One thing was certain from her expressions in the imaged record: she had been possessed by a slug as soon as she was revived. The dead quality of her face was that of a slug not bothering to keep up a masquerade; the stereocasts from Zone Red were full of that expression. The barren qualities of her memories from that period confirmed it.
Then, rather suddenly, she was no longer hag-ridden but was again a little girl, a very sick and frightened little girl. There was a delirious quality to her remembered thoughts, but, at the last, a new voice came out loud and clear; “Well, skin me alive come Sunday! Look, Pete—it’s a little girl!”
Another voice answered, “Alive?” and the first voice answered, “I don’t know.”
The rest of that tape carried on into Kaiserville, her recovery, and many new voices and memories; presently it ended.
“I suggest,” Dr. Steelton said as he took the tape out of the projector, “that we play another one of the same period. They are all slightly different and this period is the key to the whole matter.”
“Why, Doctor?” Mary wanted to know.
“Eh? Of course you need not see them if you don’t want to—but this period is the one which we are actually investigating. From your memories we must build up a picture of what happened to the parasites on Venus, why they died. In particular, if we could tell just what killed the titan which, uh, possessed you before you were found—what killed it and left you alive—we might well have the weapon we need.”
“But don’t you know?” Mary asked wonderingly.
“Eh? Not yet, not yet—but we’ll get it. The human memory is an amazingly complete record, even though unhandy to use.”
“But I can tell you now—I thought you knew. It was ‘nine-day fever’.”
“What?” Hazelhurst was out of his chair as if prodded.
“But of course. Couldn’t you tell from my face? It was utterly characteristic—the mask, I mean. I saw it several times; I used to nurse it back ho—back in Kaiserville, because I had had it once and was immune to it.”
Steelton said, “How about it Doctor? Have you ever seen a case of it?”
“Seen a case? No, I can’t say that I have; by the time of the second expedition they had the vaccine for it. I’m thoroughly acquainted with its clinical characteristics, of course.”
“But can’t you tell from this record?”
“Well,” Hazelhurst answered carefully, “I would say that what we have seen is consistent with it—but not conclusive, not conclusive.”
“What’s not conclusive?” Mary said sharply. “I told you it was ‘nine-day fever’.”
“We must be sure,” Steelton said apologetically.
“How sure can you get? There is no question about it. I was told that I had had nine-day fever, that I had been sick with it when Pete and Frisco found me. I nursed other cases later and I never caught it again. I remember what their faces looked like when they were ready to die—just like my own face in the record. Anyone who has ever seen a case never forgets it and could not possibly mistake it for anything else. What more do you want? Fiery letters in the sky?” I have never seen Mary so close to losing her temper—except once. I said to myself: look out, gentlemen, better duck!
Steelton said, “I think you have proved your point, dear lady—but tell me: you were believed to have no memory of this period and my own experience with you leads me to think so. Now you speak as if you had direct, conscious memory—yes?”
Mary looked puzzled. “I remember it now—I remember it quite clearly. I haven’t thought about it in many years.”
“I think I understand.” He turned to Hazelhurst. “Well, Doctor? Do we have a culture of it in the laboratory? Have your boys done any work on it?”
Hazelhurst seemed stunned. “Work on it? Of course not! It’s utterly out of the question—nine-day fever! We might as well use polio—or typhus. I’d rather treat a hangnail with an ax!”
I touched Mary’s arm and said, “Let’s go, darling. I think we have done all the damage we can.” As we left I saw that she was trembling and that her eyes were full of tears. I took her into the messroom for systemic treatment—distilled.