The Ship Who Sang by Anne McCaffrey Read Free Book Online

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.
    â€˜One would have hoped 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 pectoralfold 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.
    â€˜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.’
    â€˜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.’
    â€˜I can’t give you a premise right now. Whymust I? My whole experience leads me to
know
that I am right.’
    â€˜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 . . .’
    â€˜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 tardy. ‘Can any effort required of
us
be too much?’
    â€˜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 . . .’
    â€˜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 ward-nurses. ‘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 couldsee her strong fingers washing themselves, straining in a tense clasp of frustration, never idle,