"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?"