Restoree (23 page)

There was little time for Ferrill and me to refresh ourselves. Food and drink grew cold before we could eat. Ferrill, though no longer Warlord, still had all the knowledge of his former position. He was, furthermore, privy to the confidential matters of the high position and the offices of both Regent and First Councilmen. In this emergency he set aside his affectation of disinterest and made quick, clear decisions, gave orders with an easy authority that controlled the quick-tempered and calmed the hysterical. Messengers crowded around the table, waiting turn. Councilmen opportuned and only Jokan could claim precedence. The little people, too—messengers and technicians—stopped to ask about Stannall or say something, shyly, to Ferrill.

Ferrill remained cool and detached, casual and unconcerned by the rush. At first, he answered the Councilmen’s and Jokan’s questions with a little self-amused smile. But gradually, I could see the grayness of fatigue conquering the slight color in his face. I urged him anxiously to rest.

“Rest? Not now, Sara. I want to know every detail of the stimulating events. I shall record them in a personal history I shall now have time to write. The firsthand impressions of an ex-Warlord about an emergency and triumph of this magnitude will certainly carry historical weight.”

“If you’re not careful, the only historical weight you’ll carry is a fancy monument,” I snapped.

He regarded me with the expression he had used so effectively on Monsorlit, but I was too concerned for him and stared him down. He changed his tactics and reassured me that he knew the limits of his strength.

“I have made no move from this table. I let everyone seek me.”

“I thought you didn’t care anymore. I thought you were just going to be the bystander,” I goaded him.

His eyes flashed angrily. Then he smiled in recognition of my baiting. He reached for my hand and pressed it firmly.

“I
am
still the bystander, shoveling out bystandorial advice by the shipload. But I am the only one who can answer many of these questions in Stannall’s absence. Jokan certainly has no practical experience as either Warlord, Regent or First Councilman, and he is all three right now.”

I made one of the messengers go for Monsorlit who appeared just as Jokan also reached our table. Jokan did not care for Monsorlit’s presence. Ferrill’s smile mocked me for my interference.

“Ferrill is exhausted,” I said before Ferrill or Jokan could send Monsorlit away.

“Give me a shot of something salutary,” Ferrill commanded the physician, proffering his thin, blue-veined arm, daring Monsorlit as well as Jokan and me.

“All of you need stimulants to keep on at this pace,” the man observed quietly and issued us five tablets apiece. “An effective compound but harmless,” he continued as Jokan eyed the pills dubiously. “One every three hours will be sufficient. I do not recommend taking more than five. That gives you fifteen more hours of peak efficiency. Then no one will have trouble getting you to rest.”

He moved off briskly. Ferrill took his pill down quickly and Jokan, shrugging, followed his lead. I waited and then saw Ferrill watching my indecision with such amusement I tossed it down waterless.

“I never really know what to make of him,” the ex-Warlord commented to no one in particular.

Jokan uttered a growling sound deep in his throat and then launched into the reason for his coming to the table.

Monsorlit did not underestimate his potion. It did keep us going for the next fifteen hours. I watched Jokan and Ferrill as their eyes brightened, reddened and teared with fatigue, knowing I was no better off. Jokan took to shouting for me if he could not come to us and I became a liaison between Jokan and Ferrill.

As I listened to conversations concerning the resumption of the planet’s normal activities, the hurried rearrangements of landing facilities and refueling schedules, I watched the tank. Everyone did. And I, too, did not push the announcer’s assessments of the casualties from my conscious hearing. On the tank, I saw the midsection of the Mil fleet continue blindly on its course for nowhere while Lothar picked off additional enemies. I watched as the helpless section was set upon by a double row of our vessels, turned into a new course as Ertoi and Glan pilots penetrated to the control rooms and altered the courses for the naval satellite bases and the one planetary space installation in the southern sea. Landed, decontaminated, the ships would ultimately be refitted and recommissioned into the Alliance force. I saw other Mil ships join this passive group. I saw a Lothar squadron drop down and turn toward the rim of the spatial tank, taking up Perimeter positions until it seemed that the tank was lightly sprinkled with diamond beading on its periphery. I watched as the main body of the fleet turned homeward, catching and passing the convoy of cripples, pushing on toward Lothar. Then I, too, turned my hopeful attention to the screens, waiting for the time when the communication limit was reached and we might have a detailed description of the victory from her triumphant commander.

Of the great navy that had set out to meet the invader, only twelve were not returning, a statistic which brought another wild burst of exultation. Of the twenty-three invaders, once arrogant and feared, nineteen were carefully shepherded toward exile. Never, never, I heard it shouted, had so great a victory been achieved in the annals of recorded history. And, to crown this feat with more glory, fourteen of the fifteen Star-class ships had been taken.

Now we waited, as we had waited for particular moments so often these last violent days, for the screens to reflect the images we wished most to see. So tensely was the first ripple anticipated, a concerted gasp echoed in the room when the picture was abruptly before us, clear and unmuddied.

It was Maxil we saw; a Maxil as changed as only a boy can be who has abruptly survived a brutal initiation to manhood. His voice, harsh with fatigue and physical strain, broke the communication silence. Harlan was nowhere in sight.

“Men and women of Lothar, I bring you victory. I bring home all but twelve of our valiant ships. I bring you news of an offensive weapon against which the Mil have been powerless. The day is not distant when we can reach out and find the home of these vicious marauders and destroy them forever.”

But where is Harlan? I whispered to myself.

Maxil paused and licked his lips, glancing off to his right. Then he smiled and continued.

“I am not responsible for this victory. I doubt any of us would have returned today if it had not been for Harlan. He’s done the impossible today. He has made the Mil fear
us
. All Lothar must recognize their debt to him.”

A cheer, as loud and sincere as it was spontaneous, sprang from the throats of the watchers as Maxil pulled a reluctant Regent to his side.

I could see how tired Harlan was, his shoulders slumped down even as he tried to hold himself erect. His shipsuit was mottled with a white dust, and it was torn at the sleeve. I saw no sign of damage in the control room, but other officers coming and going in the background wore torn or burned tunics as well as bandages. But Harlan was all right.

“I don’t see Sir Stannall, my lord,” Harlan commented.

Maxil peered out at the crowd and frowned. Jokan stepped forward and formally bowing to the young Warlord, explained the circumstances. Jokan continued to advise what had been done, Maxil and Harlan both questioning and advising further steps.

I don’t recall much of what they said. I was content to look at Harlan and know he was safe and coming back. The multiple perils that threatened were dispersing: Gorlot’s perfidy, the Mil, and now Stannall was sick. He couldn’t resume his deadly questioning so I needn’t fear his drive for revenge on Monsorlit. I only had the physician to deal with and Harlan would never let him overwhelm me. A weary exultation filled my tired body. Even the ghastly announcement that Gorlot, chained to the Rock for the Mil as their traditional first victim should they arrive, had been hacked to pieces alive by hysterical Lotharians did not touch me.

The reprieve from fatigue granted by Monsorlit’s pellets expired all at once. I was weary to the very marrow of my bones. I turned from the screen that no longer held Harlan. Ferrill had fallen forward across the table, unnoticed by anyone. I touched his hand, fearfully. It was damp with perspiration, but the slow pulse was steady in his wrist. I sat looking at him for a little while, I think. Then it occurred to me that I should get someone to take him to bed, but I didn’t have the energy to open my mouth to call. So I put my head down on the table, too.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

I
DID NOT SEE THE
victorious return of Lothar’s flagship. Nor did I see the triumphant parade of Maxil and Harlan back to the palace. I did not see Maxil publicly acclaim Fara as his lady from the balcony of his apartment. My presence there might not have been appreciated by the public. I did not see Harlan and that I cared about. I should have given him a proper soldier’s welcome. But I was dead to the world and so were Ferrill and Jokan. Monsorlit had threatened the servants with dire vengeance if they did attempt to wake us.

What finally awoke me was, as usual, hunger. What roused me was the unfamiliarity of my surroundings. The dim room appeared to be all wrong to my sleep-dulled faculties. For one thing, the balcony was to the left of my bed instead of to the right. For another, the window hangings were a deep crimson. The furnishings, the heavy chairs and chests, were the wrong shapes and there were enormous shields on the walls, their metallic designs picking up what light there was. A gentle snuffling set me bolt upright in the bed reaching for the light panel in the headboard. The soft glow fell on Harlan’s sleeping face and I immediately waved it off. Exhaustion was etched deeply on his face. He had fallen on to bed, still dressed in the torn, creased shipsuit. His right arm dangled in the air above the floor and his right leg was off the bed entirely.

I hoped he had seen me before he fell into unconsciousness, that he at least knew I was here, where I belonged. It worried me that he might have felt I slighted him by not being a part of the welcome he was certainly due.

My eyes accustomed themselves to the dim room and I looked down at the tired warrior. How often I’d looked at his sleeping figure in the asylum, wondering what he was really like. I certainly had had more of his unconscious company than was necessary. There was so much I wanted to know about this man. One day, we would both have to make time to be together when both of us were awake, in the same room, at the same time.

My hunger could no longer be denied. I eased out of the bed, a needless caution with Harlan in the depths of the deepest sleep of exhaustion. He’d wake soon, uncomfortable in that awkward position, I decided. Placing his arm across his chest, I turned him so that all of his body was supported by the bed. I removed his boots, loosened his shipsuit and covered him.

I found the bathroom and discovered that my clothes had again followed me while I played suite hopscotch around the palace wing. I dressed quickly and went out into the next room.

This was a study, deserted but apparently well-used by Harlan to judge from the clutter of slates and film cans. As I reached the door in the far wall I heard the subdued mutter of voices.

“I
received
my
orders from Harlan himself,” an irate man in patrol uniform was saying to Jokan who had placed himself between the patroller and the door to the study.

“Harlan is
not
to be wakened,” Jokan was saying firmly. The Patrolman saw me at the door and tried to edge around Jokan.

“Lady Sara, is the Regent awake?”

Jokan gave me a quick high-sign.

“No, sir, he is not! Nor could anything wake him. He is completely dead to the world and will be for some hours more, I’m sure,” I said with a firmness that matched Jokan’s.

“My orders were definite,” the poor officer kept insisting desperately.

“I’m sorry, sir,” I replied unapologetically. “But I cannot feel that there is any matter so urgent that it needs the attention of an exhausted man. Surely Jokan here, who is alternate Regent . . .”

The officer was adamant.

“No, my orders are for the Regent only.”

“Well, you may certainly join us while we wait,” Jokan suggested amiably. He took the officer by the arm and led him, resisting all the way, to the far side of the living room.

The two Councilmen and Jessl at the breakfast table rose as I approached. Linnana came bustling in from the pantry, wreathed with smiles and looking very well pleased with herself. She greeted me effusively and set my hot cup down in front of me.

“Hungry, Sara?” Jokan said with good-natured raillery.

“I still have several weeks of eating to make up,” I replied tartly. “And I don’t think I ever will.”

“You missed all the excitement,” one of the Councilmen said.

“A matter of opinion. The Vaults were exciting enough for one lifetime. I was never so tired in my life as I was last night,” I declared.

Jokan exchanged amused glances with Jessl and Linnana giggled.

“You mean the day before yesterday,” Jokan corrected me.

I stared at him, suspecting him of teasing. But everyone else was grinning at my disbelief.

“I was very tired,” I repeated emphatically, refusing to be annoyed. “No wonder I’m so hungry. I’ve missed eight meals,” I exclaimed suddenly.

Even the thwarted officer joined in the laughter.

“Don’t worry. There are films to be seen.”

“Then when,” I asked with concern, “did Harlan get to bed?”

“Approximately six hours ago,” Jokan said with a nasty look at the officer who squirmed on his seat uncomfortably. “He and Maxil got in about sixteen hours ago. The rest of the fleet keeps trailing in.” He continued, nodding toward the crisscrossing of plume trails in the sky. “Harlan and Maxil were touched, patted, kissed by everyone in Lothar. I’m surprised the noise didn’t wake you.”

“Barbarous not to let him rest sooner. He must have been weaving for lack of sleep,” I exclaimed, outraged. “Why wasn’t I wakened? I’d’ve . . .”

“We had our orders about you, too,” Jokan laughed, his eyes dancing wickedly. “From Monsorlit.”

I hastily covered the initial start his name gave me.

“Did you explain to Harlan why I . . .”

“Several times,” Jokan assured me dryly. Jessl snorted his disgust. “He insisted on seeing both you and Ferrill. But he woke
me
up!” Jokan looked so sour I couldn’t help laughing.

If I hadn’t been so shocked by the fatigue in Harlan’s face, I would have taken pity on the officer during the long hours that followed. He sat stolidly, watching the door and waiting. Not all Jokan’s cajoling could budge him from his post or elicit the message he brought. We finally gave up.

About noontime, Maxil came in. He looked tired still, the shadows of his grueling experience lurking in his eyes but his step was resilient. He gave me a glad smile and took both my hands in his, squeezing them affectionately.

“We missed you. Harlan was fit to be tied,” he said. “Made everyone wait while he checked with Monsorlit about you and Ferrill. Oh, and Stannall, too. Did you know about Fara and me?”

“That’s all I heard about the first day in the Vaults,” I said.

“Yes, I guess so,” and Maxil, although he looked sheepish, did not blush. We had strolled over to the balcony, apart from the others.

“That Harlan’s got real nerve,” Maxil said quietly, slamming one fist in the palm of the other hand, imitating his hero. “You know, he waited and waited to throw on the resonators until we were so close to Lothar even seasoned spacers were green. And then, those resonators,” and Maxil gave his head a respectful shake, drawing his breath in with a hiss. “You don’t expect to be able to hear again. And it’s not exactly a noise . . . it’s a whine inside your skull that jars your teeth loose.” His eyes briefly reflected the pain he had endured. “And when it stops . . . it’s like there’ll never be any noise again in the world.” He shook his head and added with a smile. “But he did it and we’ll never have to fear the Mil ever again.

“You know, it’s funny how things work out. Gorlot had those installations made on every ship we had in service. But, if he
hadn’t
used them during the Tane business, we’d’ve got every single ship without a casualty of our own. Every time I remember I ate in the same room, breathed the same air as that . . . that unrestored unprintable did, I get sick.
Sick.”

His choice of adjective had the same effect on me. I tried to fasten my thoughts on Maxil’s explosive maturation. For he was no longer an adolescent. He had found himself in his baptism under fire. I think Ferrill was wrong when he felt that Jokan was the only one who showed the true Harlan strain.

“Have you seen Ferrill yet?”

“Oh, yes,” Maxil assured me solemnly. “I’ve just come from there.” Then he grinned at me broadly, a touch of the boy showing. “He said you were marvelous, Sara. When Stannall collapsed, when everyone was running around cave-hunting, you were so calm and controlled.”

“Ferrill gave you a description of himself, not me,” I laughed, nevertheless flattered. I wondered if Ferrill might be indulging in some subtle sarcasm. “He’s recovered? He had no business working under such pressure for so long. I was very worried about him.”

“No. He’s . . . he’s . . . Ferrill,” Maxil ended lamely as suitable comparison failed him. “Say, what’s Talleth doing here? He looks as if he’s sitting on . . . something hard.”

I tried not to giggle as Maxil changed phrases midsentence.

“He keeps telling us, every hour on the hour, that he has orders to report immediately to the Regent. He has some burning message he’ll only give to Harlan. And we won’t wake Harlan up.”

“You shouldn’t,” Maxil agreed. “He sent me off not long after we managed to get through the crowds to the palace. I was asleep before I could kiss Fara.”

He beckoned to Talleth who, after a quick glance at the study door, rose obediently and came over.

“What’s the problem, Talleth?”

“I was given a commission by Regent Harlan,” Talleth began patiently. “When I had accomplished it, I was to report directly to Lord Harlan. I’ve been waiting for five hours and ten minutes, sir.”

“When did Harlan get to bed, Sara?’

“Approximately ten hours and ten minutes ago,” I replied keeping my face straight.

“He’ll be up soon, then,” Maxil said easily and, nodding to Talleth, indicated he could resume his post.

I thought Maxil was just saying that, so no one, except Talleth, was more surprised than I when fifteen minutes later, Harlan himself opened the door to the study.

He swept the occupants of the room with a swift glance, smiled briefly at me but held up his hand as I started to come to him. Instead, to my chagrin, he beckoned Talleth into the study and closed the door.

“Close your mouth,” Maxil suggested in an aside. “I guess he really did want to see Talleth after all.”

Ignoring the slight as best I could, I hastily ordered Linnana to get warm food. Maybe Harlan was annoyed with me because I had been asleep when I should have been there to greet him. Linnana interrupted my nattering by asking what she should order for the Regent’s breakfast. I realized I didn’t even know what Harlan liked to eat. Certainly the asylum fare was no criterion.

“Plenty of meat, he’ll be hungry,” I temporized.

Whatever business Talleth had with Harlan, it was brief. The officer exited, saluted Maxil respectfully, glanced at me with a worried frown and left the apartment. Harlan did not appear.

Hot food came up from the kitchens and no sign of him. It was too much for me. Trying to appear casual, I went through the empty study to the bedroom. Just as I entered, he emerged from the bathroom, buckling on a uniform overtunic.

“Harlan, are you . . . displeased with me?”

He gave a little laugh and came over to embrace me, his face slightly damp, smelling cleanly of soap and fresh linens. “No, you please me tremendously, except when you keep my officers waiting.”

He released me quickly, for I was left standing, kissless. He strode-over to the big chest to one side of the study door and rummaged through a top drawer, stuffing several objects in his belt pouch.

“I’m hungry,” he announced, his smile making his words an intimate reminder.

“It’s hot from the kitchen,” I assured him as he ushered me out to the living room.

Although he had reassured me verbally that he was not displeased with me, it seemed he was not at ease somehow. As if he held himself from me purposefully. As if there were something between us, separating us. With Jokan and Jessl, Maxil and the two Councilmen as well as the servants, it was impossible for me to pursue the subject of my unrest or set it at ease.

Harlan pulled me to the chair beside him at the table but, as he talked to the others, cheerful, rested, he never once glanced at me. He gave Jessl some instructions about putting their fastest Star-class ship in readiness for a long trip. He all but pushed Jessl through the door to get him started on the assignment.

Once Jessl had left, he turned earnestly to the two Councilmen.

“I appreciate your waiting on me like this, although I had expected to be awake long before this hour,” and he shot a humorously accusing glance at me.

“I did it,” Jokan interposed, taking full blame.

“I’d’ve preferred you returned the compliment I paid you when I got in,” Harlan said so caustically Jokan looked surprised. “However, Talleth brought me word I hoped against hope he would have. For the first time, we have captured,
intact,
the Mil star maps, complete with primary notations and time symbols.”