“Mrs. Darby,” he said quietly. “Randi, is it?”
Randi nodded.
“Randi. I am a neurosurgeon. I have already looked over all the available information about your husband very closely. Let me try to explain.”
Randi looked up at him, her eyes moist. Somehow she trusted him.
“Please,” she whispered. “Just — tell me the truth.”
Trafford nodded reassuringly. “I will.”
Howell watched. He knew what Trafford was doing. He kept silent.
“We know that Tom received a head injury when he landed in the rocks,” Trafford continued. “We know where on his head the injury occurred. He probably has a fractured skull and a severe cerebral concussion.”
Randi looked at him in alarm. He smiled — an almost fatherly smile. “Medical terms, Randi,” he said calmly, “sound much worse than they are.”
“But — why should that make Tom act so strangely?”
Trafford nodded slowly. He leaned down toward Randi. “That'll take a little more explaining,” he said. “We can't know for certain, of course.” He looked at her gravely. “And I want you to know that with our present limited knowledge about the physiological dynamics of the various stages of head injuries and the lack of precise ways to relate them to psychological functions, it is a difficult task at best to assess the exact nature of the posttraumatic processes in an individual patient. The range can be very great — and unpredictable. And in this case Tom has, of course, not had the benefit of any examination at all.” He looked at her compassionately. “But I must be confusing you. I didn't mean to do that.”
“Please — tell me what you think is wrong with Tom,” Randi pleaded.
“Well — it seems that the pressure of the broken bone on Tom's brain and the probable subdural hemorrhage—” his eyes held hers—“internal bleeding have — eh, impaired the most vulnerable higher brain centers. Where memory, judgment and learned skills are seated. All the — eh, social functions of man.”
“Is he — is he in pain?” Randi asked.
Trafford pursed his lips. “I want to be completely honest with you, Randi,” he said solemnly. “But I can't give you a precise answer to that either. There's bound to be some pain. How severe, we can't know. Certainly Tom must have a dull, crushing feeling in his head. A continuous — eh, pressure. He may have occasional dizzy spells.”
He paused. Randi watched him raptly. She stayed silent. Trafford went on.
“From the indentation on his helmet we know the injury occurred on the right side of Tom's head.” He gave Randi an inquiring look. “Your husband is right-handed, isn't he?”
Randi looked puzzled. “Yes.”
Trafford nodded. “The right side of the brain is where the higher centers, such as the speech centers, are located in a right-handed person,” he explained. “The motor centers are on the left side. They should be unimpaired — the ones that govern his physical activities. Tom is still able to function on a — eh, biological level.” He looked closely at her. “But the integration capacity of the higher brain centers is lost… in fact, producing what we know as total amnesia.”
Randi was shaken, but she kept herself under control. “Tom has — lost his memory?” she breathed.
Trafford watched her closely. He nodded solemnly. “Suppressed is more the word,” he said. “But, from all indications at the moment, it would seem so. The memory centers are the first to go. All sophisticated knowledge. Tom may be subject to fear reactions. Rage reactions.” He looked her directly in the eyes. “We can only make a guess, Randi, an educated guess. But Tom may suffer amnestic aphasia. That means the loss of power of speech. Certainly complete retrograde amnesia—absolutely no memory of his past life. It is a rare occurrence, but it has happened. It can happen…”
Randi stared at him, aghast. “Then — what's left?”
“Only his senses, Randi. And his basic instincts. Everything he experiences now must be new — and frightening — to him.”
Randi swallowed the lump that was rising in her throat.
Trafford went on, “Of course, a lot of knowledge is still in his mind — but without his conscious knowledge of it being there.” He contemplated her. “If that sounds complicated, it's only because it is. But I think you understand what I mean.”
Randi wiped her eyes. Dammit, she would not cry! “But — how — if he remembers nothing at all… how can he cope?” she asked wretchedly. “With anything? How does he know how to feed himself? Take care of himself? How—”
“Nature, Randi. Instinct.” Trafford put his hand on her arm. “It is not so difficult to understand. Remember, every newborn animal, every newly hatched chick instinctively knows what to do. Where to seek nourishment with the mother. How to hide from enemies. A baby kangaroo, only an inch long at birth, instinctively knows the way to crawl through his mother's fur to the protection of her pouch and attach himself to a nipple. The natural instinct is a wonderful thing, Randi. Tom will have that — and much more. He still has the native intelligence of a human being, even though he may suffer total amnesia.”
“Is it — permanent?” Randi asked fearfully.
Trafford shook his head. “No. Tom's memory is still intact. He has lost the ability to tap into it. Right now he is building new memories — which will be suppressed when the old ones are restored. This kind of amnesia can be cured by surgery. As soon as the pressure of the fractured skull on his brain is relieved and the trauma has worn off, he'll be all right… if we can get to him in time, and if there is no further damage or complication.” He looked at her gravely. “Any additional injury to the head could possibly result in death. That is why the search for him must be conducted — just right.”
Randi buried her face in her bands. For a brief moment she sat in silence. When she looked up, her eyes were bright with unshed tears. “He's afraid,” she whispered,
almost to herself. “Like — like a wild, hurt animal. Running away from the very people who would help him.” She turned to Howell. “Jon,” she said firmly, “you've got to find him!”
“Of course,” Howell said. “That's why Captain Jarman — Paul — is up there. That's why I put him in charge of the rescue operations in the field. And as Security Officer he'll have the manpower he needs in his own command. Including — as a last resort — the EST. They're a crack outfit.”
“EST?” Randi looked questioningly at him.
Howell gave her a crooked smile. “That's the latest designation for the TNT — the Tactical Neutralization Teams. EST sounds a little less — explosive. It stands for Emergency Service Teams. Trouble-shooters.”
Randi looked puzzled.
“They're a little like the police SWAT teams,” Howell explained. “They're specially trained and outfitted. They handle especially — eh, difficult situations. Barricaded suspects. Hostage situations. Terrorism cases. Downed Aircraft Security. That sort of thing.”
“Why use them as a last resort?” Randi asked.
“Because I think the mission mounted at this time will more than do the job. I have great confidence in Captain Jarman.”
Randi felt a mixture of reassurance and resentment. Paul was so — overbearing. So — chauvinistic. To most of Tom's pilot friends the concept of manhood, manliness and manly courage was terribly important. To Paul it seemed almost a religion. It wasn't that she was all fired up about Women's Lib. She didn't think non-discrimination meant the right of women to be in attendance in men's locker rooms and showers. But she did believe in the equality of men and women — where such equality was warranted. And she felt her opinion was less than enthusiastically shared by Tom's friend. But Tom had said he was good at his job. And he had saved Tom's life once before. Maybe he would again.