Free Restoree by Anne McCaffrey

rocks, a menace to a boat, were wide enough for a man’s body to pass between them. One only had to hold one’s course through them to make it safely in. Still, the tidal pull was now very strong and if we were smacked against one of those rocks, it’d be too bad. It was nervous business and we swept awfully close to the rough-skinned boulders. The uneven footing when we reached shallower water was worse going than the actual passage of the reef rocks. The footing was slippery and the tide tore at my feet. I slipped several times and then went completely down, skinning one leg so badly that Harlan had to support me the last five yards.
    Quickly, when he saw the bleeding, he picked me up in his arms and carried me up the sand to the edge of the woods. He slit the trouser leg, baring the nasty gash the length of my shin. My whole leg ached from the jar of my fall as well as the lacerations. I felt very very tired.
    “We must get farther into the woods before the planecar comes back. The wreck will be noticed,” Harlan said.
    “Leave me here,” I pleaded with him after one glance at the thick underbrush. “I’m so tired. I’ll only slow you down.”
    “My dear lady, I have no intention of leaving you,” he said angrily.
    He tore the sleeve from my sweater and bandaged my leg. He was about to pick me up despite my protests when he froze, his eyes on the shore a little to the right of us.
    I whirled and saw a figure sauntering along the rocky beach, fishing gear draped all over him. The young man stopped when he saw us and then hurried forward.
    “Can you give me a hand, stranger?” Harlan called. “We’ve lost our sloop and my lady is hurt.”
    I thought that his audacity would win out over the odds again. The young man was almost to us when he stopped short, his mouth open in surprised shock, his body dropping to a crouch as recognition dawned on him.
    “Harlan?” he cried, half questioning, half stating the incredible fact.
    It was too much for me and for the only time in my life I fainted.

 
    CHAPTER FIVE
    S OMETHING WAS BURNING MY THROAT and my leg was on fire and someone was choking me and I struck out wildly.
    “Sara, Sara, it’s all right,” I heard Harlan say. Opening my eyes, I saw first trees all around us, then Harlan and then the concerned face of the young man from the beach. “We’re safe, Sara. This is Cire, the youngest son of my old commandant, Gartly. It’s all right.”
    “You’re sure?” I asked stupidly, looking at Cire who seemed to me far too young to be as much help as Harlan’s cheerful reassurance implied.
    “Here, drink this.” He held the metal bottle for me and it was more of the stimulant that had burned my throat. It was powerful and spread feeling through my arms and stomach, down to my vitals and my aching leg. I looked down and this had been bandaged with something white and far more comforting in appearance than the sleeve of my sweater. Cire’s fishing jacket was wrapped around me, warm and far cleaner than anything else I had on.
    “I don’t want any more of that,” I assured Harlan as he lifted the bottle to my lips again.
    Harlan chuckled. “Patrol issue is noted for potency.”
    “How long have I been out? Of all the silly things to do.”
    “Yes, very silly of you,” Harlan agreed amiably. Then both he and Cire laughed at my expression of shock. “That’s better.”
    He got up.
    “Now, Sara, we’ve got to move on. The planecar did come back and saw the wreck. What’ll happen now I don’t know. Cire says there’s been no mention of my escape, so that planecar may only have been a routine flight. But the boat’s registry number may come ashore with the wreckage. Then there’ll surely be inquiries made. Cire and I covered our tracks up from the beach to make them think there were no survivors . . . or survivor. But I want to get out of Astolla entirely by the time an official investigation of the wreck is made.”
    I struggled to my