shoes and a shirt, shoved on an A’s baseball cap and added my extra-dark sunglasses.
    Kay’s story troubled me, so I decided on the simplest expedient. Even though it was noon, I would follow her and see what I would I see.
    I hurried topside and to the edge of my boat. There were dozens of motorboats and cabin cruisers docked here, and there were plenty of people outside. Some were sunbathing on deck, others ate lunch or painted their vessels or did one of the hundred little chores it took to keep a boat shipshape.
    Frowning, I put my hands on the chrome rail. I’d always left a large gap between my cabin cruiser and the wharf. I did it on purpose to discourage visitors. It took a good leap to make it across the gap. If someone failed or their foot slipped on the boat’s railing, he or she fell between the boat and the wharf. They would splash into the brine among the crabs that had learned to thrive in the oily water.
    I tried to envision Kay, her thin five-five frame and with her clutching onto the microwave-sized box. If the box had been light, that would have been one thing. It was as heavy as a microwave, however. I’d moved it into my bedroom, deciding to open it later. Could Kay have leapt across the gap while holding onto the box?
    What had she said earlier? She’d gained abilities.
    The sun was bright and I shoved the bill of my cap lower. It helped a little. Even so, behind by special sunglasses, I squinted so my eyelids were mere slits. The exposure in Geneva had changed me. One of those changes was that sunlight hurt.
     I jumped the gap and landed on the wharf. A board creaked ominously. I was six-two and lean, with greater mass than before because of increased density.
    There were other people outside, as I’ve said. It was tourist season, and San Francisco was a crowded place this time of year, especially this near Fisherman’s Wharf. I moved past three teenage girls in bikinis talking about a movie and I looked over the heads of two tall men carrying fishing poles and tackle boxes.
    Kay was already far ahead of me climbing a set of wide concrete stairs that led up to the street. Her red hair, sundress and tanned legs were unmistakable. She had a nice sway to her butt, and it took a moment for me to notice a man hurrying after her.
    It all happened so fast. I was too far away for my shouts to be effective so I broke into a run.
    The man coming after Kay bounded up the stairs three at a time. He had jerky moves like a junkie, and even from my distance, I could see that he was too skinny and wore a ratty shirt with flapping tails. At the last moment, I realized he meant to rob her, likely to snatch her purse and run.
    Despite the uselessness of it, I shouted a warning. People turned toward me and then whipped around to see what I was staring at.
    The junkie accelerated, reached with a long arm and grabbed her purse. Kay carried hers up high, the handle looped around her left shoulder and the purse tucked under her armpit. He grabbed the purse from two steps down and tugged. It was a vicious thing to do, as it was a long fall down the stairs. Maybe it was his modus operandi . Frighten the mark with fear of falling so they let go of their purse.
    Instead of losing her balance or releasing her purse, Kay spun around. With her open palm, she struck the man against his nose. His head whipped back as if a slugger had walloped him with a baseball bat. He collapsed and tumbled down the concrete stairs like a mass of jelly as his head repeatedly struck and bounced.
    I stopped in surprise, blinking behind my sunglasses. There were people ahead of me, and by this time, many had turned to look at Kay. Some of them pointed and shouted at her.
    I don’t know if Kay recognized