The Dark Between The Stars

FIFTY-SIX
PRINCE REYN

Rlinda Kett had not let him down. She knew the right people, made the proper calls, and got Reyn an appointment with Earth’s foremost specialists in obscure degenerative diseases. She went through unofficial channels, called in favors, and possibly even forked over a few bribes. Once Rlinda made up her mind, she was a woman who would do whatever was necessary—for a friend.

Rlinda told Reyn everything he needed to know. “Dr. Benjamin Paolus is your man, Raindrop.” She reached over to pat him on the cheeks, which embarrassed him. “I wish I could diagnose you myself.”

Reyn thanked her sincerely. “That’s what Dr. Paolus is for.”

“Most importantly, this is off book, as you requested. He assures me this will be discreet and completely confidential.” She narrowed her dark eyes, giving him a look of concern. “But if you’re sick, you shouldn’t hide it—there’s no reason.”

“I don’t want the uproar, and I need a few answers of my own before I tell them. It’s my choice.”

“It’s your choice, Raindrop, and I wish you the best. You’re my favorite Prince, you know.” She pinched his cheek this time.

Dr. Paolus was indeed the best—he told Reyn so three times during the examination. He managed an extensive lab in a university hospital complex, and also received funding from numerous biotech industries.

“After I take samples and complete a full analysis protocol,” Paolus said, “I’ll run a comparison with all known microorganisms, toxins, and genetic disorders.”

“Maybe I can speed up the diagnosis.” Reyn transferred a code-locked document, which Dr. Paolus scanned with great interest. “I found some similar cases in the Theron records dating all the way back to the first colonists from the generation ship Caillié.” He forced himself to continue. “All of them were fatal.” No cause had been identified, and no treatment had shown any promise.

That was another reason he hadn’t told his parents—not yet. It was difficult enough for him to grasp the problem and deal with it. He knew it was unfair to keep them in the dark, but once he had exhausted his options, then he and his family could decide what to do.

Feeling miserable and worried, Reyn described his symptoms while Dr. Paolus continued to compile notes. So far the doctor had not commented about who his patient was. Reyn cleared his throat and reminded him, “I’m relying on your discretion, Dr. Paolus. I need to keep this entirely confidential.”

The doctor looked up from the summary in front of him, and Reyn felt like a specimen being studied under a microscope. Paolus seemed offended. “Young man, patient confidentiality is the foundation of my work as a doctor. You are a human being who suffers from an illness that I hope to treat, if not cure. I don’t care who you are.” He tapped the screen where the report results were displayed. “I’ve never seen anything like this before. It could greatly expand our knowledge base.”

“Glad I could make such a contribution to science,” Reyn said.

Reyn canceled some meetings and rescheduled others, juggling his diplomatic schedule so that no one noticed the unaccounted for hours. Deputy Cain had taught him that trick. He provided Dr. Paolus with every imaginable sample and scan.

More swiftly than Reyn thought possible, the medical team delivered a confidential preliminary analysis that was key-coded to his thumbprint. When Reyn activated the report, Dr. Paolus’s quiet voice droned as he delivered his summary. “This is a degenerative neurological disorder, as you correctly surmised. I believe you were exposed to an exotic microfungus somewhere in the worldforest, perhaps from a berry or insect you consumed.”

The screen displayed Reyn’s scans, body profile, and genetic map. “The microfungus has adhered to your DNA, which changes your cellular profile. Given the markers of the microfungus, we can track the progress of the disease.” Another scan of Reyn’s body appeared, showing highlighted tracings. Dr. Paolus didn’t waste time with platitudes, but gave a dry assessment. “The microfungus is fully involved throughout your nervous system. We will study it, although we’re starting from scratch. I can’t offer any realistic hope for a cure at this time.”

Reyn hadn’t expected a miracle or even a resolution, but Arita insisted that he not give up hope, so he would remain stoic for her. He studied the report, took a deep breath, and viewed it again.

Very soon, he was due to spend several months on Ildira as part of a formal cultural exchange. Again, Reyn would perform his diplomatic duties as expected, but he also intended to meet with their medical kithmen. While he realized the alien doctors were not likely to know much about human genetics or exotic microfungi, they did have different techniques and fewer preconceptions.

He code-locked the report so no one else could access it, then reviewed his schedule—two more days of meetings, handshakes, banquets, and interviews before he could go home. People loved the fairy tale of the handsome young Prince who would someday be King, but he was a flawed Prince who would soon become incapable of doing his duties.

He thought of Arita, though, and drove those negative thoughts from his mind. She would have insisted that he be strong.

A somber messenger came to his guest quarters in the diplomatic residence. “I have news that arrived within the past hour, Prince Reyn. It was sent through the green priest network. You needed to be informed without delay.”

He took a moment to calm himself, fearing some disaster. “What is it?”

The messenger looked down at a note in his hand, though he had already read the message that was given to him by a green priest. “I’m sorry to inform you that Father Idriss of Theroc passed away yesterday. According to the message, he died quietly in his sleep after attending a gala celebration.”

Jarred from his thoughts about his own medical condition, Reyn blinked, not sure he had heard the report correctly. “My grandfather?” It was a surprise, yet not a surprise. Father Idriss had always been there throughout Reyn’s life, but although the changes were gradual, the old man’s health had been fading. He had grown weaker, looked older.

Reyn would degenerate as well, over the course of only a few years.

“Word is being spread across the Confederation, Prince Reynald. We will help you make whatever arrangements are necessary for your return to Theroc with all possible speed.” The messenger gave a curt bow and departed.

Reyn tried to sort his thoughts. He let out a long sigh and felt empty inside. He’d had too many reminders of his own mortality in a single day. He thought of his grandfather and closed his eyes.

An hour later, Rlinda Kett arrived, her round face full of caring. “I heard about Father Idriss, Raindrop. You’ll need to go home—and I’m taking you there. No arguments. It’s time I paid a surprise visit to my restaurant on Theroc anyway, and I was the Confederation’s trade minister, spent a lot of time with old Idriss, so it’s appropriate that I’m there for the funeral.”

Reyn hadn’t thought that far ahead. “Yes, there’ll be a funeral…”

“A big state funeral. Deputy Cain needs transport as well, and I’ve offered to take him with us. We’ll head out as soon as you’re ready.” She gave him a big hug, did not ask any questions about his visit to Dr. Paolus. He felt the warmth of her comforting bulk and held her for a long time.

“I’m ready,” he said. “I want to go home.”