Restoree

by Anne McCaffrey

  “And don’t think I haven’t left a cave unsearched to find out what is really going on. I’ve seen every report from the quadrants, talked with the wounded; seen the shivering wrecks that were our most promising patrol leaders and tried to convince myself that nothing was wrong. Because there has been no discernible evidence of illicit activity.

  “And then, miraculously, you return as sane and hearty as when I saw you in the Starhall two hours before your collapse.”

  Stannall paused. He looked at Harlan to see what effect his disclosures were having.

  “Tell me,” the Councilman’s facile voice changed flavor again, “have you no personal quarrel to pick with Gorlot for taking ten months out of your life? Can he shame you with the stigma of insanity and not expect to answer to you? Or are you still insane? The man who tells me his duty was done with Ferrill’s deposition does not sound like the Harlan I knew ten months ago. It sounds like a drug-weakened dreamer, filled with delinade, not guts and blood.”

  Instead of being stung by the insults, Harlan turned wearily from the window. He looked toward me first, but his face was expressionless.

  “You touch a point none of us have brought up, Stannall,” he said slowly, heavily. “It is necessary first to prove I am sane, to the Council, to the planet, and to myself.”

  Jessl and Gartly exhaled tightly drawn breaths. Stannall allowed no expression of triumph whatever to cross his features.

  “Harlan,” Maxil burst out, his voice cracking again, “if you don’t want to be Regent for me . . .”

  Harlan crossed quickly to the boy and threw an affectionate arm across the rigidly held shoulders. “My . . . hesitation . . . has no reflection on my fondness for you, lad. Or, I should say, my lord.”

  “That, too, has not yet been decided,” Stannall said briskly. He sat down at the desk by the communicator and pulled out slates as he continued talking. “The physicians will report here after they make their examinations of Ferrill . . .”

  “There’s no chance that the initial verdict can . . .” asked Harlan.

  “None,” was Stannall’s emphatic answer. “I presume Gorlot has been merely biding his time before he brought up the matter of the lad’s health officially. Perhaps he didn’t expect Ferrill to collapse so completely.”

  “But you said he’d be all right,” Maxil said anxiously.

  Stannall frowned slightly at this interruption. He turned and looked at Maxil as if the boy had changed completely.

  “I said he’d live. The extent of his invalidism we’ll know when we receive the full medical report. At the same time they are here to see you, my lord, they can make a preliminary examination of Harlan. Undoubtedly a more extensive one will have to be made at the War Hospital Clinic at a later date.” Stannall added a final mark to the slate he had been writing on and handed it to Sinnall.

  “Section Leader, this must be delivered at once to Lesatin. I believe he planned to be in Lothara for the festivities, but I doubt he was invited to the palace.” Stannall smiled wryly. “His sympathies have never paralleled Gorlot’s interests. Once the message is delivered, consider yourself under Lesatin’s orders. Try first at his town residence, Place of the Triangle Red. Someone there may be sober enough to remember where the man went.

  “Gartly, I want you to contact every old patroller you know, in town or not. Jessl, get your younger friends together. I want word spread that Harlan is back, that he is sane. That he never was mad. Your group can spread the news quicker than the Mil can evacuate the city. By the way, where’s that ladies’ man, Jokan? I’d’ve thought he’d be along tonight.”

  “He’s waiting at his place for Sara. And I think she’d better go there,” Harlan said.

  “On the contrary,” Stannall countermanded, turning to look at me. “The young lady must spend the night in Maxil’s suite.”

  It was Harlan’s turn to frown.

  “I don’t see the necessity of . . .”

  “You don’t see, Harlan,” Stannall interrupted testily, “that she is essential to counteract Gorlot’s campaign to have Maxil set aside as impotent. In front of the entire Starhall, she admitted his claim on her.”

  Harlan turned white and stared at me.

  “I did not,” I cried, although I didn’t understand the undercurrent between Harlan and Stannall that was directed at me. “I said nothing of the kind. And I only met the boy this afternoon at a cornade stand in the square. Then . . .”

  Stannall waved me silent. “That must not be known,” and he pinioned with his glance everyone in the room separately, exhorting unspoken compliance with this essential lie. “The impression,” and as his voice underlined the word, he looked squarely at Harlan and then Maxil, “must stand.”

  “A moment,” Harlan said in a too-quiet voice. “I had a prior claim.”

  Stannall turned to Harlan coldly. “I cannot help your private plans for the Lady Sara. The fact remains unalterable that Lothar must remain under the impression that this girl is Maxil’s lady. That voids Gorlot’s scheme to have Maxil set aside in favor of Fernan. Gorlot neglected to include an element of chance in his calculations. We cannot permit his neglect to go unutilized because of private feelings or dealings. I’m certain that both Lord Maxil and the Lady Sara are aware of the circumstances in which they now find themselves and will conduct themselves accordingly.”

  “Sara, I’m sorry,” Maxil pleaded with such adolescent embarrassment that I swallowed the words that rushed to my lips.

  “There is so much at stake,” I began, directing my plea to Harlan whose jaw muscles were clenched with his unspoken anger. “After all, it is an honor to be the Warlord’s lady. If I ever dreamed a simple glass of cornade would lead to all this . . .” and I made an attempt at a carefree laugh. Maxil gave me a rather sickly grin of gratitude, but Harlan refused to unbend.

  “With your permission,” he grated out between his teeth at Stannall and then drew me out to the balcony. Stannall watched us leave and then beckoned to Gartly and Jessl to leave and for Sinnall and Cire to join him at the desk.

  Harlan was gripping my hand painfully tight. He shut the glass balcony door and drew me into the balcony shadow.

  “Sara, that gesture may cost you your life,” he began.

  “Don’t be silly. I’ve braved the worst that Gorlot could do and . . .”

  “Gorlot is nowhere near as deadly for you as Stannall,” Harlan said in such earnest my levity failed me.

  “You never come right out and explain,” I wailed softly.

  He shook his head irritably. “It is not a simple thing to explain. I don’t understand how you came to let Maxil claim you. Surely you must realize how little you know of this planet.”

  “I couldn’t agree more.”

  “Then how can you expect to play a part which calls for constant public appearances where everything you do and say will be remarked. The tiniest slip will be noticed. Sara, Sara.”

  He took me in his arms, pressing my head against his chest, folding me carefully but tightly against him, his lips on my forehead.

  “What else could I have done? I’ve been as backed into a short cave as you have.”

  At my choice of words, he gave a little chuckle, and released me. I could see his face in the shadow, his eyes on me were tender.

  “There was one chance in several thousand you’d manage to carry off what you’ve already done. But I’d far rather see you safely on my holdings until we find out more about how you got here. And preferably, find your world.”

  “Is that what you meant when you said you had other things to do with your life?”

  “Yes,” he said sadly. “Yes. There’s more than just finding your world and helping them defend themselves against the Mil. But that’s scarcely an issue to throw into the confusion of this mess.”

  “But why is my origin so dangerous?”

  “It’s all wrapped with the horror of restoration,” he said in a tight voice, “which I have no time to explain. But you
say you’ve come from another planet. The only way you can have got from another planet that I know of is by way of a Mil ship. And traveling on a Mil ship . . . well, it follows that you must be a restoree. And to almost everyone, a restoree is a horror to be exterminated at the first opportunity.”

  I stared at him, my throat dry.

  “But I’m not horrible, am I?” I whispered, scared deep inside me by the intensity in his voice.

  “Dear my lady,” he said softly, framing my face with both hands, “has not half of Lothar acknowledged your loveliness?”

  “But your restoree talk scares me,” I said, biting back my tears. Fatigue, hand in hand with fright, seeped past the barriers excitement and novelty had created. I was desperately tired.

  “I know, Sara, but I must scare you enough to make you doubly cautious. I feel so powerless to protect you.”

  “I’m too tired to think,” I groaned, putting my hand to the place on my jaw that ached.

  He opened the door and handed me back into the room.

  “My Lady Sara is exhausted,” Harlan said, issuing his challenge at Stannall.

  The First Councilman looked up at Harlan for a long moment.

  “Maxil, you have heard Harlan’s claim.”

  “Yes, sir, I have,” Maxil agreed somberly, rising to his feet.

  “All right, both of you escort her to Maxil’s apartment. Then I want both of you back here,” Stannall said with exasperation.

  Harlan, bowing slightly to me and then Maxil, gave Maxil my hand and opened the door to the hall for us.

  There was no doubting the shock of surprise on the faces of the guards as they recognized Harlan on the way to Maxil’s quarters. Neither Maxil nor Harlan looked right or left. Maxil palmed open his door and stood aside to let me and then Harlan pass while the startled hall guard snapped to attention, his eyes wide and rolling around to get the closest look at the Regent.

  Maxil closed the door and let Harlan lead me to a bedroom, opposite the one in which Samoth had dumped me that afternoon. The lights came up immediately in the lovely room.

  “How do you turn them off?” I whispered urgently to Harlan.

  He pulled the door to and waved one hand over a panel of darker wood by the doorway. The lights went out. I saw the whiteness of his hand move again and the lights came up.

  He stared at me fiercely.

  “By all the mothers of all the clans, I should have claimed you on that boat after all. Remember, you are my lady.”

  The incredible possessiveness of his look stayed before my eyes long after he left. I realized suddenly what the formality of “claiming” and using the personal possessive pronoun must mean. I had got myself married to Harlan without even knowing it. I fell asleep trying to see all the ramifications of my paradoxical situation.

  CHAPTER NINE

  THE NEXT MORNING WHEN I woke, I felt rested completely and, of course, hungry. I was torn between a bath and something to eat. On the bed was a heavy green robe. I glanced at the other side of the large bed and assured myself I had been its lone occupant. I rose and belted the robe and tiptoed to the door. I peeked out into the living room, saw a clear path to the fruit on the table and started for it.

  “Lady Sara, I hope I didn’t wake you,” and I whirled to see a young blond girl in a blue overdress, her eyes wide and anxious.

  “No,” I muttered.

  “I am Linnana and at your service. May I draw your bath? There are gowns for your choosing and, if I may suggest it, the others will soon arrive for breakfast.” She glanced at the hall door nervously, expecting an invasion momentarily.

  Beyond her, I saw on the raised level at the balcony door the table set and awaiting diners. I nodded but nevertheless grabbed up an applefruit before I returned to my room. I didn’t care what she thought. I was hungry.

  I bathed and then allowed Linnana to show me the clothes she had mentioned. It was a mistake because there were far too many of all colors, lengths and fabrics, and a small chest of jewels as well.

  “I’m just a simple country girl,” I began finally as even Linnana showed impatience at my indecision. “I don’t know what to choose to wear in the palace for breakfast.”

  She giggled. “That’s easy. With your permission?”

  She held up a knee-length tunic and overdress in contrasting shades of a soft rust, and took from the jewels a simple chain of gold with jadelike buttons in the links. When I had dressed, no longer worried about unfamiliar closures because she took care of that, she set me down again and opened a small metal box. With a brush, she recreated eyebrows for those I lost in the force screen. She added a touch of color to my lids and a blush of paint on my lips and studied the effect. When I glimpsed myself in the mirror, my hand inadvertently went to my nose. I snatched it back into my lap for fear she would interpret the gesture.

  “My pardon, Lady Sara,” and she brought out powder for me.

  It was a little reassuring to know that women still used such guiles on Lothar.

  Evidently she felt no more was needed and followed me to the door.

  When I stepped out into the room, I stopped abruptly on the threshold. Linnana had neglected to tell who had been expected for breakfast and I had not bothered to count the place settings. It would not have been so overwhelming if I had known what to expect. Over twenty men were gathered in that room, of whom I knew only Stannall, Harlan, Maxil and Jessl. Following Maxil and Harlan’s example, those seated at the crowded table rose instantly. I believe I was the only one who saw Harlan prod Maxil forward to greet me.

  Maxil struggled with his embarrassment as he took my hand to lead me to my place. Our flushing faces only compounded the desired impression.

  A servant came quickly with the steaming chocolaty beverage which was the Lotharian equivalent of coffee. It helped clear my head, certainly; hot, tart and stimulating.

  “You’ll be pleased to know, Lady Sara,” Harlan began formally but with a wicked twinkle in his eye, “that the Lord Maxil and I have been cleared of the various physical and mental deficiencies attributed to us. And, by the foremost physician of the world, Monsorlit.”

  I grabbed frantically to balance the cup in my hand before my trembling spilled the hot stuff all over me. Maxil hastily proferred a napkin and a servant materialized to mop up and produce a fresh cup. I muttered inanely about hot cups and tried to catch Harlan’s eye. His remarks were addressed to the table in general and he did not look at me.

  “Gorlot was . . . obviously . . . mistaken about Maxil,” he continued blithely. A polite ripple of laughter forced a bright smile from me. There were no lascivious sidewise looks at me from the men at the table. Actually fathers were quick to urge a likely girl to become the unofficial lady of a Warlord. A child of such an alliance might well be Warlord-elect if the father died without other, more legal issue.

  “The most exhaustive tests brought by Physician Monsorlit failed to show me mentally defective but he’s to try his worst this afternoon in that precious Clinic of his. I am, evidently,” and here Harlan’s laughter was echoed by the others, “to be congratulated on my astounding return to sanity.”

  “Physician Monsorlit,” the name rang in my brain and I couldn’t believe it. Could there be two with the same name?

  “Remarkable luck, that,” said a man standing by the balcony, “getting one of Gorlot’s own to validate your sanity.”

  Harlan frowned at the comment.

  “I say I find it difficult to believe a man of Monsorlit’s caliber is connected with Gorlot. He’s too fine a scientist and physician . . .”

  “Not too fine a man to have dabbled in the vile practice of restoration,” snapped Stannall with such massive hate and condemnation in his voice that it filled the room with tension.

  I stared, amazed at the First Councilman for the passion of his denunciation.

  “He was severely disciplined for that youthful attempt,” a gray-headed, senatorial man remarked, “and has turned his remarkable energies
toward our truly pressing problem of insanity. Look what he has achieved with that Mental Clinic of his. He’s been able to train useless idiots to perform simple duties perfectly.”

  Stannall was not impressed.

  “He has sought the proper cave in company with Gorlot.”

  Then why, I asked myself, did Monsorlit say Harlan was sane. Don’t they realize that Monsorlit was responsible for Harlan’s collapse?

  “Gorlot will have difficulty now keeping Maxil from the Warlordship and Harlan from being appointed Regent,” someone stated.

  “I wouldn’t be too sure,” Stannall said sourly. “Remember, there was little Monsorlit could do when three other noted physicians were sincerely convinced of Harlan’s recovery.”

  “Then you expect trouble tomorrow when the Council convenes?” Grayhead asked worriedly.

  “Of course I do,” Stannall said. “Do you think Gorlot will simply step aside because Harlan has returned unexpectedly? No, the man is incredibly cunning, else we should have suspected him long ago. How many of you doubted his report of Maxil’s impotency until last night? How many of us have questioned any one of his other unusual acts? The appointment of a back-province physician for Ferrill instead of Loccan or Cordan?”

  “But Trenor effected some relief for the War—the boy,” another voice interposed. “There was a definite improvement.”

  “Yes, a cessation of whatever drug they used to debilitate the boy,” Stannall retorted.

  “Did the physicians find the residue of any such drug in Ferrill’s body?” Grayhead asked.

  Stannall snorted. “There are many drugs with peculiar properties, my dear Lesatin, whose traces are completely absorbed in the system within a few hours. Cordan suggests that perhaps cerol was used since Ferrill’s motor system has suffered most. But that is confidential information.”

  “Cerol?” Lesatin exclaimed in horror, “but that’s a Tane-grown drug.”

  And, I amended to myself, the same thing they used on Harlan.