"Strange. I seem to have new limbs growing in."
"So do I. Guess we'll be our old selves pretty soon."
"Will we?"
She could imagine his forehead wrinkling at the intonation of her voice.
"What do you mean, Margaret?"
"Hasn't the Doctor told you? They have the stereos they found on our
ship. Now they can model our new faces after our old."
"That's what you wanted, isn't it?"
"But what do _you_ want, Fred? I remember only a single one, and the
Doctor says they found a dozen. And he says that my face differs from
shot to shot."
Fred was silent.
"Are they as beautiful as all that, Fred?"
"You don't understand, Margaret."
"I understand only too well. I just want to know--were they taken before
we were married or after?"
"Before, of course. I haven't gone out with another girl since our
wedding."
"Thank you, dear." Her own new voice had venom in it, and she caught
herself. _I mustn't talk like that_, she thought. _I know Fred, I know
his weakness. I knew them before I married him. I have to accept them
and help him, not rant at him for them._
He said, "They were just girls I knew casually. Good-looking, but
nothing much otherwise. Not in a class with you."
"Don't apologize." This time her voice was calm, even amused. "You
couldn't help attracting them. Why didn't you tell me that you kept
their pictures?"
"I thought you'd be jealous."
"Perhaps I would have been, but I'd have got over it. Anyway, Fred, is
there any one of them you liked particularly?"
* * * * *
He became wary, she thought. His voice was expressionless as he said,
"No. Why?"
"Oh, I thought that perhaps you'd want the Doctor to make me look like
her."
"Don't be silly, Margaret! I don't want you to look like anybody but
yourself. I don't want to see their empty faces ever again!"
"But I thought--"
"Tell the Doctor to keep the other stereos. Let him put them in one of
his museums, with other dead things. They don't mean anything to me any
more. They haven't meant anything for a long time. The only reason I
didn't throw them away is because I forgot they were there and didn't
think of it."
"All right, Fred. I'll tell him to use our picture as a model."
"The AC studio shot. The close-up. Make sure he uses the right one."
"I'll see that there's no mistake."
"When I think I might have to look at one of _their_ mugs for the rest
of my life, I get a cold sweat. Don't take any chances, Margaret. It's
your face I want to see, and no one else's."
"Yes, dear."
_I'll be plain_, she thought, _but I'll wear well. A background always
wears well. Time can't hurt it much, because there's nothing there to
hurt._
_There's one thing I overlooked, though. How old will we look? The
Doctor is rather insensitive about human faces, and he might age us a
bit. He mustn't do that. It'll be all right if he wants to make us a
little younger, but not older. I'll have to warn him._
She warned him, and again he seemed rather amused at her.
"All right," he said, "you will appear slightly younger. Not too much
so, however, for from my reading I judge it best for a human face to
show not too great a discrepancy from the physiological age."
She breathed a sigh of relief. It was settled now, all settled.
Everything would be as before--perhaps just a little better. She and
Fred could go back to their married life with the knowledge that they
would be as happy as ever. Nothing exuberant, of course, but as happy as
their own peculiar natures permitted. As happy as a plain and worried
wife and a handsome husband could ever be.
* * * * *
Now that this had been decided, the days passed slowly. Her arms and
legs grew, and her eyes too. She could feel the beginnings of fingers
and toes, and on the sensitive optic nerve the flashes of light came
with greater and greater frequency. There were slight pains from time to
time, but they were pains she welcomed. They were the pains of growth,
of return to normalcy.
And then came the day when the Doctor said, "You have recovered. In
another day, as you measure time, I shall remove your bandages."
Tears welled up in her new eyes. "Doctor, I don't know how to thank
you."
"No thanks are needed. I have only done my work."
"What will you do with us now?"
"There is an old freighter of your people which we have found abandoned
and adrift. We have repaired it and stocked it with food taken from your
own ship. You will awaken inside the freighter and be able to reach your
own people."
"But won't I--can't I even get the chance to see you?"
"That would be inadvisable. We have some perhaps peculiar ideas about
keeping our nature secret. That is why we shall take care that you carry
away nothing that we ourselves have made."
"If I could only--well, even shake hands--do _something_--"
"I have no hands."
"No hands? But how could you--how can you--do such complicated things?"
"I may not answer. I am sorry to leave you in a state of bewilderment,
but I have no choice. Now, please, no more questions about me. Do you
wish to talk to your husband for a time before you sleep again?"
"Must I sleep? I feel so excited.... I want to get out of bed, tear off
my bandages, and see what I look like!"
"I take it that you are not anxious to speak to your husband yet."
"I want to see myself first!"
"You will have to wait. During your last sleep, your new muscles will be
exercised, their tones and strength built up. You will receive a final
medical examination. It is most important."
She started to protest once more, but he stopped her. "Try to be calm. I
can control your feelings with drugs, but it is better that you control
yourself. You will be able to give vent to your excitement later. And
now I must leave you. You will not hear from me after this."
"Never again?"
"Never again. Goodbye."
For a moment she felt something cool and dry and rough laid very lightly
against her forehead. She tried to reach for him, but could only twitch
her new hands on her new wrists. She said, with a sob, "Goodbye,
Doctor."
When she spoke again, there was no answer.
She slept.
* * * * *
This time, the awakening was different. Before she opened her eyes, she
heard the creaking of the freighter, and a slight hum that might have
come from the firing of the jets.
As she tried to sit up, her eyes flashed open, and she saw that she was
lying in a bunk, strapped down to keep from being thrown out.
Unsteadily, she began to loosen the straps. When they were half off, she
stopped to stare at her hands. They were strong hands, well-shaped and
supple, with a healthily tanned skin. She flexed them and unflexed them
several times. Beautiful hands. The Doctor had done well by her.
She finished undoing the straps, and got to her feet. There was none of
the dizziness she had expected, none of the weakness that would have
been normal after so long a stay in bed. She felt fine.
She examined herself, staring at her legs, body--staring as she might
have done at a stranger's legs and body. She took a few steps forward
and then back. Yes, he had done well by her. It was a graceful body, and
it felt fine. Better than new.
But her face!