Restoree (20 page)

“Perhaps we have been wrong in our suspicions,” Lesatin began without his usual pomposity. “The two terms, repossessed and restored, have similar meanings. This young lady’s statement bears out what we already know. And we have certainly examined every hospital record and each patient carefully.
I
have found no evidence of restoration.”

Stannall turned angrily toward Lesatin. I gathered he wished Lesatin had not been so outspoken. Lesatin shrugged off the silent reprimand.

“All we have is the word of a low Milbait like Gleto against the innumerable proofs to the contrary from unimpeachable sources,” Lesatin said. “Surely, Sir Stannall, you must realize the splendid contributions Monsorlit has made toward the insidious problem of insanity . . .”

“I realize that Monsorlit, in some way, despite all oral and written proof to the contrary, aided and abetted Gorlot in his treachery. If just one, just one of those casualties had been capable of speech, we would have discovered this obscene plot. Why couldn’t
one
of them speak?”

“Monsorlit received all casualties in the orbital hospital ship. There was ample opportunity for someone like Trenor, who has admitted his complicity, to silence them effectively with cerol,” Lesatin pointed out.

“Can’t you help us?” Stannall said fiercely to me, his eyes blazing with a fanatical hate. “
Won’t
you help us?” His intensity startled me so that nothing could have made me speak out. I comprehended too well the logic behind Harlan’s advice to forget Monsorlit’s part in his incarceration.

Stannall advanced on me, to my growing terror, for the mild-mannered First Councilman was as one possessed, his face gray with emotion, his wiry body trembling with rage.

Harlan burst in the door. At sight of him, I cried out in relief. Harlan’s entrance was explosive, not casual. The news he blurted out with no preamble cleared the room of all other interests.

“The Mil are coming,” he cried in a tight voice. Striding to the communicator wall, he snapped on the picture to a scene of complete confusion. A gasping older man in uniform was shrieking out his message.

“The Mil! THE MIL ARE COMING!”

“Report position, report position,” Harlan said in a controlled voice, forcing comprehension through the man’s hysterical repetition of his ghastly message. I could see the squadron commander, for I realized this was a ship’s signal room, gulping for control. The slate he held in his hand shook violently, but his voice lowered.

“I beg to report,” he gasped, seizing on the inanities of protocol to reassure himself, “infiltration past the first ring. Twenty-three Mil ships, fifteen Star class, five Planet, with three attendant satellite trailers. Moving directly Taneward at equatorial intersection.”

“Twenty-three,” Stannall murmured incredulously. “The largest force in three centuries. And moving toward Tane.”

“Spur infiltrations?” Harlan demanded, his voice metallic with command.

“No, sir. Just the direct route unless . . .” and the squadron commander’s hand shook more noticeably, “they break off later.”

“What is their pace rate and interception potential for supreme task force?”

“Base is working on it now, sir,” a shadow voice put in.

“Proceed with Prime Action, and, Commander, are
all
your ships equipped with the new electromagnetic crystals?”

“Yes, sir, they are, sir. But we’ve had no test runs.”

“No matter. Maintain surveillance but under no circumstances, repeat, under no circumstances, attempt standard delaying tactics. My respects to you and your squadron, Commander. You will receive additional orders shortly.”

The picture faded as Harlan punched another dial. Before the picture had been fully established, I heard a piercing wail outside, the eerie panther-cry of a warning siren. Stannall and the others left the room, walking stiffly as people in the midst of a horrible dream. I heard Harlan’s voice, calm, unhurried, the unusual metallic burr of command adding its harsh note, as he announced to the planet total, immediate mobilization and complete civilian evacuation.

I listened stunned through this electrifying broadcast. Then he switched with unhurried sureness to the vast globular room I identified as the Moonbase Headquarters of the Patrol. Here also was the unfumbling dispatch of trained men reacting to an emergency that had been theory for three generations and was now, unexpectedly, grim actuality.

I saw Gartly and Jessl among the men in the Moonbase and, for the first time, representatives of the Alliance planets, Ertoi and Glan. The former were as humanoid as a saurian species can appear, complete with gills and scaled armor. The second, the Glan, were willowy skeletons with three digits and an opposing thumb. Their bodies were covered with a fine down, their faces, long and narrow, were sensitive. Their apparently ineffectual bodies were deceptive for the Glan were structurally twice as strong as Lotharians and equal to their scaly space neighbors, the Ertois.

From them, Harlan received the news that their entire force was speeding toward the penetration point. I thought this was excellent cooperation until I saw the spatial tank and realized that their relative position had a great deal to do with such all-out collaboration. Spatially speaking, they were above and beyond Tane and Lothar but only as the apex of an isosceles triangle is above and beyond its base points. It was to their advantage to deflect any further penetration of the Mil at Tane or Lothar, for the angle of the Mil advance made the triangle two-dimensional and therefore Ertoi and Glan were not galactically far from Lothar.

The Alliance contingent, however, had the farthest to come and there remained the calculation of experts to determine if it were better to wait for their reinforcing navy before joining battle or whether to attempt it with only the Lotharian fleet. That decision ultimately rested with Harlan as Regent and, in this emergency, the de facto Warlord.

The decisive figures were not to be completed for several hours and Harlan signed off with the advice that he would presently board his command ship. All further communications were to be forwarded there. He made one more call and I saw the startled boy-scared face of Maxil. He was being dressed in a shipsuit by a grim Jokan.

“It is my duty to inform my lord,” Harlan began formally, “that Lothar is in gravest danger. I must now assume all rights, responsibilities and privileges. Will you accompany me on board the flagship?”

“What do I say?” Maxil asked, his voice steady.

Harlan gave him a reassuring grin.

“You acknowledge the danger, relinquish to me your rights and responsibilities and say you’ll join me. You’re a little young for this, lad, but I don’t think you’d want to miss it. And, if you’re feeling scared, you’re not alone. I’ll see you in half an hour. Now, please let me speak to Jokan.”

Maxil nodded and stepped aside.

“Jokan, you’ll take Sara along with Ferrill to the Vaults. Stannall and the Council will be assembling there presently. I’ve got the power so they can’t object to any emergency measure I propose. Space help us if Maxil and I go down together. I’m ordering you alternate Regent this time,” and he snorted at his behindsight.

“Now wait a minute, Harlan, I’m going with you . . .” Jokan objected, his eyes flashing angrily.

“No, Jokan. You can’t,” Harlan said with absolute finality. “It could be more important to Lothar’s future to have you alive if something goes wrong with our attack plan. I haven’t more time to explain now. Jo, you know I wouldn’t ask it if I didn’t have to.”

Jokan glared helplessly, searching for an argument strong enough to sway his brother.

“Jokan, I
count
on you. I can’t trust anyone else,” Harlan repeated, his voice tight with the desperate urgency of his appeal.

Jokan set his teeth and bowed his head once in stiff resignation.

“Where’s Sara?” Harlan asked.

“Here,” I reminded him.

Harlan whirled around and stared at me fiercely for a moment. I didn’t know whether to be amused or hurt he had forgotten I was there.

“Jokan, I call you to witness that I claim the Lady Sara to be
my
lady,” he said formally, drawing me by the hand into the range of the vision screen.

“I accept the claim of Harlan, son of Hillel,” I said proudly and Harlan kissed my hand formally. Even now his thumb paused over my wrist.

“Jokan, I’ll give Sara the alternate commission of Regency. And Jo, if something should happen, guard Sara. If I don’t come back, she has something very important to tell you. Now get Maxil off to the spaceport. I’ll meet the boy there.”

He flicked the panel to one more station, ordering his planecar brought to the balcony of the office in twenty minutes. Turning away from the set, he looked at me with such avid hunger in his face I had to turn my eyes away from his naked desire.

When I looked up at the slam of a drawer, I saw he was swiftly styling a slate. I sat down and watched him as he wrote, thinking with a sense of despair that this might be the last time I ever saw him. I memorized his face so that my mind would be able to recall the image faithfully should I never see the original again. It was difficult to reconcile the fierce and gentle lover I knew best with this grim warrior, urgently writing last-minute instructions for the safety of a world he might never walk again. He finished one slate quickly, tossing it aside with a clatter to clear space for the next. This, too, he wrote quickly. The third one, however, did not come as readily and he frowned as he wrote, blended out, and restyled. He punctuated this final message noisily and flipped a protecting film over it which he sealed. He gathered the three together and then stood up.

He came toward me and I rose to meet him. I had lead in my stomach and I needed iron in my thighs which did not seem strong enough to support me as I stood. In a few moments he would go out the balcony windows and . . .

He put his strong fingers on my shoulders and gave me a little shake to make me concentrate on what he had to say. His face had softened its grim expression and his eyes wandered lovingly over my face.

“If I don’t come back . . . but I will,” he reassured me quickly as I gasped at his fatalism, “give the third slate to Ferrill. To no one else. Ferrill is the only one who would be able to help and stand up to Stannall. Jokan can guard you because I have pledged him to it, but only Ferrill can help against Stannall. Stay with those two as long as I’m gone and watch that quick tongue of yours.”

“Harlan . . .”

He gave me another little shake to hush.

“If I were a soldier on your world and going to battle . . . but maybe your world doesn’t have wars . . . pretend, anyway. How . . . Oh Sara,” and he pulled me into his arms, holding me tightly. “I have known you such a short, little time.”

I threw my arms around his neck, choking back a sob.

“Not with a tear, Sara,” he reprimanded me gently. “Surely not with tears?”

“No, not with tears,” I denied, crying, lifting my lips to his kiss.

I clung to him desperately, for the passion that his slightest caress evoked in me welled up to meet his. Abruptly he took his mouth from mine and held my head fiercely against his shoulder, burying his lips in my hair.

Slowly he released me, holding my hands gently as I struggled to hold back my tears.

“Honor my claim to you, dear my lady.”

A horn blasted outside and I saw the hovering aircar. I felt his hands pressing mine around the slates and, through my tears, saw him stride out to the balcony and into the car. I watched until I could no longer see it over the arc of the palace gardens.

My head ached with the pressure of stifled grief and my body from the stimulus of his caresses. I would always associate the mingled odors of car-fuel, fresh slate wax and mid-morning musty heat with that scene.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

I
CARRIED THE SLATES, HOLDING
them stiffly in both hands just as Harlan had placed them there. I walked down corridors that were obstacle courses of hustling men and equipment. There was no panic, just urgent dispatch. No hysterics, only grim determination. But I was oblivious. Their haste, their muttered apologies bounced off the numb shell of my exterior.

I don’t think I had quite accepted the fact that Harlan really cared for me. I accepted the fact that he was grateful to me; that he found me useful in sailing a ship; that he liked to be seen with me; that he liked to go to bed with me, but not that his emotions were involved. I knew he was concerned for my safety, but I had irrationally connected that with the fact that only I could recognize my own home planet in space and Harlan keenly wanted more allies to help overthrow the Mil. It was just difficult for me to assimilate the knowledge I was Harlan’s lady, me, Sara Fulton, late of Seaford, Delaware and New York City.

It seemed an age before I reached Maxil’s suite where a pacing Jokan waited. He looked at me sardonically, the muscles along his jaw working. I handed him the slates and he glared down at them as if they, too, were enemies in the alliance to keep him planet-bound when all his soul wanted to be in space with the fleet. He handed one slate back to me brusquely.

“That one’s for Ferrill, not me,” he said with no courtesy. He scanned one quickly and placed it in his belt. The other he read, his frown deepening. He glanced at me twice during the reading and then sat down. His anger drained out of him and a hopeless impatience took its place.

“Oh, sit down, Lady Sara. I won’t eat you,” he said kindly, seeing me still standing in the same spot.

I sat down and promptly burst into tears, gulping out apologies as I sobbed. He leaned over and roughly patted my shoulder, muttering reassurances. When I didn’t stop, he fetched a drink and made me get it down.

“Patrol issue,” I choked.

“Of course, we’re pretty lucky,” he said with no prelude. “Harlan’s the most brilliant commander we’ve ever had. We’re better prepared for this sort of thing than ever before in our history. Never thought there would be a Prime again, but we’ve got it and there’s no panic. It’s not as if the Mil were able to swoop down on us with no forewarning the way they used to. It could be a lot worse, you know. We could have Gorlot as our Regent and I bet we might just as well skin ourselves if he were. But he isn’t. It’s Harlan and he’ll save our skins if anyone can. Because, my dear brother’s lady, right now we can annihilate the Mil in the sky.”

It was not the words he said but the way he said them that stopped my senseless weeping; I looked up at him in amazement because there was triumph in his voice; a certainty that exceeded the trivial phrases of his verbal assurance.

“I hope so,” said a wry voice from the doorway. We both turned to see Ferrill there, supported by two men. “I’m being conducted to the Vaults,” he said, indicating the escort with amusement. “Coming?”

Ferrill’s smile, oddly mocking, made his old-man’s face younger.

“There’s really no need for me to be bulwarked by all the ingenuity of the Vaults. The Mil wouldn’t bother a wreck like me,” Ferrill continued amiably. “I gather,” and his face grimaced ruefully at Jokan, “Harlan has made you stay behind to guard the sacred persons of the Warlord’s progeny. You’ve worked as hard for this contingency as he. Pity you can’t witness it. But
I’m
glad it’s you that’s here!” Ferrill’s sincerity reached Jokan through his bitterness.

“It is my honor, sir,” he replied in a neutral voice, but the bow he made the ex-Warlord was deep and respectful.

Jokan indicated I was to precede him to the hall. I hesitated at the doorway so that Ferrill might precede me as I felt his due. He bowed slightly and I continued. We made our way to the down-shaft through hurrying people who stopped and stepped aside respectfully to let Ferrill’s party pass.

“Nuisance to be sent scurrying down so early,” Ferrill commented as we reached the shaft. “Nothing will happen for a day or so.”

“True,” Jokan conceded, “but they have activated the spatial tank below and set up the remote connections there rather than in the Council Hall. It’s more reassuring to the general public to vault themselves anyway. Too much has happened to unsettle them. They fancy themselves more Tanes, I’m told.”

“Hmm. That’s reasonable,” Ferrill replied thoughtfully.

When we reached the cellars of the palace, we passed a six-foot-thick section of wall that would swing up into place, closing off the entrance to the Vaults beneath the palace. Huge guards saluted as we passed this impenetrable lock.

We walked down a short corridor to an enormous, low-ceilinged room where partitions blocked off working, resting and eating areas. The busy occupants spared Ferrill a grave smile or bow. The next corridor was doubly sealed by more six-foot sections. The precautions were so formidable I wondered what kind of attack armament the Mil mounted which could penetrate such fortifications. Maybe the effect of the doors was more psychological than necessary.

“I haven’t been in the Vaults in years,” Ferrill remarked. “I often wondered who dusted them and how frequently.”

Jokan gave a mirthless snort at such a fancy while I surprised myself with a genuine laugh at such drollery.

We paused before a final heavy door and were admitted by guards into the innermost section, the retreat of the Council and the Warlord’s family.

The huge room, which appeared to be as large as Starhall, was dominated by a spherical tank some ten feet in diameter. I did not have the chance to examine it because Stannall approached us from one of the cubicles beyond. He bowed gravely to Ferrill, glanced at me curiously and clasped Jokan’s arm in welcome.

“Sir Ferrill, your quarters are prepared in Room Seven. I regret you must share them with your attendants and your brother Fernan but . . .”

Ferrill shrugged off the inconvenience and excused himself. He rested more heavily on his helpers although he had moved along the public corridors with a semblance of vigor.

“I had not expected the Lady Sara,” Stannall said severely.

“Lord Harlan has claimed the Lady Sara in my presence,” Jokan said bluntly. “I have, here, an alternate commission of Regency,” and Jokan handed over the slates to Stannall, “as well as Harlan’s official record of claim and acceptance.”

The First Councilman glanced quickly through both, scowling at me again with intense irritation.

“Very well,” Stannall acknowledged sourly.

“You mean my appointment as Regent,” Jokan said pointedly.

“No, of course not. I approve of that heartily.” He looked up, conscious of Jokan’s stare. I had not exactly expected Jokan to come to my defense, particularly against Stannall, so his attitude was very reassuring. “My congratulations, Lady Sara. I know the Lady Fara will be glad to see you.”

“Did Maxil . . .” Jokan began.

“Fara accepted the honor,” Stannall said quickly.

“Congratulations all around then,” Jokan said with a wry smile.

“Maxil claimed Fara?” I repeated, hoping that at least one area of irritation might be erased between Stannall and me.

“Thank the mother of us all for that,” Jokan muttered. “Room Four?” he asked and when Stannall nodded, he drew me off to the side where I saw numbered doors, closed against the noise of the main room.

“There is much for me to order, Lady Sara,” Jokan said, opening the door for me.

“And I am tired.”

A droning voice muttering unintelligible syllables in a room beyond penetrated my sleep and woke me, startled, in an unfamiliar darkness. Frightened, I lay still until the mounds of deeper shadow became distinguishable as Fara, Linnana and two empty beds.

The drone continued and I had been so startled on awakening that my ability to sleep was gone. I rose and stumbled across to the bathroom.

The lights of the main hall and the muted conversations that blended under the theme of the droning voice were a shock after the dim quiet of the sleeping room. I stood in the doorway, looking over the bustle for Jokan or Ferrill. Stannall was standing in front of the cubicle that was his office, his slight body slumped with weariness. While he talked to a Councilman, his eyes were fixed on the space tank and the measured tread of the blips within it. There were few in the room who did not glance frequently at the tank, frequently and apprehensively.

I located the drone as issuing from one of the twelve big screens at the top of the room. A communications man was talking, calling off sector units and parsec figures. In turn, clerks noted down these figures at tables that circled the screen and tank area. From the other big hall messengers came and went, officials in patrol uniform or Council robes met and conversed quietly in the linking corridor. Their voices were pitched lower than that continuous drone.

Jokan came striding down the corridor and up to Stannall. Ferrill, walking slowly from Stannall’s office, joined them. The Councilman who had been talking to Stannall bowed and moved away. Jokan was arguing and Stannall was objecting, shaking his head dubiously. Ferrill added a sentence and Stannall regarded the ex-Warlord with a long scowl. The three of them moved over to the tank and Jokan pointed, scribing a circle with his hands and indicating its position in the spatial reference. A messenger came up and handed Jokan a slate. This had a bearing on his argument because he pointed out several lines for Stannall to read. The First Councilman shrugged, shook his head again. When Ferrill added his comment, Stannall lifted both arms in a gesture of exasperation. Jokan bowed formally and went to the main communication screen, one that looked in on the giant refitted Mil ship that was Harlan’s command vessel.

My attention was abruptly diverted from Jokan by a touch on my arm. To my concern, I saw Monsorlit standing beside me, regarding me with a cold impersonal interest tinged with some private amusement.

“Lady Sara,” he said, making a mockery of the title with a flick of his eyes, “for a moron, you’ve made remarkable conquests. I’ve reread your dossier and find it fascinating.”

“Moron? I’m no moron,” I said with all the disdain I could muster. I turned from him, but his hand, as cold as his expression and as strong as his personality, closed round my wrist.

“As I was saying, I have examined your history and I find it differs considerably from the public version of your origin.”

“Against Harlan’s word, what can you prove?” I demanded.

He smiled blandly, his eyes wandering over my face and body with clinical dispassion.

“Against Harlan’s word, I have the facts and witnesses. Facts that would prove extremely interesting to the First Councilman, to young Maxil. And, certainly to Harlan himself, unless you are more of an innocent than you appear.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” I gasped, trying to twist my hand free.

He looked down at my wrist, holding it up and stroking it with his thumb. Then he glanced suggestively into my face. I had no strength to hide the shock that gesture gave me.

The smile which was no smile cut across his thin face.

“You are unique, Lady Sara. Absolutely unique and as a serious scientist, I cannot allow the originality to go unremarked. I intend to have you back in the Clinic and I give you warning. You may come of your own free will, explaining your request to your protector any way you wish. Or, I will force you to come, by edict of the Council. I doubt you like that alternative.”

“Physician,” said Ferrill’s soft voice at my side. Monsorlit looked up and bowed to the invalid.

“Do not overexert yourself in this excitement, Sir Ferrill,” Monsorlit advised sternly.

“Exert myself? Oh, not likely. I have accepted the role of passive observer. That requires no exertion at all.”

So saying, Ferrill neatly turned me away from Monsorlit and guided me toward an unused table in the dining area. He motioned me to sit and gave an order for hot drinks to the servant who appeared.

“Why does Monsorlit terrify you?” he asked quietly, his eyes slightly narrowed.

“He’s . . . he’s so cold,” I blurted out, still trembling with the shock of the encounter.

Ferrill’s eyebrows raised questioningly but, at this moment, the waiter returned. I drank hastily, the comfort of the warm beverage dissipating my inner chill. When I raised my eyes over my cup, Ferrill was regarding me with curious intentness. He reached over and lifted my right hand, turned it over and rubbed one finger across my wrist. I jerked my hand away and sat staring at Ferrill in a sort of helpless horror.

Ferrill smiled to himself and then included me in that smile.

“Lady Sara,” he began with a rueful grin, “for the short time you have been in our circle, you have managed to elicit an amazing amount of talk. You succeed in antagonizing one of the most powerful men on the planet for some obscure reason and you stand in petrified terror before our leading scientist. You appear out of nowhere in Maxil’s keeping, deliver me from evil, and now I understand that our noble Regent, who has kept remote from all permanent entanglements, has claimed you as his lady.” He shook his head in mock consternation. “I can dismiss a good ninety percent of the talk about you as the fabrications of envy. I have a good idea of the basis for the antagonism, but I am at a complete loss to explain the terror.”