As Thaddeus Muir awoke one morning from uneasy dreams he found
himself transformed in his bed into an enormous insect.
	"I'm too busy for this," said Luna.
	"Not again!" said Heinrich, who lived upstairs.

	With careful attention to nutrition they nursed Thad mostly back
to his natural condition. Heinrich, possessed of a somewhat-relevant
degree in biology, gave Luna a heavy broom to bang on the ceiling during
bug-reversion emergencies. Thad slept 14 hours a day. Luna cultivated
her friendship with the lady at Nebula, a new fusion restaurant across
the way; their tangy leftovers seemed to center Thad when he started to
lose his human faculties again.

	When he seemed ready, Thad was asked to rejoin Luna for their
weekly Scrabble match.
	"Is this a test?" he wanted to know.
	Luna tsk-tsked at him: "I was just worried about losing my
edge." But then when he missed the chance to hook a T in front of ALLY,
she made him drink an extra glass of carrot juice; Vitamin A had been
crucial in inhibiting chitin formation.
	Thad gulped down his carrot juice. He focussed on the stark
two-color contrast of his Scrabble tiles to help him with the
readjustment to standard binocular vision. TALLY, DALLY, NALLY. NALLY?
FALLY? RALLY?

	Their flat, east of downtown London, had exceedingly poor
insulation. It never used to bother Thad.

	"How do you feel about it?" Heinrich asked over protein shakes;
"Once you're healed, do you wish to pursue a romantic relationship with 
her?"
	Thad waved him off.
	"I'm serious. You're breaking her heart day by day with this
Platonic 'roommates' idea."
	"I'm not interested in her. And she has no time for me," Thad
shrugged.
	"Which is it, that you're not interested or that she has no time?"

	Thad acquired pets of all kinds: budgies, guinea pigs, fish, a
monitor lizard; no bugs. "I hardly know whether to worry about this or not,"
Heinrich said from the depths of a Russian fur hat.
	"You've been keeping me cooped up. I need a hobby," explained Thad.
"Are you going somewhere in that?"
	"The bastard landlord says we use too much heat."

	Luna decided the bed itself was preventing Thad's permanent
purgation of insectile tendencies: it was contaminated with a viral
agent, maybe, or acted as a psychological trigger. The three of them
pitched it off the back porch. Its legs buckled with a wet crunch.
	Ruefully, Thad mentioned the superior strength of an exoskeleton as
compared to bone. Heinrich drummed his fingers on the rail, the morning
air otherwise awkwardly silent. 
	"Okay! Anyone for hazelnut crepes at Nebula?" Thad asked brightly.
	As they crossed the street to get breakfast, Big Ben was tolling
eleven. The chill stung Thad's cheeks. He looked at the people rushing past
on the pavement; not quite like a colony of ants, he thought. He couldn't
put his finger on what it reminded him of.
	Then he thought, NEBULA is six tiles. NEBULA plus a blank: NEBULAE,
NEBULAS... ALBUMEN. TUNABLE, if that was a word. He was back in it. He knew
who he was.


written for Ben L, known as Mr. Idanga, while standing up 11/20/02
revised later

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