Restoree

by Anne McCaffrey

  “As to the secret and abominable research on humans,” Monsorlit continued, addressing the Councillors, “my colleagues will tell you that some of my work is done in secret, behind closed doors and the results are in locked files. That is the only way to protect the privacy of our patients, some of whom are well placed in life, despite their inner uncertainties. Yes, the research we have been conducting lately might once have been called abominable, but the results have been a return to health for many. Very often a medicine tastes abominably, but that does not mean its efficacy is affected.”

  He spoke so glibly, his explanations so pat, yet nothing he had said sounded rehearsed or insincere.

  “As to my developing cerol compounds, I could scarcely deny so well publicized a fact,” and Monsorlit smiled pleasantly. “My laboratories have been aware of its effectiveness . . . if properly and abstemiously used . . . in restraining mental cases, in the stimulation of certain muscular centers, in . . . ways too numerous to list. It is a remarkably versatile base for a wide range of uses. It will be some time before we reach the end of its potentialities.

  “But, as the man who invented our slates cannot control what we, centuries later, write upon them, I cannot control the uses to which the discoveries in our laboratories have been put,” and with a shrug Monsorlit resumed his seat.

  Lesatin exchanged low comments with several of the Councillors.

  “Did you, physician, at any time suspect you were being used by Gorlot to cover up his treachery against the Tane?”

  That to me was the silliest question yet. But Monsorlit considered it gravely before answering.

  “I am not a politician, gentlemen, but a serious scientist. It was my duty under Regent Gorlot to perform such services as he required of me in my capacity as Head Physician of the War Hospital. If I had any doubts as to the authenticity of the afflictions, I had little time to pursue them due to the extreme pressure of work and the speed with which it is necessary to treat acute cerolosis.”

  “Does not acute cerolosis parallel the symptoms of restoration madness in so far as the mental processes of the patient are concerned?” snapped Lesatin.

  I gasped and so did others at the sting of the question. But it reassured me that Lesatin must be after Monsorlit.

  Monsorlit pondered this question calmly.

  “Yes, it does,” he said deliberately, still in thought. “There is an absolute paralysis of mental centers, sluggish reactions, no independent action. But, as you gentlemen are aware, the shock treatments we have used have brought the patients back to as normal a pursuit of life as possible, considering the irreparable damage done by the cerol in some cases.”

  There was an unfinished quality to his statement that reached me if no one else.

  “You are noted for your skill in restoration, Physician Monsorlit,” Lesatin continued. Monsorlit accepted the implied compliment as his just due. “Are there other surgeons today capable of such technical perfection?”

  “If you mean partial restorations due to common accidents, yes. My techniques, as published in the Medical Library, are effective for partial as well as complete restorations. I could name dozens of surgeons capable of performing undetectable restorations. Partial ones, of course.”

  “Could Physician Trenor perform undetectable restoration?”

  Everyone waited for Monsorlit’s reply and again I wondered if Lesatin were for or against Monsorlit.

  “It is entirely possible although I have never observed the physician in question in the operating arena.”

  Had it been Trenor all along and not Monsorlit? Had I been mistaken? No, no, that wasn’t possible. Something vital assured me of that.

  “Thank you, physician.” Lesatin consulted his slate. “May I call the Lady Sara?”

  I stood up nervously.

  “You were Lord Harlan’s attendant during his . . . stay at the asylum, weren’t you?”

  I confirmed this.

  “Monsorlit was Harlan’s physician, I believe,” and Lesatin looked first at Monsorlit, who confirmed this and then at me. “Did he attend Harlan at the sanitarium?”

  “Yes.”

  Lesatin knew this, for he was referring to slates he must have made during the inquiry Stannall conducted.

  “Did you ever have occasion to suspect Harlan was being mistreated? Drugged into insensibility, rather than helped to regain his sanity?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “What aroused your suspicions?”

  “A conversation between Gleto and . . . Monsorlit,” I announced, looking accusingly at the physician who merely watched.

  “Really?” Lesatin appeared sincerely surprised. “Can you remember this conversation?”

  “Yes, I most certainly can. Gleto had called Monsorlit to examine Harlan because he was afraid Harlan would revive from the drug,”

  “The drug was named?”

  “Yes. Cerol. Monsorlit said that there was no need to increase the dosage. He told Gleto to have a weekly absorption rate taken and that would give an indication when more would be needed. Gleto said he didn’t have the personnel and Monsorlit offered to send him a repossessed technician who could perform the test on Harlan. Monsorlit also said that Gleto had better do the same for the nine men who were Trenor’s patients.” My story came out in a rush because I was afraid of being interrupted and because I wanted desperately to say it before I lost my nerve.

  Lesatin turned with anxious concern to the Councilmen. They whispered agitatedly among themselves.

  “Why didn’t you bring this conversation to light in the earlier investigation?” I was asked.

  “I never got the chance. The Mil came,” I defended myself.

  Monsorlit’s voice asked for the right to question me and permission was given him.

  “How did you obtain the position as Harlan’s attendant?” he asked me pleasantly.

  “I was placed there from the Mental Clinic.”

  “Oh. You’d been a patient there?”

  Watching every muscle in his controlled face, I nodded.

  “How long were you a patient at the Clinic?”

  “I don’t remember exactly.”

  “Accuracy to the minute is not required. A rough estimate is all that is necessary.”

  “Two months,” I blurted out because that number came to my mind first. It was wrong. I could see that in the gleam in Monsorlit’s eyes. He drew out another bundle of slates and passed them to Lesatin.

  “The Councilmen will see the documented record indicates a stay of over five months.”

  He’s covered up here, too. All I have to do is not get rattled. He can’t beat me. I’m right and he’s wrong. He’s dangerous. They’ve got to believe me.

  “Lady Jena,” and Monsorlit turned to the other woman in the room, a gray-haired, gentle-faced lady, “was the ward nurse in Lady Sara’s early days with us.”

  “I was indeed, poor thing.”

  “Describe her condition.”

  “Sir, she couldn’t speak at all. She didn’t seem to understand anything. They’re like that sometimes, poor dears. Especially the civilians who came to us from Tane. But it took her longer to understand even the simplest things. Her early achievement tests are just too low to be possible. I have included them in the records.”

  Lesatin hemmed and cleared his throat, looking at me with an expression close to anger and resentment. I saw that I had been wrong. Lesatin really wanted to clear Monsorlit and here was my incriminating testimony to confuse the issues already settled in his mind.

  “The Lady Sara seems quite able to make herself understood now,” one of the Elders pointed out dryly.

  “Notice, however,” Monsorlit said smoothly, “that odd labial twist. Notice the aspiration of the hard consonants, as if there were difficulty in controlling the speech centers.”

  “A personal quirk?” asked my champion.

  “Possibly,” Monsorlit admitted, but there was no conviction in his voice. “Lady Sara,” and he sp
aced his syllables oddly, “what is the capital of Ertoi?”

  “I don’t know,” I replied quickly. “Do you?” and I directed my question to one of the Councilmen. He blinked at me for my insolence.

  Monsorlit laughed. “They can be very shrewd.”

  “Sir,” Lesatin began angrily, “your line of questioning is irrelevant and offensive. Lady Sara’s contribution to Lothar is great and you must be careful of your aspersions.”

  “She isn’t careful of hers,” Monsorlit answered tolerantly. “They often aren’t tactful. But she is very beautiful, isn’t she?” he added kindly.

  I held my breath. He couldn’t be going to . . .

  “She has only to smile,” Monsorlit continued, “and be admired. Beautiful women know that intelligence is not required of them and conduct themselves accordingly. However, the fact remains that the Lady Sara was a patient in the Mental Defectives Clinic and she fails to remember how long. She does not know the capital of Ertoi and there isn’t one. Here, Lady Sara, write me a few lines. Write your name. Even beautiful women who have attended our Mental Clinic can write.”

  Monsorlit thrust a slate and stylus at me.

  “I protest this preposterous treatment,” I cried.

  “That’s a good sentence to write, isn’t it?”

  The slate was put in my hands. I didn’t know what to do. Lesatin and the others were waiting with increasing impatience. It was such a simple thing and I couldn’t do it.

  “I cannot write,” I said finally.

  “Of course not,” Monsorlit said, turning to the Councillors. “Her records show that she was incapable of learning anything except the most routine duties. How to dress herself neatly, keep clean, act cooperatively. That’s why she was in a mental-home attendant’s position. She can learn anything by rote. Anything.”

  “You certainly cannot insist that Lady Sara has responded to rote lessons today?” my champion asked.

  “Not entirely. I most gladly admit she has improved tremendously since she left the Clinic. She shows more promise of complete recovery than those records indicate possible. She must be allowed every opportunity to grow toward complete mental health, to restore her lost knowledge. I suggest, Councilman Lesatin, that she be returned to my Clinic to complete a recovery so auspicious.”

  Someone must contradict this diabolical man. I turned anxiously toward Ferrill and saw to my horror that his seat was empty. How could he leave me? Now, when I needed a friend most? I burst into tears and tried to draw back from Monsorlit as he placed a proprietary arm around my shoulders and began to lead me from the room. I resisted, but the man was unbelievably strong. He led me out a side door into a small anteroom while, in the chamber behind, the Councilmen burst into angry questions and discussion.

  “You should have come of your own accord. I did not wish so public a humiliation for you,” Monsorlit chided.

  “You know I’m no defective. Harlan will be back and you’ll be sorry.”

  “Threats. Threats. Harlan can return when he wishes, but you will go back to the Clinic and stay until my treatments bring about a full recovery.”

  “No! I am recovered. I don’t need more treatment.”

  “You do. One day I’ll have a complete success with my technique of restoration,” and his eyes were fixed at a point above my head, “mind and body. There will be no mental blocks such as you have in the memory synapses. It will be a complete cure.”

  I stared at him. He didn’t know either. I had always assumed he did. He thought I was a Lotharian and just didn’t remember. He really believed I had been a colonist on Tane when the first Mil attack came. He had collaborated with Gorlot so he could prove, to himself if to no one else, that restoration itself did not cause the mental deterioration.

  “You’re mad,” I cried. “And you’re wrong.”

  The door opened wider and Lesatin and several other Councilmen entered.

  “The charges against you are dismissed, Monsorlit,” he said gravely. “And you have our permission to take this . . . girl with you. For all our sakes I hope you do effect a complete cure for her.”

  “It’s a pity she had been so closely connected with the young Warlord. I wondered why Harlan tolerated her.”

  “Harlan has always liked a pretty face. Look at Maritha. And then, too, Harlan is probably grateful.”

  “No, no no,” I shouted at their pitiless faces. “That isn’t it!”

  Monsorlit took my arm in one steel-fingered hand.

  “She’s done remarkably well considering her early ineptitude,” he said. “I can’t imagine who could have turned her against me.”

  “No one,” I shrieked at him, trying to twist free. “I’m not defective. I can’t write Lotharian because I don’t even come from this planet. I came from Earth, the place those corpses on the Star-class Mil ship came from, the planet Jokan has gone to find. I’m not from Lothar. I’m from Earth,” I screamed desperately, for Monsorlit was tumbling in his belt pouch and I knew what he was seeking.

  “What’s this about Jokan’s expedition?” “Another planet?” “Who’s been babbling?” The Councilmen all asked at once.

  “Delusions,” Monsorlit reassured them, smiling at me as he got the needle out of his pouch.

  “On the contrary,” a new voice said from the hall doorway. Ferrill pushed through. “On the contrary, she is telling the truth. And here is a slate, written by Harlan before he left for the Battle of Tane. It is addressed to me. Lesatin, I suggest you read it to everyone. You see, in this corner is the date, hard and fast.”

  Monsorlit dropped my hand as if it burned him. Even he looked his incredulous surprise at Ferrill’s news. I ran to the ex-Warlord, weeping with relief, clinging to him. He put an arm around me with awkward but very reassuring gentleness.

  Lesatin mumbled the phrases Harlan had written and the others peered over his shoulder. When they had read, they stared at me in complete confusion.

  “How did you get here?” Lesatin roused himself to ask.

  “Evidently on a Mil ship,” I said cautiously. “I . . . don’t really know. I was in shock. I’m here. I’m me. I’m not mentally ill.”

  “But those tests we were shown? Jena is a very reliable person. A woman of her background and breeding would have no reason to fabricate lies,” Lesatin stopped.

  “The tests were undoubtedly accurate,” Ferrill suggested sensibly. “I doubt any of you could understand her language so how could you expect her to understand ours . . . particularly after having been so nearly . . . skinned alive.”

  Monsorlit’s eyes blazed as if I had suddenly changed into another person.

  “How did she get here?” Lesatin repeated, dumbfounded.

  “She was brought into my base hospital along with several other cases,” Monsorlit interjected smoothly, but there was a curious look of triumph in his face. “I assumed at the time she was one of the colonists who had been attacked by the Tane. There was no reason to suppose otherwise at the time. We know that Gorlot had several brushes with loaded Mil ships. Some were disabled. Undoubtedly she was on one of them.”

  “In what condition was she brought to you?” demanded Lesatin with fierce urgency. I clutched at Ferrill for support.

  “In a state of complete shock.”

  “No, no. Physically,” demanded the Councilman.

  Monsorlit looked at Lesatin with surprise, then back at me as if comparing two pictures in his mind. “Why, much the same as she is now,” he replied unhurriedly. “Much the same.”

  “Could she have been restored?” my old champion demanded, bluntly.

  Monsorlit pursed his lips. “How could she have been? She is as rational as any of us,” and to my amazement he smiled at me.

  “A few moments ago, you assured us she was mentally incompetent,” Lesatin reminded him, eyes narrowing.

  I could see that Lesatin was not entirely sure my comments were rote lessons.

  “My remarks on her apparent defectiveness are still valid,
” Monsorlit pointed out “She does not read or write Lotharian. She does not know simple facts our children do. She still talks with an odd accent. But she does not know how long she was at my clinic. She most assuredly had the violent nightmares such as were recorded. She most certainly was incapable of anything but the simplest, most routine tasks. She has been in deep shock and by some miracle has survived and regained complete mental control. When she gained it, I do not know.” He stressed the conjunction deliberately. “Therefore I can clinically doubt her recollections of a conversation such as she reported here today.”

  He paused to see the effect of his words. I was about to contradict him, but Ferrill shook me quickly and silenced me with a glance.

  “But, gentlemen,” and his voice rose above the interruptions of the others, “she presents an incontrovertible proof that I have tried for years to have recognized. That it is the capture by the Mil, not the restoration, that produces deep shock. We have completely restored burn victims and they did not go into shock. It has been our own fears that kill us. She never heard of the Mil. She went into deep shock, true, but she has recovered. I believe that any Mil victim can recover, if properly treated. Restoration has nothing to do with it. Can you realize that?” he demanded triumphantly. “There is your proof.”

  I sagged wearily against Ferrill at the end of my strength.

  “As you can see by that slate,” Ferrill drawled, “Harlan, our beloved Regent, has entrusted the Lady Sara to my care. She needs it right now. You will excuse us,” and he led me from that room.

  I remember hearing Monsorlit’s voice rising above the arguments of the others as the door closed. I had been forgotten and I was glad.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  FERRILL MARSHALED ME DOWN THE halls and back to my apartment without stopping for anyone.

  He called Linnana to bring a stiff drink and then propelled me to my bed. He propped me up, covering me with a shaggy blanket, took the drink from a startled Linnana and shooed her out of the room.

  I gulped at the stimulant gratefully, disregarding the raw bite on my throat.