The Ship Who Sang

The Ship Who Mourned

With eyes that did not register what they saw, Helva watched stolidly as the Regulus Base personnel broke ranks at the conclusion of Jennan's funeral. Never again, she vowed, would she be known as the ship who sang. That part of her had died with Jennan.

From somewhere very far away from her emotional centers, she impassively watched the little figures separate, pair off, walking rapidly to continue interrupted tasks or moving slowly back to the barracks. Some, passing, looked up, but she did not interpret their glances. She had nowhere to move to and no desire to move anywhere away from the graveside of her dead partner.

"It cannot end like this," she thought, anguish overpowering the stupor in her heart. "I cannot be like this. But what do I go on to now?"

"XH-834, Theoda of Medea requests permission to enter," said a voice at the base of her lift.

"Permission granted," Helva said automatically.

So absorbed in her grief was Helva that by the time the lift had deposited the slender female figure at the lock, Helva had forgotten she had permitted entry. The woman advanced toward the central shaft behind which Helva was embedded in her shell. In her hand she held out a command reel.

"Well, insert it," snapped Helva when the woman made no other move.

"Where? I'm not regular service. The tape explains the mission but. . ."

"In the northwest quadrant of the central panel, you will observe a blue slot; insert the tape with the wind tab in position nearest the center red knob of the panel. Press the blue button marked 'relay' and if you are unaware of the text and are cleared for it, press the second yellow button marked 'audio.' Please be seated."

Dispassionately and with no more than a fleeting awareness that she ought to have put Theoda at her ease or made some attempt at graciousness, Helva watched the woman fumble before she was able to insert the tape. Theoda sank uncertainly into the pilot's chair as the tape began.

"XH-834, you will proceed in the company of Physiotherapist Theoda of Medea to the NDE, System Lyrae II, Annigoni IV, and present all aid possible in rehabilitation program of Van Gogh space plague survivors. All haste. All haste. All haste!"

Helva slammed the stop signal on the tape and called Central Control.

"Does Physiotherapist Theoda constitute my replacement?"

"No, XH-834, Theoda is not in Service. Your replacement is delayed in transit. Proceed in all haste, repeat, in all haste, to Annigoni."

"Request permission for immediate lift."

Established routine procedures took Helva through takeoff before she consciously realized what she was doing. Leaving Regulus was the last thing she wanted to do, but she had her order-tape and she had heard the imperative 'all haste' repeated.

"All areas clear for lifting. Proceed. And XH834. . .?"

"Yes?"

"Good luck."

"Acknowledged," said Helva, ignoring the softened, unofficial farewell. To Theoda, she explained briefly how to strap herself into the pilot chair, following the woman's nervous fingers as they stumbled over the fastenings. Finally assured Theoda would be secure during acceleration, Helva lifted, her rear screen picking up the base cemetery as long as vision permitted.

It no longer made any difference to Helva what speed she attained, but when she found herself increasing acceleration in an unconscious desire to finish her mission quickly and return to Regulus Base, and Jennan, she sternly measured her rate against Theoda's tolerance. Journey speed achieved, she told Theoda she could leave the chair.

Theoda unsnapped the harness and stood uncertainly.

"I was sent here so quickly and I've traveled 24 hours already," she said, looking down at her rumpled, dirty uniform.

"Quarters are aft the central column," and Helva gasped inwardly as she realized Theoda would inhabit the place so recently vacated by Jennan. Instinctively she glanced in the cabin. Someone had already removed Jennan's personal effects. Not one memento remained of his tenancy, no souvenir of their brief happiness. Her feeling of desolation deepened. How could they? When had they? It was unfair. And now she must endure this fumbling female.

Theoda had already entered the cabin, throwing her kit bag on the bunk and entering the head. Helva politely withdrew her vision. She tried to make believe the homey noises of showering were Jennan's, but her new passenger's ways were completely different

The difference, oh, the difference to me, cried Helva, mourning.

Lost in an elegy, she became only gradually aware of the quiet in the ship and, scanning discreetly, saw Theoda stretched out on her back in the limp, deep slumber of the exhausted. In repose, the woman was older than Helva had initially assumed. Now, too, Helva justly attributed the ineptitude and fumbling to the true cause, exhaustion. The face was deeply lined with sorrow as well as fatigue; there were dark smudges under the closed eyes. The mouth was dragged down at the corners from familiarity with pain. The long, blunt-ended fingers twitched slightly in reflex to a disturbing dream and Helva could see the inherent strength and sensitivity, the marks of use in odd scars on palm and fingers, unusual in an age where manual work was mainly confined to punching buttons.

Jennan had used his hands, too, came the unbidden comparison. Mourning reclaimed Helva.

"How long did I sleep?" Theoda's voice broke into Helva's reminiscences as the woman wove sleepily into the forward cabin. "How much longer is the trip?"

"You slept 18 hours. The tape estimates an elapse of 49 hours galactic to Annigoni orbit."

"Oh, is there a galley?"

"First compartment on the right."

"Umm, is there anything you require?" Theoda asked, halfway to the galley.

"My needs are supplied for the next hundred years," Helva said coldly, realizing as the words were formed that her critical need could not be met

"I'm sorry. I know very little of you ships," Theoda apologized. "I've never had preferential treatment like this before," and she smiled shyly.

"Your home planet is Medea?" inquired Helva with reluctant courtesy. It was not uncommon for a professional person to claim the planet of his current employer.

"Yes, Medea," Theoda replied. She made immediate noise with the rations she held, banging them onto the table with unnecessary violence. Her reaction suggested some inner conflict or grief, but Helva could recall nothing of great moment connected with Medea, so she must assume Theoda's problem was personal.

"I've seen your type of ship before, of course. We of Medea have reason to be grateful to you but I've never actually been in one," Theoda was talking nervously, her eyes restlessly searching over the supplies in the galley cupboards, rearranging containers to see the back of the shelves. "Do you enjoy your work? It must be a tremendous satisfaction."

Such innocent words to drop like hot cinders on Helva's unhealed grief. Rapidly Helva began to talk, anything to keep herself from being subjected to another such unpredictably rasping civility.

"I haven't been commissioned long," she said. "As a physiotherapist you must certainly be aware of our origin."

"Oh, yes, of course. Birth defect," and Theoda looked embarrassed as if she had touched on a vulgar subject. "I still think it's horrible. You had no choice," she blurted out, angrily.

Helva felt suddenly superior. "Initially, perhaps not. But now, it would be very difficult to give up hurtling through space and be content with walking."

Theoda flushed at the almost scornful emphasis of the final word.

"I leave that to whoever is my brawn," and Helva inwardly cringed as she reminded herself of Jennan.

"I've recently heard about one of your ships who sings," said Theoda.

"Yes, I have, too," said Helva unencouragingly. Must everything remind her of Jennan's loss!

"How long do you live?"

"As long as we wish."

"That is. . . I mean, who's the oldest ship?"

"One of the 200s is still in active service."

"You're not very old then, are you, being an 800."

"No."

"I am," said Theoda, staring at the empty ration unit she held in one hand. "I am near my end now, I think." And there was no regret in her voice, not even resignation.

It occurred to Helva that here, too, was someone with deep sorrow, marking time.

"How many more hours until planet fall?"

"47."

"I must study," and abruptly Theoda rummaged in her kit for filmfile and viewer.

"What is the problem?" Helva asked.

"Van Gogh in Lyrae II was hit by a space plague similar in manifestation to that which attacked Medea 125 years ago," Theoda explained.

Suddenly Helva knew why Theoda had seen Service ships. She microscoped her vision on Theoda's face and saw the myriad tiny lines that indicated advanced age. Theoda had undoubtedly been alive on Medea at the time of their plague. Helva recalled that the plague had struck a heavily populated area and swept with terrific violence throughout the entire planet in a matter of days, its onslaught so fierce and its toll so great that medical personnel often collapsed over the sick they tended. Others inexplicably survived untouched. The airborne disease spores struck animal as well as human, and then, as suddenly as it had come, almost as if the disease were aware that the resources of a galaxy were on the way to subdue its ravages, it disappeared. Medea had been decimated in the course of a week and the survivors, both the ones hardy enough to endure the intense fever and pain, and those who were curiously immune, spent their years trying to discover source or cause, cure or vaccine.

From her capacious trained associative recall, Helva found seven other different but similarly inexplicable plague waves, some treated with better success than Medea's. The worst one to be recorded had hit the planet Clematis, eliminating 93 percent of all human life before help arrived. Clematis had been placed under eternal quarantine. Helva thought that was rather locking the barn and never bothering to track down the missing horses.

"You had, I gather, sufficient experience with Medea's plague so that your presence may be of help to Van Gogh's people?"

"That is the thought," said Theoda, wincing. She picked up her filmviewer purposefully and Helva realized that more discussion was out of order. She knew, too, that Theoda had painful word associations even at the end of a long life. Helva could not imagine a time centuries hence when mention of Jennan would not hurt.

Annigoni swam into view precisely as the trip chronometer edged onto 67 hours, and Helva found herself immediately answering a quarantine warning from an orbital monitor.

"You have Physiotherapist Theoda on board, do you not?" Helva was asked after she identified herself.

"I do."

"Your landing should set you down as close to the hospital city of Erfar as possible. There is, however, no space field in that vicinity and a meadow has been set aside for your use. Are you able to control your dangerous exhausts?"

Helva wryly assured them of her ability to land circumspectly. They gave her the latitude and longitude and she had no difficulty in bringing herself to a stand in the patch-sized meadow so indicated. A powdery white road led to a long white complex of multiwindowed buildings, half a kilometer away. From the complex came a land vehicle.

"Theoda," said Helva as they awaited the arrival of the landcar, "in the effects compartment under the control panel, you will find a small gray button. With it attached to your uniform, you can maintain communication with me. If you would be good enough to rotate the upper section of the button clockwise, I can have two-way contact. It would afford me some satisfaction to be in on the problems you encounter."

"Yes, certainly, of course,"

"If you rotate the bottom half of the button, I have limited scope vision as well."

"How clever," murmured Theoda, examining the button before attaching it to her tunic.

As the car drew to a halt, Theoda waved at the occupants from the high lock and stepped onto the lift.

"Oh, Helva, thank you for the journey. And my apologies. I'm not good company."

"Nor have I been. Good luck."

As Theoda descended, Helva knew that for a lie. They had been perfect company, each locked in separate miseries. Somehow it had escaped her that grief was a frequent visitor in the universe, that her inability to aid Jennan was scarcely unique. Her sister ships had all bad such experiences and were still at their jobs.

"None of them ever loved their brawns as I did Jennan," she soliloquized sullenly, perfectly conscious how ill her sentiment befitted her steel, yet unable to extricate her thoughts from their unconscious return to misery.

"Request permission to board," came a rough voice at the lift bottom.

"Identification?"

"Senior Medical Officer Onro, Detached Reguli Base. I need to use your tight beam."

"Permission granted," replied Helva after a rapid check of the name in the Medical roster on file.

MedOff Onro plunged into her lock and, with the briefest of salutes at her central shaft, lunged into the pilot's chair and slapped home the call button on the beam.

"Have you any honest-to-God coffee?" he grated out, swiveling the chair to launch himself from it toward the galley.

"Be my guest," murmured Helva, unprepared for such vigor after several days of Theoda.

Onro's shoulder took a bruising as he careened off the threshold of the galley, wrenched open the cupboards, knocking containers about.

"Coffee may still be in its accustomed place on the third shelf of the righthand locker," Helva remarked drily. "Excuse me; a container just rolled onto the floor."

Onro retrieved it but cracked his head smartly on the corner of the cupboard door he had left open. The stream of invective Helva half expected did not come. The man carefully closed the cupboard with the controlled patience of the much-put-upon and, breaking the heat seal, immediately stalked back to the central cabin and resumed his seat, watching the dial on the tight beam as it warmed slowly to peak, never blinking as he gulped the now steaming hot coffee. Even as he swallowed, the springs in his taut frame began to unwind.

"Creatures of habit, aren't we, XH? I've been dreaming of coffee for 18 mortal days and nights. The stuff they use in its place on this lousy lump of ill-assorted metals makes ME sleepy. Coffee is not as potent as benzedrine nor half as rough on the system. Ah, there they are. I swear these beams take longer every time I have to fool with the damned things."

"Central Base Regulus."

"XH-834 reporting," announced Onro.

"Who?" gasped an unofficial voice.

"Onro talking."

"Yes, sir, didn't recognize your voice."

"Did you think Helva had a cold?"

"No, sir, that wasn't what I thought."

"Well, never mind the chitchat. Put this on the computers and let it do a little brainstorming, I'm too tired. You better check the computerese, too. I haven't been asleep much lately." He turned to Helva, "How d'ya like the luck? First home leave in three galactic years and I have to time my arrival with the plague's. I wonder if I can get a rebate on vacation time." He turned back to the beam. "Here's the garbage," and he rapidly dictated the material. "Now here's a verbal to check it."

"Disease unidentifiable on the Orson scale as a known virus or variation thereof. Patients thoroughly tested and apparently perfectly healthy can develop clinical symptoms in 10 hours; complete deterioration of muscle control, presence of high fever, excessive spinal pain follow in 3 days. Death caused by 1) brain hemorrhage, 2) heart failure, 3) lung collapse, 4) strangulation or in case where medical help has been late in arriving 5) starvation. All survivors unable to make muscular coordinations of any kind. Extent of brain damage negative. But they might as well be dead."

"Impairment to intellect?" asked Central Control.

"Impossible to ascertain except to hope that the injury to the brain has, as usual, left the intellect alone."

"Julie O'Grady and the Colonel's Lady are sisters under the skin," muttered Helva for she could see through the MedOfFs words that the victims of the plague were not as robbed of their bodies by disease as she had been by birth defects.

"Our skintight friend is closer to the truth than she knows," Onro snorted. "Except for infants, there isn't one of them that wouldn't be better off in a shell right now. They aren't going to go anywhere the way they are."

"Do you wish to stand by for report?" asked Central Control.

"Take long?"

"You could get a little sleep," suggested Helva blandly. "These reports don't usually take too long," she added, tapping out a private distress signal to Central as she spoke.

"Not long, MedOfficer Onro," said Central on cue.

"You'll get a crick in your neck, Onro," remarked Helva as she saw him stretch out his long legs and scrunch down in the pilot chair for a catnap. "Use the pilot's bed. I'll give you a jolt as soon as the message returns."

"You'd better or I'll unscrew your safety panel," Onro snapped, lurching drunkenly toward the bunk.

"Yes, of course." Helva watched as he took the two deep breaths that were all that were needed before he was oblivious.

Her contact with Theoda began, sight and sound. Theoda was bending over a bed, her strong fingers soothing the motionless frame of the woman there. Flaccid muscles, lack of reflexes, pasty skin, unfocusing eyes, loose mouth; the chords of the neck strained briefly as the patient made some incoherent sound deep in the throat.

"There is no sensation in the extremities that we can discover," the voice of an out-of-sight person said. "There is some reaction to pain in the torso and in the face but we can't be sure. The patient, if she understands us, can give us no sign."

Helva noticed, and she hoped that Theoda did, that the half-closed eyelids made an almost imperceptible downward motion, then upward. Helva also observed the flaring of the nostrils.

"Theoda," she said quietly so as not to startle her. Even so, Theoda straightened quickly in surprise.

"Helva?"

"Yes. In the scope of my limited range of vision, I could see a twitch of the eyelids and a motion of the nostrils. If the paralysis is as acute as I have learned from MedOS Onro, these bare flickers may be the only muscle controls the patient has. Please ask one of the observers to concentrate on the right eye, another on the left and you observe only the nostrils. Establish a pattern of reply and explain it to the patient and see if she understands you."

"Is that the ship?" an off-sight person demanded irritably.

"Yes, the XH-834 that brought me here."

"Oh," was the disparaging reply, "that's the one that sings. I thought it was the JH or GH."

"Helva is not an 'it'," said Theoda firmly. "Let us try her suggestion, since her vision is considerably more acute than ours and her concentration far superior."

To the patient, Theoda said quietly and distinctly, "If you can hear me, please try to lower your right eyelid."

For an age-long second, there was no movement; then as though the effort were tremendous, the right lid slowly descended the barest fraction.

"In order to be sure this was not an involuntary motion, will you try to dilate your nostrils twice."

Very slowly, very slowly Helva caught the motion of the nostrils. She also saw, which was more important, the tiny beads of perspiration on the upper lip and brow, and quickly called attention to them.

"What a tremendous effort this must be for that imprisoned mind," said Theoda with infinite compassion. Her blunt-fingered hand rested softly on the moist forehead. "Rest now, dear. We will not press you further, but now we have hope for you."

Only Helva was aware of the disconsolate sag and then straightening of Theoda's shoulders as she walked to the next bed.

Helva accompanied Theoda through the entire tour of the plague hospital, from the men's and women's wards to the children's and even into the nursery. The plague had been no respecter of age, and babies of a few weeks had been affected.

"One would have hopes that in the younger and more resilient body those tissues that were damaged, if any have been, would stand the best chance of regeneration," remarked one of Theoda's guides. Helva caught part of a gesture that took in the 50 cribs of motionless infants in the ward.

Theoda leaned down and picked up a small pink, blonde infant of 3 months. The flesh was firm, the color good. She tweaked the pectoral fold with unnecessary force. The baby's eyes widened and the mouth fell open. A slight croak issued from the throat.

Quickly Theoda snatched the child to her breast, rocking it in apology for the pain. Sight and sound were muffled by the blanket but not before Helva, too, had seen and realized exactly what Theoda had.

Theoda was rocking the child, so that Helva caught only elusive fragments of a violent discussion. Then her scope of sight and sound returned as Theoda laid the child in the crib on its stomach and carefully started to move the child's arms and legs in an approximation of the crabbed action that is the beginning of independent locomotion.

"We will do this with every child, with every person, for one hour every morning and every afternoon. If necessary, we will commandeer every adult and responsible adolescent on Annigoni for our therapists. If we are to reach the brain, to restore contact between intellect and nerve, we must repattern the brain centers from the very beginning of brain function. We must work quickly. Those poor imprisoned people have waited long enough to be released from their hells."

"But. . . but. . . on what do you base your premise, Physiotherapist Theoda? You admitted that the Medean plague has fewer points of similarity than originally thought."

"I can't give you a premise right now. Why must I? My whole experience leads me to know that I am right."

"Experience? I think you mean 'intuition'," continued the official stuffily, "and we cannot, on the basis of one woman's intuition, conscript the workforce needed from busy citizens. . ."

"Didn't you see the beads of sweat on that woman's face? The effort required to do so simple a thing as lower an eyelid?" demanded Theoda tartly. "Can any effort required of us be too much?"

"There is no need to be emotional," Theoda was told testily. "Annigoni has opened herself to these survivors with no thought of the danger of exposure to the same virus. . ."

"Nonsense," Theoda said. "Before your ships approached Van Gogh you made certain that the plague had passed. But that is neither here nor there. I will return to the ship and contact Central Control. I'll have your premise and authorization all neatly printed out." She whirled around, facing back into the ward so that Helva could see the respectfully waiting wardnurses. "But any of you who love children and trust another woman's instinct, do as I just did whether it is authorized or not. There is nothing to be lost and the living to be released."

Theoda stormed out of the hospital, brushing aside the complaints and temporizing of the officials. She stumbled into the landcar, ordering it back to the ship. Her tight, terrible voice made the driver hold his tongue. Helva could see her strong fingers washing themselves, straining in a tense clasp of frustration, never idle, groping, grasping, clenching. Then Theoda reached up to the button and cut the contact abruptly.

Unconcerned, Helva switched to the wide vision of her exterior scanners and picked up the landcar as it sped toward her. The car discharged its passenger and left. But Theoda did not step onto the lift. Somewhat at a disadvantage because of the angle, Helva could only watch as Theoda paced back and forth.

In the bunk, Onro slept on and Helva waited.

"Permission to enter," said Theoda finally, in a low voice.

"Granted."

Stumbling again, one hand in front of her as if feeling her way, Theoda entered the ship. Wearily she sagged into the pilot's chair and, leaning forward on the console, buried her head in her arms.

"You saw, Helva," muttered the therapist, "you saw. Those people have been like that for upward of 6 weeks. To move an eyelid with a commensurate effort of budging a ton. How many will come out of this sane?"

"They have an additional hope, Theoda. Don't forget, once you can establish that the integral intellect remains, the body may be bypassed. There are advantages to that, you know," she reminded the therapist.

Theoda's head came up and she turned in her chair, looking in amazement at the panel concealing Helva's shell-encased body.

"Of course. You're a prime example, aren't you?"

Then she shook her head in disagreement.

"No, Helva, it's one thing to be bred up to it, and another to be forced into it as the only expedient."

"The young would experience no shock at shell life. And there are, I repeat, advantages, even distinct gains, to be made. Witness my ability to follow your tour."

"But to have walked, and touched, and smelled, and laughed, and cried. . ."

"To have cried. . ." gasped Helva, "to be able to weep. Oh, yes," and an unendurable tightness filled her mind as her brief respite from grief dissolved.

"Helva. . . I. . . in the hospital. . . I mean, I'd heard that you had. . . I'm sorry but I was so lost in my own problem that I just didn't realize that you were the ship who sang, and that you'd. . ." Her voice trailed off.

"Nor did I remember that at Medea the virus didn't just isolate the intellect in the body; it destroyed it, leaving only a mindless husk."

Theoda turned her head away.

"That baby, that poor baby."

"Central Control to the XH-834, are you receiving?"

Theoda, startled by the voice at her elbow, jerked back from the lighted tight-beam face.

"XH-834 receiving."

"Prepare to tape computer report on MedOfficer Onro's request."

Helva activated the apparatus and gave the a-ok.

"Verbal?" asked Theoda in a stage whisper.

"Verbal requested," Helva relayed.

"No correlation between age, physical stature, health, ethnic group, blood type, tissue structure, diet, location, medical history is indicated. Disease random, epidemic force. No correlation muscle, bone, tissue, blood, sputum, urine, marrow in postplague postmortem. Negative medication. Negative operation. Possible therapy."

"There!" cried Theoda in triumph, jumping to her feet. "Therapy the only positive."

"Only 'possible'."

"But the only positive factor, nonetheless. And I'm positive it's repatterning."

"Repatterning?"

"Yes. It's a bizarre therapy and it doesn't always work, but the failure may have been because the intellect had retreated in desperation," Theoda argued with vehement confidence. "To be trapped, unable to make even the simplest communication-can you imagine how ghastly that must be? Oh, what am I saying?" she said, turning in horror toward Helva's presence,

"You're quite right," Helva assured her blandly with inner amusement. "It would be intolerable if I could no longer control the synapses as I do now electronically. I think I should go mad having known what it is to drive between the stars, to talk across light-years, to eavesdrop in tight places, maintaining my own discreet impregnability."

Theoda resumed her restless pacing.

"But you don't really think," Helva said, "that you are going to get those skeptics to do the necessary recruiting on the basis of the computer report?"

"The therapy was a positive factor," Theoda insisted, her face set in stubborn lines.

"It was a 'possible'. I'm not arguing with your position, only pointing out their reaction," she added as she saw Theoda gathering breath to protest. "I'm convinced. They won't be and it also won't be the first tune when good Samaritans have decided to rest on their laurels prematurely, convinced that they have in conscience done all they could."

Theoda set her lips.

"I'm positive those people can be saved. . . or at least enough of them to make every effort worthwhile."

"Why? I mean, why do you think repatterning will do the trick?"

"It's a 20th century technique, used before the correction of the majority of prenatal defects and with some severe brain or neural accidents. I took my degree in physiotherapeutic history. So many of the early problems in the field no longer exist, but occasionally, of course, an ancient disease reappears suddenly. Like the epidemic of poliomyelitus on Evarts II. Then the old skills are revived.

"This plague, for instance, is like the Rathje Virus, only the original strain attacked sporadically and recovery was slow but certain. Perhaps because therapy was initiated as soon as the painful phase passed. Also, I believe that the paralysis was not so acute, but the strain has obviously mutated in the centuries and become more virulent.

"However, the similarity cannot be denied. I brought my tapes, Helva," Theoda said eagerly, enthusiasm giving her face a semblance of youth. "The Doman 42 Delacato repatterning was used with great effect on the victims of the Rathje Virus.

"You don't suppose," and Theoda stopped dead in her tracks, "we could also prove that the space plague spores had passed by old Terra at that time. Have you any details on galactic spiral patterns?"

"Stick to medical and physiological aspects, Theoda," laughed Helva.

Theoda scrubbed at her face with her hands as though she would wash away fatigue and stimulate her tired brain to inspiration.

"Just one child, one proof is all I need."

"How long would it take? What age child is best? Why a child? Why not that poor woman of the eyelid?"

"The medulla handles reflex action at birth. The pens, maturing at 20 weeks, directs crawling on the stomach. By 25 weeks, the midbrain has begun to function and the child begins to learn to creep on hands and knees. By 60 weeks, the cortex begins to act and controls walking, speech, vision, hearing, tactile and manual competence."

"A year would be too young. . . no understandable speech," Helva mused outloud, remembering her first birthday without effort. But she had already been 'walking' and 'talking'.

"The best age is 5," said another voice. Theoda gasped as she saw Onro standing in the galley, a warming container in one hand. "Because that is the age of my son. I'm Onro, MedOfficer. I sent for you, Physiotherapist Theoda, because I heard you never give up." His face, still creased with blanket folds, turned hard, determined. "I won't give up either until my son walks, talks, and laughs again. He's all I have left. What a way to spend a happy vacation." Onro laughed bitterly, then gulped at the steaming coffee.

"You're Van Goghian?" Theoda demanded.

"By chance, and one of the immunes."

"You heard what I was saying? You agree?"

"I've heard. I neither agree nor disagree. I'll try anything that sounds even remotely feasible. Your idea is reasonable and the computer has only the one positive suggestion, therapy. I'll bring my son."

He turned when he reached the lock, shook his fist back at Helva. "You drugged me, you silver-plated sorceress."

"An inaccurate analysis, but the insult is accepted," Helva said as he disappeared, scowling, down the lift.

Elated, Theoda snatched out her viewer and carefully restudied the films of the technique she would try.

"They used steroids as medications," she mumbled. "Have you any?"

"No medication was indicated on the report," Helva reminded her, "but you can get Onro to steal what you require from the synthesizer in the hospital. He is a Senior MedOfficer."

"Yes, yes, that helps," and Theoda lapsed again into fierce concentration. "Why did they use. . . oh, yes, of course. They didn't have any conglomerates, did they?"

Fascinated, Helva watched as Theoda scanned the film, winding and rewinding, rechecking, making notations, muttering to herself, pausing to gaze off into space in abstracted thought.

When Theoda had been through her notes the fourth time, Helva insisted with authority that she eat something. Theoda had just finished the stew when Onro returned with the limp body of a redheaded child in his arms. Onro's rough face was impassive, almost rigid in its lack of expression as the child was tenderly laid down on the bunk. Helva noticed the almost universal trait of the victims, the half-closed eyes, as if the lids were too heavy to keep open.

Kneeling down beside the bunk, Theoda turned the boy's face so that her eyes were directly on a level with his.

"Child, I know you can hear. We are going to work your body to help you remember what your body could do. Soon we will have you running under the sun again."

Without more ado and disregarding Onro's guttural protest, she placed the boy on his stomach on the deck, seized one arm and one leg and signaled to Onro to do likewise.

"We are taking you back to the time when you were a baby and first tried to creep. We are making your body crawl forward on your belly like a snake."

In a patient monotone, she droned her instructions. Helva timed the performance at 15 minutes. They waited a full hour and repeated the drill. Another hour passed and Theoda, equally patient, droned instructions to pattern the child's body in a walking, upright position, alternating the left hand with right foot, and right hand with left foot. Another hour and she repeated the walking. Then back to the crawling, again and again in double repetition. The two therapists caught naps when they could. Surreptitiously, Helva closed her lock, cut the cabin audio on her relays and ignored the insistent radio demands from the hospital that she put Theoda or Onro on the radio. After 24 hours, Theoda alternated the two patterns, and included basic muscular therapy on the lax body, patiently, patiently manipulating the limbs in the various attitudes and postures, down to the young toes and fingers.

By the 27th hour, Onro, worn by previous exhaustion, frustration and increasing hopelessness, dropped into a sleep from which violent shaking could not rouse him. Theoda, looking more and more gray, continued, making each repetition of every motion as carefully and fully as she had the first time she started the intensive repatterning.

Helva ignored the crowd outside. She paid no attention to the muted demands, threats, and entreaties,

"Theoda," Helva said softly in the 30th hour, "have you noticed, as I have, the tendency of the neck muscles to contort?"

"Yes, I have. And this child was once so far gone that a tracheotomy was necessary. Notice the scar here," and she pointed to the thin mark. "I see, too, that the eyelids describe a slightly larger arc than when we began the therapy. The child knows we are helping him. See, his eyes open. . . ever so slightly, but it is enough. I was right! I knew I was right!"

"You won't have much more tune," Helva said. "The authorities of Annigoni have called in a Service Craft and it is due to land beside me in half an hour. I will be forced to open or risk damage to the ship, which I am conditioned to avoid."

Theoda looked up, startled.

"What do you mean?"

"Look in my screen," and Helva turned on the picture at the pilot's console so that Theoda could see the crowd of people and vehicles clustered at the base of the ship. "They are getting a bit insistent."

"I had no idea."

"You needed quiet. I could at least supply that," Helva replied. "But to all intents and purposes, their Senior Medical Officer, his son, and their visiting technical adviser are imprisoned inside me and they suspect that my recent. . . that I am turning rogue."

"But didn't you tell them we were conducting therapy. . ."

"Naturally."

"Of all the ridiculous. . ."

"It's time for therapy. Every minute is necessary now."

"First he must be fed."

Theoda carefully inserted the concentrated solution in the thin vein, smoothing down the lump that formed as the nutritive spray entered.

"A sweet child, I imagine, Helva, from his face," she said.

"A young hellion, with all those freckles," snorted Helva.

"They are usually the sweetest inside," Theoda said firmly.

Helva noticed the eyelids droop down on the cheek and then raise again. She decided she was right, not the therapist. Imagine calling red hair and freckles sweet!

Again the patient routine, the assisted patterning. Then a loud thud startled Theoda. It shook the sleeping form of the doctor where he lay on the deck. Helva, with one eye outside, had expected the blow. Onto roused himself garrulously, unaware at first of his surroundings.

"Whassa matter?"

A second dull thud.

"What in Hell's happening? Who's knocking?"

"Half the planet," remarked Helva drily and tuned up the exterior visual and aural. She immediately cut down the nearly deafening noise.

"All right, all right," she said loudly to the audience, her voice amplifying easily over their angry roars.

"Demand permission to enter, XH-834," squalled someone at her base. She meekly activated the lift and opened the lock. Onro stamped to the opening and leaned down, shouting.

" What in Hell's the matter here? Go 'way, all of you. Have you no decency? What's the bloody fuss about? Can't a man get some sleep around here? Only quiet place on the whole lousy planet."

The lift had by then come abreast of him with the brawn from the service ship and the stuffy hospital official of Theoda's tour.

"MedOfficer Onro, we feared for you, particularly when your son was discovered missing from his bed."

"Administrator Carif, did you expect that the lady therapist had kidnapped me and my son and was holding us hostage on a rogue ship? Romanticists all. Hey, what are you doing. . . you young squirt," he demanded as the brawn made a pass at the protected panel of Helva's shaft.

"I am following orders from Central Control."

"You warm up that tight beam and tell Central Control to mind its own damned business. Weren't for Helva here and the peace and quiet she maintained for us, don't know where we'd be at."

He stalked into the cabin, where his son again lay on the floor, with Theoda painstakingly applying her Doman-Delacato therapy.

"Don't know how many we'll save this way, but it does work and you, young man, will tell Central Control, after you've told them to go to hell for me, that they will issue authority to Theoda to recruit any and all. . . if necessary. . . of this planet's population as a therapy force to activate her rehabilitation program."

He got down on his knees by his son.

"All right, boy, crawl."

"Why, that child will catch a cold in this draft. . ." the official exclaimed.

Some woman was trying to get Helva to lower the lift for her but Helva ignored her as the beads of sweat started on the child's face. There was no muscular movement, not so much as a twitch.

"Son, try. Try. Try!" pleaded Onro.

"Your mind remembers what your body once could do, right arm forward, left knee up," said Theoda, with such control that no hint of the tension she must feel showed in her calm, gentle tones.

Helva could see the boy's throat muscles moving convulsively but she knew the watchers were expecting more dramatic motions.

"Come on, momma's sweet little freckled-face boy," she drawled in an irritatingly insulting voice.

Before the annoyed watchers could turn to remonstrate her, the boy's elbow had actually slid an inch on the floor and his left knee, slightly flexed by Theoda's hands, skidded behind as the throat worked violently and a croaking sound issued from his lips. With a cry of inarticulate joy, Onro clasped his son to him.

"You see, you see. Theoda was right."

"I see that the child made a voluntary movement, yes," Carif was forced to agree. "But one isolated example is. . ." He spread his hands expressively, unconvinced.

"One is enough. We haven't had time for more," Onro said. "I'll put it to the people out there. They'll be the workforce."

Carrying his son to the lock, he yelled down what had happened. There was great cheering and applause. Then the little group at the base of the ship kept pointing urgently to the woman who had begged for the lift.

"I can't hear you," Onro called, for many people were shouting at once, all trying to get across the same idea.

Helva sent the lift down and the woman came up it. As soon as she was halfway to Onro she shouted her message.

"In the nursery, we did as Therapist Theoda suggested. There is already some improvement among the children. Not much, not much and we want to know what we are doing wrong. But four of the babies are already able to cry," she babbled, stepping into the ship and running to Theoda, where the woman leaned wearily against the door jamb. "I never expected to be happy to hear a baby cry again. But some are crying and some are making awful sounds, and one little girl even waved a hand when she was diapered. Oh, we've done just what you said."

Theoda looked her triumph at Carif and he, shrugging acceptance of the accomplishment, nodded.

"Now, Carif," said Onro briskly, stepping into the lift, his son still cradled in his arms, "this is what we'll do. How we'll organize. We don't have to take everyone on your very busy planet. The Youth Corps can be called in from Avalon. Just their bag of tricks."

"Thank you for believing in me," Theoda told the nurse.

"One of the babies was my sister's," the woman said softly, with tears in her eyes. "She's the only one alive from the entire town."

The lift had come back up and the 'brawn' and the nurse took it. Theoda had to pack her gear.

"The easy part is over, Helva. Now it's all uphill, encouraging, instructing, upholding patience. Even Onro's son has a long, long way to go with therapy before he approaches his preplague physical condition."

"But at least there is hope."

"There is always hope while there is life."

"Was it your son?" asked Helva.

"Yes, and my daughter, my husband, my whole family. I was the only immune," and Theoda's face contorted. "With all my training, with all the skill of years of practice, I couldn't save them."

Theoda's eyes closed against that remembered agony.

Helva blacked out her own vision with a deep indrawn mental breath as Theoda's words echoed the protest she herself had voiced at her ineffectuality. It still burned in her mind. The searing memory of Jennan, looking toward her as he died.

"I don't know why one makes a certain emotional adjustment," Theoda said wearily. "I guess it's the survival factor forcing you to go on, preserving sanity and identity by a refocusing of values. I felt that if I could learn my profession so well that never again would I have to watch someone I loved die because of my ineffectiveness, then the ignorance that killed my family would be forgiven."

"But how could you have turned a space plague?" Helva demanded.

"Oh, I know I couldn't have, but I still don't forgive myself."

Helva turned Theoda's words over in her mind, letting their significance sink into her like an anesthetic salve.

"Thank you, Theoda," she said finally, looking again at the therapist. "What are you crying for?" she asked, astonished to see Theoda, sitting on the edge of the bunk, tears streaming unheeded down her face.

"You. Because you can't, can you? And you lost your Jennan and they never even gave you a chance to rest. They just ordered you up to take me here and. . ."

Helva stared at Theoda, torn with a variety of emotions: incredulous that someone else did understand her grief over Jennan; that Theoda was, at the moment of her own triumph, concerned by Helva's sorrow. She felt the hard knot of grief coming untied and she was suddenly rather astonished that she, Helva, was the object of pity.

"By the Almighty, Helva, wake up," shouted Onro at her base. Helva hurriedly sent down the lift for him.

"What on earth are you crying for? Don't bother to answer," he rattled on, charging into the cabin and snatching Theoda's kitbag from her limp hands. He plowed on, into the galley. "It's undoubtedly in a good cause. But there's a whole planet waiting for your instructions. . ." He was scooping up all the coffee containers he could find and stuffing them into the kitbag, and his pockets. "I promise you can cry all you want once you've given me the therapy routine." He made a cradle of her hands and piled more coffee cans on. "Then I'll lend you my shoulder."

"She's got mine any time she wants," Helva put in, a little unsteadily.

Onro stopped long enough to glance at Helva.

"You're not making sense either," he said in an irascible voice. "You haven't got a shoulder."

"She's making perfectly good sense," Theoda said stoutly as Onro started to push her toward the lock.

"Come on, Theoda, come on."

"Thank you, my friend," Theoda murmured, turning back to Helva. Then she whirled away, allowing Onro to start the lift.

"No, no, Theoda, I'm the one who's grateful," Helva called as Theoda's head disappeared past the edge of the lock. Softly, to herself, she added, "I needed tears."

As the landcar zoomed back toward the hospital complex, Helva could see Theoda's arm waving farewell and knew Theoda understood all that hadn't been said. The dust settled down on the road to the hospital as Helva signaled Regulus Base of the completion of her mission and her estimated return.

Then, like a Phoenix rising again from the bitter ashes of her hundred hours' mourning, Helva lifted on the brilliant tail of exploding fuel toward the stars, and healing.