Restoree

by Anne McCaffrey

  “It should,” Harlan agreed, a faint smile on his lips. I could feel he was still tensely waiting for something.

  “It’s very reassuring to learn, however, that your people are not hiding in caves,” Jokan remarked in a completely different tone of voice. He rose, drawing a slate out of his belt pouch, and sitting down on the bed beside me, asked if I could draw a map of my world.

  The tension left Harlan’s body and I realized he had been waiting, hoping that Jokan would do something of this order, proving that my restoration did not render me physically revolting in his eyes. That he had hoped Jokan, too, could put aside the conditioned reaction toward a restoree.

  “I’ll be glad when you bring back paper,” I muttered, struggling awkwardly with a stylus.

  “What’s that?” Jokan asked, sharply inquisitive.

  “It is made of wood pulp combined with rags, pressed flat and thin. It can be made quickly and cheaply and is much easier to write on.”

  “Wood pulp, rags?” Jokan repeated. “Doesn’t seem very durable. I’ve been using this pocket slate for years. Can you use the same piece of . . . what did you call it . . . paper . . . for years?”

  “Well, no,” I demurred, “but you people are backward in a lot of other things.”

  Both Harlan and Jokan rose up in concerted protest.

  “Just because you have space travel—which you inherited, you didn’t develop it—don’t go looking down your noses at my world. We had to start from scratch to get off our planet. There are plenty of things on Lothar where it’d be better if you started all over again with a clean slate.” I stopped, bemused by my pun. “You see,” I told Jokan archly, “we gave up slates a century ago.”

  “All right, all right,” Harlan chuckled. “Draw.”

  I had the general outlines sketched in when a vagrant thought came back to me.

  “You know, getting you on Earth is going to be a problem,” I said with concern. “You’re right in that you can’t just touch down. Particularly not in a Mil-design ship. You see, we have a radar network that would spot you miles up and while I don’t know what the Mil may have done to the internal politics of Earth, you’re sure to meet a barrage of nuclear missiles. And a Star-class is just too big to miss.”

  “The rider ships are not Mil-designed,” Jokan suggested.

  “That doesn’t mean they won’t be shot at.”

  “What kind of communication systems does your planet have? They must have some if they are experimenting in space flight,” Harlan put in.

  “Telstar!” I cried with sudden inspiration. “Why you’d reach every country in the world!” Then I got deflated just as quickly. “No, I wouldn’t even know how you could jam it or interpose your broadcast on it.”

  “What is it?” Jokan prompted hopefully.

  I explained as best I could and Jokan beamed at me patronizingly.

  “We may still be using slate, dear sister, but in space we are completely at home. It’s a simple matter to locate this Telstar of yours on our equipment, well out of the range of your radar screens and defensive missiles. Interfere and use its transmission for our purposes. That’s an excellent idea.”

  “Fine,” I agreed tartly, “I grant you can do it. Then what?” I demanded acidly. “No one there speaks Lotharian.”

  I couldn’t help laughing at the expression on their faces.

  “Now, get me a tape recorder and I will introduce you. I speak enough of our languages to get across what I mean. The point is to get you down to Earth and let the linguists take over from there.”

  “Good,” Harlan put in, his face echoing his prideful pleasure in possessing me. “Sara has a curious habit of supplying our need. Did you know she can sail boats?”

  “I believe you’ve mentioned that, Harlan,” Jokan remarked with dry testiness. It was my first indication, however, that Harlan had ever mentioned me to anyone. He had seemed so concerned I shouldn’t arouse any attention at all.

  “You can see why she’s been so important,” Harlan commented.

  “Because she can sail?” Jokan retorted with an innocent look.

  “I’m surprised,” Harlan continued, ignoring his brother, “it hasn’t come up in conversation so far this morning,” and he regarded me suspiciously, “but I’m hungry. And I’m going to break my fast.”

  “Why didn’t someone say breakfast was ready?” I exclaimed sitting straight up.

  Jokan jumped to his feet. “We’ll all work better after eating. Less snarling at each other.” And he grinned boyishly at both his brother and me.

  “Jo,” and Harlan stopped his brother with a hand on his shoulder, “do I need to caution you about revealing Sara’s . . .”

  Jokan shook his head solemnly from side to side.

  “She’s just infernally lucky it was you,” he commented. “But I’d suggest that you in your official capacity as Regent, redirect Stannall’s campaign to put Monsorlit on the Rock as a collaborator. Sara could be implicated.”

  “Yes, the day the Mil invaded, Stannall was trying to get me to accuse Monsorlit,” I added, and fear of the cold physician, never far from my consciousness, returned. If Jokan had also noted Stannall’s preoccupation, I had not misinterpreted my danger.

  Harlan put an arm around my waist comfortingly. “I also know Monsorlit and, despite everything I’ve heard, I don’t think Sara has anything to worry about from him.”

  “Well, I’d rather find a deep cave I didn’t need than not have one when I did,” Jokan remarked pointedly and, turning on his heel, started for the main room.

  Harlan gave me another reassuring hug before we joined him.

  There were just the three of us at breakfast this morning. A very unusual occurrence in itself, for breakfast was the hour of the patronage seekers or intense political conferences. The intimacy we three shared was therefore an unusual and unexpected respite. Because of Linnana and Harlan’s servant, Shagret, we couldn’t talk about Jokan’s mission. And, as soon as breakfast was over, the communicator lit up. Harlan was called to meet the Councilmen in charge of Jokan’s mission, so he left for his offices in the administration wing to get the necessary clearances.

  Jokan and I retired to the study with closed doors and I taped a message that he would, he assured me, be able to transmit over Telstar. I started to give him a brief summary of our world history and decided it was useless to predispose him. The menace of the raiding Mil might well have consolidated and changed everything. Instead I spent the morning giving him some basic English phrases and such terms as he might need to effect a safe landing. I suggested that Cape Kennedy or the new Dallas Space Center would be able to accommodate the huge Star-class ship. I showed him these centers on my rough map, sighing at such inadequate cartography.

  It was as if a cork had been pulled out of me that had damned up my Earth past. I talked and talked while Jokan listened, directing me occasionally with questions about his own areas of interest. My work as a librarian in a huge advertising agency had forced me to acquaint myself with a broad index of references, so I had a thin understanding of many facets of industry and technology. But I was painfully lacking in the details he needed or wanted so that he groaned over the tantalizing snips and snatches I held out to him. I talked until I was hoarse. Then Jokan covered up his slates and announced he was going to see what progress Harlan was making in ramming through the expedition.

  Jokan was able to leave two days later, a big coup for Harlan who had indeed rammed the clearance through any opposition in Council. He attributed his success to the fact that Lesatin, thoroughly shaken by the Tane disaster and the Mil penetration, was more than willing, as Acting First Councilman, to expand the Alliance. Stannall, Harlan remarked privately to me, would have delayed until he “had given the matter mature consideration.”

  “However,” Harlan said with a grimace, “I did have to agree to take a committee of Councilmen to the Tanes to see firsthand what has happened there.” He covered my hands with his, smiling ru
efully. “I’d take you along if I could . . .”

  “I’m all right. How long will you be gone?”

  “Two, three days, depending on how much convincing they take. And one of them is Estoder.”

  “I remember him from the Regency debate,” I said sourly.

  “So do I,” Harlan remarked in a thoughtful way.

  So he left and the first day I occupied myself with the mechanics of getting my Council grant in order. The much bemedaled slate Stannall had given me the day of the Mil invasion turned out to have considerably more value to me personally than a mere official propitiation. Harlan had read it to me and explained that I had been given a lifetime income from three iron-producing shafts in Jurasse. Someday I would have to inspect these but in the meantime this income was a tidy sum.

  “It’s enough for you to be comfortably placed if you were still unclaimed,” Harlan explained, then his eyes twinkled wickedly. “It also provides that, if you die while you are unclaimed, the income devolves to your issue until they reach their majority.”

  I glared at him. I had a lot to figure out about the complicated marital and extramarital and post-, pre-, and ante-marital mores of this world where women are expected to produce children and no one asks who is the father.

  “However, you are very much claimed and I will provide for your issue, making certain it is all mine.”

  I held him off for he started to wrestle me and I didn’t want to be diverted quite yet from this subject.

  “Are you rich, Harlan?”

  “Yes, I guess so,” he said. “I have the family holdings, of course, as my mother is dead. There are the prerogatives and privileges of my position. I haven’t used much of my income and neither has Jokan. I had intended,” and he grinned one-sidedly at me, “to finance a private expedition. However, my lady Sara,” and his smile broadened, “as usual, chose to come from a very interesting planet so Lothar is the outfitter.”

  “Then, with that settled, I’ll go out tomorrow and spend it all on my back,” I declared.

  “I like your back the way it is right now,” Harlan murmured and he started to make love. A thrifty man, Harlan.

  At any rate, while Harlan was on his way to Tane, I took my slate to his estate agent. This gentleman, one Lorith, was very polite and helpful. I was extremely pleased with myself that I made no blunders in our interview over matters I should have understood. One thing, however, I decided I must get Harlan to do immediately on his return from Tane was to teach me how to write at least my own name. Lorith would start the proceedings to secure the grant, but there would be many things for my signature in a few days.

  Consequently I was not in the least apprehensive the next morning when Lesatin asked me to attend an informal meeting in his chambers.

  I had not expected, considering the wording of his invitation, to see the large committee room filled with Councilmen, including four of the Elder Seven and a woman and seven doctors, by their overdress. I was also surprised to see Ferrill enter. He nodded to me and sat beside me at one end of the large room.

  Lesatin was scanning the faces of the assembled when Monsorlit entered. I glanced, apprehensive for the first time, at Ferrill. He smiled noncommittally and I settled back, reassured. As far as I could tell, Monsorlit did not so much as glance in my direction. The woman, however, constantly looked at me.

  “We are met today to assess accusations made against Physician Monsorlit,” Lesatin began in a formal opening of the session. “These charges include complicity with the archtraitor Gorlot in the genocide of the Tanes; furnishing drugs capable of inhibiting and demoralizing certain officials in our government and . . .” Lesatin glanced at his note slate, “illicit surgery.”

  I pulled at Ferrill’s arm nervously. Illicit surgery meant restoration. Monsorlit was unruffled by these charges and Ferrill only patted my hand.

  Lesatin first called various hospital officials and technicians who had been in charge of the victims taken off Tane. They testified that the early wounded to arrive at the hospital were invariably in some stage of paralytic cerolosis. Cerol, in unadulterated form, could produce total paralysis of the body and its functions, resulting in death. Complete and immediate blood transfusions would lessen its deadly effects, but too often brain and nerve centers were affected. Monsorlit had developed a series of cold and hot baths as shock treatments, a radical new approach in Lotharian medical practice, to rouse the sluggish, cerolized areas. Two physicians who testified did not entirely approve of such a rigorous course of treatment although they admitted Monsorlit’s techniques effected partial cures that were considered miracles. Patients were able to do for themselves, perform simple duties and relieve society of the burden of their care.

  Yes, it had been Monsorlit’s idea to place a hospital ship so near the Tane planets for prompter care of the injured. No, they could not say that any of the men appeared to have been restored. Of course, at that time, no one looked for such evidence because no one had realized that the Mil were in any way involved. Yes, they had heard Monsorlit use the expression “repossessed” often. One surgeon had called him to account because of the word’s unfortunate similarity with the unpopular practice of restoration. Monsorlit had replied that the men were actually repossessed, repossessed of their faculties disabled by cerol.

  Had Monsorlit practiced any total restorations since the edict against it? Yes, two operations had been performed with official sanction on burn victims in a satellite yard fire. What were the results? A reconstruction so perfect as to defy detection.

  I found myself unconsciously stroking one wrist and hastily clasped my hands firmly together. Looking up, I was aware of Monsorlit’s eyes on me. He had caught my gesture and smiled slightly.

  I knew then that he had merely bided his time. That I had been foolish to think myself immune. I wondered if he had planned this trial to coincide with Harlan’s absence. I hoped desperately that someone else beside myself could incriminate him; that his own preference for life would keep him from disclosing my restoration.

  Lesatin continued his investigation with further questions about the illegal restoration.

  Was it possible that total restoration could be detected? Only by a check of cell coding within a month of restoration and, even so, there would still be room for doubt.

  Lesatin asked for an explanation of cell coding. It was so long and technically detailed I paid no attention.

  “I fail to understand its application to restoration,” Lesatin prompted patiently.

  Before restorations had been ruled illegal twenty-five years ago, intensive research had tried to perfect ways in which a total body graft could be undetected. It had been felt that the unsightly scars at wrist, ankle and neckline contributed to the revulsion caused by restorees. A high fever was induced in the patient by a virus injection for the purpose of changing the cell coding of the body so that it would accept new skin from any donor. The new skin would bond properly, assimilating and overgrowing what original epidermis remained, leaving undetectable the restoration.

  Well, that explained the golden tinge to my skin, I thought. I’d wondered how they’d accomplished that.

  In cases of plastic surgery, this technique was often applied with detection-defying results.

  I managed to keep my hand from my nose.

  Lesatin continued doggedly. Was it possible for any of the so-called Tane wounded to have been restorees? Possible, but not probable, for the men admitted to the War Hospital had been unquestionably suffering from acute cerolosis. Most were now able to take care of themselves and were employed in routine jobs. By common definition, they could not be restorees, as it was well known that a restoree was incapable of any independent action.

  Crewmen on the hospital ship that Monsorlit had sent out were questioned. They gave detailed descriptions of cases they had handled. They confirmed in every way the information already given.

  Lesatin paused and then asked several men how long they had worked for Monsorli
t. They had, without exception, been trained by the physician, had served him since their certification and were, admittedly and vehemently, loyal to him. Lesatin dismissed them, having made a point.

  From Lesatin’s questioning and bland manner there was no indication whether he was out to clear Monsorlit or convict him. But I knew clearly what I would do. I would speak out against Monsorlit. I would tell them he had perfected the drug that had been used on Harlan and the others. I would tell them all I knew and remove Monsorlit from a position in which he could threaten and terrify me.

  Lesatin issued an order I didn’t overhear and the side door opened to admit a chained, shrunken, groveling Gleto, flanked by two strong guards.

  Lesatin turned to Monsorlit with an apologetic gesture.

  “This is one of your accusers, physician,” he said. “Gleto has sworn that you developed the drug, cerol, into several compounds which were used to depress Harlan, Japer, Lamar, Sosit, to name only a few. That you were completely aware of the perfidy against the Tane race and knew that the supposed casualties you handled in your hospital were victims of the skirmishes with the Mil ships. That you have actually performed illegal restorations to cover evidences of Gorlot’s treachery.”

  Lesatin smiled deprecatingly and he was joined by the four Elders who were plainly telling Monsorlit that the source of these accusations was very suspect.

  “Gleto has also gone on to insist that your personal fortune has swelled to enormous proportions. That you have secretly continued your abominable research on human beings.”

  Monsorlit nodded calmly. It was well known that Gleto’s personal fortune had also swelled to enormous proportions. The physician arose and presented a thick pile of slates to the first Councilman at the table.

  “Sealed and documented records of all my personal financial affairs,” he said. “I beg pardon for such a bulky package but my income is heavily involved with my experimental work at the Mental Clinic.”

  Lesatin acknowledged this and motioned the Councilmen to examine the slates.