Reyn couldn’t disagree. “Is that why you never tried to take over yourself?”
Cain laughed. “Oh, the King can get all the attention. I’d rather stay behind the scenes and keep the engines functioning.”
Reyn was surprised. “You’d rather be an engineer than a captain?”
“Exactly. I’ve watched how kings are made. King Frederick was killed by politics.” He grew more serious. “Prince Adam was quietly erased when he didn’t prove to be acceptable, and Prince Daniel was groomed, crushed, groomed again, and then sent away. No one’s seen him for twenty years, if he’s even still alive. Peter and Estarra barely survived assassination attempts. Why would I want to invite that upon myself? I have everything I need—people get in trouble when they want more than that.”
Reyn nodded. “Being the firstborn son doesn’t necessarily make me the best choice for the job.” He knew how the populace liked the fairy tale of royalty, a colorful figure they could look up to. “Even so, I’m determined to rise to the challenge.”
A lightning strike of pain shot through the network of his nerves, and he struggled to hide the wince. It lasted less than a second, and afterward a wash of cold sweat prickled his skin. His heart pounded, and he couldn’t take more than a shallow breath, yet somehow Reyn maintained a calm smile.
“I think it’s time for our next meeting,” the young man said. “I want to finish my obligations because I’m having dinner with Rlinda Kett.”
The smell was so delicious it made his mouth and eyes water. Rlinda kept main residences on several planets, and she claimed that each one was home. When Reyn requested a private meeting with her, she insisted that he come for dinner and changed her entire schedule for him. “I’d move the Moon itself to have dinner with you, Raindrop—but I don’t really have to, since the Moon’s no longer there.”
During her years as the Confederation’s trade minister, spending so much time on Theroc, Rlinda had become something of a godmother to Reyn and Arita. She always gave him such enthusiastic hugs that he felt swallowed up in the soft enormity of her body.
He was so eager to speak with Rlinda that his tremors grew worse, but he no longer had to keep up pretenses. She was so intent on being the hostess that she didn’t notice how shaky he looked—not right away, but he was sure she would. She had visited Theroc often as he grew up, and she knew him too well.
Rlinda still ran Kett Shipping, but her main love was cooking and her restaurants. Even at home, half of the apartment space was devoted to her kitchen. She stood behind a large sizzling griddle as Reyn hovered next to her. She tossed a jumble of sliced onions onto the hot surface, where they danced and spat in the grease from a ground beef patty. She tended the burger with a spatula, forming it, pressing out just enough of the juices.
“I can’t believe you’re the son of the King and you’ve never had a cheeseburger.” She flipped the patty, and peeled off a rectangle of orange cheddar from a package beside the grill, which she placed over the meat.
“Even if I had, it wouldn’t be as good as yours.”
Rlinda laughed. “That’s a guarantee.”
She slid the burger onto a toasted bun, used the spatula to scoop up the browned onions and spread them across the melted cheese. In the small dining area, she presented it to Reyn with the appropriate condiments. Like a scientist explaining a complex physical theorem, she instructed him in how to add the finishing touches. “Of all the exotic foods on all the strange worlds, nothing sums up the joy of eating better than a good cheeseburger.”
Reyn took a bite, and the flavors exploded in his mouth. It was as delicious as she had promised. He ate, wiping his mouth so often between bites that Rlinda had to fetch a stack of fresh napkins.
“I love to cook for special guests, and if I don’t have any guests around, then I cook for myself. Used to cook for BeBob. He was always my guinea pig.” She sighed. “Ten years now…”
Reyn remembered when her “favorite ex-husband” Branson Roberts, affectionately known as BeBob, had died. Although Reyn had been a young boy at the time, he had felt the waves of grief coming from the usually jovial woman. Even a decade later, the mere mention of BeBob brought a tightness to her face and a stillness to the conversation.
She heaved a breath, and Reyn stopped eating. She gestured for him to pick up the cheeseburger again. Resting her elbows on the table, she leaned forward and changed the subject. “I know you and your sister adore me, Raindrop, and I know I’m the most sparkling company anyone could possibly want.” Her dark brown eyes were shrewd. “But why are you here? Really? You look sick.”
He set down the remnants of the messy burger and looked plaintively up at her. “I need something, Rlinda. Something important.”
As if released from a cage, the nerve fire rattled through his body again, and he could not hide the shudder of pain. He breathed hard, glad he didn’t need to pretend anymore. “This has to remain confidential. Can you help arrange a private consultation with the very best Earth doctors? I need tests to identify what’s wrong, find a treatment… if there is one. The symptoms have been getting worse over the past six months.”
She leaned back, deeply concerned. “Your parents are the King and Queen. They should be able to arrange everything.”
“I’ve done my own research, talked to a few Theron doctors, but… my parents don’t know yet. They’d make a galactic incident, send out a call across the Spiral Arm. Every colony and planetary government would send comforting messages and offers of help, and my parents would go mad with worry. And I don’t want that. It’s private. I don’t want pity or sympathy.” His hands began shaking uncontrollably, and a sparkle of hot tears welled in his eyes.
Rlinda gave him a look of grave concern. “All right, I won’t betray your trust.” Her brow furrowed as she concentrated. “I know some people. I can make the necessary contacts.” He could see she had made up her mind not to disturb him further by letting him see her anxiety. “I’ll help you in any way I can, Raindrop.” She laid a big hand across his forearm and squeezed it. For a while, the warmth of her touch made the pain go away.
FORTY-FOUR
ZOE ALAKIS
A private ship flew into the Pergamus system, disregarding the warning transmissions from the guardian stations. No one had invited the vessel, and the pilot refused to give his name. He demanded to speak with Zoe Alakis in person.
That was always a bad sign.
Her security ships scrambled from the orbital picket lines. Ground-based defenses tracked the incoming blip. From her sterile central dome, Zoe triggered the standard lockdown procedures that sealed her groundside facilities and Orbiting Research Spheres. Incineration protocols and complete data-wipes were placed on hair-trigger standby. She would not allow any of her work or stockpiles to get loose. With all the valuable—and often dangerous—medical specimens in her numerous laboratories, Zoe maintained enough security to drive off an army. They could handle one annoying intruder.
When Tom Rom appeared on her private screen, Zoe felt the sense of relief that he always brought. He had just returned from the Klikiss ruins on Eljiid with the royal jelly samples, and he remained on Pergamus, awaiting his next assignment. “Do I need to solve this problem, Zoe? I can chase away the ship—destroy it, if necessary. The cleanup would take extra work, but it’s still manageable.”