"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.
The Ship Who Killed
Every diverted synapse in Helva's shell-encased body vibrated in unconditional revolt against the autocracy of Central Worlds Service.
"All haste, all haste," she snarled in impotent revolt to her sister ship, the 822, on the private ship-to-ship band on which not even Cencom could eavesdrop.
The Seld-Ilsa snorted unsympathetically. "You're doing something, which is more than I can say in Mediation Service. I've spent weeks and weeks on end waiting for them to make up their minds which planetary crisis is most crucial. By the time we get there, critical mass has been reached and we have a helluva mess to clean up."