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.