Then, as the simple words of interment were spoken, as the atmosphere planes dipped in tribute over the open grave, Helva found voice for her lonely farewell.
Softly, barely audible at first, the strains of the ancient song of evening and requiem swelled to the final poignant measure until black space itself echoed back the sound of the song the ship 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.