Restoree

by Anne McCaffrey

  “South Cant was not settled until caves were no longer a necessity.”

  “Where did I meet you?” I asked.

  Harlan stared off into space, rubbing his mouth with his hand.

  “That’s the hard one, Sara. Particularly since I don’t know how long it’s been since I was first drugged nor how or when you might have been brought here.”

  “Might there have been a group of old loyal cavemen who have fallen out with Gorlot and were suspicious of your collapse?”

  “It’s possible. Let me think on this. Once I get to Gartly, I can catch up on recent happenings. Then I’ll fill in a logical background.

  “Now,” he said more briskly, “the last part of our journey presents the greatest hazard of discovery. If we are taken into custody, you can insist on silence until you have talked to a Clan Officer.”

  Earth-type spy stories and atrocities crowded into my mind.

  “Won’t they just kill me to keep me quiet and have done?”

  “Kill a potential mother?” he demanded, his eyes flashing. “Unheard of.” He looked at me. “Do they kill women who can bear children on your world?” he asked with trenchant scorn for such a wasteful culture.

  I nodded slowly.

  “Not on Lothar. Women are too important, even to Gorlot. No, your life is safe.” He emphasized ‘life.’ ”And I have made my claim on you already. Is that agreeable to you?”

  His eyes locked with mine in an expression that warmed me to the pit of my stomach. I could only nod mutely. His hand again covered mine as he continued. “However, should I be taken and you can escape, no, no . . . it is possible. And, Sara, you are to run if I tell you. Promise me that!” Again I nodded until his hand ceased his painful grip as he got my grudging consent. “All right, I am taken and you are free. Get to Lothara itself and to the ‘Place of the Birds.’ Ask for Jokan. Tell him, and only him, all that has happened. He is my brother.”

  “And how do I get there? Fly?”

  “That’s the quickest way,” he said, taking me literally. “Oh. No money.” He shook his head, gritted his teeth and swore with an eloquence that beggared what I had heard from the guards.

  “We’ll do it together, somehow, Sara. We’ve come this far in our search because my Sara can sail, and think and act,” and he grinned at the face I made at him. “If we can win through to Gartly, we’ll have money, a planecar and help. Then we can make further plans. The important thing is to make it to Gartly.”

  The way the surf broke so savagely against the shore line, even that modest ambition seemed unlikely. We were sailing a close-hauled tack now, and farther down the coast, I could see the mountains falling away to a plain. And at the farthest point, the glint of buildings in the sun.

  “Let’s beach the boat as soon as we can,” Harlan urged, scanning the shore.

  I glared at him.

  “Pick your spot, pal.”

  “It’s easy to see I spent my youth exploring the wrong planets,” Harlan growled to himself as we sailed on and on.

  I had noticed other sails, standing out to sea.

  “Any chance they might be investigating us?” I asked him. He shook his head impatiently. I glanced out at the shore line anxiously and sighed.

  “I haven’t been to this part of Astolla in years, but it seems to me there is a beach. Gartly’s one form of relaxation is fishing and . . .”

  “Look,” I cried, half-rising from the cockpit.

  Directly ahead of us, half hidden by the sail’s spread, was a planecar. Harlan catapulted into the cabin.

  “You there in the fisherboat,” a voice, magnified artificially, roared down at me. The hovering craft swung round the ship. All I could think was they’d been able to see Harlan hiding in the cabin. “From where are you bound?”

  “And what business is it of yours?” I demanded evasively, cursing because that was another thing Harlan had not bothered to brief me on.

  “Answer when you’re spoken to, woman,” I was told rudely and I doubted Harlan’s surety that women are not maltreated on Lothar.

  “Come back when I can answer, you idiot,” I said, throwing over the tiller on an unnecessary tack which made me obviously too busy with sheet and line to answer. It also cut off the plane’s view of the cabin.

  “Are you alone?” they persisted.

  “Son of a Seventeenth Son, yes,” I screamed at the top of my lungs, remembering a mild oath from the guards’ dialogues.

  The boom, swinging free, completely covered the cabin hatch although the plane was hovering suspiciously low on my stern. The ship had lost all way, sail flapping. I glanced up at the planecar as it swung forward. I saw the military uniforms on the occupants. I could even see the faces of the men and I didn’t like them.

  “You Milrousers, go bother someone else. I’m too busy. Get off my back,” I yelled, shaking a fist at them.

  The boat rolled in the surf and another look to port confirmed that my ruse was putting me in peril. Hastily I trimmed the sail and tried to get sea room between me and the jagged rocks of the shore. That I was in trouble now was too apparent to the airborne nuisances. The plane roared off with a speed startling to one used to wallowing helicopters.

  “Harlan, get up here on the double,” I called once the plane was safely away. “Harlan,” for the tide had seized the boat, carrying us farther and farther inshore. “HARLAN!” I screamed just as the boat struck a submerged rock I had not even a moment’s warning to avoid.

  Harlan came on board just as the boom swung about and, as I rose in horror, it swept us both off the deck and into the sea.

  I came up gasping, the heavy seaman’s clothing weighing me down. But Harlan came up, too, not far from me.

  “Are you all right?”

  “I’m mad, clear through,” I screamed at him. “Of all the stupid things to have happen . . .”

  “Don’t waste energy, swim,” Harlan ordered as the little fishing boat, unguided, was lifted by the surge of the tide and cracked down onto the rocks. Planks, splinters, tackle, debris of all sort went flying in every direction as we swam out of the way. A flying piece of deck hit me heavily on the shoulder, but the thick sweater protected me enough so that all I got was the terrible initial buffet. Harlan disentangled himself from fouled line and we both struck out away from the flotsam on the water.

  “I’m sorry,” I told Harlan, swimming at my shoulder.

  “I wouldn’t be,” he said good-naturedly. “It’ll probably be easier to get ashore swimming than sailing.”

  We were about a hundred yards from the rocky beach and I could see that the haphazard rocks, a menace to a boat, were wide enough for a man’s body to pass between them. One only had to hold one’s course through them to make it safely in. Still, the tidal pull was now very strong and if we were smacked against one of those rocks, it’d be too bad. It was nervous business and we swept awfully close to the rough-skinned boulders. The uneven footing when we reached shallower water was worse going than the actual passage of the reef rocks. The footing was slippery and the tide tore at my feet. I slipped several times and then went completely down, skinning one leg so badly that Harlan had to support me the last five yards.

  Quickly, when he saw the bleeding, he picked me up in his arms and carried me up the sand to the edge of the woods. He slit the trouser leg, baring the nasty gash the length of my shin. My whole leg ached from the jar of my fall as well as the lacerations. I felt very very tired.

  “We must get farther into the woods before the planecar comes back. The wreck will be noticed,” Harlan said.

  “Leave me here,” I pleaded with him after one glance at the thick underbrush. “I’m so tired. I’ll only slow you down.”

  “My dear lady, I have no intention of leaving you,” he said angrily.

  He tore the sleeve from my sweater and bandaged my leg. He was about to pick me up despite my protests when he froze, his eyes on the shore a little to the right of us.

  I whirled and saw a fi
gure sauntering along the rocky beach, fishing gear draped all over him. The young man stopped when he saw us and then hurried forward.

  “Can you give me a hand, stranger?” Harlan called. “We’ve lost our sloop and my lady is hurt.”

  I thought that his audacity would win out over the odds again. The young man was almost to us when he stopped short, his mouth open in surprised shock, his body dropping to a crouch as recognition dawned on him.

  “Harlan?” he cried, half questioning, half stating the incredible fact.

  It was too much for me and for the only time in my life I fainted.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  SOMETHING WAS BURNING MY THROAT and my leg was on fire and someone was choking me and I struck out wildly.

  “Sara, Sara, it’s all right,” I heard Harlan say. Opening my eyes, I saw first trees all around us, then Harlan and then the concerned face of the young man from the beach. “We’re safe, Sara. This is Cire, the youngest son of my old commandant, Gartly. It’s all right.”

  “You’re sure?” I asked stupidly, looking at Cire who seemed to me far too young to be as much help as Harlan’s cheerful reassurance implied.

  “Here, drink this.” He held the metal bottle for me and it was more of the stimulant that had burned my throat. It was powerful and spread feeling through my arms and stomach, down to my vitals and my aching leg. I looked down and this had been bandaged with something white and far more comforting in appearance than the sleeve of my sweater. Cire’s fishing jacket was wrapped around me, warm and far cleaner than anything else I had on.

  “I don’t want any more of that,” I assured Harlan as he lifted the bottle to my lips again.

  Harlan chuckled. “Patrol issue is noted for potency.”

  “How long have I been out? Of all the silly things to do.”

  “Yes, very silly of you,” Harlan agreed amiably. Then both he and Cire laughed at my expression of shock. “That’s better.”

  He got up.

  “Now, Sara, we’ve got to move on. The planecar did come back and saw the wreck. What’ll happen now I don’t know. Cire says there’s been no mention of my escape, so that planecar may only have been a routine flight. But the boat’s registry number may come ashore with the wreckage. Then there’ll surely be inquiries made. Cire and I covered our tracks up from the beach to make them think there were no survivors . . . or survivor. But I want to get out of Astolla entirely by the time an official investigation of the wreck is made.”

  I struggled to my feet.

  “You don’t like it, but it’ll help,” he added proffering the bottle. I looked at him and then at Cire and reluctantly steeled myself for another long swig.

  “I’ll be drunk in no time,” I gasped.

  “You’ll be walking it off,” Harlan retorted.

  I’m not exactly sure “walk” is what I did. Harlan made me take considerable quantities of that brew once he felt me shivering through Cire’s jacket. I remember not too clearly the events following the first long climb from the shore. I remember putting one foot in front of the other and talking about it. I remember complaining because I wanted to sit down and no one would let me. I remember being carried and then I remember fighting with someone because they wanted to put me on a planecar and I knew that was not right and I shouldn’t get on a planecar and I couldn’t get away from Them. The last thing I do remember is Harlan’s voice, angry and arguing.

  “By the Deep Cave, she’s exhausted, that’s all. Naturally she’s talking gibberish. Here, give her to me a minute.”

  Someone was shaking me by the shoulders and I kept trying to get free. Then Harlan kissed me and I managed to focus on his face and realized he was the one holding me.

  “Sara, Sara, listen to me. We’re safe, we made it to Gartly’s. Go to sleep now. It’s all right to sleep now.”

  “Well, why didn’t someone say so?” I remember saying bad-temperedly. I heard Harlan laugh and then I slid down, gratefully, into dark softness and warmth.

  For me, time resumed after my legs stopped moving even in my dreams. I awoke in a comfortable bed in a pleasantly sunlit room with an indescribably appetizing odor tantalizing me. I sat right up in bed and looked around, trying to place my surroundings. The wide bed had had another occupant from the dents in the pillows beside mine. I decided I had better ignore speculations in that direction for the moment.

  It might even be a female Gartly, I told myself, having remembered Harlan’s final words to me. This pleasant blue room with its heavy wooden furnishings was the antithesis of the institutional asylum cottage.

  A long soft gray robe was draped on the chair nearest the bed which turned my attention on the nightdress I wore. To my relief, it was utilitarian but feminine. Whatever was cooking made me ravenous. I put on the robe and looking around for a bathroom, stumbled over Harlan’s fisher clothes.

  “That settles that,” I told myself, both irritated and pleased.

  The delicious odor was irresistible and I hurried through the necessary, noticing in passing the mirror that I had picked up a nice tan, and that I had lost my eyebrows and singed my hair slightly shorter in passing the force screen barrier.

  As I opened the bedroom door, I walked out into a hall, half open to the large room on the level below. Four men were sitting around a table cluttered with the debris of a meal. They had been talking solemnly and their voices died as first one, then another man became aware of my presence on the balcony. The oldest, gray-grizzled man glowered up at me fiercely and started to rise to his feet. I was about to take refuge in the bedroom when Harlan, laden with a plate of food and a mug backed through a swinging door from the side of the house.

  “Hi there, don’t run, Sara,” he laughed. “Come on down.” He noticed Gartly’s expression. “Gartly frowns to hide a tender heart and Jessl,” he added, nodding to the man he was passing on his way to the table, “frowns from unfamiliarity with the light of day.” He set his dishes down and, going to the foot of the stairs, waited for me to descend. He squeezed my hand reassuringly and led me to the table.

  He was an entirely different person in his joviality, in the obvious affection toward two of the men, Jokan and Jessl. The Harlan I had known in the hospital, tense, frustrated, pensive, the apparently unconcerned Harlan of the sailboat, had transformed into this admirable stranger with whom I was not at ease.

  The four men rose gravely in turn as Harlan introduced us, bowing formally, each bow as different as the character of the man. Gartly gave me a peremptory bow, his mind obviously on the business interrupted by my appearance. His blueing eyes passed over my face with the light dismissal of an older man for any younger person.

  Jokan, and I remembered he was Harlan’s brother, was nondescript in appearance, totally different from his brother. But his eyes, a sparklingly clear blue in his rough tanned face, had a vitality that detracted from the commonplaceness of his features. His bow was leisurely as he measured my face, my body, my legs and looking again into my eyes, his lips echoed the greeting in his brilliant eyes.

  Jessl, a stocky, chesty man in his late thirties, was less courtly, checking me off in his mental catalogue as woman; intelligence unknown; and unnecessary. But it was he who held out my chair.

  Cire smiled warmly at me. He resembled his father in face and outstripped him in size by half a foot but with undeveloped breadth. His bow was jerky, unpracticed, and he flushed boyishly, yanked out of the fascinating world of men to which he had so recently been admitted, by the arrival of a woman his senior in years.

  “How’s your leg this morning?” he asked considerately.

  “I didn’t even remember,” I laughed, kicking my leg from the full robe.

  “That’s because you’ve slept nearly two days,” Harlan laughed. “Cire, I appoint you chief server to the exiled court of Harlan and hope I left enough in the pot to fill a very generous plate for Sara. I’ve had five servings, my dear lady,” and I heard Jokan draw his breath in sharply and Jessl turned around to lo
ok at me queerly, but Harlan continued briskly, “so I’m the guilty one if there isn’t enough. You should, by rights, be even hungrier than I,” and his lighthearted grin included an intimate reference to my abstinence for his sake.

  Cire showed no reluctance to assume his honorary rank and went to get me food. Harlan took up the conversation he had left to refill his plate.

  “Hindsight, my friends, is of no use to us. We could sit here until the Mil come again before that would solve our problem. Don’t think for a minute I haven’t run from the caves of Jurasse to the Barren Plains for believing myself inviolate just because I was Regent. I’ve succeeded in making an absolute fool of myself and unless I’m careful about the next move, I shall compound that impression and lose any chance whatever of regaining the Regency.

  “I’ve had a lot of good luck, lately,” his hand touched mine in illustration, “and we’ll hope it holds until Stannall can reinforce it. You’re sure, Jokan, no one knows of your trip to Astolla?”

  “I made the decision myself on the way to Jurasse and circled the Finger Sea,” Jokan reassured him. He kept looking at me, however, not his brother.

  Harlan regarded the meat on his fork speculatively, then carefully set the piece aside, leaning back in his chair.

  “Now, Jessl has not been closely connected with me. Gartly and I had that quarrel about sector assignments,” and Harlan’s eyes twinkled at Gartly who harrumphed righteously. “They won’t think of checking on any of you first. We’ve got to get Council in session to revoke Gorlot’s temporary Regency. Ferrill can do it if we can reach him.”

  Jokan and Gartly immediately jumped in to elaborate on the young Warlord’s rapid physical decline. No one had been allowed to see him recently, even such old friends as Gartly and his uncle, Jokan. Gorlot intercepted every attempt.

  “I did get a few words with Maxil,” Jokan added, “before that Milbait Samoth came breathing down my neck. I shall take great delight in kicking that fattail into so tight an orbit he’s eating . . .”