He found clothes in a locker, a kilt for himself and a length of some black fabric which Tabak should be able to use in lieu of the boj.
When he returned to the dissecting table he saw that the color was returning to the girl's cheeks. He unfastened her, sat down on a stool and waited.
After a moment, Tabak's lids flickered. Her eyes opened; she gazed at him in sudden terror.
She sat up. Her hand went hesitantly to the back of her slender neck. He saw the amazement spread over her face.
"It's gone! You--How? How did you do it?"
She slipped suddenly from the blood-stained dissecting table, seized his hand, held it to her forehead. She was half laughing, half crying.
"You are the Wanderer! Forgive me for ever doubting. I'll atone for my sacrilege." She was hysterical with relief and awe and hope. "I'll never question your will again, never fail in obedience--"
Jupiter regarded her startled expression with satisfaction.
"You're temporarily overcome by surprise," he went on. "You haven't had a chance to think. I know you inside out--too well to believe I could fool you for very long. And," he added ruefully; "you know me the same way. There's the rub. But I need you--and you need me."
"Yes," she agreed finally; "that's true. You're a man. A strange man. But you're not the Wanderer. You plan to use us to help you escape back to your ship, then desert us. But I don't think you will. Desert us, I mean."
It was Jupiter's turn to look disconcerted.
"Because--" she began and started to smile. "You won't like this, but you're too soft. Deep down on the inside you're too fine, too idealistic to pull a trick like that. Your conscience wouldn't let you.
"You've been hurt. Many times. When I looked inside your mind, I could see the scars. I could feel how you'd armored yourself with a harsh shell to hide your true feelings. You have a saying among your own people: 'Scratch a cynic and you'll find an idealist!'"
"Well, I'll be damned," said Jupiter. Then almost hesitantly, "But you'll help. I need someone I can trust." He wiped the sweat off his forehead. "Someone I can trust with my life to take the Anolyn from my own neck."
"You'll trust me," she said; "because you must. You're really not self-sufficient. No one is."